by Shea,Lisa
Leaning over, she retrieved the leather scabbard from the bed and slid the blade smoothly into its place. She laid both gently down on the covers, avoiding Falcon’s eyes.
Falcon’s voice was smooth and even. “I suppose you just now remembered how to use that.”
Storm was at a loss for words. “I …”
She turned and stared out the window at the now empty courtyard. “I do not remember the look of the sword at all,” she explained in confusion, trying to put the sensations into a context that Falcon could understand. “When it is in my hand, when I feel it move … that, I remember.”
She paused, laying her forehead against the cold stone at the side of the window. She knew her sword skills seemed a sure indication of her guilt, of her association with bandits. Even so, at her core, she knew more than ever that it could not be true.
Storm took in a deep breath, searching for a way to put the feeling into words for Falcon. “It is not that I feel aggressive when I hold the sword, or powerful. It is different than that. I feel … secure. I feel I hold the strength to protect myself … to protect others. I know I would put my life on the line to shield a family from harm.”
She shook her head, realizing this was small proof that she was not a member of the bandits. She had now shown she had some skill with the sword. Just what did her past really hold? What did Falcon believe about her character or her background?
Frustration grew within her, and she bit back tears. “I know you need to know about my past,” she grated, her voice hoarse. “I swear to you, if I only knew, I would tell you everything. I do not. I do not know what you want to know.”
Falcon was silent for a long while, then he quietly walked up close behind her. She could feel his presence, feel the power of him there. She forced herself to stand in place, to not turn and see the expression on his face. Did he despise her? Did he imagine her standing with fellow bandits, preparing to cause harm to others?
He stood near her for several minutes, not speaking. Then suddenly he turned her around to face him, almost roughly, and she was stunned by the desire she saw in his eyes.
He took her hands in his, holding them gently. “I believe in you,” he insisted, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself as much as her. “There could be a thousand reasons you know how to defend yourself. A thousand valid reasons.”
“I want you to be proud of me,” Storm bit out hoarsely, caught by his gaze, the words slipping out before she gave them thought.
“Oh, Storm,” he ground out, moving closer to her, looking down at her in torment. His attention moved from her eyes to her lips and he almost leant down before reining himself in, taking in a deep breath.
“If there is anything I need to know, the only thing important to me …” He held her gaze for a long moment. “If you remember through touch, maybe there is a chance.” He brought up her hands, gently pressing them against his cheeks. His voice was thick with longing and jealousy.
“Does this feel familiar in any way?”
It took only a moment for Storm to realize what he was saying. He was asking her if she remembered touching another man; remembered being with another man. The knowledge swept over her like a raging flood. She realized that he was as worried of violating an existing relationship or commitment of hers as she was.
The thought hit Storm with blazing clarity. If they did discover that Storm was a married woman, and the loyal husband arrived here to claim her, might the marriage be forever tainted by Storm’s unwitting adultery? And if she were married to a high-ranking town official, how would that disruption affect the other villagers’ estimation of Falcon?
Storm knew that many Lords shared in the bounty of their female tenants. Those women often sought out the relationship and considered themselves lucky to raise the resulting child. Their allowance might be a boon for their entire extended family.
But from what Mary had said, Falcon had, until now, chosen a life of celibacy, at least until his upcoming wedding. Storm had a sense that something had happened to Falcon in the past – something he had not fully healed from.
And yet, here he was before her, his eyes deep with emotion. His mind was clearly torn between a longing for her and a concern of hurting her.
He wanted to know if she was free.
She shook her head in frustration. How could she answer his question, when she had no memory of her past?
Storm closed her eyes and concentrated, running her hands along the lines of his cheek, down his neck to the strong muscles of his shoulders. She could feel him tremble beneath her touch, could sense the force of will it took him to stand still beneath her gentle caress. Her own body flushed with the sensation, became faint from the desire flowing throughout her.
Moving with deliberate slowness, she slid her hands down his well-muscled arms, recognizing without looking the different muscle groups that were in evidence beneath his leather. What would it be like to have those arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly against his chest …
Her breathing was constricted; her heart hammered against her chest. She took in a deep, shuddering breath. She was enveloped with his scent - of musk, of leather, with the barest hint of sweet woodruff.
Her hands once again met his, and she interlaced her fingers into his before opening her eyes. It was as clear as day to her.
“No, never,” she whispered throatily, her eyes open and wide before him. “There is no man in my life. I swear it.”
