~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* Again I stand against the Faceless Man *
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time Logan had made his way through the maze of the manor the euphoria had utterly disappeared. The place wasn't *really* all that big or important and yet he was still forced to roam the halls for what seemed like an eternity, Reggie hot on his heels the entire way. The man *really* needed to stop talking.
He was led through a pair of heavy wood doors and into a parlor where two men and a woman sat waiting. The one sitting next to the woman smelled a little like Nichole, and shared her hair color in the beard that covered his face. He smiled and rose to his feet when Logan entered the room. The sight of the second man present made the little hairs on the back of Logan's neck rise and a cold shiver to go down his spine. Still seated, the eldest man's crimson robes flowed from him like blood, the only flesh visible his pale hands and face. His eyes were calm and calculating and made Logan think of the battle tacticians he'd seen at the front, always judging how many men they could afford to lose. This man could only be the famed Bishop. It was impossible that they could have found him so soon, and so far away, just impossible...
"Sir Logan?"
He tore his eyes from the priest and shook the offered hand with as steady a grip as he could muster. "It's not 'Sir', like I told yer sister, I don't have a title."
"My sister?"
Reginald stepped forward. "Lady Nichole was reading in the courtyard again, my lord."
"Oh, I see..." he looked at Logan for a long moment, then said eagerly, "Well, proper introductions are still called for, regardless of my friendly sibling. I am Jonathon Blackwood, owner of this manor, and this is my lovely wife Alicia." He put an arm around the woman, and Logan could tell why she hadn't stood up with her husband. She was gigantically pregnant; her stomach so large it looked like it would explode any minute. She smiled shyly at Jonathon's comment and nodded a tired greeting at Logan, obviously too stressed at the moment to manage civil conversation. Jonathon helped arrange her comfortably in the chair again, then turned to introduce the other man.
Before he could speak the Bishop stood, towering over Logan at a full six feet tall. The holy man's cold eyes locked onto his, burning a hole into his mind. His voice was a whisper of the arctic gale making its way through Logan's blood as the man offered his hand. "I am Bishop Fehrsland, it is an honor to meet you." The tone of his voice changed ever so slightly. "That was a very interesting joust you gave earlier. I've never seen anything like it before."
*Oh, God.* "Yeah, well, ya learn somethin' new everyday."
"Yes... yes, you do."
Jonathon continued as if he hadn't noticed the interplay between the two men. "Yes it most certainly was, even though Orin tried his best to make it otherwise."
"He should have known better, and acted like the gentleman he claims he is," the Lady Alicia chimed in from the chair. "My husband told me all about it Logan, and I wish I could have seen it myself but the little princess-"
"*Prince.*"
"-decided *she'd* throw a fit this morning. And don't you start with that, Jon; it's a girl, women know these things."
"A man can hope my darling," he said, trying to hide a grin. "Would you care for a drink Logan?"
The Bishop blinked, and Logan could breath again. The man's eyes were the exact shade of battlefield mud - a deep brown with a bloody red tint. He forced himself to look away. "No, thank you, sire. I really just wanna know what this is all about."
The two men sat back down, and Jonathon poured water for his wife from a nearby decanter, the ever-present smile still gracing his face. "I was very impressed today, as was everyone else present. I was wondering what you were doing in town, and why none of the other nobles hadn't snatched you up for their personal guard yet."
"Just passing through. I needed to get some supplies and I got a little...distracted."
"And Orin's horse is a good prize for a mere *distraction,* yes?"
"Yeah, well, I'm gonna need a horse once winter rolls around."
"You're traveling alone in *this* countryside without a horse? That's rather unusual, not to mention dangerous. Why didn't you already have one?"
*Jonny's a quick one isn't he?* "My old one died on the rode a while back," he lied.
"I see. Logan, I'm going to be frank with you, because I have a feeling that that's the only way I'll be able to say this properly..." His voice trailed off and he looked at his wife once more. She quirked an eyebrow encouragingly and he continued with renewed vigor. "I want you to stay here, at the manor house, for the duration of your stay, which I hope will be for a little while longer than you originally intended."
Warning bells clamored in his mind and Logan's eyes jerked between the Bishop to Blackwood. "Why?"
