Creating Memories - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 6)

by Shea,Lisa

  She broke off and looked away in shame, the pressure of the filthy pair of hands touching her becoming more real.

  The older woman, who had been watching the exchange in patient silence, patted her on the shoulder. “Well, that is all over now, missus,” she soothed reassuringly, sparing a scolding glance for Falcon. Her voice became more firm as she turned to speak to him. “Perhaps you can continue this later?”

  “Perhaps you are right,” responded Falcon reasonably, untouched by her tone. “She will not be going anywhere any time soon. This weather is going to keep us shut in for a while.” He brought his gaze down to the bed. “We will have to call you something, until you get your memory back,” he mused with a wry smile. “Any suggestions?”

  Her mind was an absolute blank. No images, no visions, no glimmer at all appeared. Finally she sighed. “You saved my honor and undoubtedly my life as well. You can decide what name I go by until my own returns to me.”

  His smile gentled, and he nodded. “As you wish,” he agreed. He looked her over slowly, carefully, a distant look coming to his eyes. A gust of wind hammered at the shutters, giving them a rusty rattle, and he turned to gaze at them for a long moment. His face stilled in focus.

  “When we found you,” he commented, half under his breath, “the man assaulting you had cheeks furrowed with fresh scratch marks. You had apparently fought him like a wildcat before he knocked you unconscious. What do you think of the name Storm, to symbolize both this torrential downpour we found you in, as well as the fiery strength you hold within you?”

  She rolled the name around in her mind, and it connected with something deep within her. She nodded, her shoulders easing. It was something, at least, to have a name. It was the first step.

  He paused for a long moment, looking her over, his gaze somber. “Rest well, Storm.” Turning on his heel, he headed out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.

  The grey-haired woman bustled around the bed, her simple brown dress swaying as she moved. “Do not mind him, missus,” she clucked as she tidied up the room. “Lord Falcon means well, even though he sometimes has the manners of a goatherd. After all, they did bring you back here to safety. We will take care of you now, and help you heal up.

  She finished settling the covers in place, then nodded. “Rest is what you need. There is a mug of cider on the table if you get thirsty. Are you feeling hungry at all?”

  Storm shook her head no, wincing at the pain that the motion brought. Suddenly it seemed as if her energy had drained out of her, leaving only a limp shell behind. The woman sensed her mood and headed toward the door.

  “I will leave you to rest now. Call out if you need me; my room is right down the hall.” She closed the door quietly behind her as she left. Storm was abandoned with her swirling thoughts.

  Storm sighed deeply, stretching her hands out in front of her. They were strong, well worn, not thin and delicate. Her arms were smoothly toned, firm, and tanned. She was a working girl, then. Perhaps she was the daughter of an innkeeper?

  Her eyes lingered on her hands, on the small silver ring circled with blue forget-me-not flowers. She twirled the ring with her thumb, contemplating it. Was she married? Engaged? She could not remember the faces of any loved ones, but that meant little right now.

  She snuggled more deeply into the covers as her eyes closed. Outside her windows she could hear the fierce thrumming of the wind, but within these walls she was safe. She slid her hand idly under the pillow, then stopped as exhaustion overtook her. Whoever she was, she was warm right now, and tired ... oh so tired ...

  Chapter 4

  The wind was howling outside her windows when Storm awoke again. She felt slightly better, and after taking her time to fully awaken, she swiveled to sit at the side of her bed. From where she sat she could lean forward and push one of the shutters open part way. She ran her hand along the stone sill for a moment. The window base and wall were slightly curved, as if the keep she was in was rounded. The thought intrigued her.

  She turned her attention back to the window. A steady stream of heavy rain blew diagonally across her field of vision. The sky was dark grey and layered with thick, billowing clouds. She could see through the dense rain that her room was on the second floor and faced the inside walls of an enclosed courtyard. A large two-story wooden building was across to the right, and a series of small huts and structures were scattered to the left. A pair of enclosed watchtowers marked the two forward corners of the surrounding stone wall.

