by Shea,Lisa
To her surprise, there was the slightest flicker of answering emotion at that, and she pulled up to a staggering halt. Her eyes went down to the ring, and she poured all her focus into the thought, into a vision of a man forcing the ring on her finger, requiring her to wear it.
The feeling dissipated like mist on a sunny day, evaporating as quickly as it had come. No matter how hard she tried, she could not bring even a hint of it back again.
Finally, exhausted, she climbed into bed, tossing and turning as the grey day faded into a deeper gloom. When darkness came she fell into a restless sleep. Her dreams were of a thick forest with dense foliage, a hedgerow that she relentlessly but unsuccessfully tried to breach.
Chapter 7
Storm shook off her grogginess the following morning, tentatively pleased to find that her strength was returning. She was able to walk around the room with only glimmers of pain.
It was well past breakfast, but she decided to head down to the main hall to spend an hour there before lunch, learning more about her surroundings. She dressed, then tucked the dagger into her belt. It seemed a natural thing to do, and she hoped that following her instincts might lead her to more clues to her identity.
The hall seemed quiet as she came down the large flight of stairs, but it was not deserted. To the right, by a large tapestry, Falcon was talking with a young, attractive blonde woman. Storm paused for a moment to look over the pair.
Storm guessed that Falcon was just over six feet tall, and he towered over the woman by a good eight inches or more. She was slender and delicate, with long, straight hair which fell like golden rain down her back. She wore an elegantly embroidered dress of pale lavender. Her movements were refined and graceful as she spoke softly to him.
Falcon wore the light leather armor Storm had seen him in every day, with a sword at his hip and black leather boots. He was not talking much, but appeared content to listen to the blonde’s discussion with quiet patience.
Storm had no interest in interrupting the couple; she turned to retreat to her room. Her movement caught Falcon’s eye, and he called after her in a friendly voice.
“Storm? I did not think you would be up so early. Come down and meet a friend of mine, Jessica.”
Reluctantly, Storm turned and made her way down the stairs, acutely aware of Jessica’s eyes following her clumsy movement. She thought that a piercing sharpness lay behind the friendly smile, but as she approached the two, Jessica’s voice was sweetness and light.
“Why, Storm! I have heard so much about you. It is wonderful to meet you at last.” The blonde stepped forward to stand by Falcon’s side before continuing. “What an interesting name, Storm. I do not believe I have met anyone with that name before. It sounds a bit rough!”
Falcon spoke up before Storm could phrase a reply. “I am afraid that is my fault, Jessica,” he interjected evenly. “She was found during the thunderstorms, and we needed a name by which to call her.”
Jessica pouted prettily, then gave a light, tinkling laugh. “Why of course you had to call her something!” she merrily agreed. “You could hardly refer to her as ‘it’ while she heals!” Her eyes swiveled to look Storm up and down. Storm felt like a gangly calf on market day being evaluated for a Sunday dinner.
Jessica pursed her lips. “No, I do not believe I have seen you before at any social events,” she drawled with much consideration, “and you seem a sturdy enough lass.” She turned to look up at Falcon with bright cheerfulness. “Have you asked around with the local farmers? Maybe one of them has misplaced their daughter.”
Falcon’s eyes flickered to peruse Jessica’s face; she returned his gaze with a blissful, serene smile. “Yes,” he confirmed after a moment. “We have sent out messengers and are making all appropriate inquiries. We will undoubtedly discover who Storm is in a matter of weeks.”
Jessica slid her arm smoothly through Falcon’s, and her smile grew more toothy. “Why, then, we will have to entertain her until she heads back to where she belongs!” she declared with enthusiasm. “We would not want her wandering the keep lonely, now would we?” She looked up at Falcon and fluttered her eyelashes gently. “I am sure you could not refuse to provide me and Storm with a personal tour of your home?”
