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

short of the head table, facing her stepmother, Beth and Graham. The conversation in the room gradually trailed off as everyone in the room waited to hear her flare of temper. Logan leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. The falcon on his shoulder shifted position, it, too, looking toward the head table.
    Solace clenched and unclenched her fists.
    Slowly, Graham raised his gaze from the trencher of porridge before him. When his eyes came upon Solace, he smiled beatifically at her.
    Solace stepped up on the platform that elevated the head table. “I should have you clapped in irons!” Solace exploded with a barely reined fury.
    “Solace!” Alissa hissed.
    Solace placed her clenched hands on the table, leaning toward Graham. “What gives you the right to command my guards not to tell me about a murderer?”
    “A murderer?” Alissa blanched.
    Logan froze, straining to hear the conversation as the entire room erupted in a flurry of astonished whispers.
    “M’lady,” Graham said calmly, “I was only trying to protect –”
    “Protect my sister. Protect my mother. But I need no protection from you.”
    “What is this about a murderer?” Alissa asked, her voice hushed but firm.
    “The dungeon guard was found with his head smashed,” Graham replied.
    The next few exchanges were washed out as murmurs of disbelief swept through the Great Hall. Logan clenched his fists, desperately trying to hear the conversation. The rumblings ebbed quickly, and he heard Solace ask, “Were there any prisoners missing?”
    “No,” Graham answered, leaning back in his chair. “That was the strange thing about it. The poor man wasn’t even robbed.”
    Solace straightened away from the table. “Did any of the prisoners see or hear anything?”
    Logan’s hand closed around his mug of ale. If they said anything, he would have to make another, more dangerous visit to the dungeon. He lifted the mug to his lips. He drank the ale, but didn’t taste it.
    “None of them are talking,” Graham said. “My dear, you needn’t concern yourself with this. I’m handling it.”
    “You?” Solace gasped. “You couldn’t handle a murderer if you held a sword to his throat!”
    “Solace!” Alissa hissed.
    “Solace, I’m here and I plan to help with the siege in any way I can,” Graham said in a slippery voice.
    “Then why aren’t you helping guard the castle walls?” she demanded.
    “I feel I can be more helpful inside.”
    “Solace,” Alissa said, firmly, “that will be all. Graham is quite right. This is a man’s job. You can’t possibly handle the guards in a time of siege. Much less a killer. Good heavens, what would you do if you found out who it was?” As she laughed, Logan’s spine stiffened. He couldn’t stand her condescending tone. “Tell him to stop killing your people... please?”
    Graham joined in the laughter.
    Solace glared at her stepmother. “No,” she whispered.
    “Go, child,” Alissa said, flicking her wrist as if swatting away an annoying fly. “Go practice your embroidery.”
    Solace stood motionless for a long moment. Logan felt her anguish. He felt her embarrassment. She should say something, he thought. Defend herself.
    But she didn’t utter a word.
    Solace turned away and moved out of the Great Hall, holding her head high. Logan watched her go. Impulsively, he rose and strolled after her into the hallway outside the Great Hall. He found her pacing back and forth, her arms straight as pins, her fists clenched into balls. She was murmuring as she moved, shaking her head and twisting her features in a mockery of someone.
    Logan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. A grin came to his lips as he watched her stomp back and forth, a bloom of hot red coloring her cheeks. She was enchanting in her anger. His eyes devoured her slender form as he heard her mutter, “How dare he? Order my own men to keep secrets from me? My people are in danger!” He watched her storm five steps and spin