Jonathon leaned forward in his padded chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. "This land is in trouble, Mister Logan, as you undoubtedly know. War has been raging in France far longer than anyone cares to remember. Because of the blasted cold weather both this year and the last the farmers can't grow any crops and famine is spreading throughout the countryside." His voice grew hushed and he ran a hand through his hair. "And to make matters worse there are rumors of the plague in Ashton, and from there it's only a few days ride to here. The people are miserable, worrying that God has abandoned them...and the nobles are not far off. Marshall law was declared in Endurant just this past month. Unlike the others of my class, I choose to try and help as much as I can. That's why we were having a fair, to brighten their spirits, although many believe it was simply put on to honor the Bishop's presence here- beg pardon your Grace."
"It's quite all right. Do go on, my son."
"The real celebrations for his Grace's arrival will be held as soon as his secondary arrives from further South. We are going to have a masked ball here at the manor. You don't have to look at me like that, I know that seems rather dramatic but my wife and I are really nothing but old romantics at heart." He kissed Alicia's hand and she blushed a deep pink. "The *people* are what's important in this world, not a bunch of aristocratic fools who don't realize that their entire way of life depends on the very peasants they churn under their feet daily. It is *they* who will go off to war with the French if necessary and it is *they* that produce all of the food and labor that benefits *everyone.* It is wholly important that we-"
"This is all very interesting," Logan cut in, sensing a sermon in the making, "but what does all of this have to do with *me*?
Jonathon looked flustered for a moment, as if he thought it was obvious. "Why, the people need a hero Logan, and that hero is you."
Logan felt his skin begin to burn. "What?"
"It really makes perfect sense. The peasants need something to get their blood going, a champion. Someone that comes in and offers hope that their problems are merely a minor inconvenience. To offer them a glimpse of what it is they're working for. Like you did today at that joust. How the crowd reacted to you was remarkable--"
Logan rose to his feet, a fine sheen of sweat dotting his forehead. "Oh, no. I'm no hero. And I'm sure as hell not gonna stay here and let you say I am!" He ran out, pushing the heavy wood door open as if it were made of paper.
Jonathan rose to go after him, but was stopped when Alicia grabbed his arm. "Don't Jon. Not yet." She turned her head toward the door a moment, listening as Logan bullied his way through the house and out the front doors. "There's something wrong with him, Jonathon, can't you tell? He seemed so angry when you called him a hero and yet... Did either of you see his eyes? The man was terrified. He's running from something Jon, and I'm not sure if I want to know what."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The heat of the stables overwhelmed her as she lifted her skirt and entered the building. Bits of hay falling from above her caught in her hair and on the shoulders of her dress. The smell of animals and their food attacked her nose and made her nose itch. The little light that managed to penetrate the gloom barely illuminated the rumps or faces of various horses, and lamps were lit along the walls every so often. Men's voices mixed with the grunts and whinnies of their charges in a cacophony that made her ears ring. It was loud, dark and uncomfortable inside, and Nichole had never wanted to be anywhere else more than she did now.
Nevertheless, she continued through the tight walkway between stalls, looking intently at each horse and man that she passed. She was about to give up hope when she spotted her quarry, standing next to the giant stallion that up to an hour and a half ago belonged to her erstwhile courtier. His back was to her as he fiddled with the new saddle, trying to get all of the straps into place. She watched intently as he shivered slightly and brushed his hand against the back of his neck then gathered her nerve and approached him.
She had come rushing into the sitting room in hopes of finding Logan and was shocked to see her brother brooding in the corner over a glass of brandy, the visiting Bishop retired to his rooms, and her sister-in-law radiating unhappiness. She demanded to know what had happened, and immediately set off towards the stables, praying that she wasn't too late to stop him.
And there he was, merely three feet in front of her. Her feelings from earlier were still a fresh imprint on her mind, making her feel a little dizzy. When he'd appeared out of the branches she almost fainted. It was the man from the joust, *Logan*, and her heart stopped at the sheer beauty in his face. He was not classically handsome, in any sense, but there was something there... His hair was dark and shiny, like a raven's, and lay against his head in a tussled mess, blowing freely in the slight wind of an open door. His features were rough, and caught somewhere between the smoothness of youth and the wrinkles of older men. And yet it was his eyes that drew her so, absorbing her every thought and emotion as if drinking them. They were a deep blue, and held within them a churning mass of raw emotion the likes of which she had never seen, rage and love twisted in the extreme.
