by Ruth Kaufman
Lord Farindale silenced him with a dark look. Malcolm knew better than to argue any further. Lord Farindale's orders were law, to be obeyed without question.
“My sword,” lord Farindale called.
His squire raced to him, the weapon in his hand. Farindale took his sword from the youth and stared at it for a long moment. He studied his reflection in the bright silver surface of the blade. Gray hair framed his face. Shadowy lines were etched deep in his brow. The flesh on his cheeks was sagging. He was much older now than when he had faced Randol Grey. Randol had died for his child, for Logan. And now the boy had returned for vengeance.
Farindale sheathed his sword. He hoped he was strong enough to defeat the son. For Solace's sake.
He spurred his horse over the rise in the hill.
Logan threw the saddle on his horse, checking the straps and the length of the stirrups. He had thought Solace had slain his need for revenge with her forgiveness. But it wasn't that easy. Like a horrible demon, it had raised its ugly head when he heard that Farindale was just outside Cavindale. And now it was all he could think of. For years he had sought revenge. It was his life, his blood. To think he could be rid of the need so easily had been a grave mistake. Well, he aimed to be rid of it forever. He had to face Farindale. He had to do it for his family. For his father.
He loved Solace with all his being, but this was something the monster that lived in his heart would not let him surrender.
Logan heard Solace race into the barn and skid to a halt. She ran to him and embraced him from behind.
“Where have you been?” she wondered. “I waited for you at the noon meal.”
Logan gently disengaged her arms from around him. “I have to go somewhere,” he said evasively, smiling glumly at her. He ran a finger along her jaw, hoping it was enough to pacify her, but knowing it wasn't.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” Logan said, picking his sword up from the ground. He looked at the polished surface, wishing it were his father's blade. But Barclay had it now, confiscated when he was thrown into the dungeon. It will have do, he thought, and slid the sword into its sheath.
“Nothing!” Solace gasped. “Yet you have to take your sword?”
“Solace, trust me,” he said, swinging himself up into the saddle. “I'll be back later.”
“Logan!” she called, but he rode out of the barn.
A prickling raced along Solace's spine. She ran back into the barn. By the time she had pulled a horse from the stall and gotten the groom to saddle it, Logan was nowhere in sight. She mounted the horse and rode out of the barn, westward.
The cold wind whipped Solace's hair around her face, its frigid teeth nipping at her flesh. Her hands felt numb. It seemed she had ridden for hours, yet she still couldn't find Logan. She spurred the horse on, over another hilltop. Then, she heard it.
The clanging of swords.
She urged her horse toward the noise and rounded a bend to see Logan fighting a man in plate armor. At first, she thought they were just practicing their moves with each other, dueling for sport. But when the man in armor lunged hard at Logan and nearly skewered his thigh, she knew this was no mock battle. Why would Logan come out this far to fight someone? And who was he fighting?
The horse danced skittishly beneath her, the cold slapping its hide. She craned her neck, trying to see the crest on the man's tunic. It was white. Part of it looked very familiar. Suddenly, the man fell to his knees before Logan, and Solace saw the symbol of a lion etched on a field of white with gold trim. She gasped, frozen with terror as Logan raised the sword over her father's head, the sharp tip of the blade pointed at her father's heart.
“No!” Solace cried as Logan shoved the sword toward her father's chest. She whirled away in horror, tears blurring her vision, unable to watch any more.
Her heart tried to deny what her eyes had just seen. She wanted to scream and trample Logan with the hooves of the horse. No, her mind continued to repeat, but her anguish peaked to shatter the last shard of hope she had. She spurred the horse on, away from Cavindale, away from Logan. Every fiber of her being screamed in agony.
Her body shook; her throat closed, choking off her breath. She thought they shared something special. She thought he cared for her. She thought... she loved him! And that was the worst betrayal of all. Because even with all of that, even with everything they had gone through, even after the last few days, he had completed his revenge.
Logan had killed her father.