  Beyond the front wall, a small town spread neatly along a stream, nestled among gently rolling hills and fields. The far end of the fields met a thick forest. Everything appeared peaceful and quiet in its blanket of grey fog; steady streams of black smoke rose from the scattering of homes.

  Storm spotted movement below; a group of soldiers emerged from one of the larger buildings on the left and began drilling in the rain, using sword and spear in a well-coordinated attack. Storm watched them for a while, enjoying the give and take, admiring the form and skill of some of the men. It was hard to distinguish faces from here, but she thought she recognized Falcon’s build at one end, providing instruction to one of the other men. His movements were quick and sure, and his demeanor was, at least from this distance, a patient and encouraging one.

  A knock sounded on her door, and Storm spun to look, her hand falling to her hip. She looked down absently, wondering what it was she sought there. The middle-aged woman poked her head around the slowly opening door, then smiled as she saw Storm was awake.

  Storm took a better look at her new friend. The woman was perhaps forty-five, well fed, showing smile lines that reflected a cheerful disposition. Today she was wearing a simple but finely woven burgundy dress.

  The woman spoke in a friendly tone. “I have brought a tub for a bath here; do you feel up to it?”

  Storm nodded her approval cheerfully; her hands were coated with dirt, and she imagined the rest of her body was in similar shape. Looking up at the woman, a thought suddenly entered Storm’s head, and her face reddened in embarrassment. “You know, I do not even know your name! I had never thought to ask!” Storm’s face fell in consternation.

  “Mary is my name, and I am the head maid for the keep,” responded the woman agreeably, walking over to her side. “Please, do not worry yourself about that. Many of the ladies who stay here do not even consider asking.” She patted Storm’s hand.

  Storm glanced at up at that comment, her heart twisting in dismay at the image of woman after woman passing through this room. She wondered why she felt so strongly upset by the idea. She gave herself a small shake and forced her tone to reflect light curiosity.

  “So Falcon has a steady stream of female visitors, does he?”

  Mary shook her head. “Oh, nothing like that, missus. The wives of his allies come sometimes, when the menfolk are discussing a treaty or addressing the bandit situation. Lord Falcon has not had any women here to visit him, in a courting sense, for many years. Not since –”

  Her face reddened, and she took in a breath. “Here I am prattling on, when you wanted that bath drawn.” She turned and helped to supervise the male servants who first brought in a large, wooden tub, and then ferried in a series of buckets of warm water.

  Storm held her tongue, unwilling to press a servant about the doings of her master. In short order the bath was ready, and once the men had left, Storm gently shooed Mary out as well, insisting that she would be fine on her own.

  When the door was firmly shut and bolted, Storm carefully stripped off her clothing, acutely aware of her weakness and lack of balance. She placed a towel to one side where it would be within easy reach, and then gently eased herself into the warm water.

  Storm stretched her head back in relaxation, moving slowly to minimize the throbbing. The room was blissfully quiet, with only the crackling of the fire and the softly calling wind outside to ruffle her thoughts. She wondered how she used to live if she found this to be so peaceful.
/>
  Languorously, she gazed at the richness of her surroundings. The bed’s frame and posts were created with finely carved oak. The side table was also fine wood, and held a grey marble washbasin and pewter tankard. The dresser with its silver mirror and brush had been polished until it shone.

  Storm knew she was not used to this, but she also sensed that she had been in a keep before. She could recognize the style of construction of the stone and understood the function of the keystone above the door. The open courtyard, defensive walls, and efficient layout below had seemed quite natural. Perhaps she was a steward’s daughter? A cook’s assistant? Anything was possible. She only hoped that she was not associated with the bandits.

  Storm sighed and stretched to submerge herself further beneath the waters. She would need to be patient. If nothing else, when the messenger returned from North Walsham she would – hopefully - know for sure. In the meantime, she would try to see what she could remember on her own.

