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

the wounded and comforting the families of the dead. Four people had been killed in the attack, including the miller.
    Guilt filled her throughout the day as her mind refused to dwell on the dead and the wounded. To her dismay, her thoughts continued to dwell on steel eyes and the persistent sensation of a hard chest pressed tightly against her breasts. The thoughts were distracting, annoying and… totally overpowering.
    She wiped a strand of hair from her eyes. She hadn’t even had an opportunity to thank him. Solace rose, setting aside her meal, and moved out of the Great Hall. It was late, but maybe he’d still be awake.
    She left the keep and headed for the mews. The moon had risen, giving the empty inner ward an eerie glow, a ghostly deserted look. As she passed the mews, the silence of the night was loud in her ears; even the falcons were still. She moved toward the sleeping areas next to the mews and entered the small building. She stood in the narrow entranceway, first glancing at the closed door to her left, then to the one on her right. One room would house Old Ben, the other the falconer. She realized suddenly that she didn’t even know his name. A resolve filled her. She would find out his name. Now. But she paused between the doors. Which one? she wondered. Which was his? She looked at each door as if a simple glance could tell her. Then, taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and knocked on the door to her right. The door creaked open slowly. Solace stood with her hand raised, staring into the darkness of the room. “Hello?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper. The quiet stretched on.
    She tried to see into the room, but blackness blanketed it. “Ben?” she queried. She reached out to touch the door. Something seemed strange. Why was the door open? Maybe Old Ben was sick or hurt. Solace eased the door open and stepped into the room. “Is anyone here?”
    She stood for a long moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but without windows it was almost impossible. Then, she noticed a stray moonbeam shining in through two warped pieces of wood. She stepped into the light. The thin sliver of moonlight illuminated a small table, and Solace could see a candle and flint sitting on its surface.
    She lit the candle. As the flickering light spread over the small room, the cloak of darkness fell from it and her gaze moved over to the sleeping area. The bed, a pile of hay covered by a thin blanket, was empty. Beside it was a sack tied shut with a rope. But it wasn’t until she noticed the black-winged falcon sleeping on its perch that she knew she was in the falconer’s room.
    A strange shiver shot through her. I should leave, she thought. I shouldn’t be here. She bent to blow the candle out, but a flash of light from the hay caught her attention and she halted. She turned her head to gaze in confusion at the hay where the falconer slept. Was it fire? she wondered. Something was shining dully in the light. But it didn’t spread like fire. It reflected the candlelight back at her. She took a step toward the bed, reached out and carefully shifted the straw. For a long moment she could only stare at what she had discovered.
    It was the blade of a highly polished sword. What would a falconer be doing with a sword? A shiver of apprehension coursed through her as she pushed the hay farther away from the weapon, revealing the full length of the sword. Solace picked the weapon up, needing two hands to lift its weight, and placed it on her lap to study it. The leather grip covering the handle was well worn. A red jewel adorned the bottom of the handle, its deep color absorbing the candlelight, giving it a lustrous glow. Just above the guard, etched in the silver of the blade, was a crest. Two crossed swords over a full moon. Solace frowned slightly. She had seen that crest somewhere before. But where?
    Again the question came to her mind: what was a falconer doing with a sword? Was he a thief?