* * *
Storm found the next two hours to be an odd combination of unexpected emotions and awkward situations. Falcon was a congenial host, escorting the two women through every corner of the motte and bailey, from the central keep to the buildings which lay within the protective curtain wall.
He thanked Jessica patiently for her profuse, gushing praise over each silver pitcher and embroidered tapestry. He assisted her when her dress became mysteriously caught on the corner of a fireplace. He helped her up and down stairs where she requested his assistance.
Falcon equally took time to answer Storm’s questions about the items which caught her attention – the unusually narrow arrow slits in one outer wall and the extra thickness around the doors in some parts of the building. Storm found the defensive constructions fascinating.
Storm was careful to conceal any feelings of weariness or pain that she felt. Despite Jessica’s prattling conversation, she was really enjoying the tour and learning about the keep. She did not want to give either of her companions an excuse to draw it short.
Storm was especially touched by how well Falcon knew his staff, and how much he cared for them. He stopped to introduce each person, no matter what their station, and asked after their family and situation.
When they reached the kitchen buildings, the heavy-set serving girl was in one corner, helping a large woman stir an iron cauldron hanging over the crackling fire. They wore a matching set of green surcoats over a white under-chemise. Both looked up with a smile as their master entered the room.
Falcon’s voice was warm. “Molly! Heather! Here is the woman who has been praising your cooking.” He turned with a grin and motioned to Storm. “Storm, Molly has been our cook here for as long as I can remember. Heather is her daughter, and she does a wonderful job helping out with any task you can imagine.”
Jessica gave a slight nod, turning to move on, but Storm stepped forward with a wide smile. “I know it might not mean much from a person with no memory,” she teased, her eyes twinkling, “but your food is delicious, and I cannot believe I have had any finer before. You are to be commended for your talents.”
Molly blushed crimson under the praise, and Heather’s eyes shone as she looked up at her mother.
Molly’s voice was friendly and low when she responded. “You just tell me what dishes you like best, mum, and I will make sure they are always available for you.”
Storm’s smile grew into a grin. “See, you have it easy,” she joked merrily. “Since I cannot remember any previous foods, every dish you make will of course become my new favorite. I trust in your judgment completely.”
Molly laughed, a low, rich sound. “Then we shall see if I cannot exceed myself each day, and you just let me know what you think!”
Storm curtseyed in agreement, then turned with Falcon to follow Jessica, who was already heading out of the room.
They moved from the inner keep area toward the outer courtyard. Jessica was less enthusiastic about this part of the tour, staying safely on the clean grass as Storm roamed with interest in the dusty interiors of the brewhouse, the armory, and the other small buildings.
Jessica’s unwillingness to brave grime suddenly vanished as they headed into the stables. Both women looked around the long, wooden building with interest. There was a row of stalls down each side of the lower level. The upper level only stretched across the back half of the length, stopping midway near the main doors. A wooden ladder on one side of the main floor led up to this storage area, which was stacked with hay and extra equipment.
A tall, reedy man with sallow skin walked over to meet them. He looked about thirty years in age, dour and thin-lipped. Falcon turned with a smile. “Women, let me introduce Harold. He became part of ou
r household when he was just a lad.” Harold nodded sourly to the women, then continued forward to climb up the ladder toward the loft.
Jessica walked down the row of stalls, looking over the half door of each one to examine the steed within. “Your collection of beasts is amazing, Falcon!” she gushed with pleasure, looking over the horses. “We really should go riding sometime. Look at the legs on this one! He must have been bred from champion stock. Look at that line, that form!” She moved from one to the next, staying well back from each as she passed.
Storm had scanned the horses, then walked over to a specific one on the left side. The horse was a soft brown color, and while Jessica had barely glanced at him, to Storm it was as if she were being drawn in by a beacon.
Storm swung open the half-height door with ease, stepping in slowly toward the horse. She held out her hand to allow the horse to smell her, then moved closer, running her hand down his neck.
“What a beautiful boy you are,” she murmured, her eyes shining. “I bet you love to run.”
