by Shea,Lisa
Storm had many questions about the falcon roost they passed, as well as several other buildings, but she held her tongue. She forced herself to focus on the path ahead, tamping down her curiosity with an iron will. The less she knew, the less of a threat she posed to her friends.
By Thursday, Jessica pronounced Heather’s braids well done, and was happy to hear that the pair had begun going for long walks. When Heather had moved out of earshot, Jessica murmured to Storm, “The walks are one thing, but she needs to cut back on sweets as well. She has crossed the line between healthily plump and unhealthily stout.”
Storm looked down at the table, where an apple pie and a peach pie had just been brought out. “Maybe if there were not so many desserts with leftovers?”
Jessica’s eyes lit up and she spun to face Falcon. “Falcon, my dear, do you like cheese?” she asked with hearty interest.
Falcon broke off his conversation with John and glanced between the two women, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “Well, certainly. Our last master cheese-maker moved away and we have not found someone to replace him yet.”
Jessica put her hand on his arm, leaning forward. “Well, then, I have just the thing for you! My shops bring in the finest cheese from all corners of England! We have a number of varieties. You can have a plate of cheese for dessert, rather than these baked pies. What do you think?”
Falcon slowly nodded. “Certainly, I enjoy cheese very much. If that would appeal to you, then I would be quite happy with the variety.”
“It is done!” cried out Jessica, delighted. “I will have it all arranged right away. You will not be disappointed!”
Storm found herself growing stronger as she and Heather walked their circuit later that afternoon, her legs more sure and steady. Heather also seemed to be moving more easily, and she tucked a loose strand into her braid with practiced ease as they came around into the wind.
As Heather walked beside her, the girl began humming a country tune in time with her step. The melody was light and gay, and when Heather eased into words, her voice was clear and strong.
When Heather had finished her song, Storm turned to her with a smile. “You have a beautiful voice!” she praised with delight. “Do you sing at the local festivals?”
Heather flushed a rich shade of crimson under the compliment. “I would never do such a thing,” she insisted, looking away. “I could not sing in front of people.”
“Well, for now, I am happy for you to sing for me,” replied Storm. “It is quite delightful.”
Heather blushed an even deeper color, but she continued to sing as they walked, and the two stayed out until the setting sun painted the sky in burgundy and gold.
* * *
Storm’s stomach rolled somersaults Friday morning as she ticked another day off her stay at the keep. Thom had been gone for over a week – surely he should be back by now? She did not know how long she could remain in the keep, trying to stay blind to everything she saw, trying to avoid Falcon’s presence. She was striving to live her life with blinders on, and the attempt was driving her to distraction.
Part of it, she sensed, was the lack of activity her daily routine provided. Yes, she enjoyed her walks with Heather, and the girl had the voice of an angel. Still, she longed for something more. Her arms and legs craved motion of some kind, but she could not tell what.
Most of all, it was the incessant spinning of her mind which wore at her. Storm longed to know, for once and for all, who she was. Billowing frustration grew with every hour that ticked by in ignorance.
When Saturday dawned sunny and bright, Storm resolved to get out of the keep’s walls for even a few hours. Despite her concerns about gaining knowledge which the bandits might misuse, she knew she would go stir-crazy if she did not stretch her legs further than her strolls around the building. Perhaps she could find a quiet corner of the village where she could safely relax and walk about without learning anything useful to the enemies.
To her surprise, she discovered the hall Jessica-free when she descended for lunch. She had come to expect Jessica as a fixture of the room, always positioned between her and Falcon, always controlling the conversation.
Falcon strolled into the hall, moving to sit by her side with a contented smile. Storm automatically began to pull her chair away from his, to make room for Jessica, and he put a hand on top of hers, forestalling her motion.
“No need to be distant today, Storm,” he smiled at her with a chuckle. “Jessica will not be joining us for lunch. It seems that she had to meet with some buyers about a new shipment of some sort for her store.”