At last she had her answer to the question plaguing her since the tournament: this man was a walking contradiction in all of the meanings of the word, and he must carry that horrible burden throughout the rest of his days. The realization made her sick inside. It wasn't right that such a wonderful creature should be forced to suffer so!
And it was while she was looking deep into those cobalt seas that she felt it. A connection, so bright and clear that it was almost painful. She felt wave after wave of sensation flowing between them, mixing and twining until it was impossible to tell the different strings apart. It was so intensely perfect that she nearly wept. And then she knew that *this* was the man she had been waiting for all along. *"It's you,"* she had whispered with relief.
The connection broke and she was whisked back to reality with the sound of his voice, rough and soothing all at once. And then he was gone, and Nichole sat outside, shivering on the marble bench. It was *him,* he'd finally come. Her mind reveled over this marvel for a moment more, and then she gathered her things and raced inside to find him. She had let him leave to see her brother, but she'd be damned if she let him wander off just when she found him. Jon's idea made perfectly good sense, and if he wouldn't listen to *her* then...then she'd simply...steal his horse...or something.
She squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to speak, preparing to prove just how determined she was-
-and then she sneezed.
Logan whirled around, right hand blurring to the hilt of his sword, and sighed when he realized who it was. *Nichole.* His heart stopped beating for a moment and he had to force himself to breathe. *C'mon Logan, stop actin' like a lovesick puppy an' play nice.* "Bless you."
Color spread through her cheeks and she felt her confidence melt into a pool under her shoes. She smiled shyly, trying to keep her nose from running all over. "*sniff!* Thank you. All this hay doesn't agree with me. Maybe that's why I never come in here."
"If you never come in here then why are you here now?"
"*You*," she whispered before she could stop herself. Logan's brows arched minutely, and she almost ran away for fear that he wouldn't listen to her. She steeled her nerves and continued. "You ran out so fast they weren't sure if you were all right. What happened?"
Logan turned back to his horse, not willing to have this conversation with *her*.
Nichole was not to be put off so easily. "Why do you want to leave so badly? Would it really be that horrible staying here for a while?"
He whirled around, and Nichole's heart nearly snapped in two at the hurt written in his eyes. "It's not that, believe me it's not. It's just..." He fumbled with words, not wanting her to run away, or to hate him like the others...
"Why then? Do you not want the responsibility, are you worried that Jonothan won't hold to his deal and treat you fairly? ... Are you married?"
He laughed, and it made him look very young. "No, I'm not married."
*Thank god,* Nichole breathed in relief. "Then why Logan. Tell me what you are so afraid of."
Logan's head snapped in her direction, his pulse pounding in his ears over the insult of fear. His burning gaze met her emerald one and for a moment time seemed to slow, and he knew that if she asked him again he would tell her everything, damnation or not. He should push her away now, while he still had a chance to leave without regret. "I'm not a hero, Nichole. I never was nor ever will be. I'm just a man trying to find a home for himself where he doesn't have to be what anyone tells him to be."
"I think you're wrong Logan." She stepped closer, her eyes locking on his and her small hand coming to rest on his large paw. Her heady scent assaulted Logan and for the second time that day intoxicated him in its loveliness. He reached forward and pulled her closer and was entranced by the shape of her lips as she spoke. "I think you're wrong."
A snort from Brutus interrupted her train of thought, and the sounds of the stable intruded on the couple again. Nichole realized how very near this man she was for the first time, and stepped away, cheeks burning. *Where did *that* come from?* she thought as she tried to catch her breath. She risked a glance at Logan and her heart fell. He wasn't fully facing her again, his eyes closed against her.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," she continued quietly. "You never even have to leave the manor if you do not wish it. I'm sure the guards would love to have you exercise with them in the yard. It will do the people good to know that someone they can trust is here to protect them, even if it's just for a little while." *Too little a while* she thought.
Logan sighed. "I wish I could stay but I-"
"It would do *me* good as well, sir Logan."
His words died in his mouth and he looked at her for the first time since she pulled away. When he had held her...it had felt so right to him that he forgot to be afraid for a moment. And now she was saying that she felt the same about him...