Falcon uttered a low curse and, twining his fingers more tightly into hers, pulled his hands behind him, drawing her in to him. Storm’s heart pounded against her ribs. Her body tingled as if it was aflame as she pressed against him. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms tightly around him, to kiss him ...
She struggled to retain control over herself. She knew in her heart that this could not be allowed to continue. Something deep inside her shouted, screamed, thundered that this was wrong, that she had to stop, that it was an absolute imperative.
Desperately, she turned her head to the side, breaking the eye contact which threatened to engulf her.
“We cannot,” she rasped brokenly. She grasped to find some logic to cling to. “So much depends on your truce. If I were to distract you now, when you are so close -”
Storm could not bring herself to continue; her voice was near breaking. It took every ounce of strength to keep from giving in, from looking up into his eyes and losing herself.
She brought the truce into the center of her mind, focusing on it, her breathing at last coming more under control. This was bigger than her, bigger than any man or woman. After all, if this had been just an arranged marriage between two people, and the match seemed poorly suited, perhaps she would be as active as Jessica was in advising Falcon to call it off.
But it was not just a simple marriage. This tie was joining more than two individuals. The arrangement was a truce – an end to the wars. It held in its power the fate of his people, a people who so loyally supported him. This was the fate of Heather’s father, of Mary’s sister …
The innocent villagers of this region desperately needed the marriage – and its attached treaty - for a much longed for peace. They deserved it.
The strident claxon of alarm within her settled and quieted, and she knew she had made the right decision. Even so, she could not bring herself to pull her hands free of Falcon’s tender grasp, to take even a small step back from his warmth.
It was a long minute before Falcon let out a deep breath and released her hands. He stood in the center of the room for a moment, then leant over to pick up the sword and scabbard from the bed, to place them back in the lower drawer.
He turned away for several long moments, regaining his composure. Finally he turned back to Storm and offered his arm with a resigned smile. “Let me at least escort you to lunch, my Bandit Queen.”
Storm’s eyes flew up to meet his. “Please, do not even joke about that,” she pleaded. “I do not know who I am. I have
no idea why I can use that sword. If I am truly a part of the bandit group -”
Her voice broke at the thought that she could be the cause of so much unhappiness.
Falcon’s face was immediately somber. “You are right, of course,” he agreed. “We will find out soon enough, when the messenger returns.” He paused, then continued in a quieter tone. “Still, remember my words. Whatever you were in the past, you do not need to be that woman any more, going forward. You control your destiny from this day onward.”
* * *
Jessica was away on a delivery, and it seemed to Storm as if she and Falcon participated in a delicate duet for the rest of the day. Almost every topic they discussed seemed to relate to the truce and impending marriage, but they danced around addressing the subject directly.
After a delicious lunch of fried pork, they headed out to the stables. Harold was there to saddle up their mounts. He looked dourly at Storm as she waited, then commented to Falcon, “It will not be long, sir, before you have a new bride here at the keep. Shall I look into getting a fresh horse selected for her? She might appreciate having a mount of her own, to go riding with you.”
Falcon’s face stilled, but after a moment he nodded. “Yes, of course you are right, Harold. Please see to it.”
Harold gave a soft grunt, adding, “It will be nice to have the Walkers and Falcons finally merged. Things will be better then.”
Storm’s face blazed, feeling that her presence here was inappropriate. She could not bring herself to look at Falcon, to see his reaction. Instead she watched as Harold went about his work. He soon brought the two horses over for the couple.
Distraught, Storm gave her steed a firm nudge, and soon they were out the gates. She only began to relax as they meandered on a long, quiet ride through the village.
Storm found herself looking thoughtfully at each friendly face they stopped to talk with, reminding herself that these innocent people were why Falcon needed to wed.
It seemed far too soon when they had arrived back at the stables. Despite her intentions, Storm was loathe to part from Falcon when they approached the keep doorway, and she could see in his eyes that he was caught in the same feeling. With the light fading from the sky, instead of escorting Storm back to her room, Falcon guided her to his study.
She felt welcomed by the surrounding ring of dark oak shelves. She peeled off her socks and shoes, curling her toes into the thick rug on the floor.
By the light of the fireplace and several beeswax candles on the marble mantle, they sat opposite one another in high leather chairs for their deciding match. In short order they were playing chess on the finely inlaid wooden chessboard. A large mug of mead sat by each chair.
The game had gone on for about an hour, and the room had settled into a comfortable silence. Storm took a drink of her mead, relaxing back into her seat. Falcon was calculating his next move, while Storm watched with interest, curled up in her chair.
