Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  “It will cure all your problems,” Beth answered softly.

  Solace's eyes narrowed before shifting back to the drink. She took the offered cup.

  “It's quick and you won't be in any pain,” Beth assured her.

  Solace stared at the beckoning liquid. She should have been surprised and repulsed, but she was neither. She accepted Beth's offering, nonplused. In the torchlight, the dark liquid looked like blood.

  “Drink it,” Beth cooed. “I'll marry Barclay, have his child and he will still be rightful heir of Fulton. Everyone will be happy.”

  Solace licked her lips. It was tempting, so tempting. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave her people to Beth's care. She lowered the cup to her lap. “I can't,” she said.

  “Why not?” Beth demanded. “It's the only solution there is.”

  “I don't believe killing myself is a solution,” Solace whispered.

  “Then perhaps some one else will do it.”

  Startled, Solace raised her eyes to her sister, but Beth had already turned her back and was headed toward the door.

  That night, Solace slept fitfully, if at all. Logan's mercury eyes haunted her dreams; his gentle touch and rumbling laughter plagued her senses. She awoke again and again, only to fall into a restless sleep.

  She moved through the next day like a sleepwalker. A strange mist had settled about her, a mist of confusion, of depression. Then she found herself in the chapel, kneeling before a statue of the Virgin Mary, praying for guidance.

  She swallowed down a lump of despair. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she raised teary eyes to find Father Davis standing beside her.

  “Solace,” he whispered, hurt by the pain in her eyes. “What is it?”

  “Father, I don't think I can do this,” she whispered.

  The priest's eyes went wide with shock, then a frown crossed his wrinkled brow. “You have to marry Barclay,” he said quickly.

  “What?” she gasped.

  “It's the best thing for you. I've been too harsh on the Baron.”

  “But –”

  “I'm sure he'll make a wonderful husband.” Father Davis stood, wiping a tear from her cheek. “You're doing the right thing.” He patted her hand reassuringly, then turned and moved down the aisle toward the back of the chapel.

  Solace couldn't keep her mouth from dropping open. Had Barclay gotten to him? Threatened him somehow? She turned back to her prayers, hoping the few other monks kneeling in the pews in prayer could not read her impious thoughts.

  The monks were everywhere. There was nowhere Solace could go to be alone, so the day before her wedding she went to the battlements, seeking calm in her churning emotions. The biting wind tore at her cloak, whipping her hair out behind her. She faced the wind, letting it sting her cheeks and water her eyes.

  The land was frozen, the fields barren. Tomorrow it would all be over. Solace wondered what Barclay would do when he found out she wasn't a virgin. She wondered if he would kill her. She wondered if he would care.

  She wondered where Logan was. Was he continuing to plan the attack against Castle Fulton? Was he thinking about her?

  Tears rose in her eyes as she thought of the time they had spent together. She had been filled with joy whenever they had been together. She had reveled in the secretive looks they had shared. And now all that filled her soul was emptiness.

  She would be Barclay's wife. And she would loathe him.

  “Thinking of jumping off the battlements?”

  Barclay's voice sent a chill through her, and she blinked back her tears. “No, m'lord,” she whispered.

  “Good,” he murmured, moving up behind her. “I don't want you dead just yet.” He trailed a hand along the length of her arm.

  She stiffened at his touch, feeling strangely violated.

  His fingers moved to caress her cheek, her neck.

  Solace pulled away from him. “I prefer to wait until our wedding night.”

  “I insist,” he smiled, lowering his head to hers.

  Solace backed into the wall. “And I insist we wait.”

  Barclay's gaze devoured her, from her toes to the tips of her long hair. A deep growl came from his throat, and Solace hid her shudder beneath a feigned chill.

  “It's so cold,” she said, moving forward to step around him.

  He didn't budge and Solace shrank away from him. His blue eyes burned as he suddenly seized her hand, pressing it against the bulge in his pants. “I plan to take you in ways that are not natural. And you will not protest.”

  Solace tried to pull her hand free, but he pressed it harder against himself.