*And how *do* you feel about her Logan? You can't possibly love her - ya just met her an hour ago-*
*Shut up you. I don't know how I feel, other than completely confused.*
Nichole stood silently with her confession, a dusty shaft of sun from a nearby window falling on her. Logan was reminded of some paintings he'd seen in a church, of angels floating down from Heaven to save the weary traveler. The stained glass had shone almost as bright as her eyes did in the light, until it had been smeared by arcs of drying blood--
He took a deep breath, and pushed the images deep inside his mind where they belonged. It would only bring him pain to be near her, he knew, but he also knew that it was too late. His heart would never be the same if he left her now.
"All right, I'll stay. But just for a little while." *And just because you asked me too.*
Nichole grinned and blew a sigh of relief, and then suddenly looked about her, a bit of reality getting through as she finally noticed the stable hands looking far too uninterested in them to be anything but. What was she doing!? She barely knew this man and yet she was practically begging him to stay. She gathered the hem of her dress, and made a polite curtsey to him, backing out of the stable. "Well, I'll see you at dinner then...um, it's in an hour...you will be there won't you?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
She smiled and bumped into the stall holding Alicia's horse Triam. *Ouch! That will leave a mark in the morning!* Cursing her clumsiness, she limped forward, wondering how she could become so flustered over a simple *man*. Logan stared dumbly after her retreating back, wondering exactly what he'd gotten himself into.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*What are you doing here? Do ya have even the foggiest idea? This isn't like you, Logan, jumping straight inta something over a *girl*.*
Logan stopped in front of the door to the dining hall, weighing his options. It was twenty minutes before dinner and the smell of food from the kitchens was so enticing that it was almost sinful, and he hadn't had a good, full meal in a long while. On the other hand, if he did show up to dinner, he would give the impression that he intended to stay, and that was something he could not afford to give.
*Follow your instincts, or your stomach. See? The girl doesn't even have to factor into this decision.*
And yet, despite what he tried to tell himself, he found his thoughts returning more and more to Nichole. The way her face would blossom into roses whenever she was flustered and embarrassed, the way she had stood up to him in the stables, the way she *smelled*. Her scent was all over the manor and grounds, leaving tantalizing glimpses of her wherever he went. *And that's another thing,* the voice of reason whispered in his head, *if you keep sniffin' around like some sorta hound they'll start to get suspicious. And we both know what happened the last time...*
Logan was just about to turn around and head back to the stables when he heard a muffled voice through the door. *Nichole?* The voice fluttered away before he could clearly make it out. Noble women usually made a show of arriving late for everything, and if she was already inside waiting for him...Suspicious or not, he had to know.
He leaned the side of his head against the thick wood and concentrated, willing his hearing to travel beyond the door. He remembered very clearly the first time something like this had happened. He had been eight, and his family hadn't believed him when he announced excitedly that his eldest brother was returning home from a long sea voyage. He had smelled salt on the wind that sunrise, and several hours later could hear the unmistakable thump of heavy boots and horses on the worn trail to their cabin. It was almost as if he was stepping outside of himself, then, letting his senses fly away from him to latch onto anything they came across.
By noon the little group of sailors had arrived, delivering the news that Logan's brother had been lost at sea in a terrible storm. His family had never been the same again. Some nights Logan would catch his mother or father staring at him as if he were some being they had no knowledge of...some demon that might condemn them with the slightest word, the fire pooling with the fear in their eyes. He never mentioned anything like that to them again.
The sensations had *changed* since then, happening more often and with varying degrees of accuracy. Of course, that was when it happened at all. *Work, damn you, work! You kick in when I don't need ya and when I do you vanish? Why won't you do what I say?*
"Hear something, Logan?"
He jumped, cracking his head on the side of the door. Swearing, he rubbed the sore spot and turned to the man behind him. "Nothin' that would interest *you*, yer Grace."
A cool smile played across the Bishop's face. "Ah...but how would you know what interests me, Logan?" The smile disappeared, and the religious leader returned, condescending and humble all at once. "Will you be joining us for dinner? I was under the impression that you would be leaving as soon as was possible."
"As a matter o' fact I was just going in." *You were? News to me.* "After you, Bishie."
"It is the most peculiar thing, Logan," the Bishop said as opened the door. "But that bruise on your forehead has completely disappeared."