  She looked again at her arms. They were definitely not those of any noble woman she could imagine. The muscles of her forearms and the calluses on her hands were plain to see. Small dents and bruises told of an active life. Perhaps her legs would give a hint; she raised them up out of the water to examine them.

  Turning her right leg, she stopped in surprise. A long, twisting scar showed along the right calf – not fresh, but perhaps three or four years old. She knew at once that it was a sword cut. She ran one finger down it, lost in thought. Had her family been attacked by bandits?

  She pressed away the thought that perhaps this was further proof that she, herself, was a bandit wench, skilled with the sword and aiding in attacks. She could not allow herself to believe that.

  She deliberately went about the task of rinsing the thick layers of dirt and sweat from her body, using the wood ash soap held in a small pottery jar. She paid special attention to her hands, to the deep brown material caked beneath her fingernails. Again she found herself examining the ring, giving it a gentle spin, looking at the small blue flowers with a mixture of interest and frustration. Why could she not remember the tiniest thing about this ring?

  She brought it closer to her face. She tried to imagine an adoring husband holding her hand in his, sliding the ring on her finger, and gazing into her eyes.

  Nothing. There was not even the slightest indication that any such man lurked in her walled-off memories.

  She ran a finger along the silver circle. Perhaps a distant knight, off in the Holy Land, had given this to her to remember him by?

  Again, despite her best efforts, not even a hint of feeling tickled her heart.

  She sighed, laying back against the wall of the tub. She would have to be patient with herself, to give her mind time to heal.

  When the water finally began to cool, Storm mustered her strength to climb out of the tub. She slowly toweled herself off, lost in thought. She prayed with every ounce of her being that she wasn’t involved with the bandits. With all Falcon and Mary had done for her, she did not want them to have inadvertently rescued one of the enemy. It seemed a foul way to repay their kindness.

  Storm went to the bed where Mary had laid out three new dressing gowns from which to choose. She ran her hands over the fabrics in awe. She knew she had never felt anything like this before. The softness and quality were mesmerizing. Then there were the colors – vibrant and rich. There was a twilight blue, a moss green, and a deep burgundy dress, all in a fitting size. Storm donned the blue one, then, feeling weary, crawled back over to the bed.

  Mary came in a short while later, and after supervising the removal of the bath gear, went to fetch some chicken soup on a wooden tray. She helped Storm move into a sitting position, then sat patiently by the window on a small wooden stool. Storm eagerly drank up the warm broth, lifting the small wooden bowl to her mouth with both hands.

  Steady footsteps sounded in the hall, and in a moment Falcon walked into the room, brushing the rain off his hair. “So you are up and about, Storm?” he asked, reviewing her appearance. “You look more alert – the soup and sleep seem to have done you some good.”

  Storm put the bowl down and wiped her mouth on the nearby napkin. “That was delicious. Thank you very much for your hospitality,” she responded with careful politeness. “I still feel worn down, but I am not as exhausted as I was before.”

  Storm was comfortable in this room, and did not want to leave her oasis. However, looking up at her rescuer, she could read the open hesitation in his eyes. She made her decision. “I am sure I am ready to move, if you wish it. Maybe there is an inn in town -”

  “No!” called out both Falcon and Mary in unison. Falcon took a step forward, his face suddenly apologetic. “I am sorry if I am a bit rough in manner. I am unused to having female visitors here. With the bandits -”

  Storm shook her head even as he was speaking. “There is no need to apologize, Lord Falcon. You have already gone out of your way to rescue me and nurse me back to health. I do not wish to be a burden in any way. It does not feel right, lying around idle like this.”

  Falcon gave a short laugh. “Maybe you cannot see the lump on your head, but believe me, that is an injury well worth tending. Stay put and heal up. That is your task for now. Do not waste the effort we have put into having you mend properly.” He softened this last line with a wry grin, and Storm found herself smiling in return.

