by Shea,Lisa
To her surprise, an echo of affirmation sounded deep within her.
She blanched. A deep hole opened up beneath her; she was teetering on the edge.
Maybe she did not want her memory to return. Maybe it would be best if she remained as she were, starting from the beginning, forging a new path with her life. Her past was looming like a bottomless pit, one which would only suck her down into its depths, grab at her with black fingers and taint her … taint her …
There was a bone left in her bowl, and one of the house dogs nudged against her leg, his tail wagging. Storm absently dropped her hand to pet him, scratching idly between his ears, struggling to shake off the mood that had overcome her.
Falcon’s voice came to her as if from far away. “Storm, are you all right?”
Storm let out a deep breath. Part of her wanted to run back to her room, to hide and prevent even the smallest memory from intruding on her world. But she knew she could not take that path. She needed to share with them her thoughts, to find a way to integrate her past and present into a whole that she could accept.
She mustered her strength, then let her eyes move upwards to encompass both Falcon and Jessica.
How could she put this turmoil in her heart into words? Her previous self could be a bandit wench whose frame of reference was completely different than her current one. How might she explain how utterly alien her world view might be?
She struggled to put her thoughts into the simplest terms she could imagine.
“We are brought up to consider chickens as food and dogs as pets. Both groups exist in their distinct roles. That is our norm in life, and one we do not even consider questioning.”
She took in a long breath, glancing at her bowl. “What if we grew up in a family where we were taught that a chicken was a beloved family member, never to be harmed? What if we adored our pet chickens?”
She looked down at the contented dog nestled at her side. “Even further, what if our parents raised us to despise dogs, to think of them as dumb, smelly, and worthless? What if, to our society, dogs were dirty pen animals used for stew? Say we were raised with that as a normal fact of life, and never had reason to doubt it.”
She rubbed the dog’s head idly, running a hand down his back. “How might we react if brought to a place where our beloved chickens were mindlessly slaughtered? What if the remains of our beautiful chickens were fed to those ‘dirty, worthless’ dogs? Would we change? Would we strike out at what we now saw as injustice?”
Storm shook her head in confusion, looking into the large brown eyes of the canine, lost in thought.
Jessica’s laughter came loud and high, and the blonde fought to control it, to answer. “Are you saying that you are drinking the blood of your best friend in that stew?” She chortled in earnest, her mirth carrying across the hall.
Storm’s voice was low, almost lost in the peals. “The blood of a best friend …” she echoed, her look haunted.
Jessica turned to Falcon with a wolfish grin, giving him a conspiratorial nudge. “If I came across such a family of chicken-lovers, Falcon,” she confided with a wink, “I would immediately contract for as many chickens as I could. They would raise the chickens with great care. I would promise to send the feathered pets to fine new homes. We would have the best chicken soups and chicken pies that these lands have seen.”
This sent Jessica into a new round of merriment. After she caught her breath, she launched a litany of recipes and improvements she felt would benefit the keep.
Storm let Jessica prattle without interruption, and finally she built up the strength to look across at Falcon, to see how he had reacted. He appeared to be completely oblivious of Jessica’s stream of commentary, instead lost in serious thought. She wondered if he was considering her possible involvement in the bandit activities. Perhaps he was wondering if she would change, once her memories had returned. She knew the concern was always with her, always pressing at her.
Falcon suddenly shook his head, then stood, causing Jessica to stop mid-sentence in surprise.
“I am sorry, but my duties call to me,” he curtly offered to the two women, nodding to them, his mind clearly elsewhere. He turned, calling out, “David! Shawn!”
In a moment the two young soldiers had come to his side, and the trio was heading out the door toward the courtyard.
Jessica’s lips pressed to form a tight line. Her voice came in a low mutter. “Well, the sooner they finish checking every village, the sooner we can get Storm back to where she belongs,” she mused. Then she stood and strode out herself, not making even a small effort to offer a farewell to Storm.
Deep exhaustion settled down onto Storm’s shoulders like a wet, sodden wool cloak. She barely had the strength to rise from her chair, and she made her way up to her room at a slow pace. There she tumbled into bed and wearily closed her eyes.
Chapter 10
A modicum of peace settled over Storm when she awoke to the sound of church bells ringing. She would not have to hide out today. None would question her when she chose to spend the day praying in the chapel. She quickly dressed and made her way down to the small stone building, finding a quiet pew in the back corner.
When the others stood and left the chapel after the mass, she remained behind, relishing the serenity that settled over her as the rows of well-worn benches slowly emptied.
The rain was still pattering down on the roof, although its ferocity had abated somewhat over the past week. It was more of a friendly sound now, the fresh autumn smells of moss and wet ground permeating the stone walls.
A large stained glass window sent patchwork colors down the stone floor, scattering light across the polished wooden pews. A small table to one side held several beeswax candles in front of a small statue of Mary. Storm did not give in to the extravagance of lighting one; the light grey sky provided ample illumination for her quiet thoughts.