The heavy oak slammed closed behind him, and the sound echoed through Logan's quivering body, magnified a thousand fold in his ears.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* Again I stand against the Faceless Man *
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time Logan had made his way through the maze of the manor the euphoria had utterly disappeared. The place wasn't *really* all that big or important and yet he was still forced to roam the halls for what seemed like an eternity, Reggie hot on his heels the entire way. The man *really* needed to stop talking.
He was led through a pair of heavy wood doors and into a parlor where two men and a woman sat waiting. The one sitting next to the woman smelled a little like Nichole, and shared her hair color in the beard that covered his face. He smiled and rose to his feet when Logan entered the room. The sight of the second man present made the little hairs on the back of Logan's neck rise and a cold shiver to go down his spine. Still seated, the eldest man's crimson robes flowed from him like blood, the only flesh visible his pale hands and face. His eyes were calm and calculating and made Logan think of the battle tacticians he'd seen at the front, always judging how many men they could afford to lose. This man could only be the famed Bishop. It was impossible that they could have found him so soon, and so far away, just impossible...
"Sir Logan?"
He tore his eyes from the priest and shook the offered hand with as steady a grip as he could muster. "It's not 'Sir', like I told yer sister, I don't have a title."
"My sister?"
Reginald stepped forward. "Lady Nichole was reading in the courtyard again, my lord."
"Oh, I see..." he looked at Logan for a long moment, then said eagerly, "Well, proper introductions are still called for, regardless of my friendly sibling. I am Jonathon Blackwood, owner of this manor, and this is my lovely wife Alicia." He put an arm around the woman, and Logan could tell why she hadn't stood up with her husband. She was gigantically pregnant; her stomach so large it looked like it would explode any minute. She smiled shyly at Jonathon's comment and nodded a tired greeting at Logan, obviously too stressed at the moment to manage civil conversation. Jonathon helped arrange her comfortably in the chair again, then turned to introduce the other man.
Before he could speak the Bishop stood, towering over Logan at a full six feet tall. The holy man's cold eyes locked onto his, burning a hole into his mind. His voice was a whisper of the arctic gale making its way through Logan's blood as the man offered his hand. "I am Bishop Fehrsland, it is an honor to meet you." The tone of his voice changed ever so slightly. "That was a very interesting joust you gave earlier. I've never seen anything like it before."
*Oh, God.* "Yeah, well, ya learn somethin' new everyday."
"Yes... yes, you do."
Jonathon continued as if he hadn't noticed the interplay between the two men. "Yes it most certainly was, even though Orin tried his best to make it otherwise."
"He should have known better, and acted like the gentleman he claims he is," the Lady Alicia chimed in from the chair. "My husband told me all about it Logan, and I wish I could have seen it myself but the little princess-"
"*Prince.*"
"-decided *she'd* throw a fit this morning. And don't you start with that, Jon; it's a girl, women know these things."
"A man can hope my darling," he said, trying to hide a grin. "Would you care for a drink Logan?"
The Bishop blinked, and Logan could breath again. The man's eyes were the exact shade of battlefield mud - a deep brown with a bloody red tint. He forced himself to look away. "No, thank you, sire. I really just wanna know what this is all about."
The two men sat back down, and Jonathon poured water for his wife from a nearby decanter, the ever-present smile still gracing his face. "I was very impressed today, as was everyone else present. I was wondering what you were doing in town, and why none of the other nobles hadn't snatched you up for their personal guard yet."
"Just passing through. I needed to get some supplies and I got a little...distracted."
"And Orin's horse is a good prize for a mere *distraction,* yes?"
"Yeah, well, I'm gonna need a horse once winter rolls around."
"You're traveling alone in *this* countryside without a horse? That's rather unusual, not to mention dangerous. Why didn't you already have one?"
*Jonny's a quick one isn't he?* "My old one died on the rode a while back," he lied.
"I see. Logan, I'm going to be frank with you, because I have a feeling that that's the only way I'll be able to say this properly..." His voice trailed off and he looked at his wife once more. She quirked an eyebrow encouragingly and he continued with renewed vigor. "I want you to stay here, at the manor house, for the duration of your stay, which I hope will be for a little while longer than you originally intended."
Warning bells clamored in his mind and Logan's eyes jerked between the Bishop to Blackwood. "Why?"