  “As you wish,” she replied, nodding in acquiescence. “Still, there must be something I can do while I lie here.” She cast around in her mind for a task that could be done while sitting stationary, without the benefit of good light. “I could polish some silver -”

  A shadow crossed over Falcon’s face, and he shook his head. “You just rest, and we will take it from there,” he responded curtly. He nodded, then turned and left. His footsteps faded as he moved down the hall.

  Storm realized belatedly that, with Falcon harboring the thought that she was in league with the bandits, asking to get her hands on the silver was probably not the wisest move she could have made. She looked up at Mary, contrite. “I only meant -”

  Mary patted her hands before leaning over to take the tray from the bed. “I know, dearie,” she chuckled soothingly. “Never you mind him. Just lay back and get some more rest now. Your body needs to heal.”

  Storm did feel sleepy again, now that she was clean and full of warm soup. She nodded in agreement. Mary moved to the window and settled the shutter back in its secure position. The room was bathed in darkness, with only the fireplace emitting a soft glow. Storm slid one hand beneath her pillow, and in short order she was fast asleep.

  Chapter 5

  The gentle tolling of a church bell woke Storm from her restless dreams. Was it Sunday? She wearily moved her way to the window, pressing open the shutter and gazing through the heavy rain down at the small chapel below. Indeed, the keep’s inhabitants were slowly making their way through large puddles toward the stone building. Storm had pushed herself halfway into dressing before Mary came in and shooed her back to bed.

  “I am sure the priest will not mind at all coming up to pray with you later,” she reassured Storm with a smile, tucking her back in under the covers. “God would want you to heal up quickly, not to waste his miracle of rescue by dying of a cold.”

  Storm allowed herself to drift along with Mary’s intentions, and, true to her word, the elderly priest arrived only a few hours later. Storm tried her best to stay awake during the mass he gently gave to her, but sleep overtook her partway through his reading.

  * * *

  When she awoke, she basked in the deep contentment of a long night’s sleep. Storm sat up, pleased to find she felt a little stronger. Moving to the bed’s edge, it seemed her balance was slightly askew, and her legs wobbled when she put weight on them. She pushed open one of the shutters. The sun poked feebly through the thick grey clouds – morning had come around again. She moved carefully around her room, building up her strength, watching the soldiers train from her window.


  Curiosity got the better of her, and while she waited for Mary to arrive she rummaged through the drawers of the dresser. The top two drawers held clothing, but the bottom drawer held a few items apparently brought in from the bandit’s wagon. There was a finely balanced dagger, a well-cared-for sword in a leather scabbard, and a few grubby odds and ends.

  The dagger and sword seemed familiar to her. Maybe someone had been guarding her, and these had been taken from him? Did they belong to the bandits?

  As much as Storm willed herself to believe the weapons were owned by someone else, she thought back to the times that she had been startled, when her hand had flown to her hip for defense. She sat on the stool by the window for quite a while, watching the guards drill. While she followed their moves with her eyes, she turned the dagger over in her hands. Finally, without knowing why, she stood and put it beneath her pillow. She trusted Mary and Falcon, but still … it made her feel better, knowing the dagger was there.

  Weariness overtook her, and soon she was asleep again.

  * * *

  By the next morning Storm was feeling much more energetic. She was ravenous and itching to leave her room. As nice as it was, she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. The brief visits from Mary and Falcon could not assuage her restlessness.

  She found a simple but well-made dress of sapphire blue linen in the top drawer and carefully put it on over her chemise. She brushed her hair out, working out the many snarls that had developed during her bed rest. Finally she felt more human and ready to explore.

  Emboldened, she peeked out of her door to see what lay beyond her little world.

  This hallway was short, with only a few doors which opened out on either side. To the right the corridor vanished at a ninety degree turn, but to the left it came to a dead end. A young page was at the far left end of the hall, polishing a small wooden table. He looked up and briefly smiled when he saw her emerge, then went back to his work.