She glanced at Falcon, who stood watching the pair of women from the stable’s entrance. “What is his name?” she asked with interest.
A fond smile infused his face. “That is Mercury,” he explained with warmth. “I found him at a local county fair. He was presented as an average colt, coming from a quiet farmer family – but I could see the potential in his eyes. He is one of my favorite horses.”
There was a cry of surprise from the back of the stables, and both turned to look. Jessica had stopped by the back wall and was peering down at a young lad. Storm recognized him as the page who had been working around the keep. The boy was looking up at Jessica with focused interest.
Jessica’s eyes were cold. “You startled me,” she snapped with irritation. She turned her back with a huff and began walking up the length of the stables. The boy followed along behind her, staring at the back of her head, his gaze full of curiosity.
She spun as she reached the ladder leading to the loft, looking down at the boy in irritation. “What is it?” she growled.
He shied back, but continued to gaze at her face. “It is just … you seem familiar for some reason,” he explained hesitantly in a soft voice.
Storm’s world suddenly shuddered to a halt. There was a sharp, whistling, immediately familiar noise, and her eyes tracked upwards to automatically latch onto the source. A shining, spinning shape was descending from the balcony above. It was a short-handled scythe, the blade’s edge gleaming with a razor’s sharpness. The tool was falling directly toward the pair, yet they remained oblivious in their conversation.
There was no hesitation – she burst forward at an all-out sprint, her eyes focused on the spinning form. Time slowed, and she could see each cycle, each lazy turn as the wooden handle rotated around the finger-slicing blade. One … two … three turns …
Her fingers closed around the handle only inches above the lad’s head, then she tucked in her body, allowing the momentum to carry her somersaulting into a pile of blankets against the back wall. She landed with a loud thud which knocked the wind out of her. She lay there, dazed.
The world spun back up to normal speed. The lad fell backwards, his face as white as a sheet. Jessica began shrieking in alarm, wrapping her arms around herself and leaning back against the stable wall. Falcon was at Storm’s side in an instant, taking the scythe from her firmly but gently, putting it down behind him in a smooth movement as he scanned her for injuries.
“Are you hurt?” he asked in a quiet hush.
Storm took in a few deep breaths, pressing herself up to a sitting position. There was a sharp pain in her right hip where she had landed, but it did not seem serious. She held her arms out before her and flexed her fingers, counting to ensure she still had ten.
“Nothing that will not mend,” she offered with a wry chuckle. She automatically put out a hand to him, and Falcon hesitated for a moment, checking her again for injuries before taking it and pulling her to her feet.
Jessica was between them in an instant, pressing herself hard against Falcon, her face bright with emotion. “Did you see that?” she cried out. “I could have been killed!” She clung to Falcon, looking up into his eyes with wild panic.
Storm moved over to the shaken boy, leaning down to be at his eye level. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice tender.
He nodded his head yes, gazing at her with thankful eyes. “You saved my life,” he whispered. “I could not move.”
She smiled, patting him gently on the shoulder. “It happens to the best of us,” she soothed. “If you are untrained, you freeze in surprise when the attack comes. I am just glad you are unharmed.” She stood up straight, taking in a deep breath of relief. “My name is Storm, or at least that is what I am called. What is your name?”
“I am Zach,” he responded with a hesitant smile, glancing briefly at Falcon. “My uncle is one of the guards here.”
She returned his smile warmly. “Nice to meet you, Zach,” she offered, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Falcon directed his gaze upward, to where Harold was looking over the edge. “What in God’s teeth are you doing up there?” he called, his voice sharp with anger. “You almost killed this boy!”
Harold moved his way slowly down the ladder, and, when he turned, his face was emotionless. “I am so sorry, M’lord,” he stated in a monotone voice. “My foot … it must have slipped.”
