The Lady and the Falconer by Laurel O'Donnell Page A

Sullivan’s Hill. Then, he would return home...
    But he never made I back.
     
    Quickly, Logan pushed the bitter memories out of his mind. Instead, he concentrated on Farindale’s downfall. It wouldn’t be long now. He just needed to find his brother.
    And to do that he must find her. Solace. But how was he, a common falconer, going to impress the lady enough to get her to tell him where his brother was? Perhaps the best approach was the direct one. ‘Hello, m’lady. You don’t know me, but I’m looking for my brother. Yes, we’d like to kill your father, but pay that no mind.’
    He groaned softly. How could he ask her when she was the daughter of his enemy? Perhaps he could say Peter was a friend. But what if he was locked in the stocks? How would it look for him to be searching for a man who was Farindale’s enemy?
    Perhaps he should just keep his mouth closed and his eyes and ears open. But where had that gotten him? He could be here for years.
    The thought of soft hands and full lips rose in his mind. He cursed silently. The wretched beauty’s image had plagued him the entire day. Her stubborn stance against her mother was admirable. And when the woman had struck Solace, a peculiar feeling of protectiveness had surged inside him. Logan had even found himself stepping forward.
    And now, late at night, instead of trying to formulate a plan to find his brother, he was thinking of her large green eyes and wondering what her full lips tasted like.
    Why did it have to be Farindale’s daughter that he thought of? Why couldn’t it be some wench who would sate his lusting so he could get on with his mission? Why couldn’t it be her sister? She seemed willing enough, rubbing herself along the length of him, making it quite apparent she was more than interested in him. But he was not in the least attracted to her. He had seen her kind before, nobility with no honor, no loyalties. He found himself sneering at the thought of Beth. She was, indeed, beautiful. But her blue eyes held no warmth, no compassion, no sincerity. He could take her and enjoy it as much as taking a warthog.
    Suddenly, the falcon on his shoulder shifted its weight slightly, and he could feel its claws press into the leather patch he had sewn onto his tunic. Logan glanced at it for a moment. Its brown eyes were wide and alert.
    Logan glanced out of the slit in the scaffold, wondering what had caught the bird’s attention. Barclay’s soldiers continued their work on their siege machines. Logan took a step to the other side of the hoarding to peer over the crenel of the castle wall. His eyes scanned the courtyard below. Torches hung near the outer gatehouse, throwing patches of light into the deserted ward.
    It wasn’t until she stepped into a pool of light that Logan saw her exiting the gatehouse. He scowled. Now what would a lady be doing out this late at night? And why would she be in the gatehouse? What was Solace up to?
     
     
    ***
     
     
    The next morning, Logan sat alone at the end of a table in the Great Hall, as always. The peasants never sat near him and his bird, leaving him in peace. Which was fine with Logan. Fewer people to have to be cautious of. A serving girl reached around him to refill his mug, then moved on down the table. He dipped a sop into his trencher and chewed on the porridge-soaked piece of bread. The falcon eyed the food with interest and Logan tossed him a small chunk of meat.
    The falcon lifted its head, and Logan followed its gaze to see Solace marching up the aisle between the rows of tables that filled the Great Hall. He straightened on the bench as he noticed her tiny fists were clenched, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed with anger. A grin twitched his lips and his eyes twinkled with amusement as he wondered who was going to be on the receiving end of her wrath. As she marched toward the head table, servants stepped out of the path of the approaching fury and hounds slunk under tables for cover.
    She stopped just