Jonathon leaned forward in his padded chair, leaning his elbows on his knees. "This land is in trouble, Mister Logan, as you undoubtedly know. War has been raging in France far longer than anyone cares to remember. Because of the blasted cold weather both this year and the last the farmers can't grow any crops and famine is spreading throughout the countryside." His voice grew hushed and he ran a hand through his hair. "And to make matters worse there are rumors of the plague in Ashton, and from there it's only a few days ride to here. The people are miserable, worrying that God has abandoned them...and the nobles are not far off. Marshall law was declared in Endurant just this past month. Unlike the others of my class, I choose to try and help as much as I can. That's why we were having a fair, to brighten their spirits, although many believe it was simply put on to honor the Bishop's presence here- beg pardon your Grace."
"It's quite all right. Do go on, my son."
"The real celebrations for his Grace's arrival will be held as soon as his secondary arrives from further South. We are going to have a masked ball here at the manor. You don't have to look at me like that, I know that seems rather dramatic but my wife and I are really nothing but old romantics at heart." He kissed Alicia's hand and she blushed a deep pink. "The *people* are what's important in this world, not a bunch of aristocratic fools who don't realize that their entire way of life depends on the very peasants they churn under their feet daily. It is *they* who will go off to war with the French if necessary and it is *they* that produce all of the food and labor that benefits *everyone.* It is wholly important that we-"
"This is all very interesting," Logan cut in, sensing a sermon in the making, "but what does all of this have to do with *me*?
Jonathon looked flustered for a moment, as if he thought it was obvious. "Why, the people need a hero Logan, and that hero is you."
Logan felt his skin begin to burn. "What?"
"It really makes perfect sense. The peasants need something to get their blood going, a champion. Someone that comes in and offers hope that their problems are merely a minor inconvenience. To offer them a glimpse of what it is they're working for. Like you did today at that joust. How the crowd reacted to you was remarkable--"
Logan rose to his feet, a fine sheen of sweat dotting his forehead. "Oh, no. I'm no hero. And I'm sure as hell not gonna stay here and let you say I am!" He ran out, pushing the heavy wood door open as if it were made of paper.
Jonathan rose to go after him, but was stopped when Alicia grabbed his arm. "Don't Jon. Not yet." She turned her head toward the door a moment, listening as Logan bullied his way through the house and out the front doors. "There's something wrong with him, Jonathon, can't you tell? He seemed so angry when you called him a hero and yet... Did either of you see his eyes? The man was terrified. He's running from something Jon, and I'm not sure if I want to know what."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The heat of the stables overwhelmed her as she lifted her skirt and entered the building. Bits of hay falling from above her caught in her hair and on the shoulders of her dress. The smell of animals and their food attacked her nose and made her nose itch. The little light that managed to penetrate the gloom barely illuminated the rumps or faces of various horses, and lamps were lit along the walls every so often. Men's voices mixed with the grunts and whinnies of their charges in a cacophony that made her ears ring. It was loud, dark and uncomfortable inside, and Nichole had never wanted to be anywhere else more than she did now.
Nevertheless, she continued through the tight walkway between stalls, looking intently at each horse and man that she passed. She was about to give up hope when she spotted her quarry, standing next to the giant stallion that up to an hour and a half ago belonged to her erstwhile courtier. His back was to her as he fiddled with the new saddle, trying to get all of the straps into place. She watched intently as he shivered slightly and brushed his hand against the back of his neck then gathered her nerve and approached him.
She had come rushing into the sitting room in hopes of finding Logan and was shocked to see her brother brooding in the corner over a glass of brandy, the visiting Bishop retired to his rooms, and her sister-in-law radiating unhappiness. She demanded to know what had happened, and immediately set off towards the stables, praying that she wasn't too late to stop him.
And there he was, merely three feet in front of her. Her feelings from earlier were still a fresh imprint on her mind, making her feel a little dizzy. When he'd appeared out of the branches she almost fainted. It was the man from the joust, *Logan*, and her heart stopped at the sheer beauty in his face. He was not classically handsome, in any sense, but there was something there... His hair was dark and shiny, like a raven's, and lay against his head in a tussled mess, blowing freely in the slight wind of an open door. His features were rough, and caught somewhere between the smoothness of youth and the wrinkles of older men. And yet it was his eyes that drew her so, absorbing her every thought and emotion as if drinking them. They were a deep blue, and held within them a churning mass of raw emotion the likes of which she had never seen, rage and love twisted in the extreme.
