by Shea,Lisa
Jessica tossed her flaxen hair and turned to talk with Falcon, leaving Storm to finish her meal in silence. Storm listened idly while the blonde kept up a running commentary praising Falcon’s fine collection of silver, the elegantly carved furniture, and the collection of steeds in the stable.
The meal was barely over when Falcon pushed back from the table, apologizing to the two women. “I am afraid that duty calls,” he explained. “I have business with David and Shawn.” Indeed, the two young men stood behind him, their burly faces alight in eager anticipation of some activity. Falcon slowly stood, looking from one woman to the other. “Perhaps you will find a way to spend the afternoon together? I bid you good day.” He bowed, then turned and left through the main doors, trailed by his two soldiers.
He was barely out of the room when Jessica also rose. “I am afraid I must go as well,” she sighed with sadness. “There are so many things to attend to in setting up the new shop here. I imagine you must want to rest up, so you can heal and leave as quickly as possible.” She spun on her heel and followed Falcon out of the room.
Storm shook her head, sipping at her cider. In a short while the other diners had moved on to their daily tasks, and she was left alone with her musings. Now that the hall had emptied, she appreciated the peace and quiet. Only Zach remained, working his way around the room, cleaning and polishing.
After a while she stood, mug in hand, and wandered along the walls, admiring the tapestries which adorned them. Each told a story in warp and weft, recounting battles, marriages, births, and deaths. She found the works fascinating and spent a long while contemplating them.
Eventually her aches caught up with her, and she retreated upstairs to her room. The afternoon sun gave a soft glow to the polished wood floors, and she found it a pleasant oasis. She left the door open, bringing some fresh air into the room. For a long time she stood quietly by the window, lost in thought.
A noise from behind her caused her to spin quickly, her hand dropping to her left hip, finding nothing.
Falcon stood in her doorway, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. He took a step forward.
“You made it back to your room all right, I see,” he commented. “No ill effects from the incident in the stables?”
Storm shook her head, although she was sure her face reflected her weariness. “I am fine. I am feeling better every day, thank you,” she responded. “I am sure I will be as good as new in no time.”
Falcon’s eyes were sharp on her. “It is a good thing that your reflexes were so quick.”
Storm flushed, looking down. The same thoughts had been running through her head all afternoon – was this a sign she had lived with the bandits? Was it simply an indication that she worked with her hands, maybe in a field or a kitchen?
“Perhaps my father is a butcher,” she offered quietly, hoping against hope that it was true. Even the most menial of jobs would be better in her mind than an association with the bandits.
To her surprise, she heard a low chuckle escape from Falcon’s lips. She looked up to see the hint of a smile drawing across his face. “That is probably true,” he agreed with a nod. “There are many probable explanations for your background, before we go seeking the unusual ones.”
Storm felt caught in a sea of emotions. She did not want him to go – but between his engagement and the attentions of Jessica, she did not want to entangle herself with him, either. He seemed to have enough on his plate without her interfering.
She put some of her thoughts into words. “Jessica seems a nice woman,” she commented without inflection. “Is she an old family acquaintance?”
Falcon’s mouth quirked into a wry grin. “Jessica’s aunt, Carol, has been a loyal friend over the years. She has done much of the fabric work for my staff. When Carol pleaded with me to be a good influence on her niece, I felt it important to do my best.”
Storm’s interest was piqued. “Oh? Does Jessica need a guiding hand in her life?”
Falcon nodded. “Her father is a merchant, but some question how legal his operations are. I imagine Carol is nervous about that and is hoping that Jessica does not follow in her father’s footsteps. Jessica’s mother – Carol’s younger sister – died many years ago. Jessica has only her father to guide her in life.”
Storm felt caught by this idea for some reason. “Just because her father is a rotten apple, that is no reason to assume the daughter is damaged fruit as well.” She found it ironic that she was defending Jessica, but it seemed that the issue mattered to her. “Maybe she has had a difficult childhood, with a father like that, and found it hard to escape his influence.”
Falcon tilted his head to one side. “Indeed, that is what Carol feels. She hopes that by sheltering Jessica here, and allowing her to set up business on her own, that she will prove her own character’s worth, without her father’s heavy hand.”
Storm sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. “I wish Jessica luck then, truly. I imagine escaping from a harmful parent’s influence can be challenging.”
Falcon chuckled softly. “Not all women would be as charitable as you are, given how Jessica acts toward most females in her vicinity.”
Storm gave a wry smile. “I can hardly tell what influences there have been on me, to say why I am the way I am. At least with Jessica, we know what has helped to shape her. If she manages to free herself from that influence, then good for her.”
Falcon was silent at this. He stood staring at Storm for a long while, lost in thought. She did not feel uncomfortable at his perusal; her own musings drifted over Jessica’s petty jealousies. She wondered just how Jessica had grown up; how her father had treated her.
Storm’s frustration at her own empty memory gnawed at her. What type of parents had raised her? If her own childhood had been full of anger and harsh treatment, would she have turned out any differently?