Storm had steeled herself against Falcon’s charms. It had been easy enough to do with the barrier of Jessica between them. Suddenly, though, his smile hit her full force, and she blushed beneath his attentive regard.
She lowered her eyes and searched for an appropriate response. “I am very happy for her – it sounds like her new project is launching quite nicely.”
Falcon was silent until she looked up again, then he held her eyes with his gaze. She was drawn into the depths of his focus. “Yes,” he agreed. “It is very good news.”
Blushing, Storm looked down again at her hands, relieved when Heather came by shortly with steaming bowls of vegetable soup.
Their meal time was spent in quiet conversation. Despite her decision to avoid any interactions, Storm’s reserve eased with Falcon’s gentle questioning, and enjoyed the discussion as much as the wonderful food.
When lunch was over, Falcon showed none of his usual rush to leave for business. He sent John out with David and Shawn to do a patrol of the nearby villages, and the room slowly emptied. He leant back in his chair, taking a long sip of his ale. His eyes held hers with quiet interest.
“So, Storm, what would you like for us to do this afternoon?”
Storm hesitated for a long while, weighing the wisdom of her plan. “I find that I am in the mood for a ride,” Storm finally admitted to her host. At the surprised look on Falcon’s face, she quickly added, “Maybe just around town, of course. I promise not to endanger the horse.”
She realized suddenly that perhaps he did not trust her yet with one of his steeds, and wished she had not made such a foolhardy request.
Falcon gave a reassuring smile. “It is not the horse I am concerned for,” he responded. He glanced toward the main door, one eyebrow raised in a question. “Surely, though, it is a little cold for a lady to be out riding for enjoyment?”
Storm thought for a while about this concern. She wondered again at her past. It seemed quite natural for her to want to be on horseback, even while a crisp autumn wind was blowing. Light to see by was all she craved. She shook her head, finding herself as intrigued as Falcon apparently was.
“It seems I enjoy riding, and the thought of cold weather does not trouble me at all. I am curious to see how well I can manage it.”
Falcon considered this for a moment, then nodded. “We will take it slowly, and see how you do. You are still healing from the attack, and regardless of your past level of skill, we should be cautious. I know where the quiet trails lie.”
Falcon offered his arm, and Storm found herself accepting it without hesitation, feeling as if it was natural to be beside him, to lean on him for support. Falcon’s eyes moved silently to her hand, and he smiled quietly as he led her through the keep proper out into the cobblestone courtyard. The wooden stables were to the right, and the pair headed in that direction.
Harold was standing at the stable’s doors as they approached. As they entered, Harold nodded his head at Falcon, then turned without speaking to lead the two into the main stall clearing. Storm glanced up uneasily at the loft area, then put the image out of her mind and focused on the present.
She slowly walked up and down the paddocks, eyeing each mount with careful precision before returning back to Mercury’s stall. She smiled, opening the door and moving in to stand beside the steed, patting him with tender gentleness. Falcon said nothing, only watch
ing with a quiet eye.
“I think I will try him,” she decided at last.
Storm waited anxiously as Harold silently bridled and saddled the horse. Was she sure she could ride such a powerful mount? In what seemed too short a period of time, Harold had the steed ready and was holding the reins, indicating that she should climb up.
Taking a deep breath, she put her foot in the stirrup and lifted herself onto the horse, tucking her dress underneath her legs. She settled herself astride the horse.
She ran her hand down his mane and was filled with a feeling of deep satisfaction. She smiled over at Falcon, who was keeping a steady eye on her progress. When he saw that she was comfortably settled, he quickly mounted his own steed and drew up alongside her.
Feeling more confident, she gathered the reins in her hands, motioning to Falcon that she was ready.
Falcon nodded his thanks to Harold, then turned to Storm. “We can begin slowly, to see how you do,” he offered. He gently clucked his horse into motion.