She did not know if she was devout or passive in her faith. She wore no cross, but indeed had few possessions at all when she came, beaten, bedraggled, and spent, to the steps of this keep. Who knew what the bandits had taken from her? All that mattered was that she felt a great sense of peace in this chapel, and that while she was here, she was not causing any further harm to her friends.
As she sat pondering her state, and considering the possible futures which spread before her, she was well aware that her mind and memories of her time here could be used against her. If she was with the bandits, and they somehow regained possession of her, they could then force her to reveal everything she had learned about the security here, the location of valuables, even the skills and weaknesses of the guards.
Storm was ruthlessly realistic. Try as she might, even if she set herself heart and soul against cooperating with the bandits, she knew that every person had her breaking point. She would not fool herself. A determined torturer would eventually cause her to reveal all important details she knew.
The sun was setting before she finally allowed herself to return to her room. Mary was waiting there with a small platter of cheese and bread, as well as a cup of wine.
“Thank you,” smiled Storm in gratitude. She ate the fare eagerly, realizing that she had become quite hungry.
Mary banked down the fire, then removed the remnants of food as Storm wearily climbed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
* * *
Storm spent the next morning watching the men work out in the fog and drizzle. She alternated between sitting by the window and moving around the room to build up her arm and leg strength. Weakness still trembled through each limb, but pressed herself to walk, to move, to swing her arms.
The thought hammered at her with growing intensity. She had to take her potential ties with the bandits more seriously. The less she learned about the keep and Falcon, the better. Hollowness gnawed at her at the thought of staying away from Falcon, but she resolved herself to her path with determination.
She resisted going down for lunch, and about an hour
later there was a knock at the door. Pulling the wooden door ajar, she found Heather waiting for her in the hall, carrying a platter of chicken, cheese, and bread along with a mug of cider.
“Mum thought you might be getting hungry, and sent me up with some food for you,” she greeted with a smile.
Storm returned the grin, drawing the girl into the room with a sweeping motion. She sat down on the side of her bed, with Heather plunking herself down on the bench by the window.
Storm nibbled on the chicken leg. “This is delicious, as always,” she praised. “Your mother is a wonderful cook, and you are a darling help. You will make someone a fantastic wife someday.”
Heather’s eyes dropped, her face tight. “Someone would have to like me first, for that to happen,” she commented under her breath.
Storm looked up with real surprise. True, Heather was on the heavy side, but she was so sweet … Storm looked Heather up and down with a studied glance. The girl had her hair tightly pulled back from her face, giving her face a puffy, strained look. The bright green dress she wore made her skin seem faded and dull. Mostly, though, it was her expression. Her eyes seemed listless and sad, and her mood seemed grim.
Storm smiled with a fresh wind of energy. If she was going to sit in her room for the next few days anyway, she might as well be useful if only in a small fashion.
“Do you think your mother could spare you for a few hours each afternoon, to help me with something?” she asked casually.
Heather absently nodded. “Yes - with the ongoing rain, many of the harvest tasks must wait for better weather. I am sure I can help with whatever it is you have planned.”
“Well then, tomorrow after lunch it is,” agreed Storm. “I will see you then.”
* * *
Rays from the morning sun streamed through her windows, and Storm stretched in their warmth, watching as the remaining soldiers headed into the keep, their practice complete. Soon Heather would arrive with her lunch, and then they could get started on Storm’s project. She looked forward to the afternoon, her face glowing with anticipation.
There was a knock on the door, and she turned with a bright smile. To her surprise, Falcon stepped in. He drew to a stop, his eyes caught on hers, and it was a long moment before he gave a gentle bow.
“We missed you at lunch yesterday,” he commented in a rough voice. “I came up to escort you down, so we would not be deprived of your presence yet again.”
Storm’s throat tightened. She craved the warmth emanating from him; it drew around her center and held her close. She knew she should turn him away and ask him to leave. And yet she found herself rising, walking to him, and laying a hand on his offered arm. Together they headed down into the main hall side by side.
Jessica beamed at them as they approached the head table. “It has been three days since I have seen you,” she teased Storm with a bright smile. “I was beginning to think you had run off with the chickens!” She giggled merrily to herself.
Storm settled herself down on Jessica’s right, nodding in greeting. “I have taken on a small project,” she demurred. Heather came over to fill their mugs, and Storm stopped abruptly, nodding her thanks to Heather.
“Well, do tell, what is it?” prodded Jessica, her interest piqued. “What will you be up to in that room of yours?”
Storm hesitated, but looked over Jessica’s intricate braids and well-tended look. If anyone could offer advice, Jessica would be the one. She nodded her head toward Heather, who was now serving the other end of their table. Jessica turned her head, and together they watched the young maid. The two teen soldiers, David and Shawn, were teasingly harassing the maid with sharp tongues, and Heather retreated with a crimson face toward the kitchen.
Storm hesitated before speaking. “Maybe if she braided her hair along her brow line …?” She stopped, wondering at the wisdom of involving Jessica in this discussion.
