Midnight Shadow (36 page)

Warmth spread over Bria as their kiss deepened. And she did, indeed, thank the Lord. He’d given her everything she ever wanted in life and more.

Behind her, she heard her son’s happy voice. “Great Grandfather, tell me the story of the Midnight Shadow again.”

“Of course,” Harry answered. “He was known far and wide for battling against tyranny and for upholding fairness. He was called the Midnight Shadow...”

The End

Thank You

Dear Reader –

I’m glad you’ve chosen to read
Midnight Shadow
. I hope you found the legend of the Midnight Shadow as captivating as the stories of King Arthur and Robin Hood. I so enjoyed those tales that I decided to create my own legend, a hero (or heroine in this case) who battles tyrants and fights for the people. May the Midnight Shadow always fight at your side.

I hope to entertain you with new exciting tales in the near future.

Laurel O’Donnell

www.laurel-odonnell.com

About the Author

Laurel O’Donnell has won numerous awards for her works, including the Holt Medallion for
A Knight of Honor
, the Happily Ever After contest for The Angel’s Assassin, and the Indiana’s Golden Opportunity contest for Immortal Death.
The Angel and the Prince
was nominated by the Romance Writers of America for their prestigious Golden Heart award. O’Donnell lives in Illinois with her four cherished children, her beloved husband and her five cats. She finds precious time every day to escape into the medieval world and bring her characters to life in her writing.

Look for these exciting medieval romance novels written by Laurel O’Donnell:

THE LADY AND THE FALCONER
(free preview below)

THE ANGEL AND THE PRINCE
(free preview below)

A KNIGHT OF HONOR
(free preview below)

CHAMPION OF THE HEART

And the novella:

THE BRIDE AND THE BRUTE

Website:
www.laurel-odonnell.com

Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Laurel-ODonnell/150078331715261

The Lady and the Falconer Bonus Preview

The Lady and the Falconer Preview

Lady Solace Farindale

With her father at war and her stepmother ruling the castle with disinterest, Solace protects her people the best she can. When a neighboring lord lays siege to the castle, a threat on the lady’s life is discovered. She turns to a man she can’t resist, and puts her trust in a stranger who has captured her heart. Will she discover the secret this man holds before it is too late?

Logan Grey

Tormented by guilt and a tragic past, Logan Grey has gained access to the castle disguised as a falconer. With only revenge on his mind, he has no time for the feisty beauty who has caught his eye. In a twist of fate, and a deadly betrayal, Logan must risk his life for the lady who ignited a passion more perilous than war.

Can love reign in a place where only hate ruled?

The Lady and the Falconer is an exciting medieval romance filled with action, intrigue, suspense and a desire that defies every sinister obstacle put in its path.

The Lady and the Falconer - Prologue

England, 1373

“R
eady or not, here I come!” a young girl’s voice cried out in the distance.

Solace Farindale pressed a hand over her mouth and giggled, scrunching lower behind three bales of hay. She didn’t know where her friend Gwen was hiding because as soon as Helen had begun counting, she’d run into the barn and dove behind the hay. Lillian, her maidservant, would no doubt be angry that she had dirtied her new velvet dress, but Solace couldn’t resist such a perfect hiding place. The sweet smell of straw filled her nose, and several strands tickled her back as she settled into her spot. She loved coming to visit Helen on her farm. She and Gwen had begged their fathers to let them go, just for the afternoon, and after much pleading the men had reluctantly agreed. It was half a morning’s ride from Gwen’s home, but well worth it.

Finally, after a brief moment of expectant waiting, Solace peeked through a slit between the hay bales. The barn was empty. Several stalls that used to house horses now stood vacant. Solace knew Helen’s parents had to sell the beasts off because their crops had yielded a poor harvest last year. Solace scanned the narrow area of the barn that she could see through the opening, but there was still no sign of Helen. She shrugged and settled back to wait.

Then she heard the barn door creak open. Her eyes widened and again she placed a hand over her mouth as she slid lower behind the hay, afraid her giggles would give her away. But there was no scurry of searching feet, no calls of her name.

Solace shifted and peered through the slit between the hay bales. She glimpsed a woman grabbing a rusty bucket from the ground and carrying it to an empty stall across from her. It was only Helen’s mother, Anne. Solace’s gaze flew to the door. Where is Helen? she wondered.

Anne placed the bucket on the ground next to a small pile of seeds. She scooped up a handful with her cupped palm and dumped them into the bucket.