Logan turned from the battle, breathing hard, his teeth clenched, and saw Solace fleeing. He quickly mounted his horse and raced after her. He wouldn't let her escape. Not this time. Not now. He quickly overrode her horse, grabbing the reins. He pulled, bringing the animal to a stop, then reached out to seize her flailing hands and managed to grab her wrist, trying to still her movements. He was furious with himself, with her.
“Let go, you bastard!” she shouted, urging her horse forward with her heels.
“Solace...” he began, but she turned to him with such hatred and such pain in her face that the words disappeared.
“You fool!” she howled. “You fool! It was me! I convinced my father to take Fulton! It was my fault!”
He dropped her hands as if the mere touch scalded his skin. “You?” His eyes narrowed as he drew back from her. His vision swam before him, his mind incapable of digesting the horrible truth of her words.
“Your father was such a bastard, such a tyrant to his people. A rapist and a killer. I begged my father to stop him. And he did!” Solace explained in clipped words, through clenched teeth.
Logan had heard rumors of his father's dark methods of tax collecting, of his abuse of his power, but he never believed any of them. No man, especially not his father, his flesh and blood, could be that cruel. He had refused to believe it. “You're wrong,” he answered vehemently, but there was the slightest quiver in his voice.
“You killed the wrong person!” Solace proclaimed hotly.
Her enraged voice jarred him, cut him. He raised his open palm, ready to smash her face, ready to knock the words from her mouth. He stared into her anger, her desolation. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand. Betrayed. His heart exploded in his chest. He drew his dagger with a howl of rage. “Then it's you I should kill!” Her bitter accusations rang in his ear. A tyrant. A rapist. A killer. It doesn't matter, he thought. He was my father and his death deserves to be avenged. He pressed the blade to her creamy throat.
Solace barely flinched. “Yes, do it. You've sacrificed everything else.” She choked on her words. “You can't love. Complete your revenge. Kill me. It won't bring your parents back.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. He blinked back the anger and the pain swirling in him. Slowly, he dropped his hand, his eyes flashing at her like hot lightning bolts. “Get away from me,” he snarled. “Get the hell out of here.”
Solace reined her horse around and rode away from him without a word.
He stared after her retreating back, a broken man.
Solace rode and rode until the horse could go no further. Then she dismounted and anguish engulfed her completely. She had given herself to Logan! She had loved him! And he had destroyed the last of her family. He had used her to get to her father.
She wept into her open palms. He had done more than hurt her. He had destroyed her. Her heart lay broken and bleeding. She sobbed until the sun set.
Then as the sun disappeared over the horizon and the sky turned blood red, a new resolve swept through her. A dark resolve. If Fulton was the only thing Logan could love, then she would see to it that he never got it. I will destroy him as he has me, she vowed. He will never get Fulton. I will see to that.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Great Hall of Castle Fulton was awash in easy conversation. A large table had been set aside for the visiting monks. With the Yuletide approaching, the table had slowly begun to fill. Now there were six monks seated the
re, all eating quietly.
At the main table, Beth sat beside Baron Barclay. She wiped her mouth with the back of her velvet sleeve and cast a sly look at him. He was eating a large mutton leg. She ran a hand possessively over his arm. He raised his eyes to her and smiled, holding the leg out to her. She took a bite of it. Edwin had seen to it she had everything she could possibly want. She often wondered if he was keeping her in case her father returned, as a hostage of sorts. But she knew she was far from that. She reached down and caressed her stomach, swelling with his child. Beth smiled contentedly. She had finally found her place.
Her eyes scanned the Hall. Barclay's men filled the tables, eating to their hearts' content. They were a noisy lot, but she found comfort in their presence. With so many men at the Baron's disposal, she knew the castle was secure.
Beth's gaze shifted to Edwin again, studying his handsome profile. She often wondered why Barclay had not offered marriage. Perhaps he was waiting for the Yuletide. She could wait. After all, was she not having his child?
She became aware of a growing silence in the Great Hall and turned her head to see two guards escorting a woman up to the front table. Dread slithered up her spine as outrage made her teeth clench.
