by Shea,Lisa
She could almost feel Falcon’s stare as he narrowed his eyes. Surely the man was not nervous about a little knife toss.
Finally. She sensed the motion as he flipped the dagger around in his grip, then with a quick movement he sent it spinning in the air, aiming past her head. She grinned at his over-abundance of care. He was playing it safe; at that angle, if she did not catch it, it would land harmlessly embedded in the side wall.
The dagger never made it that far. As it spun past her head, without moving her gaze from her scabbard, Storm reached up and plucked the moving weapon out of the air. She heard the whistle of admiration come from the shop-keep at his side, but Falcon’s eyes remained cool and shuttered.
Everything else faded from her mind as she nimbly flipped the weapon around in her grasp and eagerly slid the dagger into her elegant new scabbard. She turned, her eyes bright, to move forward to Theodore and take both of his hands in hers.
“It is simply amazing,” she praised him, her heart full of joy. “I have never seen its equal. I will treasure it forever. You are truly an artisan.”
The man blushed to the roots of his hair, the smile nearly reaching his ears. Then Falcon was taking her by the arm, guiding her from the shop and bringing them back to their mounts.
* * *
Falcon seemed more reserved than usual as they rode slowly away from the shop, and she glanced over at his impassive face. He was lost in thought. She wondered if perhaps there was a story behind the leatherworker’s financial situation as well. She shrugged, gently rolling her shoulders. If so, there was no need for her to press. She would allow him to tell her in his own time.
She patted the scabbard at her side; it truly was a work of art. She would count it amongst her most valued treasures. Her mood bright, she gazed around the quiet town as they passed, admiring the quiet gardens and the flocks of chickens contentedly scratching in front yards.
When the two had ridden a ways from the shop, Falcon shook himself, looking over to meet Storm’s eyes. His voice was serious. “So you like the scabbard? You were not just being polite to humor Theodore?”
Storm’s smile brightened her entire face. “Very much so,” she promised. “It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen.”
Falcon considered this for a moment, then nodded, gently returning the smile. “I am glad, then. That scabbard has been in Theodore’s shop for several months now. It is out of the price range of the locals here, and I think he had despaired of ever making back what he put into that piece.”
He paused for a moment, watching her eyes. “It pleases me that you were so taken with it; the scabbard deserves to be somewhere it is appreciated.”
Storm looked down at the beautiful workmanship which now hung at her hip. “Who ordered it, and then abandoned it like that? It is simply gorgeous.”
Falcon’s lips compressed, and he looked away. “It was Lord Walker,” he admitted in a cold voice. “He was visiting a while ago for preliminary talks. He had admired the workmanship of my armor and asked about having a scabbard made with this design. He settled with Theodore on a price, and Theodore promptly went to work. Theodore knew how important this treaty was to me and put more time into it than on any other project I have seen.”
Falcon’s voice became brittle. “When the finished piece was presented, Lord Walker demanded that he pay only one quarter the original price. Theodore simply could not do it; he has a family to feed, and he had put aside many other projects in order to complete this one. Lord Walker stalked out and refused to pay.”
Storm did not know what to say. It seemed that the Walkers were not people that Falcon should be dealing with, but she was not in any position to advise him. She held her tongue, riding quietly through the leaf-filled streets.
They moved into more residential areas of town. Occasionally the two would stop by a house as the occupant came out to talk for a while, pleasantly passing the time. Every home showed a measure of pride and care which shone even through the layers of fallen leaves.
By the time the light began to fade and the two had returned to the stables, Storm was exhausted but glowing with pleasure. Harold was across the courtyard as they rode in, and slowly began to make his way across to the pair.
They stopped deep within the stable building. Falcon was on his feet in a moment and came around to help her dismount from her horse. She found she appreciated his steadying arm as she lowered herself from the saddle.
When she gained her feet, she turned, putting her back to the steed to regain her balance. Falcon was close before her. She could smell the rich aroma of the leather of his armor, the musk of his body in a heady blend of scents. She looked up into his eyes and felt lost in their depths.
Her voice came soft and deep. “Thank you, for everything.”
Falcon’s voice, when he responded, had a husky quality which made her heart ache. “It was my pleasure.”
Storm was caught by his gaze; her heart thundered within her ribs. With an effort she made herself turn, to move away from that tempting closeness and head into the open courtyard. Falcon was practically an engaged man. She had no proof she herself was unattached. She had no place encouraging him or indulging in her own dreams.
She practically ran up the steps, heading back to her own room. Once there, however, sleep was a luxury that was long denied her. It seemed that everywhere she looked, Falcon’s understanding eyes were gazing back at her.
Chapter 11
Sunday dawned with rainy dreariness, but Storm felt the draw to Falcon as if a magnet was pulling her in. She dressed quickly and headed downstairs with a light step, hoping against hope that Jessica would be absent again.
To her delight she found Falcon alone, waiting for her in the main hall. He was freshly washed, dressed in a quietly elegant tunic of rich blue. He escorted her with a smile into the small chapel, sitting beside her on the polished wooden pew.