  “I have plans for you that would make a whore blush.”

  Solace wanted to run, screaming, from him. But she forced calm into her voice as she met his gaze, stilling her struggles. “I'm sure you do, m'lord.”

  “You will do everything I say on our wedding night and for every day after.” He bent his head toward her lips, releasing her hand.

  Solace ducked under his arm. “But until then I'll do as I please,” she called, fleeing the battlements.

  Barclay started to follow, a twisted smile on his lips, a smoldering heat in his eyes.

  Suddenly, a hooded monk stepped into his path, accidentally bumping his shoulder, halting his movement.

  When Barclay turned enraged eyes on the monk, the hooded man humbly bowed before him. Staring down at the top of the monk's brown hood, Barclay bit back his condemning remark; he ground his teeth and lifted his gaze to see his prize had escaped.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Solace stood at the back of the chapel, staring impassively up the aisle at the golden altar where Father Davis stood. His back was to her, his head bowed. He was clothed in a brown cloak, the hood drawn up over his face, giving him the appearance of one of the visiting monks. She clutched at her hands so they wouldn't shake, only to find they were as cold and frigid as icicles.

  Monks lined the pews and the walls of the chapel. Barclay's men were everywhere as well. It looked as if every visitor and every invader had come to see the wedding.

  Fitting, Solace thought. She knew Barclay had placed his men in the room just to be sure she didn't change her mind. She shook her head. It was too late to change her mind. She would not turn back.

  When did I become so bitter? she wondered as she started up the aisle. When did I turn into Logan? Her footing was sure and steady, even though a piece of her heart broke with each step that brought her closer to Barclay. The white dress she wore was plain, a white houppelande, belted high just beneath her breasts. The white was a mockery of her lost virginity, but she couldn't wear black, even though it would be as dark and hopeless as she felt. Not until after she had wed Barclay. Not until the lands were his. She had to complete that one task as vengeance for her father.

  The baron waited for her at the front of the aisle, dressed in a bright red cape lined with fur that made him look like one of Satan's minions. He wore a black tunic and hose beneath the cape, and his sword was belted around his waist. But it was his eyes that snared her attention as she neared; they were bright with victory.

  She reached the front of the chapel and Barclay extended his hand. Solace ignored it, a final defiance, and turned toward Father Davis.

  She heard Barclay's chuckle, but paid him no heed. Instead, she concentrated on the way Father Davis was clutching the altar. His knuckles were white and the veins on the back of his hand bulged against the surface skin, as if he were struggling to crush the sculptured metal of the altar in his fingers. Then he stood, rising to his full height, and slowly turned to them, the cowl hiding his face in a shadowy pool of blackness. He slowly came down the two steps before the altar.

  The room was silent. Solace waited, desperately trying to still the quickening pace of her madly beating heart. In mere moments she would be lady Barclay, and there was nothing she could do now to stop it. This was sheer madness! What was I thinking? She wanted to scream as the true horror of her p
redicament slammed into her. She wanted to shout at the top of her lungs and drive a blade through Barclay's black heart. She wanted to yell a curse on Logan's twisted soul. But all she could do was lower her head and close her eyes for a moment, fighting the dizzying swirl of emotions whipping through her like an uncontrollable tornado and praying it would be over quickly.

  When she opened her eyes Father Davis was standing before them. Her gaze was drawn to his clasped hands. They were strong and firm. But his hands should have been wrinkled with age, puckered by his decades of service to God.

  Solace looked up, her eyes wide, trying to see past the darkness of the shadows.

  Suddenly, a strong hand shot forward and seized her arm, dragging her away from Barclay!

  Barclay raised confused eyes, just in time to see the shape of the man disguised as Father Davis throw back the cowl to reveal the face of Logan Grey!

  Logan drew the sword that had been hidden behind his cloak and pressed the tip to Barclay's throat.

  Solace couldn't move. Logan. His name pulsed through her mind with each beat of her heart. Logan!

  “We meet again, old friend,” Logan ground out between clenched teeth.