Falcon walked his grey stallion next to Storm’s bay across the courtyard and through the main gates. The rolling landscape opened up in a foggy sweep before them, and Storm sighed at the beauty of the realm. The chill October wind was sharp, and it whistled past the thick black cloak wrapped around her.
The curtain walls stretched greyly behind her; to her right the town spread in a patchwork of lanes and buildings. The left was open – the fields empty and coated with a layer of crisp frost. At the far end of the fields stretched a line of trees.
Falcon turned to her. “Let me take you through town today,” he suggested solicitously. “That will be an easy ride, and will let you learn more about these lands.”
Storm’s smile was genuine. “That sounds delightful,” she readily agreed. “I would love that.”
The two walked their horses side by side through the quiet streets, with Falcon providing a running commentary on the history of the area. As they came by a low building with brightly colored curtains, he pulled to a stop, motioning for her to do the same. In a moment they had dismounted and pushed open the wooden door. Storm only needed one glance inside the shop to realize that this was the seamstress’ shop. Carol, the heavy-set proprietor, was thrilled to see Falcon.
“My Lord, how good of you to stop in,” she bubbled effusively, her blonde curls bouncing with her energetic movements. “How did you like the dresses I made you for your new wife?”
Her eyes popped round in surprise when Storm stepped into the doorway after Falcon, her cloak pulling to the side momentarily to reveal a flash of blue.
“Carol, this is Storm, the woman I rescued from the bandit camp,” explained Falcon. “We had to borrow one or two of your dresses in order to clothe her. She came from the area of North Walsham.”
Carol clucked her tongue in understanding. “If she came from the North Walsham area, she would be lucky to have a stitch of decent clothing on her, even before the bandits took her. That Lord Walker is the most frugal man in the realm, from what I have heard. Villagers who see even my most simple outfits are often in awe of what I offer.” She shook her head. “Did you want me to put together a new dress or two, then?”
“If you would,” asked Falcon with a smile. “Of course, it completely depends on your schedule -”
Carol grinned and waved his concerns aside. “Do not worry at all, my Lord! I can start working on that right away.” She turned to Storm, looking her up and down. “Would you mind removing your cloak for a moment, miss?”
Storm obliged, blushing under the scrutiny. She looked around with curiosity at the ribbons and outfits hanging from the walls; all seemed quite foreign and fascinating to her.
Carol examined the fit of the clothing with a careful eye. “It looks as if these clothes fit well enough with the measurements I had for your future wife, my Lord. I can make some fresh clothes with this same fitting and they should do fine.” She turned again to Storm. “Did you have a color or style you preferred, miss?”
Storm looked down at the blue dress she was wearing, again admiring the embroidery and texture of the dress. “I think this is simply beautiful,” she praised the seamstress with quiet enthusiasm. She ran her hand down the fine cloth, then looked up.
“If you had anything more plain, I would be quite content with that. I do not need anything this fancy; this quality befits the wife of a Lord and -”
Carol burst out into peals of laughter, and Falcon looked abashed. When her laughter had subsided, Carol was able to explain.
“Actually, my dear, these are only casual house coats. Falcon had expected his new wife to come with full sets of clothing, and only had me make these as emergency outfits, in case something disastrous happed to his wife’s trunks along the way. This is about as simple as it gets around here.”
Storm hesitantly smiled. “Then I would be quite pleased to have a dress or two in this style, in blue. If you can, of course,” she added in concern. “Any color will do, really.”
Carol clapped her hands with pleasure. “Blue it is,” she agreed. “It goes very well with your coloring. I will send them to the keep as soon as they are ready.”
“I have one more question, if you would,” added Storm. “Is rose dye any more expensive than green dye to make?”
Carol shook her head no. “The two are just about the same. Why?”
Storm hesitated for a moment. “When you make your dress for Heather, the maid at the keep, would you be able to make it in rose instead of green? She is seeking a change.”
Carol smiled in understanding. “Of course I can,” she agreed. “I think that will look quite lovely on her. Consider it done.”