Storm was swept away by the beauty of the morning. The rain gently thrumming on the wooden roof overhead, the melodic chanting of the priest as he gave the mass, the comfortable presence of Falcon at her side. She wondered at how easy everything felt and considered what it might be like to have this routine laid out before her for her entire life. She was suddenly wistful that this was only a tiny snapshot of life – one which could be whisked away at any moment.
When the pair had finished with lunch, Falcon glanced out the windows, then turned to Storm. “It does not look like today is a good day for riding,” he commented wryly. “However, I have another idea. Come with me.”
He led Storm through a side door into a richly appointed study. The floor had two thick fur rugs; a pair of comfortable leather chairs flanked a large fireplace with a marble mantle. Rows of shelves lined the wall around the fireplace.
Falcon brought a small table over to sit between the two chairs and lay a chessboard on top of it. He began placing the pieces down one by one.
“This seems a perfect way to spend a long, rainy day,” he commented as he finished putting the board in order. “Have a seat, and let me explain to you how these pawns work.”
Heather brought them in mugs of mead, and Storm bit her lip in concealed mischievous delight as Falcon patiently explained each piece to her in careful detail.
It was a relatively short while later when Storm pressed her castle forward, coming up alongside his king.
“I believe this is checkmate?” she offered, a twinkle shining in her eye.
Falcon sat back for a moment, a suspicious look coming onto his face. “You have played this before,” he finally growled out, tipping over his king in defeat.
Storm took a long drink from her mug, her face shining with delight. “It does seem familiar to me, yes,” she agreed with glee.
Falcon shook his head, a smile growing on his face. “Well then, the next time you will not find me quite such an easy victim,” he promised, and the challenge was on.
The two played long into the night, until the fire had faded down
to quiet embers. They had tied at two games apiece before Storm’s exhaustion brought her to call it a night. Falcon walked her up to her room, coercing from her a promise to play fresh matches in the coming days.
* * *
Storm drifted awake to motes of dust dancing in the sunbeams streaming through her open windows. She smiled and nestled into the blankets for a while, allowing herself to bask in the warmth. She knew it could not last forever. At some point soon Thom would return, and she would have to leave the keep. If she only had a few days left, then perhaps it was not so bad to relish the beauty, the serenity that life was presenting to her.
A golden glow drew through her. Perhaps the afternoon would unroll with a delightful ride through the quiet village. Perhaps the evening would glisten with candles as she slid her queen along the ebony board.
She brushed her hair out until it glowed, and her feet barely touched the stairs as she descended down to the main hall … and pulled up short. Despite the early hour, the room was laid out as if for a county fair.
A pair of burly servants had positioned a series of elegant looking blue and white pottery items along the length of the main table. There were tall, twisting vases, sprawling serving bowls, elegant small plates, and a plethora of other assorted accessories.
Jessica was standing regally behind the selection of her wares, carefully adjusting the position of each item. Falcon and Mary waited to one side, quietly conferring together. He looked up as he heard her soft footsteps on the stairs and nodded a quiet greeting to her.
Storm came down to stand beside the two, offering good mornings to each in turn. She found herself intrigued by the items set out on the table. Jessica had frequently discussed the luxurious nature of her wares, and Storm had assumed that she would find Jessica’s offerings similar to her jewelry – pretentious and gaudy.
Instead, these mugs and platters made Storm feel comfortable and relaxed. The patterns were of flowers and vines; the lines traced the shapes of the objects with a gentle balance. That Jessica’s store stocked items that Storm found appealing and beautiful brought her up short. She reminded herself not to make assumptions about other peoples’ lives.
Jessica finished arranging the last bowl, then came around to stand in front of her products. She completely ignored Mary and Storm, instead speaking directly to Falcon. All of her friendly demeanor of previous days seemed lost, subsumed by her professional arrogance.
“This collection of fine artwork has just been imported from southern France,” she explained to Falcon with practiced verve. “There is a small commune there, an artist’s enclave, which has perfected their craft over hundreds of years. These are not ordinary items, but master crafted works of art which will become beloved heirlooms for your family.”
Falcon listened to her sales pitch with casual attention, then, when Jessica swept him forward, he strolled down the row of items with Mary and Storm on either side of him. Jessica attempted to interject herself into each conversation, but Falcon made sure that Mary and Storm were consulted on each piece.
Mary passed over most of the items, but she found a trio of serving dishes which she said would do nicely for vegetable recipes. Falcon nodded with agreement, deferring to her in the selection. Jessica bubbled with delight and assured Falcon that they were a wise investment.
Storm found that she was transfixed by one of the vases set at the center of the table. The vase began with a low, bulbous base, then narrowed and sprouted into a thin cylinder at the top. The vase would hold perhaps four or five stems, no more. A delicate tracing of blue vines spiraled around the tube.
She reached forward to pick it up, only to start back when Jessica snapped at her. “Careful, there!” came her harsh scold. Storm looked up guiltily, bringing her hand back.
Jessica walked forward to pick up the vase and hold it in front of Storm. “This vase is probably worth more than your family makes in six months,” she estimated in clipped tones. “Please do be careful.”
