The Lady and the Falconer (40 page)

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.

Barclay scowled. He wished he could have been there. He wished he could have seen what had transpired to douse that indomitable spirit. Still, he caught a flash in her large green eyes that made him wonder.

“Good eve, lady Solace,” Barclay said smoothly.

After a short moment, Solace thrust her bound hands toward him. “These are not necessary.”

Barclay shrugged slightly. “After your previous escape, I have little choice.”

She lowered her hands in acceptance.

“Come,” he ordered. “Warm yourself by my side.”

She moved, as he commanded, to his side. When he reached out to touch her waist, she was pleasantly pliable. He grinned, wondering if he shouldn’t bed her now before the fight returned to her. No. He liked a woman who fought. “I must tell you what an absolute treat it was to hear you had simply strolled into a village and found my men. I had garrisons of them out patrolling every village from here to London. And my little dove simply walks into my hands.”

Solace stared at the fire. Shadows and light danced across her soft features.

“I must wonder if this is some sort of trap.”

Something crossed her face, a memory, perhaps. “No trap,” she finally replied. “I want you to become rightful lord of Fulton. I want no one to question your claim to these lands.”

“And so they shall not,” Barclay agreed. He took her hand into his own and pressed a hearty kiss to her knuckles. “Shall we say in two weeks time?”

Solace nodded once.

“I would do it at once, but Father Davis insisted we make it a Yuletide wedding,” he encouraged. “That way our union will be doubly blessed.”

***

“Solace, I can’t believe you truly want to wed this man.” Father Davis stood before her, his hands clasped over his large belly, his deep brown eyes staring at her with concern. His voice seemed to echo inside the cavernous chapel. “At least I succeeded in postponing the wedding a few weeks. To give you time to really think about this.”

Solace noticed the elaborate renovations to the chapel. A golden altar had been added, a huge statue of the Virgin Mary. It was those cold, unseeing eyes she met, instead of Father Davis’s. Solace turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around herself. Before her, a row of cream-colored cherub statues watched her from atop their intricately carved pedestals. And even though the stone angels had empty slits for eyes, she felt disapproving stares emanating from them. She suddenly felt a chill. She had never lied to Father Davis before and she certainly couldn’t do it in the chapel.

“He is one of the most heartless men I have ever met,” Father Davis added.

Solace whirled to him, her back straightening. “Did he hurt you?”

“Me?” Father Davis echoed in surprise. “No. Not me. But I’m certainly one of the few he hasn’t. Have you seen any of the villagers?”

She hadn’t been allowed out of her room for two days. Barclay was afraid she would run. Finally, she had been escorted to the chapel and allowed to see Father Davis. Three guards were waiting outside to bring her back to her prison of a room when she was done.

“He starves them, Solace,” Father Davis said gently. “He stole the crops when he entered Fulton, and now with the weather getting cold and no food...” Father Davis’s voice trailed off as he bowed his head and shook it. “We pray it will be a mild winter.”

Solace dropped her hands to her sides. The villagers. She was glad she had returned. Perhaps somehow she could get them food. At least the sick ones and the ones with children. “That’s why I’m marrying him. Perhaps I can soften his heart.”

“Child, no one can soften his heart. He lusts for glory on earth and glory in heaven.” Father Davis again shook his head. “He gives gold to the church, but he is cold and merciless. Look what he did to your stepmother.” Father Davis raised Solace’s chin with his finger. “He will show you no kindness.”

A chill of doom slithered up Solace’s spine. “And I ask for none.”

Father Davis shook his head, rubbing his tired eyes. “Do you love him?”

Solace sought desperately for the right answer. “My sister is fond of him.”

Father Davis snorted. “Lady Beth has as much sense as a jackass.”

Solace couldn’t resist a smile.

“It’s good to see you smile, Solace,” Father Davis commented quietly. “Fulton has become a castle of gloom since you left. Tell me of your journeys.” Father Davis moved over to a bench and sat down, patting the stone beside him.

Solace moved to him, sitting next to him.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“To Cavindale,” she replied, glancing down at her slippered feet.

“Cavindale? That’s so far from here! You traveled alone?”

“No.”

She sensed Father Davis studying her face, but kept her eyes averted, running a finger across a gash in the stone bench.

“Who did you travel with?”

A permanent sorrow seemed to sweep her into a cocoon of emptiness. “Logan Grey.”

Father Davis drew in a sharp breath. “Logan? Could it be?” He clasped his hands gently before him. “Peter’s brother?”

Solace nodded, a strand of dark hair falling over her shoulder. “He was the falconer.”

“The falconer,” Father Davis echoed absently. “All that time, and I didn’t even recognize him.” He turned his attention back to Solace. “My prayers have been answered.” He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s coming to take Fulton, isn’t he?”

“He might be, Father,” Solace said. “But by the time he arrives, it will be too late.”

“Too late?” Father Davis exclaimed. “But surely you can hold Barclay off!”

“I don’t want to,” Solace whispered. “I don’t want Logan to have Fulton.”

“But, child, he’s our only hope.”

“He killed my father,” Solace said defensively, turning her head to look at him hotly.

As they locked eyes, Father Davis groaned softly. He suddenly looked decades older.

Solace knelt before Father Davis, taking his hand in her own. “You have to marry us, Father. I want you to.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me,” he whispered. “I don’t want to see another one of my beloved children hurt.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve lived at Fulton for a long time. I’m an old man, Solace. I watched Peter and Logan grow up. I loved them as I do you. And when your father came, I watched their family destroyed. They were my children. The same as you are. I cannot stand by and watch you do this. I can not marry you.”

Desperately, Solace buried her forehead against his hands. “Please, Father.”

“Go, child,” he said in a steely voice. “If you still wish to marry Barclay after you see what he’s done, then I will marry you.” He patted her head, gently. “Go visit Peter and care for him again.”

“Peter?” Solace gasped. “He’s here? Where? Where is he?”

Father Davis’s brown eyes darkened. “In the dungeon.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

T
he following day Barclay guided Solace down the narrow stairs leading into the darkness of the dungeon. His large form obscured her vision of the interior of the prison, but she could hear the moans rising out of the blackness. Before her feet hit the dirt floor of the dungeon, the groans and calls for mercy were already ringing loudly in her ears. She froze, her hands instinctively reaching out to the walls for support. The smells of charred flesh and urine assaulted her, and she had to fight down the strong urge to race back up the stairs.

Barclay turned to her. In the flickering torchlight, Solace saw the smile on his lips, a smile more horrible than the cries of the tortured, more horrible than the darkness that awaited her. He was enjoying this. At the thought, terror gripped her. She now understood why he had voiced no objection to her seeing Peter. He was actually enjoying watching the torment play across her features. She froze, unable to move. She didn’t want to see the transformation that the dark power of the dungeon had made in its captives. She didn’t want to see her people, her men, chained and hobbled like animals.

The Baron’s grin grew, his blue eyes sparkling with dark satisfaction. He wanted her afraid; he wanted to see her terror.

With this understanding came her resolve not to give in. Solace hid her fear behind a wall of resolution and a stone face. Barclay’s grin slipped a notch and he moved on, escorting her deeper into the bowels of hell. The already-grotesque smell worsened as they moved into the heart of the dungeon. In the guard’s area, Barclay stopped to speak to the man stationed there.