Falcon gave himself a gentle shake, returning from his thoughts. “It is getting late, and I imagine you wish to rest. Sleep well, Storm,” he offered with a pensive look. He paused for a long moment to gaze at her before turning and heading back down the hallway.
Storm watched him go, hollowness descending on her. She pushed it away, standing to prepare for bed.
Footsteps drew closer to her room, and she turned eagerly toward them. To her disappointment it was Mary who entered the room.
“There you are, Missus,” she warmly greeted Storm, bringing in another blanket. “It looks like a cold one tonight. I was wondering where you had gotten to. The master gave you the full tour, then? That was kind of him, with all he has to do right now.”
Storm smiled and nodded. “Falcon is quite a gentleman,” she agreed, a warm sensation curling around her. “I imagine he is a skilled fighter as well.” She wondered why that mattered to her. She sat on the edge of the bed, waiting to see if any memories floated by. She knew that she was impressed by Falcon. Her smile deepened as she remembered how kind he had been with the staff.
The maid puffed up with pride. “Lord Falcon is indeed the best of masters. In fact, I would say -”
Suddenly she stopped short. She gazed closer at Storm’s face, then walked over next to her, concerned.
“My dear, I know you’ve lost your memory. You feel new and shiny, like a girl at her first harvest dance. And it’s certainly normal enough for a master of a household to enjoy the company of any single women who are interested. Many would say it’s critically important for his health, as much as eating and drinking is. It doesn’t do for a man’s energies to be pent up for long. Especially not a man of power and responsibility, like Lord Falcon.”
She ran a gentle hand along Storm’s cheek. Her eyes shone for a moment. “And were it any other way, I would say you were just the one to bring health back to him. He has shied away from a woman’s touch for far too long. It has taken a toll on him. He needs that back in his life again.”
She let out a sigh, her gaze holding Storm’s. “But, dear Storm, we do not know of your pas
t. It could be that you are married to another man. It could be that you have vowed yourself to God. You could always regret what happened here, once your memory returned. I would not see you endure that heartache. And I know that Lord Falcon would not wish that either.”
Storm sighed, trying to push the image of Falcon’s intelligent, deep eyes from her mind. “You are right, of course,” she admitted to the older woman. “I do not know anything of my obligations. I would not want to inadvertently do something to cause Lord Falcon trouble, or to hurt those who might care for me.”
Her eyes went again to the ring on her finger. “It is just, when I search my heart, I do not find even the smallest glimmer of the joy I feel when I am with him. What if I am all alone in life and this is my one chance at happiness? What if this time I have with him is my brief glimpse of contentment in a life of despair?”
Mary’s eyes shadowed. “You are not the only one who could be caught in that situation,” she sighed. “Lord Falcon is a remarkable man. I have known him since he was born; I was the maid to his mother. I have always wished the best for him.” She gave a sad smile. “Unfortunately, with what we know of this upcoming wedding, it does not seem that he was meant to find someone who would bring him peace.”
Mary gave herself a shake, as if to release the gloom, and then came around to brush out Storm’s hair. Storm’s thoughts drifted away as the sunlight faded slowly from the room.
Why was she so taken with Falcon? After all, she had only just met him. Surely she must have known men like him before. She sensed it wasn’t his title that interested her – she couldn’t care less that he was a Lord. It was his intelligence, his easy grace, his warm eyes …
Was her real life that bleak, that Falcon’s gentle touch was a stream of sunlight in a darkened room?
Chapter 8
Storm awoke the next morning full of energy, eager to get moving. The previous day’s walk around the keep’s grounds had given her the confidence to explore even further. She now knew the layout of the building well enough that she felt ready to take advantage of her newfound strength.
After dressing, she nodded to Zach as she headed down the hallway, then moved out into the main hall. The wall hangings held a fascination for her; she moved from one to the next examining them.
A noise sounded from one of the hallways. Falcon came in from the courtyard, fresh from practice and drenched to the bone. He smiled with surprise to find Storm there and walked over to stand beside her in front of a row of intricate tapestries.
“Do you like them?” he asked with curiosity, looking sideways at her face as she studied the images. “Those tapestries are a Falcon tradition. The women record all major events in cloth, to be remembered by all future generations.”
He pointed to the newest one, only partially finished. His voice became somber. “My mother was working on this one when she fell,” he quietly added. “Now, by all accounts, our tradition may be lost.”
Storm’s eyes flicked over to his in surprise. A new picture began to form in her mind. “Your mother did not pass away from an illness?”
Falcon was blunt. “They claim it was a suicide,” he replied flatly. “However, I knew her well. I had spent every day with her. She was not despairing. She was making plans; talking to neighbors about how to design a truce. I saw that strength in her.”
Storm turned to face him more fully. “Maybe it was an accident then,” she quietly offered.
Falcon shook his head. He turned and looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see through the walls. “She fell from the top tower of the keep, which we use as a watchtower. The window there is over waist high for safety reasons. Her fall does not make sense.”
“The tower?” asked Storm, not remembering the room from their tour.
“We have that closed off now,” responded Falcon somberly. “Ever since that incident happened, the room has been left empty.” His eyes became distant. “I was down in the courtyard, training, when it happened. I saw her fall.” He clenched his hand unconsciously.