Falcon’s voice came quietly from behind her. “Add that in to my order,” he stated calmly.
Jessica’s eyes burned with a combination of avarice and jealousy, but she turned with a sweet smile on her lips. “Of course, Lord Falcon,” she purred. “Anything you wish.”
The rest of the items were packed off and the room was cleared for the noon meal. Despite Jessica’s endless prattle, Storm could feel Falcon’s eyes on her, and she blushed despite herself. She found herself remembering in detail how he knew each person along their ride through the village. How he had gently teased the newly handfasted young couple, asking if they were getting enough sleep. How he’d helped the elderly farmer with his sticky gate.
She was not surprised when he left with his men shortly after the meal – and when Jessica followed only moments after him. Storm headed back to her room, lost in thought. An afternoon rain shower had moved in, and she distracted herself by doing arm and leg exercises for several hours, slowly but surely rebuilding her strength slowly.
It was late in the evening when a knock sounded at her door. She looked up in surprise, then smiled in greeting when Falcon came into the room. He had one hand behind his back and drew it out to present her with the blue vase, filled with a harmony of colorful reeds.
“I am sorry I could not bring you flowers,” he offered with a wry grin. “I am afraid this is not the season for roses or daisies.”
Storm came forward to stand before him. She carefully took the vase from his hands, looking down to admire it. “The reeds are beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than the vase itself,” she thanked him with a smile. “They remind me …”
Falcon’s eyes sharpened. He watched as her gaze lost focus, and did not speak or interrupt her musings. He stood stock still, waiting in attentive quiet.
The moments slipped by.
Storm’s world shifted around her. There were no visual images, only feelings. She ran one hand across the tops of the reeds, feeling their willowy texture. “There was a clearing by a pond … a horse … a circle of reeds. I was safe. I was finally safe.”
The feeling blew away, dissipating as a morning fog in the growing dawn. She shook her head, realizing that Falcon was watching her closely. “I am sorry,” she softly apologized. “I cannot remember much at all, just the emotion.”
Falcon was standing quite near to her, and he half reached toward her before stopping. His voice was low and husky. “How do you feel now? Do you feel safe?”
Storm did not need to ponder the question at all. She knew immediately the sensation she felt. She looked up into Falcon’s eyes, losing herself in his gaze.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
He was quiet for a long time, and Storm was drowning in his eyes, joined in the depths of their emotion. Time seemed to stand still, and she almost held her breath rather than break the spell.
Then, with a deep sigh he dropped his eyes to the ground. “That is good,” he bit out huskily. His eyes flickered back up to her hip for a moment, then he turned away. He strode out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Storm stood still, watching the door for many moments before she accepted the fact that he was not going to return. She went to the window and placed the vase on the sill.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the reeds for a long while. Over time, the fading dusk muted the colors into shades of grey. Finally only flickering shadows from the fireplace lit their profile.
Chapter 12
Storm spent the next morning perched on the wooden stool by the window, watching the men practicing sword moves down in the courtyard below. Her heart ached with conflicting emotions. She knew that she was becoming drawn in by Falcon’s charm, his compassion, and his skill with a blade. It would be incredibly easy to fall in love with him.
She also knew that this was not meant to be.
In an ideal world, she would be the fairy tale princess, a perfect match for Falcon. She would be told that her father was a king and that
their wealth would ensure the safety of the kingdom for all time. She and Falcon could be together, happily ever after.
She knew in her heart that the reality would be far from a storybook plot. Reality never worked out perfectly like that. For all she knew, she was a serving wench, and this very day could see her sent back to a harsh master. Her future could be comprised of long days of rough labor and lonely nights in a cold cell.
Storm both longed for the messenger’s return, to free her from this torment, while at the same time wishing that this waiting could go on forever. She was suspended between two worlds; neither offered her what she wanted from life.
Tense with frustration, she grabbed the sword from the bottom drawer and began swinging it around. The sharpness of the blade slicing through the air seemed to match her mood, and she slashed at imaginary enemies for a few moments. Then, as if on their own accord, her movements began to fall into a pattern. Swing the blade forward and down, until the tip rested above her right toe. Pull the blade up, hilt by her cheek, pointing the tip toward the eyes of the enemy. Slash the sword down and across, resting to the lower left. Her feet moved to match, steady and balanced.
The tensions of the morning melted away from her. She was moving without thinking, without evaluating. Her legs were a little stiff, but that would fade. Snap the blade up to hold it straight before her. Drop the hilt to her left hip, tip high. The moments spun on into a relaxing litany. The fluid turns stretched one after another; the minutes rolled on as she lost herself in her actions. Another spin, and she turned toward the door …
Storm found herself staring straight into Falcon’s eyes. They were shuttered and unreadable, and by his posture he had stood there for some time. His hand rested easily on the hilt of his sword.
Storm’s face flushed, and she brought her own sword slowly down to her side. The hilt felt so familiar in her hand, as if she knew every curve, every twist. There was no question in her mind. The sword was hers.