At last she had her answer to the question plaguing her since the tournament: this man was a walking contradiction in all of the meanings of the word, and he must carry that horrible burden throughout the rest of his days. The realization made her sick inside. It wasn't right that such a wonderful creature should be forced to suffer so!
And it was while she was looking deep into those cobalt seas that she felt it. A connection, so bright and clear that it was almost painful. She felt wave after wave of sensation flowing between them, mixing and twining until it was impossible to tell the different strings apart. It was so intensely perfect that she nearly wept. And then she knew that *this* was the man she had been waiting for all along. *"It's you,"* she had whispered with relief.
The connection broke and she was whisked back to reality with the sound of his voice, rough and soothing all at once. And then he was gone, and Nichole sat outside, shivering on the marble bench. It was *him,* he'd finally come. Her mind reveled over this marvel for a moment more, and then she gathered her things and raced inside to find him. She had let him leave to see her brother, but she'd be damned if she let him wander off just when she found him. Jon's idea made perfectly good sense, and if he wouldn't listen to *her* then...then she'd simply...steal his horse...or something.
She squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to speak, preparing to prove just how determined she was-
-and then she sneezed.
Logan whirled around, right hand blurring to the hilt of his sword, and sighed when he realized who it was. *Nichole.* His heart stopped beating for a moment and he had to force himself to breathe. *C'mon Logan, stop actin' like a lovesick puppy an' play nice.* "Bless you."
Color spread through her cheeks and she felt her confidence melt into a pool under her shoes. She smiled shyly, trying to keep her nose from running all over. "*sniff!* Thank you. All this hay doesn't agree with me. Maybe that's why I never come in here."
"If you never come in here then why are you here now?"
"*You*," she whispered before she could stop herself. Logan's brows arched minutely, and she almost ran away for fear that he wouldn't listen to her. She steeled her nerves and continued. "You ran out so fast they weren't sure if you were all right. What happened?"
Logan turned back to his horse, not willing to have this conversation with *her*.
Nichole was not to be put off so easily. "Why do you want to leave so badly? Would it really be that horrible staying here for a while?"
He whirled around, and Nichole's heart nearly snapped in two at the hurt written in his eyes. "It's not that, believe me it's not. It's just..." He fumbled with words, not wanting her to run away, or to hate him like the others...
"Why then? Do you not want the responsibility, are you worried that Jonothan won't hold to his deal and treat you fairly? ... Are you married?"
He laughed, and it made him look very young. "No, I'm not married."
*Thank god,* Nichole breathed in relief. "Then why Logan. Tell me what you are so afraid of."
Logan's head snapped in her direction, his pulse pounding in his ears over the insult of fear. His burning gaze met her emerald one and for a moment time seemed to slow, and he knew that if she asked him again he would tell her everything, damnation or not. He should push her away now, while he still had a chance to leave without regret. "I'm not a hero, Nichole. I never was nor ever will be. I'm just a man trying to find a home for himself where he doesn't have to be what anyone tells him to be."
"I think you're wrong Logan." She stepped closer, her eyes locking on his and her small hand coming to rest on his large paw. Her heady scent assaulted Logan and for the second time that day intoxicated him in its loveliness. He reached forward and pulled her closer and was entranced by the shape of her lips as she spoke. "I think you're wrong."
A snort from Brutus interrupted her train of thought, and the sounds of the stable intruded on the couple again. Nichole realized how very near this man she was for the first time, and stepped away, cheeks burning. *Where did *that* come from?* she thought as she tried to catch her breath. She risked a glance at Logan and her heart fell. He wasn't fully facing her again, his eyes closed against her.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," she continued quietly. "You never even have to leave the manor if you do not wish it. I'm sure the guards would love to have you exercise with them in the yard. It will do the people good to know that someone they can trust is here to protect them, even if it's just for a little while." *Too little a while* she thought.
Logan sighed. "I wish I could stay but I-"
"It would do *me* good as well, sir Logan."
His words died in his mouth and he looked at her for the first time since she pulled away. When he had held her...it had felt so right to him that he forgot to be afraid for a moment. And now she was saying that she felt the same about him...
