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

by Shea,Lisa

  Storm slowly headed to the right. At the turn of the hallway, the floor opened into a wide staircase down. Still feeling a bit weak, she held firmly onto the polished railing as she descended, heading into a large hall.

  It was apparently the lunch hour. Two tables, one down each side of the hall, held a collection of soldiers and workers scattered down their lengths. The head table was sturdy oak laden with platters of roast turkey, bowls of fresh bread, and pitchers of wine. Behind it, Falcon sat in a simple but finely carved chair featuring a bird of prey in diving descent. To his right sat a grizzled veteran, and to his left sat two young, burly-looking soldiers in their late teens.

  The room grew quiet as she walked in, and she blushed, a self-conscious panic causing her to slow with each step. Falcon’s eyes widened in surprise at her approach and he quickly moved around the table to come by her side.

  When he touched her on the arm, before she could think, Storm’s body violently flinched back. It seemed his fingers had seared with the red hot of a blacksmith’s tongs.

  Eyes wide, she clenched her arm against herself in a turmoil of surprise and fear. She struggled to bring her pounding heart and sharp breaths under control. Certainly he had not done anything to deserve such a reaction.

  Falcon drew back at once, holding his hands to the side in a gesture of peace. He stood quietly, watching her, his gaze serious.

  Storm breathed in deeply. She had no idea where her reaction had come from. Surely he only meant to help, and she was indeed worn down. She let out a long, steadying exhale, gathering her resolve.

  She carefully put her arm on his, slightly leaning against him. She drew in the warmth of his body, the steadiness of his frame, and let out another shuddering breath. Surely life should be easier than this. Perhaps she had pushed herself too hard by coming down to take a look around.

  Falcon echoed her thoughts, saying softly in her ear, “I think you might have waited another day or two.” He led her to a seat beside him, making sure she was comfortable before regaining his own.

  “I know,” she replied apologetically. “I just wanted to get out. The four walls were closing in on me.”

  Falcon nodded in understanding. “I would feel the same way.” He turned to the other men at the table. “This is our mysterious rescue from the bandit camp, as I am sure you have guessed. For now, we are calling her Storm.” He looked back to her and gestured to his companions. “Storm, this is my captain – John – along with two new arrivals, David and Shawn.”

  Storm greeted each man in turn, then her attention was drawn to the bowl of steaming stew placed in front of her by a smiling young girl. The aroma was heavenly! She focused on the broth, gratefully drinking in the warm liquid, taking bites of the fresh bread in between sips. A delicious warm cider was presented in a tall pewter tankard.

  After a short while her bowl was empty and she was pleasantly full. She sat back to look around her. The hall was amply furnished with numerous wrought iron sconces providing a dapple of soft light. In between those hung embroidered tapestries depicting a variety of scenes.

  The table before her was crafted of a fine wood, gleaming from daily polish and carved with images of apples and pears. The chair where she sat on had a comfortable cushion both below and behind her.

  Bowls of grapes were brought around to the tables, and Storm eagerly reached forward to take a handful. Watching her, Falcon burst out laughing.

  “If we keep you for much longer, we will have to bring in more items for the larder!” he commented, chuckling. “Truly, though, I am glad you are feeling better.” He looked her up and down, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “It appears that the clothes are a good fit; that was convenient. We do not have many women’s outfits here for you to have chosen from.”

  Storm smoothed the bodice of the blue dress, again admiring the fine stitching. “It does fit well,” she agreed. A thought occurred to her, and she glanced around the room with curiosity. “Does this belong to your wife?”

  Falcon’s smile faded, and he looked out into the room, not meeting her eyes. “My wife to be,” he responded flatly. “That is, if this truce ever gets signed.”

  Storm wondered at his reaction. “What truce is that?”

  Falcon sat back, taking a long pull on his ale as he thought. The room began to empty out as the keep community returned to their duties. John and the two soldiers who shared their table nodded a farewell, then took their leave.