  “You traitorous bitch!” Barclay howled, his eyes locking on Solace. “You trapped me!”

  She opened her mouth to deny his accusations, but nothing came out. Instead, she let an overwhelming relief course through her.

  “You're a damn fool!” Barclay spat out, his gaze shifting to Logan. “You'll never get out of here alive.”

  “That's where I think you're wrong,” Logan replied. “Tell your men to lay down their arms and surrender.”

  A smile split Barclay's lips, and laughter churned from his throat. “One man against dozens? I think not.”

  The corner of Logan's lips curled into a grin, and he nodded his head at one of the pews. The chapel erupted in a frenzy of motion as the monks in the pews and in the aisles threw aside their cloaks to reveal Logan's friends! Solace recognized Blade's blond head and Goliath's tall form in the front row.

  Barclay's guards drew their swords and the thunderous clang of a hundred swords clashing rang out in the chapel. The sound was deafening.

  They had come to take the castle! For a moment, disbelief rocked through Solace. Without trebuchets, without battering rams, they had infiltrated the castle. The plan was impulsive, ingenious and admirably brave.

  Solace turned her gaze to Logan, a powerful pride welling up inside her... until the image of Logan shoving his sword into her father's chest speared her mind. Hurt and betrayal and anger replaced her joy. She clenched her teeth and shoved the traitor hard, fleeing toward the door at the side of the altar.

  She glanced quickly over her shoulder to see Logan recovering from her shove, saw him cast a frustrated glance at the fleeing Barclay before turning a dark look on her. She continued to run, hiking the layers of her skirts over her knees to achieve full speed.

  She reached for the handle of the door, pushing the wooden barricade open, and ran into the small, stone alcove. Spiral stairs rose up to the next floor. Behind her, the door exploded open and Logan shot through it, grabbing her wrist and whirling her around. Shocked, she couldn't move for a long moment. He was before her, staring at her with smoldering gray eyes.

  Solace began to struggle, fighting to free her wrist. He glared at her, stilling her useless battle by pressing his body against hers. Fire ignited throughout her as his breath mingled with her own. “Get away from me!” she commanded.

  He pressed her back against the wall, shoving his body closer to hers. “I should slit your traitorous neck,” he growled, but bent to press a kiss to her tender throat. “If it didn't mean so damn much to me.”

  Stunned, Solace couldn't move. His head rose until he stared her in the eyes. She found it hard to breathe with him so close. She had forgotten how beguiling those silver eyes were, how warm his body was. Part of her fight left her under the hypnotic effect of his presence. His laughter rumbled through her, prickling her nerves. And she missed him. Part of her was dying, for she knew she would yield to him, even though he had killed her father.

  “My stubborn little Solace,” he whispered. “Your plan would have worked if I wasn't so determined to claim what was rightfully mine.”

  Fulton. The old argument, the old vengeance that had killed her father, sparked her anger into a disconsolate inferno and Solace renewed her attempts at escape, pounding his massive chest, trying to step on his toes with her foot. Pain flared through her heel as it slammed against his hard boot. Tears burned in her eyes. “All you care about is this castle! Your revenge! Well, it's complete now! My father's dead!”

  “Dead?”

  “Your vengeance is complete! You should feel proud!”

  “Solace, it ended in Cavindale.”

  She stilled her fight and stared up into his steel eyes. Pain flooded through her. She nodded. “When you killed my father. I saw you kill him.” She fought back her tears. “I saw you.”

  Logan stepped back, releasing her. She knew she should run, but the weight of her convictions pressed down on her like stone. She couldn't move as he studied her face, taking in every detail. His face softened suddenly, relaxing as understanding spread across his features. “He's not dead, Solace,” Logan whispered.

  “What?” she gasped.

  “I didn't kill him,” Logan admitted. “I couldn't do it.”

  “But I saw you.”

  Logan shook his head. “I wanted to kill him. Lord, how I wanted him dead. To avenge my father. To avenge my mother. But the only thing I could think of was what it would do to you. The hurt I would see in your eyes.” He shook his head. “I couldn't do it. Not in the face of that.”