Storm shivered. “That must have been awful,” she consoled him, knowing her words were woefully inadequate. “I cannot even imagine how you felt.”
Falcon shook himself and looked back at the tapestry. “That was a long time ago,” he mused, half to himself. “It took me a while, but I have moved on. I have to build on the legacy my parents left me.”
A small group of soldiers began to filter into the room, and without speaking further, the two moved over to the main table. They had barely sat down when Jessica came gliding into the room. She spotted the pair in an instant and swooped down to position herself in between the two, dragging over a chair.
Storm ate patiently while Jessica kept a running commentary aimed at Falcon for the next hour. To Falcon’s other side, John and the two young men joked and talked amongst themselves. The meal was delicious, as always, and Storm was sure to pass her compliments along to a delighted Heather.
Jessica declared the meal passable, but complained about the mead she was served. “This is only normal mead,” she sniffed in indignation. She turned to Falcon. “Your staff is mistreating you,” she coyly purred at him. “You should allow me to bring in some cyser for you. The apples add such a great crispness to the drink. Once you try it, you’ll never be satisfied by this basic mead again.”
Storm guessed from the occasional darts of sharp glances Jessica threw in her direction that Jessica was deliberately excluding her from the conversation and feeling quite smug about this. Storm wondered if she should tell Jessica that she was enjoying the quiet and the food far better than she would have appreciated the inane chatter, and her mouth twitched in a smile. Perhaps some things were best left unsaid.
After lunch was complete, Falcon apologized to the pair as he stood. “I am afraid I have some business in town which needs tending to,” he explained as he prepared to go. He looked across at both women. “Feel free to enjoy the hospitality of my home during my absence.”
Jessica looked as if she would speak up with an idea to hold back Falcon. Looking at the tense distraction on his face, Storm suddenly felt the desire to help out.
She put on a grateful smile. “I am sure we will be fine,” she responded with a light voice. She looked at Jessica to encompass her with the offer. “You go and do what you have to. We will find something to keep ourselves busy.”
Once he had left the room, Storm was not surprised to watch as Jessica left in short order, barely attempting to create an excuse for her departure. Still, she had done the best she could to let Falcon get about his business.
Storm finished off her mead, then headed out into the main courtyard, turning left toward the kitchen building. She smiled as she deposited the mug into the large tub holding the dirty dishes.
Molly’s eyes went wide with surprise. “What a lamb you are!” she praised. “There are not many people like you in the world, young lass.”
Storm shook her head with a wry grin. “I do not know what type of person I am,” she reminded the cook. “For all I know, I am a serving wench at a riverside tavern. This could be my life, tidying up for others.”
Heather spoke up impishly. “For sure, your manners are far too fine to be related to many of the nobles we have seen visit here!”
Molly playfully swatted her daughter, but her twinkling eyes showed that she felt much the same way.
Mary strolled into the room, her face lighting up with pleasure when she spotted Storm casually chatting with the cook and help. “Maybe you would like to take a seat in the sitting room, by the fire? We could bring you some freshly baked biscuits.”
Storm shook her head. “I am tired of being idle,” she admitted. “I want to help. What will you three be doing for the afternoon?”
Mary held her gaze, and a wicked grin spread on her face. “Well, actually, we were going to be polishing the silver.”
Storm burst out in peals of laughter, and Mary explained to the other two women how Storm had asked t
o help with the silver on her first day at the castle. Soon the four were positioned around the large oak table, passing cutlery, platters, and candelabras to each other. The large, sunny room was warm with cheer, and the rich smell of herbs and baking bread filled the room.
Storm found the task soothing, moving the cloth in small circles to wear away the tarnish spots. It brought her a deep sense of relaxation and contentment.
She could tell by their easy smiles how happy the three women were with their lives here, and the idea intrigued her. “How long have you been working with the Falcon family, Mary?” she asked, looking up at the woman’s smiling face.
“Oh, now, my entire life, I suppose,” answered the older woman genially. “I was a personal maid to Lord Falcon’s mother, back when she was younger. When the young lad was born, he was the most darling child you ever saw. Soon he was my charge. I enjoyed every day I spent caring for him.”
Molly leaned over with a teasing grin. “Mary became a nun for him,” she added with mock solemnity.
“Oh, pshaw,” waved Mary, a laugh rolling through her. “I have had my share of lovers. I simply never found any man who suited me well enough to tie myself for life. Yes, I am still single. I do not regret it. I have made my family here, and I am very pleased with the results.”
Storm rotated her silver platter to reach a new section. “Do you not have any brothers and sisters?”
“Oh, yes, one younger sister,” responded Mary with a nod. “I see her when I can. She lives on the far borders of Lord Falcon’s land, so the travel can be challenging.”
Her face shadowed. “It is not safe where she chooses to make her home. Several years ago, she lost one of her sons in a bandit raid. The lad was only eight.” She dropped her head in sorrow. “He was a strong child – undoubtedly they wanted him as a slave and would not have hurt him. Poor thing, he panicked and tried to escape. He was accidentally trampled by one of the bandit’s horses, and died instantly.”
