The Lady and the Falconer (31 page)

“When I get my army,” she responded.

“Damn it, woman!” Logan snarled. “Do you have a death wish? Didn’t I just prove to you that you’re risking your life?”

Solace stared at him for a long moment. She wished he would smile at her. She wished she could touch that soft wave in his hair. She wished he had greeted her with a warm hug, a gentle kiss. A somber feeling settled over her. “All you’ve proved is that you’re an expert at deceiving me,” she retorted.

Logan exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his dark mane. “Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then why did you come here?” Solace demanded.

“Because someone has to tell you what a foolish thing it is you’re doing,” he said. “You don’t know how to go about this. It’s dangerous business. You could get hurt or killed.”

“I can’t let Barclay harm my people. I have to get my castle back.” She turned her gaze to the stars. They splattered the sky like freckles across a lad’s face.

Logan stood for a long moment, and eventually she turned her gaze to him. He reached out, slipping his hand around hers.

Solace watched the way his large hand enfolded hers, the way his thumb easily, comfortingly, slid back and forth across her knuckles.

“I want you to come with me to Cavindale.”

Solace began to shake her head and opened her mouth to object.

But Logan continued quickly, “I have an army waiting there.”

Logan saw the greedy light in her eyes even in the darkness, saw her green orbs spark like fire when he mentioned the army.

“An army?” she asked. “But how?”

Logan called forth a grin. “A month is plenty of time to put out the word,” he said.

“An army of mercenaries?” she inquired.

He nodded.

“And you’d let me command your army?”

He couldn’t help admiring her bravado. She was a courageous woman. “With my help,” he said.

Logan prepared himself for her anger, but it never came. Instead, a look of weary sadness crossed her features.

“I wish I could believe you,” she said in a thick voice, and dropped her gaze to the ground.

“You can, Solace,” Logan said desperately.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, a guarded skepticism in her lidded eyes. “Then what do you need me for?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it, setting his jaw.

Solace turned away from him and started out of the alley.

“I don’t want to see you hurt again,” he called. When she didn’t stop, Logan cursed and rushed after her. He reached her before she entered the street, stepping in front of her to block her path. “Why do you think I came all this way to stop you?”

“I think you did it to keep me out of the way,” she replied.

“Do you think that one woman is going to make a difference in this battle?” Logan wondered, sternly. “Think about what you’re saying. Think about what you’re doing. It’s madness!”

“Because I’m a woman.”

“No. Because you don’t know how to go about hiring mercenaries. You don’t know what kind of men you’re dealing with.”

“I don’t need your help, thank you.” She moved around him.

Logan blocked her path with his body again. “All it takes is one man. Maybe the next one you approach. He’ll follow you through the streets like I did, then pull you into a lonely alley, a vacant field, a dark corner.” He watched her fight the horror threatening to engulf her and knew this was his only weapon. “He’ll take your body in ways you can’t even imagine! Then drag you back to the inn and share you with his friends. When they’re done playing with you, he’ll slit your throat and leave you on the dirty floor of the inn.”

Solace swallowed hard.

“If you’re dead, it won’t really matter who has Castle Fulton, will it?”

She raised that stubborn little chin, fighting to find her voice. “And you know mercenaries so well?”

Logan pushed his face close to hers. “I’m one of them.”

Solace reared back as a tremor shuddered through her. She pushed past him, moving down the street.

Logan watched her for a moment, wondering if it had been enough, wondering if the foolish chit would cease trying to raise an army. He knew his answer immediately. She was far too stubborn to leave her people and her castle in Barclay’s hands. He had to convince her to come to Cavindale with him.

He raced after her toward her friend’s shop. He caught up to her as she rounded the last corner before the blacksmith’s. Voices floated to him on a dark breeze, prickling the back of his neck. His arm shot out, grabbing her wrist. When she turned to him, he put his finger to his lips in a motion for silence.

He led her into the shadows of a nearby building.

“What?” Solace asked in a whisper.

Logan’s eyes were locked on the blacksmith’s shop. Three horses were tethered out front. The window covering flickered with light from a burning candle inside the shop. Something was not right. His senses tingled with warning. Something smelled strange. He knew the smell, but the wind dragged it away from his nose before he could place it. He strained to hear the voices again, but could not make out a sound.

From the outside, everything looked calm and normal.

Solace yanked her arm away from him, taking a step forward.

Logan seized her shoulder and dragged her back into the shadows. “Wait,” he whispered urgently in her ear.

The door to the shop opened, and the voices floated out into the night air. Logan couldn’t hear the words, but one melodic voice set his teeth on edge.

A scream ripped through the night, erupting from the open door. The stench assaulted his sense of smell again and Logan reeled back, recognizing the pungent odor of burning flesh. The brand on his cheek throbbed as the unwanted memory of his own agony lurched to the front of his mind.

Solace pushed forward, but Logan caught her around the waist, pulling her farther away.

Two of Barclay’s men exited the shop, carrying a body between them. Inside, the screaming continued.

Logan placed a hand over Solace’s mouth to stifle her horrified gasps of disbelief.

A third man appeared in the doorway, his face hidden in dark shadows. But Logan could still see his features in his mind’s eye. Thin, cruel lips. Cold blue eyes. A once handsome face turned ugly from inside. Logan froze, his muscles tensing, his jaw clenching so tight that his teeth ached.

“I want her found,” the man ordered, stepping into the street.

Logan’s eyes narrowed as the moonlight struck Baron Edwin Barclay’s face.