Falcon’s eyes brightened with interest, but he only added, “Thank you again, Carol. I look forward to your next trip to my home.”
The group made their farewells, and soon Storm and Falcon were again riding slowly through the quiet village streets.
Storm shyly glanced over at Falcon. “I appreciate your offer of clothing very much, Falcon. I will of course repay you for the effort as soon as I get home again.”
Falcon waved her off. “Do not worry about it,” he commented. “Carol’s mother is having a hard time with a wounded leg. The money Carol gets from this commission will go to a good cause.”
Storm rode in silence for a few moments, considering this. That Falcon would be so well informed about the inhabitants of his village, and care about their finances … it seemed both unusual and heartwarming to her. She wondered what other surprises this ride would bring.
The horses turned a corner in the street, and Storm spotted the sign for a leatherworker on the opposite side. Her spirits immediately rose. “Oh, can we go in there?” she eagerly called out.
Falcon’s eyebrow lifted in curiosity, but he said nothing and nodded. He pulled his horse to the side, dismounting and tying up the steeds at the railing which stood before the shop. The two entered through the heavy wooden door.
The middle-aged, rough-hewn leatherworker looked up with pleased surprise when he spotted Falcon entering the shop. “My Lord, welcome!” he cried, putting down his tools and walking over with a broad grin. “I had not thought to see you back here so soon.”
“Theodore,” greeted Falcon with ease.
A blonde girl, maybe eight, suddenly stood from behind a table and looked between them shyly before racing off into the back room.
“Never mind my Caroline, she is at that age,” chuckled Theodore. He looked down Falcon with careful attention. “Is your new armor serving you well? Any rips or pulls that need mending?” He examined the full leather jerkin and pants which Falcon wore with a practiced eye, seeking any problems or pulls.
Falcon shook his head, then looked over with interest at Storm, who was moving slowly along the walls, staring with open fascination at the collection of scabbards, greaves, vests, and other items on display. She ran her fingers with awe-struck admiration over the carved designs worked into some of the pieces.
&nb
sp; She finally stopped at a dagger scabbard which was decorated with an intricate tracing of leaves and ivy.
“This is amazing,” she pronounced in a quiet whisper, holding it up to the light to get a better look at the detail work.
The shop owner smiled with pride. “You have a fine eye, M’lady,” he agreed. “That took me two months of work. It was a commissioned piece, but the buyer changed his mind.”
Storm turned it over in her hands, entranced by the design. Over her shoulder, she heard Falcon talking quietly with the man. The two stood by his counter on the far side of the room, and she missed most of the conversation.
Then the volume grew. “We will take it, Theodore,” came Falcon’s voice.
Storm whirled in alarm. “Oh no,” she protested quickly. “I could not possibly -”
Falcon waved his hand, dismissing her concerns. “Consider it a gift from me, in thanks for your company,” he quietly insisted. “There is no need to pay me back for this.”
Storm was going to protest further, but something in Falcon’s eyes had her bite her tongue.
She brought her attention back to the beautiful leatherwork in her hands, immersed in its artistry, lost in the moment. She wondered faintly that she had found this emotion in an armor shop, of all places.
“Hold this for a moment?” she absently called out to Falcon, staring down at her new scabbard with joy while pulling her dagger free from her belt with her right hand. She idly flipped it across the room to him, sending the hilt in a sure, straight line toward him. He caught it easily, but she barely noticed; she was transfixed with her new present. To think it was now hers …
She sensed vaguely that Falcon was staring at the dagger in his hand, looking between it and her with a sharp gaze. She chuckled, dismissing his surprise. It was hardly a throw at all, barely a distance of fifteen feet. Child’s play.
She pulled her belt loose, then slid the scabbard along its length, settling it on her right hip. As she finished buckling the belt, she automatically put her right hand up in the air, signaling that she was ready for the dagger’s return. Her eyes caressed the scabbard - the intricate design; the delicate workings along the leaf.