  Storm began to wonder if Falcon had forgotten her question. She was searching around in her mind for another topic of conversation when Falcon sighed deeply, returning from his musings.

  “The proposed truce is with the Walkers – our neighbors to the east. They have been sending wave after wave of assault on us for years. Lord Walker has finally agreed to a truce, but it requires me to marry his only daughter.”

  Storm was curious at Falcon’s reticence. “What is she like?”

  Falcon shrugged and took another drink. “I have never met her. She is not present during any of our talks.” He looked down into his mug, pursing his lips.

  Storm’s interest was piqued. “Surely you have asked after her, if you are preparing to attach yourself to her for life?”

  Falcon sighed, then continued with obvious reluctance. “Yes, I have. Rumor is that she is obstinate and willful. Most of the positive traits I know are what her father chooses to tell me.” He began ticking qualities off on his fingers. “He insists that she is trained to obey. He promises that she will be a good breeder. He provided her measurements for the clothing, saying that they prove she is in fine and healthy shape. He swears that she can read and write. Of course as nobility she can speak French, to well educate our children personally.”

  He chuckled softly. “There are other skills that the father does not mention quite as readily. I hear from my men that she can defend herself with a sword and has actually won a few knife throwing tournaments.”

  Storm kept her face carefully neutral. “She sounds like the perfect woman.”

  Falcon glanced up at her, his eyes narrowed, then relaxed into a smile when he saw the sparkle hidden in her eyes. “It is all very surreal,” he agreed, his tension easing. “I had no thought of marriage, least of all right now.” He stretched out, rolling his shoulders. “Sometimes life puts you into a situation, and you have little you can do but accept it. None of us choose the world we are born into. We can only choose how we react to it.”

  Storm’s heart resounded with an echoing call at his words, and it brought with it a sense of exhaustion. She sagged back against her chair. Falcon’s sharp eyes followed the movement, and he rose easily to a standing position, offering his arm to her without a word. Storm realized she was more tired than she had thought as she pushed herself to stand. She paused for a long moment, then cautiously took his arm, a nervous shiver running through her as she leant against him. He glanced down at her, but did not comment. Together they slowly walked back up to her room.

  He pressed open the door, then escorted her in. “You should rest now,” Falcon suggested with quiet concern. “Do not push yourself to heal too quickly. It will come with time.”

  “I am sure you are right,” agreed Storm, sitting on the bed with a weary sigh. “It is just hard for me. I feel idle, useless.”

  Falcon’s mouth quirked. “Then make it your focus to heal and regain strength.”

  Storm nodded, realizing there was not much more she could do at the moment.

  Falcon’s brow creased as he gazed at her. “If your memory has not returned by now, then it is time we take action. I will have Thom leave immediately for North Walsham, to see what he can learn there. I imagine, with the bad weather, that he would be back in a week – two at the most – with whatever he can learn from that area.”

  Storm hesitantly smiled. “It would be wonderful to know who I am,” she agreed. “I thank you for your efforts.”

  “It is nothing,” he absently responded. He turned and walked through
the door, closing it behind him.

  Within moments of his departure Storm was crawling wearily under the thick covers. She slid her hand beneath the pillow. Calm swept over her when her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger.

  Feeling secure for the first time since her arrival, she curled up in bed and slept.

  Chapter 6

  Storm stretched back in her chair by the window, the courtyard empty beneath her, the late morning sun barely filtering through the heavy clouds and drenching rains. It was nearly time for lunch, but she could not bring herself to get up and moving. She held the sword in her lap, the blade nestled in its scabbard, the weight comfortably reassuring.

  There was a noise to her left, and the door swung open. Falcon stepped in, instantly stopping in surprise. His eyes sharpened for a moment as he looked between the open drawer of the dresser and the sword on her lap. Then his face became quietly neutral.

  “Do you recognize that weapon?” he asked smoothly.