“She’s in this village. Seal off all the roads. No one is to leave without my knowing about it. If she escapes, I will burn the town to the ground.” Barclay whirled, but suddenly halted. His billowing cape settled around his shoulders. Then he swiveled his head, pinning Logan and Solace to the spot.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

L
ogan felt Solace stiffen in his arms. He tightened his hold on her to keep her absolutely still.

Barclay’s blue eyes seared into the spot they were standing as if he were able to see into the darkness. Finally, he turned and went back into the shop.

For a long moment Logan couldn’t move. He watched as the soldiers threw the body over one of the horses and reentered the blacksmith’s shop. Then three mounted soldiers appeared from behind the shop and, before riding hard into the night, passed not five feet from where Logan and Solace had stood.

Logan exploded into motion, pulling Solace with him. He moved with precision and purpose through the streets. He knew he didn’t have much time. Barclay’s soldiers were setting up guards at the roads even now.

They quickly reached the Wolf’s Inn to find Alexander waiting for them, the horses untethered and ready to ride. “Looks like you stuck a stick in the hornet’s nest,” Alexander mumbled. Logan took the reins from his friend’s hand, and the two of them mounted their horses.

Logan reached down to help Solace mount, but she didn’t offer him her hand. “I can’t leave,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Logan demanded, his horse dancing anxiously beneath him.

“They killed Geoffrey,” she said softly. “I have to help Mitch.”

“What do you think you can do against an armed garrison?” Logan demanded. “You exposed yourself at the inn. What did you think was going to happen? Any fool could see you weren’t a boy!” He extended a hand to her. “Come on.”

She shook her head stubbornly, glancing back at the village.

Alexander’s mount pranced nervously.

Logan saw the tears in her eyes, but there was no time for sympathy. He knew if they stood around much longer they would be trapped. His anger rose. “You should never have gone to the inn. It wouldn’t have taken much to ask a few questions, or follow you and find out where you were staying. It could have been one of the villagers that gave you away. It could have been a mercenary.” He shoved his hand toward her. “Come on!”

“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “I should never have gone to them for help.”

“It’s not important whose fault it is. What’s important is that you’re still alive to fight Barclay.”

Solace raised her eyes to him. Logan saw the pain there, and then he saw her lips clench in firm resolve. She grabbed his hand and he pulled her up behind him, spurring the horse hard toward Cavindale.

***

Castle Fulton’s towers appeared red in the setting sun, as if blood ran from the turrets. The red light splashed through a small arrow slit in one of the towers, casting a bloody cross over Nolan Ryder’s body. He gazed down upon the land with apathetic black eyes.

His long black beard nearly touched the thick leather belt around his waist. “I don’t like doing business like this.”

“Take the terms or leave them,” a woman’s voice said from behind him. “I can find others who will take the job for half the coin.”

Ryder knew this was true, but none were as skilled as he. He rubbed his hand across his mouth, massaging his red lips. “You say she was last seen in Westhaven?”

“Two days ago. It shouldn’t be hard for such a talented tracker as you to pick up her trail.” She jingled the pouch of gold in her hand slightly.

Manipulative bitch, Ryder thought. “I’ll have to bribe many men. There’ll be lodging and food to pay for.” He turned to her. She was a beautiful woman, but there was coldness in her blue eyes that he found even more intriguing. “I need more up front,” he finally said.

Her eyes narrowed. “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll get you what you need. But not a shilling over half of what we agreed to.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

A grin curved her full lips. “But you will.”

“I don’t like killing women,” Ryder professed.

“I don’t give a damn what you like and what you don’t. If you want the gold, you’ll do as I tell you. Do we have a deal?”

Ryder pondered the offer. Kill the girl and get the gold. It shouldn’t be hard. For the coin she was paying, he could hire a man to do the work and oversee the job himself, still have enough to buy a sturdy steed and a wench when it was all over. A grin curved his lips and he bowed slightly. “You have yourself a deal.”

A smile darkened the woman’s face. She pulled a gold-tipped dagger from her belt. She held it out to Ryder, handle first.

“What’s this?” Ryder wondered, taking the dagger from her, studying the finely etched flowers in the black handle.

“You’ll need it,” she answered.

Suspicious, Ryder lifted his gaze to meet hers. “For what?”

“I want her blood on my dagger,” she murmured with a strange glow of excitement in her eyes. “I want you to bring me Solace Farindale’s head.”

***

Solace sat near the bank of the small stream where they had stopped to rest. They had ridden relentlessly for two days, stopping only when necessary. Logan offered no words of sympathy, no condolences, for the loss of her friends.

Geoffrey’s death had been her fault.

The thought sent prickles of pain throughout her body. She had grieved for her friends the first day, silently shedding tears as the horses rode. Now, as she stared down at the clear, calm water, she said a silent prayer for them.

Solace bent to splash water over her face. It was icy cold, but she couldn’t resist the refreshing feeling it gave her. She rubbed the water from her eyes and splashed some of the chill liquid over her neck. A cool breeze whipped around her and she shivered slightly. The Yuletide would be here soon. She wondered how Barclay would treat the pilgrimage of monks that would soon arrive at Castle Fulton. Every year, for as long as she could remember, scores of monks had stopped at Fulton on their way to the Abbey of St. Michael for the holiest of celebrations. Her father had always welcomed them with open arms and tables full of food. Barclay seemed to have respect for the pious. Solace remembered how he treated Father Davis. Maybe the monks would fare well with Barclay. For their sake, she hoped so.