“Good afternoon, Anne,” a man called out. His deep, guttural voice gave the greeting a harshness that belied the innocence of his words.

Solace heard Anne gasp and she tilted her head, leaning closer to the narrow opening between the bales. She saw two men dressed in chain mail lurking near the door and one man standing inside the barn. She nervously twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger as a feeling of fear engulfed her. The tall man wasn’t a good man. She could sense the evil in him, as if a dark cloud belonged over his head. His hair was immaculate, styled in a fashionable bowl-cut, black as the night. The red velvet of his jupon was tailored to his chest and arms, padded somewhat at the chest and shoulders to accent their broadness. The collar reached all the way to his neck. He had the coldest blue stare she had ever seen.

“Lord Randol,” Anne greeted with a slight bow.

Randol sauntered closer to her. “Looks like you’ve kept the barn in good order.”

“It’s our living, m’lord. We take good care of our things.”

“Perhaps you should take as good care of your lord,” he grumbled. “Where’s your husband?”

“In the fields, of course, m’lord,” she replied.

Solace watched lord Randol nod as if he already knew what Anne would say. “I’m here for my taxes, Anne.”

“M’lord, my husband explained to you that the rains and the flooding have washed out most of the crops.”

“You’re three months behind in your payments, Anne,” Randol interjected.

Solace saw Anne wring her hands and she sensed something terrible was coming, but she didn’t know what to do.

“I realize that, m’lord,” Anne said. “But we have nothing to pay you with. You have all our animals. We have no coin, no –”

“Coin is not what I’m asking for.” He reached out and ran a finger along the bare skin at her throat.

Solace watched with a growing fear as Anne’s eyes widened in outrage and her slender fingers slapped lord Randol’s large hand aside.

“You go too far this time,” Anne retorted. “You’ve taxed us until we’ve become unable to pay. You’ve taken everything from us. I will not give you myself, too!”

“You have little choice, Anne,” Randol said, stepping closer. “With nothing else to give, it’s either that or your house.”

Anne stepped away from him. “Sleeping in a field is preferable to your touch,” she spat.

“You won’t think that come winter,” he murmured, but loud enough for Solace to hear. Again Randol reached out to Anne, this time grabbing hold of her dress and yanking it from her shoulder.

Solace wanted to flee, wanted to escape the horrible man, but she dared not move. The two men lurking in the doorway would surely see her.

Anne bolted for the door. Randol caught her in his arms, pulling her hard against his chest. “Such a willing wench,” he whispered, licking her ear.

Anne whirled, striking out at her attacker, raking her nails down his face.

Lord Randol howled his disbelief and rage, and pushed her to the ground. He raised his fingers to his gashed cheek. “Bitch,” he snarled, studying the blood on his hand. He undid his belt and let his breeches fall to the ground.

“No!” Anne screamed, struggling uselessly as Randol dropped to his knees.

The hay bales blocked Solace’s view of Anne. All she could see was lord Randol’s face, the ugly grimace that twisted his features. She had never seen anything more vicious in her life, the way his lips sneered like a snarling animal’s, the way his cold eyes stared like a venomous serpent’s at Anne. She heard Anne screaming and sobbing, saw her hands come up to push Randol away. He ignored her flailing fists and continued to violently thrust himself at her.

Tears came to Solace’s eyes. She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew that Anne was being hurt. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the sounds of Anne’s cries.

Finally, lord Randol rose to his feet and wiped an arm across his slashed cheek. Without a word, he turned away.

Hot tears ran down Solace’s cheeks. She was trembling all over. She fought to choke back her sobs, terrified of what the man would do to her if he found her.

Anne’s moans filled the air. Solace watched lord Randol take a menacing step toward the woman, and a bright flash of silver flared across her vision, arcing toward Anne.

Solace blinked. After that, she heard no more sobs. Shivering, she huddled behind the hay, praying the men would go away, praying they wouldn’t find her. She barely heard Randol’s last words. “Never strike a lord.”

Solace listened to the silence that followed for a long moment. Her muffled sobs sounded loud to her own ears. She was sure Randol would discover her. Please, she silently begged, don’t let him find me.

Then she heard footsteps, booted feet treading over the dried hay of the barn floor. They were getting louder, closer. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, squeezing her eyes tight. Tears forced their way from the corners of her clenched lids, sliding down her small face, bringing their salty bitterness to the edges of her lips.