*And how *do* you feel about her Logan? You can't possibly love her - ya just met her an hour ago-*
*Shut up you. I don't know how I feel, other than completely confused.*
Nichole stood silently with her confession, a dusty shaft of sun from a nearby window falling on her. Logan was reminded of some paintings he'd seen in a church, of angels floating down from Heaven to save the weary traveler. The stained glass had shone almost as bright as her eyes did in the light, until it had been smeared by arcs of drying blood--
He took a deep breath, and pushed the images deep inside his mind where they belonged. It would only bring him pain to be near her, he knew, but he also knew that it was too late. His heart would never be the same if he left her now.
"All right, I'll stay. But just for a little while." *And just because you asked me too.*
Nichole grinned and blew a sigh of relief, and then suddenly looked about her, a bit of reality getting through as she finally noticed the stable hands looking far too uninterested in them to be anything but. What was she doing!? She barely knew this man and yet she was practically begging him to stay. She gathered the hem of her dress, and made a polite curtsey to him, backing out of the stable. "Well, I'll see you at dinner then...um, it's in an hour...you will be there won't you?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
She smiled and bumped into the stall holding Alicia's horse Triam. *Ouch! That will leave a mark in the morning!* Cursing her clumsiness, she limped forward, wondering how she could become so flustered over a simple *man*. Logan stared dumbly after her retreating back, wondering exactly what he'd gotten himself into.
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*What are you doing here? Do ya have even the foggiest idea? This isn't like you, Logan, jumping straight inta something over a *girl*.*
Logan stopped in front of the door to the dining hall, weighing his options. It was twenty minutes before dinner and the smell of food from the kitchens was so enticing that it was almost sinful, and he hadn't had a good, full meal in a long while. On the other hand, if he did show up to dinner, he would give the impression that he intended to stay, and that was something he could not afford to give.
*Follow your instincts, or your stomach. See? The girl doesn't even have to factor into this decision.*
And yet, despite what he tried to tell himself, he found his thoughts returning more and more to Nichole. The way her face would blossom into roses whenever she was flustered and embarrassed, the way she had stood up to him in the stables, the way she *smelled*. Her scent was all over the manor and grounds, leaving tantalizing glimpses of her wherever he went. *And that's another thing,* the voice of reason whispered in his head, *if you keep sniffin' around like some sorta hound they'll start to get suspicious. And we both know what happened the last time...*
Logan was just about to turn around and head back to the stables when he heard a muffled voice through the door. *Nichole?* The voice fluttered away before he could clearly make it out. Noble women usually made a show of arriving late for everything, and if she was already inside waiting for him...Suspicious or not, he had to know.
He leaned the side of his head against the thick wood and concentrated, willing his hearing to travel beyond the door. He remembered very clearly the first time something like this had happened. He had been eight, and his family hadn't believed him when he announced excitedly that his eldest brother was returning home from a long sea voyage. He had smelled salt on the wind that sunrise, and several hours later could hear the unmistakable thump of heavy boots and horses on the worn trail to their cabin. It was almost as if he was stepping outside of himself, then, letting his senses fly away from him to latch onto anything they came across.
By noon the little group of sailors had arrived, delivering the news that Logan's brother had been lost at sea in a terrible storm. His family had never been the same again. Some nights Logan would catch his mother or father staring at him as if he were some being they had no knowledge of...some demon that might condemn them with the slightest word, the fire pooling with the fear in their eyes. He never mentioned anything like that to them again.
The sensations had *changed* since then, happening more often and with varying degrees of accuracy. Of course, that was when it happened at all. *Work, damn you, work! You kick in when I don't need ya and when I do you vanish? Why won't you do what I say?*
"Hear something, Logan?"
He jumped, cracking his head on the side of the door. Swearing, he rubbed the sore spot and turned to the man behind him. "Nothin' that would interest *you*, yer Grace."
A cool smile played across the Bishop's face. "Ah...but how would you know what interests me, Logan?" The smile disappeared, and the religious leader returned, condescending and humble all at once. "Will you be joining us for dinner? I was under the impression that you would be leaving as soon as was possible."
"As a matter o' fact I was just going in." *You were? News to me.* "After you, Bishie."
"It is the most peculiar thing, Logan," the Bishop said as opened the door. "But that bruise on your forehead has completely disappeared."
The heavy oak slammed closed behind him, and the sound echoed through Logan's quivering body, magnified a thousand fold in his ears.
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