  Storm shook her head no, running her hand slowly down the leatherwork on the scabbard. There was a pattern of ivy and leaves along the edge of the sheath which she found beautiful.

  “No, it does not bring up any specific memories,” she responded distractedly, lost in thought. “I found it in the lower drawer. Was it from the bandit camp?”

  Falcon nodded in agreement, walking over to stand beside her. “Yes, it was in the wagon near you. We thought perhaps the weapon was taken when you were. The style seems much finer than the bandits usually have.” He paused for a moment, then added casually, “There was a dagger in there as well.”

  Storm’s eyes flashed instinctively to the pillow, and her face flushed crimson. Falcon instantly interpreted her motion and froze in place, a look of concern clouding his eyes. His voice was steely and low when he spoke. “Has any person here -”

  Storm immediately shook her head. “Everybody here has been more than kind, and only you and Mary have been in my room.” She paused, her eyes dropping. “It is just -” she looked out the window, unable to explain it in words. “It seems right,” she finally whispered. “It makes me feel safe.”

  Falcon sat quietly on the bed beside her, looking thoughtfully at her profile. “What kind of a life must you have led?” he mused, half to himself.

  Storm felt as if she owed him full honesty, with all the trust he had put in her. Without saying anything, she reached down and pulled the side of her dress upward, revealing the cut on her calf.

  Falcon dropped to one knee at her side to inspect the scar. Storm was surprised that she did not feel embarrassed at all by his perusal; oddly, after so few days, she already felt that she could trust him.

  His eyes met hers. “A sword cut, maybe four years old?”

  She held his gaze and nodded. “That is what I thought. I …” She hesitated, then turned and looked out the window. “I want to be as honest with you as I can be. I do not remember anything at all. Still, with this cut … for all I know …”

  Falcon gently turned her face to his. His voice was low and soft. “I know I have not been the best of hosts,” he admitted. “I appreciate your letting me know of this. Whatever your past has been, you are our guest, and you deserve our hospitality.”

  Storm looked down; she could not meet his eyes. She wanted to face the issue, but her heart pounded in her chest as she spoke. “What if I was with the bandits? What if my memory returns, and I am horrified by the things I have done?”

  Falcon was silent for a moment. He looked as if the thought had occurred to him as well, and his answer was ready. “Storm, each of us makes a decision, every day, about how we lead our lives. Every day is a chance to forge a new path.” His eyes drew hers with serious calm. “Whatever course you were on previously – for whatever reason – you have the opportunity to renew yourself.”

  Falcon absently ran a finger down the scar on her leg, and a nervous tremor followed his movement, but it was melded with a new feeling, one she could not easily name. He was not upset about the scar, not denigrating her for it – he was accepting it. A thrill rippled down her spine, and her cheeks flushed. She turned away as he gently pulled the dress down to conceal the wound again.

  His eyes drew up to her face. “Your past is just that, the past,” he quietly stated. “You are the master of your future.”

  She took in a deep breath. The thought of being in control infused her with a sense of elation. Could it be true?

  Falcon glanced again at the pillow, at the knife concealed beneath, then stood and offered his arm. “Are you ready to head down to lunch?”

  Storm looked up, caught in the depths of his eyes. It took a moment before she rose, tentatively putting her fingers on his arm.

  Her voice was low.

  “Yes, I am ready.”

  * * *

  The lunch – a meat pie with fresh bread – was just as delicious as yesterday’s meal, and Storm found herself eating seconds, much to the amusement of the men who sat with her. The young, heavyset maid with apple cheeks who took her bowl blushed pink with pleasure when Storm asked her to please convey her compliments to the cook.

  It seemed only a short while later when she and Falcon were the only two left at the table. Falcon waited until the servant had brought them both fresh mugs of cider, then he leaned back in his chair.

  “I cannot ask anything of you,” he considered, his voice holding a hint of a teasing smile. “Apparently that will have to wait until your memory returns. On the other hand, you must be full of questions,” he added placidly. “What would you like to know?”