Barclay rose slowly from his chair. He planted his hands on the table, leaning toward the woman as she stopped just before them.
Her hair was unkempt, her clothing old, the hem of her dress ragged. Besides that, there was something different about her, Beth noticed. The woman's shoulders sagged, but it wasn't from weariness. When Solace looked up and locked gazes with her, Beth noticed the resolve and the sadness in her eyes.
Barclay's lips turned up in a grin. “Nice to have you back, m'lady.”
Beth cast him a sharp, annoyed glance. He had never called her m'lady! She turned burning eyes to her sister.
One of the guards who had escorted Solace stepped forward, and Barclay bent his head as the guard whispered in his ear. His brows furrowed and his eyes turned to Solace in contemplation.
The Baron retook his seat, rubbing his lower lip in thought. “Where's Grey?” he said.
Beth watched Solace's eyes cloud. She couldn't read her expression. “We were in Cavindale. But I doubt he is still there.”
Beth and Barclay exchanged a glance. Barclay waved at one of the soldiers near the door, and the man immediately headed out of the Great Hall.
“Rest assured that if I knew where he was, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you,” Solace added.
Barclay raised an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise, dear?” he wondered, mockingly.
“He killed my father,” Solace said, casting a glance at Beth.
Beth narrowed her eyes. The little harlot was up to something, she was sure. She bent to whisper in Barclay's ear, “Don't believe her.”
Barclay surveyed Solace for a long, quiet moment. His sharp, blue eyes assessed every dark line on her face, every clenched muscle. “Then why have you returned to Fulton?”
Solace raised her chin. “To marry you,” she said.
A murmur swept through the room. Beth clenched her fists on the table and almost stood, but Barclay grabbed her arm, holding her down. “Marry me?” He chuckled. “You made it quite clear last time you were here that you would have nothing to do with me.”
“I would do anything to keep Fulton from Logan Grey,” she said. “Even marry you. With Father dead, I am the rightful heir to Fulton. If you marry me, the lands are yours legally and without question.”
Barclay rose and began to move around the table. “That's a very big price to pay, isn't it? To keep the lands from Grey. How do I know you'll make a dutiful wife?”
“I've been trained to run Castle Fulton. I know everyone's positions. I can tally the harvest, stock the pantries...”
Barclay stopped before Solace and smiled wolfishly. “That's not the duty I was speaking of.”
Outrage rocked through Beth. He was considering it! “Edwin,” she called beneath her breath.
Solace's chin rose. “I would make you a proper wife, in all ways. You have my word.”
“Prove it,” Barclay whispered.
Solace shifted uncomfortably. Beth watched her wrestle with the dilemma. If that little whore touches my Edwin, Beth vowed, I will kill her with my own two hands.
Solace lifted up on her toes and pressed her lips to Barclay's.
A hiss issued from Beth. She was on her feet as Solace pulled back.
Barclay smiled. “A rather chaste kiss from a potential bride.” He reached into his belt, drawing forth a dagger, and rested the blade at her throat. “Wouldn't it be easier just to kill you and marry someone more devoted to me? Like your lovely sister?”
Solace swallowed and pride soared in Beth's chest. Do it, she silently begged, leaning forward on the table.
There was no fear in Solace's eyes, only resignation. For a long moment, she said nothing. “The peasants respect me,” she finally said softly.
Barclay glanced at one of his men.
A tremor of dread shot up Beth's spine. They were having a tremendous amount of trouble with the villagers. They were slow moving, even under the threat of death. Beth cringed. The villagers held her in no regard. And they liked Barclay even less. But they loved Solace. They would do anything for her.
Barclay resheathed his dagger. “A good point,” he said, and returned to his seat. “I will consider your proposal.”
“Edwin.” Beth gasped in disbelief.
He patted her hand placatingly. “You look weary, lady Solace,” Barclay said. “Beth, go attend your sister.”