Falcon leant to the hay, picking up the scythe and hanging it on a nearby hook. He swept back to hold Harold with his gaze. “Make sure all your equipment is better stored in the future,” he ordered. “I do not want to see this happen again. Ever.”
Harold nodded acceptance, his face dour.
A clanging bell rang out from the main building. Jessica immediately turned to Falcon with a wide smile. “Lunchtime!” she chimed brightly. “I am famished!” She hooked her arm into Falcon’s, drawing him out of the stables. He took one last appraising look at Zach before allowing himself to be pulled along. Storm gave Zach a friendly pat on the arm, then walked out behind the pair.
As they entered the main hall, Jessica disentangled herself from Falcon, then took Storm by the hand.
“Here, you must sit by my right, so that we can talk more,” she gushed, pulling Storm forward into the furthest seat. Jessica now sat between Storm and Falcon. The blonde arranged herself in her wooden seat with a smug grin, then called sharply for some mead.
Storm’s mouth quirked, but she took her assigned seat without protest. It had become quite clear to her in the past few hours that Jessica did not appreciate Falcon’s upcoming marriage plans, and that the dainty woman was quite anxious to insinuate herself into his life and stop them.
Storm wondered why Falcon was moving forward with a marriage he did not wish. Was there truly no other way to bring an end to the fighting? He apparently had at least one enthusiastic partner ready to share his bed. Surely there must have been another way to negotiate the truce. She wondered if Jessica was at least part of the reason why there were few other women around the building.
Heather moved past the table, filling their mugs from a pitcher of warm cider. Storm gave her a grateful smile, and the girl blushed softly.
Jessica’s eyes blazed. “Wake up girl, I said mead!” she barked, moving her mug away from Heather’s outstretched pitcher. Storm winced in sympathy as the young girl turned beet red and ran off toward the kitchens, calling out her apologies.
Jessica barely noticed the serving girl’s flight, instead making a show of straightening out the intricate embroidery of her lavender sleeves.
Storm buttered some bread, then turned with what she hoped was a look of innocent curiosity. She wanted to learn more about this woman by her side. “So tell me, Jessica, how long have you lived here at the keep?”
The sour look that flashed through Jessica’s eyes warned Storm that she had begun on the wrong foot. “Unlike you, I was not fortunate enough to become entangled wit
h the bandits and need rescue,” came the snappish reply.
Falcon, who had been conversing with John at his other side, turned his head at the tone of her comment.
Jessica quickly rearranged her features into a more friendly pose, laughing cheerfully to take the sting out of her words. “I am sure Falcon has rescued many people over the years; he is such a kind-hearted man. He will take in any lost stray he comes across! No, I have a home in the village. I am staying with my aunt Carol, the seamstress. I am looking to open a new branch of our family business here in town. My father owns and operates Wilson’s Sundries.”
She paused with a satisfied smile, waiting for a reaction.
Storm felt no recognition of the name. “Oh, is that some sort of a store?”
Jessica’s look soured for a moment, then she brightened with a sharp grin. “Of course, I had completely forgotten that your mind was not working properly.” Storm bit her tongue as Jessica continued without taking a breath, her voice taking on a more expansive quality. “It is not just a store. It is the finest of shopping experiences. We have branches in several towns and are looking to expand our presence here. We bring in only the highest quality house wares, cutlery, and, of course, jewelry.” She fingered the necklace she wore – a brilliant opal surrounded by a sea of citrine. “This was made in Persia,” she boasted with pride.
“It is quite lovely,” responded Storm with what she hoped sounded like appreciation. She found the design a bit gaudy for her own taste and realized she did not have much of a craving for shiny trinkets. She mused that this might indicate she came from a poor family, unused to such extravagance.
She thought back to the curving ivy leaves which traced along the leather scabbard in her room. Someone had spent days intricately carving out those leaves, and the effect was breathtaking. They enhanced the natural beauty of the scabbard, which was itself a carefully crafted, highly functional item. Now there was a combination she could appreciate.