To her pleasure, Jessica’s face immediately lit up. “Oh yes,” she answered, her eyes sparkling. “That would be much better than that tight look she has now. Full, soft braids, so that it creates an oval frame for her face. It will draw attention to the beauty of her hair, instead of the sallow texture of her skin.”
Her eyes followed Heather with critical attention when the girl came back into the room, and she nodded. “I have a number of old ribbons I no longer use in my baggage. I will send them up to you as soon as we finish with lunch.”
Storm looked over to Jessica with a warm look. “That is very sweet of you.”
Jessica appeared lost in thought for a moment. “My mother died in childbirth with my younger brother,” she quietly replied. “I never had anyone to guide me in these matters. I spent hours by myself, trying and experimenting. If this young girl can avoid the harsh tongue of snide boys, then so much the better for her.”
True to her word, Storm was barely back in her room when a messenger arrived, bringing a small collection of ribbons. It was only a short while later that Heather appeared, standing at attention within the door.
“So, what shall you have me do?” she asked with resolute readiness.
“We are going to plait your hair today,” replied Storm with a grin. “Take a seat on the bench by the window, where we have some good light.”
Heather blushed pink when she realized what Storm’s intentions were, and noted with pleasure the array of ribbons.
“Are these really from Jessica?” she wondered in surprise. “Maybe she is hoping you will stay up here forever, leaving Falcon completely at her mercy!”
Storm chuckled as she brushed out Heather’s long hair. “If you feel someone has a bad nature then you will look at everything they do through that lens,” she pointed out amiably. “However, I think you will find that most people have a mix of motivations. They are neither all good, nor all bad. It is better to take each action as they come, and hope for the best with each new move.”
“I suppose,” responded Heather doubtfully, holding up a rose colored ribbon. “This is a beautiful color, whatever the reason she has for giving them to me.”
Storm held the ribbon up against Heather’s cheek. The rosy red of the ribbon brought out the natural color in her cheek, and was a far better match for her than the bright green of her outfit.
“Do you have any dresses of this color?” she asked, going back to her brushing.
Heather blushed. “I have just this one. Every year we get a new dress, and each time it is the same as the previous year.”
“Why is that? Are you required to wear this color?” asked Storm with curiosity.
Heather shook her head. “I guess it has just always been that way, and I never thought to change it,” she replied pensively.
“When do you get your new dress?”
“Just a week or two from now. It comes with the fall harvest, so that we have fresh, warm clothes for the winter season.”
Storm nodded, done with the brushing. “I am sure we can get your dress in rose this year, and you will find it suits you far better.”
Storm moved around to sit in front of Heather and began softly braiding the hair along her brow line. She took her time, doing and undoing the work until she created an even fall of hair along both sides. She brought the braids back to meet at the nape of her neck, then used the rose ribbon to join them.
She found the small silver mirror and handed it to Heather. “Well, what do you think?”
Heather’s mouth formed a perfect O as she looked at her reflection. “It is lovely!” she gushed, looking at herself from several angles. “It is almost pretty!”
“You are pretty,” retorted Storm with a chuckle. “We just have to coax you into letting it show!”
They spent the afternoon braiding and unbraiding the hair until Storm was sure that Heather had gotten the hang of the style and could do it on her own. By then the light had begun to fade and Storm’s energy was flagging. She sent Heather off eager to show her mother, and climbed into bed.
* * *
Storm considered avoiding lunch again, but it was the one time when she left her room, and she found she could not resist heading down the stairs to join the others. It was only an hour, after all. Besides, she could ask Jessica’s opinion on Heather’s new hair style.
Jessica nodded in proud approval as she saw Heather approach, and even called the maid over to scrutinize the braids from close up. Heather blushed profusely, and listened attentively as Jessica suggested a gentler weave along the top brow.
Falcon waited until Heather had moved out of earshot to turn an intrigued eye on his female companions. “I assume you two had something to do with the new look of our young maid?”
“Why yes,” interjected Jessica smoothly. “It is the role of the mistress of a keep to ensure that all of her minions – no matter how lowly – look their best. As you are currently single, I felt it was the least I could do, to repay you for your kind hospitality.” She raised her glass of wine to him in a salute.
Falcon’s mouth quirked at the answer, but he nodded, raising his own mug in return to the two women before him.
Jessica took a swallow, then turned back to Storm to comment in a low voice. “Next, you have to do something about that skin,” she firmly instructed Storm. “It is puffy and sickly looking. Go out walking with her, outside but in the shade. You two should spend all afternoon together, I would think. It will be necessary so that you develop some skin tone on that girl!”
Storm suspected Jessica mainly wanted her outside, but Storm knew that she needed more exercise as well to rebuild the strength in her legs, and took the advice to heart. As soon as Heather showed up in her room, she led the girl downstairs and out the front door. The drizzle had held off for the afternoon, and together the two made their way around the outside of the keep. Heather was unaccustomed to long walks, and Storm was still weak from her injuries, so they found they made a companionable pair, moving past the geese and chickens of the keep’s environs.