Beth inhaled sharply. She wasn't some servant! She slammed her hand on the table. Barclay caught her wrist. “Easy, my dove,” Barclay whispered. “She is the heir to Fulton, after all. It would be wise to pacify her. At least for the time being.”
Beth's eyes narrowed. She'd like to pacify her, all right. Right over the castle wall! Beth moved around the table, her back rigid, her fists clenched into tight little balls of fury, until she stood before Solace. She stared into her green eyes, noticing they weren't so bright any longer. “Let's go,” she snarled.
Beth whirled, leading her sister through the curious gazes and whispered murmurings spreading quickly through the Great Hall.
“Congratulations,” Solace said tonelessly, glancing at Beth's stomach.
Beth grunted. Like the little harlot even cared, she thought bitterly. Suddenly, she stopped and turned to her sister. Solace's clothing was dirty, her hair ragged and unwashed. There were even streaks of dirt on her face, marred with trails from tears. Beth scowled. Solace looked like a peasant, a weepy one at that. “Why have you returned? What do you want?” she demanded.
“I told you and Barclay what I want,” Solace answered softly.
Beth sucked in her breath. “That's just like you, isn't it? As soon as I'm interested in a man, you try to steal him away!”
“After we're wed, you can have him all you want,” Solace retorted bitterly. “I want nothing to do with Barclay, other than make him rightful lord of this castle.”
Beth's chin rose. “You can die and I can make him rightful heir.”
Solace just stared at her. “I guess that's up to Barclay now, isn't it?” She brushed past Beth and continued toward her old room.
“Just kill her,” Beth pleaded.
Barclay raised an eyebrow at her as he lounged in his sumptuous bed. He wondered if it was jealousy making her talk so or hatred of her sister.
Suddenly, Beth dropped to her knees, taking his hand in hers and pressing kisses against his knuckles. “Please, darling. She'll bring us nothing but trouble. We don't need her.”
Barclay eased his hand from her grip. In truth, he was tiring of the sniveling whore before him. Her enlarging stomach was repulsive to him. He wanted fresh flesh. And Solace fit his fantasy perfectly. A slim, spirited girl he would ride hard and tame. The thought of her struggling beneath him brought a grin to his lips and a bulge to his pants.
“You
want her!” Beth exploded as she stood.
“She has her appeal,” Barclay muttered, thinking of her round breasts and her full lips that could suck him dry.
Beth placed her hands on her hips. “What does she have that I don't?” she demanded.
“Her stomach is flat and smooth.” Barclay took joy in watching the hurt flash in Beth's eyes. “She doesn't snivel and whine,” he added, watching Beth's lips thin in anger.
Beth launched herself at him and Barclay caught her wrists, spinning to pin her beneath him. He chuckled as she tried to lash out at him. “Seems my little hellcat has a little spit left in her after all.” He pinned her arms above her head with one hand, moving to undo his breeches with the other.
A crooked smile formed on Beth's lips.
Solace stared out over her lands, resting her palms on the ledge of her window. The cold wrapped its fingers around her, embracing her in an icy hug.
Logan, she thought again and again. Pain wracked her body as she remembered his smile, the safety she'd felt in his arms. It was all a ruse. It must have been. If he had truly cared for her, how could he have killed her father?
She bowed her head, her eyes narrowing. He would never have Fulton. It would be her final justice. He could go on living his life of anger and bitterness, but he would never have her home again. She tried to raise her chin, tried to tell herself what she was doing was right. It was justice.
Solace bowed her head, weeping into her hands. Then why did she feel so horrible? Why did she feel as though she were ripping her heart from her chest?
Flames danced in the hearth, casting the Great Hall in a red glow. Barclay sat in a chair before the fire, waiting for Solace. The warmth of the hearth did not reach his heart, only his loins. He heard the soft patter of footsteps and turned to see his betrothed entering the room.
He was gravely disappointed at what he saw. Her head was bowed, her hands secured by a rope, her shoulders hunched. A defeated woman. When she reached him, she lifted eyes that mirrored infinite sadness. Dark slashes underlined each eye.