  Storm thought for a while, her eyes running down his strong shoulders, his broad chest. He seemed to be nearly thirty years old, intelligent, kind, with ample land holdings. Why had he remained single for so long? She pushed her curiosity aside and found a more neutral query to start. “Well, tell me about yourself. What is your family like?” She nibbled at a biscuit.

  Falcon took a drink from his stoneware mug, then set it down and turned to look at her. “The Falcons have ruled this land for generations,” he explained, his brown eyes lost in thought. “My grandfather built this keep, and my father tended it as well. It is not an easy place to grow up. This area has always had its share of warfare, both from bandits and acquisitive neighbors. I imagine it is because there are no natural boundaries to delineate the boundaries, to discourage land–grabbing. There are just rolling hills and forest.”

  He paused for a moment, then plowed ahead. “My father was killed seventeen years ago in a battle with a bandit group. I was barely eleven at the time. My two younger brothers had already been sent away to become novices in a nearby monastery, for their own safety.

  “I did what I could to help out and to console my mother.” He took a pull on his cider. “Only a few months later, my mother … passed away. From heartache, it was said.”

  “I am so sorry,” offered Storm, covering his hand with her own. “That must have been very hard on you, being so young.”

  “It seems a very long time ago,” replied Falcon softly, but his eyes were shadowed. “Since then, I have built up our defenses with the help of my compatriot John, who you met yesterday. The bandits have remained a constant thorn in our side. Somehow they seem to remain well funded even when we press them hard for months on end.”

  He slowly spun his mug with one hand. “We now have secure borders on all sides except our eastern line. Only the Walkers, and the bandits, remain problems.”

  Storm quietly nodded. “That explains the truce you are working on.”

  Falcon took in a deep breath, then let it out in a stream, rolling his shoulders to release the tension. “Yes. I have worked out treaties with all of the other local lords, but Walker has always refused. Only recently has he sent me an offer – and it requires his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Falcon looked away for a moment. “It is not a generous offer. The dowry is slight, and she -” he shook his head. “Whatever the father says, rumor has it that sh
e is a rough and difficult woman. With a father like that, one could expect no less.” He sat back in his chair, lost in thought. “Still, political weddings are not made for the comfort of the parties involved. They are arrangements designed to keep a population safe.”

  He finished his drink in a long swallow, then stood. “Shall we head upstairs, My Lady? You should rest, and I have riding to do with David and Shawn.”

  Storm chuckled at his courtly manner of address. She stood and dipped to an elaborate curtsey before laying her hand on his proffered arm. A tingling flush spread through her at the warmth, and she blushed, lowering her eyes. She walked slowly with him back to her room.

  He nodded as they came to a halt by her bed. “Rest well, Storm,” he offered. Then he turned and strode off.

  Storm found she was twisted by an odd sensation. Could she be missing him already, after only knowing him a few days? She pushed the thought from her mind and looked around the room for something to do.

  Well, she could not do much, but she could certainly walk. She stepped in slow circles around the room, taking her time, building up her strength. She knew the exercise would help to heal her.

  As her feet made the circuit, she ran her thumb over the ring, exploring different scenarios for its presence. Perhaps a childhood friend had given her the ring - a girl she had giggled with over ghost stories on playful afternoons.

  Nothing.

  Perhaps a loving father gave her the ring as a token of his fond affection for her.

  Emptiness.

  Her eyes glanced at the dresser drawer which held the sword. She tenuously poked at an idea. Perhaps this ring was a stolen item, taken from an innocent victim by the bandits.

  She rolled the idea around in her head, summoning it as willfully as she could, but to her relief not even the slightest echo of truth returned. She gave a soft smile. Maybe she was not part of the bandit group after all.

  Her mind drifted to Falcon, and she found herself thinking about his upcoming marriage. Her thumb ran along the ring again. Maybe she was about to be married to someone against her will as well, and she was resisting the engagement with all her heart.