  “My father's alive?” Solace gasped.

  Logan nodded. “He's alive.”

  “But I saw you stab him with your sword…”

  “I only stabbed dirt and grass.”

  “But you could have had your revenge.”

  “I don't want it anymore,” Logan threw back his head and laughed. “I don't even want Fulton anymore.” He lowered his head to gaze into her eyes. “All I want is you.”

  Solace stared at him, her heart beating wildly, her hopes soaring.

  Logan raised a hand to trace his fingers tenderly over her cheek. “You've put more faith in me than I have in myself. You loved me when I couldn't even love myself. It took me a long time to realize it, a long time to put aside my anger. You are everything I have ever wanted.”

  Solace opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was so happy that tears rose in her eyes.

  “I love you, Solace,” Logan whispered.

  Suddenly, the wall beside Solace moved and Barclay appeared beside her, grabbing her arm, entwining his hand in her hair, yanking her against him like a shield! “Is this man bothering you, dearest?” he whispered harshly.

  Solace cringed as Barclay pulled her hair tighter. Logan lunged forward, but Barclay placed the blade of his sword to her neck.

  “Ah-ah,” he warned. “I'd hate to slip and hurt such a treasure.”

  Logan straightened.

  Pain flared in Solace's head as Barclay tugged harshly on her hair, dragging her back into the darkness of the passageway.

  “Don't follow me, old friend,” Barclay said. “Or I'll kill her.”

  Logan watched with growing fury as Barclay disappeared into a secret passage behind the alcove wall. He crushed his fingers into tight fists, squeezing them tighter and tighter until the muscles in his arms ached with his anger, until his entire body shook with outrage. He whirled away from the wall and raced back into the chapel, speeding through the chaotic swirl of fighting men filling the large room. One of Barclay's men stepped in front of him, brandishing a blood-soaked blade, defying him to continue. Logan plunged straight into the man, growling like a savage animal, baring his teeth in a feral snarl, swinging his sword with a ferocity that no man could match. The guard went down.

  Logan sped on, ra
cing out of the chapel and into a long hallway. He shoved aside an ornate tapestry hanging on the wall and disappeared into the secret passageway hidden behind it. His heart pounded in his chest. He had never been more scared in his life. The possibility of losing Solace forever terrified him more than anything had ever terrified him in his life, more than his first fight with Goliath when he nearly lost his own life, more than seeing Farindale's army approaching his father's castle those many years ago.

  He ran through the darkness, slipping several times on the mossy floor in his frantic drive to reach Solace.

  The narrow corridor reeked of mold and decay. And death. He ran faster, his breath exploding from his lungs, his blood hammering in his ears. He knew where the passageway emerged; the exit was up on the northern tower of the castle. He could reach Barclay through the battlements. He emerged from the passageway just outside the spiraling steps of the tower. He charged up the stairs and out onto the battlements.

  As Logan sped across the battlements toward the north wall, the wind whipped his hair around his face. Above him, dark clouds churned in an ominous black sky. He rounded a corner in the walkway to see Barclay and Solace already emerging from the passage. Solace attempted to break free, lurching forward, but Barclay caught hold of her dress and dragged her back.

  “Barclay!” Logan shouted, his angry voice rising above the shrillness of the wind.

  Barclay turned to face him, keeping his sword at Solace's throat.

  Logan's eyes narrowed as he recognized the blade in Barclay's hands. It was his father's, the blade he had entrusted to Logan, the blade he had given his son in recognition of his emerging manhood. Again, Logan's body shook with rage, a tremor rippling through him. “Let her go,” he ordered, surprised at the calmness of his voice.

  Thunder rumbled in the sky above.

  Logan approached slowly, the strong wind blowing the hair away from his eyes, slapping at his clothes, trying to push him back from Solace. But no force of nature could keep him from her.

  Barclay held the sword to Solace's throat, the lashing wind blowing her hair around her face, into Barclay's eyes.