Falcon’s eyes, always so expressive, moved over the pieces on the board with careful consideration. Storm held her breath. She had laid an elaborate trap for his queen and was eager to see if he would spot it.
Storm’s gaze moved up from the wooden chessboard to the man who sat across from her. The firelight flickered over his focused face; the stubble showing on his chin. His skin was firm and muscular, exposed as his white cotton shirt lay open halfway down his chest.
Storm was suddenly struck by how perfectly he seemed to match her. He was a martial man, skilled with weapons, as apparently she was. He enjoyed the long horseback rides as much as she did. He truly cared about the household members. She felt secure when she was with him – safe, happy, and alive.
She realized that she did not want the game to end. She did not want to be sent back to her room. Not yet.
Storm gently caught his hand as he reached for his Queen. Her voice came softly. “No ...”
Falcon’s eyes flicked up to catch hers, and immediately the distraction of the game was lost to them both. She had forgotten how firm his grasp was, as he folded her hand in his and pulled her toward him. The hungry look in his eyes showed her he had been fighting the same emotions, and that his hold on his self-control had been tenuous at best.
She knew she should resist, and the warning bells within her head were almost deafening. She put her hands up instinctively against his chest. He was so close ....
A knock sounded loudly on the door. Storm sprang back, alarmed, spilling the board and pieces across the floor. She moved away toward the window, grabbing her cloak and wrapping it tightly around her.
Falcon stood more slowly, glancing dismissively at the scattered pieces, then swore under his breath.
“Come in,” he ordered, his voice short.
The door instantly opened. Thom strode in, his breath heaving in deep draws. He moved straight to his master, bowed to Falcon, and handed him a small, wrapped parcel.
“My Lord,” he murmured in salutation, his eyes downcast. Slowly his breathing slowed to a more normal pace. He did not turn his head, but his eyes skipped between Storm’s turned back and the overturned table without comment.
Falcon examined the package in his hands, then he put it aside on the table. He smiled and dropped a grateful hand onto Thom’s shoulder. “Thank you for returning so quickly,” he offered in a low voice. “I know the weather has been rough, and clearly you rode hard. You must be exhausted; go get yourself some hot food and drink.”
Thom smiled at the offer and nodded his thanks. He bowed again, then turned and left, closing the door gently behind him.
Storm pulled her cloak even tighter about her, staring bleakly out the dark window. Once that package was opened, she would know who she was. A paralyzing fear swept over her. She had been so happy these past few days. Above all, she did not want to lose Falcon’s respect for her.
She did not turn as Falcon came to stand alongside her. He held the parcel in both hands, looking down at it, then spoke softly.
“Storm, it is always best to know the truth. Let us learn, together, what the core of this matter is. We can move on from there, whatever it is. The news held here will not change in any way my feelings for you.”
Storm held her breath as he broke apart the package and found the letter within. He quickly scanned the contents.
“Well,” he began with an even voice. “Lord Walker sends his regards. He seems a man of few words and gets right to the point. He says that, according to his research, you are a local young woman named Doris.”
“Doris?” replied Storm with uncertain confusion. The name did not sound familiar at all. “I think I like the name Storm better,” she confessed after a moment.
“Storm it is,” confirmed Falcon. “Still, at least it means we have an identity to connect with you, after all this time. Let us see …”
His eyes scanned the words. “You were reported missing from the nearby … nunnery.”
Storm’s mouth flew open in surprise. “I am a nun?” she burst out in shock, looking down at herself in confusion.
Falcon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, no. Apparently you took work there as a civilian – you were a protective guard for the sisters, one they felt comfortable with.” His brow wrinkled in thought. “I suppose that explains several things about the skills you have exhibited so far.”
Storm leant back against the wall, thinking about this. “That does seem a little familiar,” she admitted at last. “At least, it seems much more natural to me than the thought of being a nun.”
Falcon was silent, looking down to read further. Storm saw his face relax suddenly, a tension release from his shoulders.
“He says you are unattached,” he offered quietly.
A burst of joy streamed through her body, and immediately a flush of guilt followed in a wave. While she might be free, Falcon was about to be married. Would it make it even harder on her to rein in her feelings, now that she knew she was not beholden to any other man? She reminded herself fiercely
that she owed it to her host to support him in his chosen path, no matter what her own desires might be.
Falcon had finished reading, and looked up to gaze at her in the flickering shadows. “Lord Walker explains that he was going to visit in just under a month, to finalize the treaty in person. He asks that you remain here until he does. He will provide you with an escort home then, if you wish.”
“If I wish...” echoed Storm, returning Falcon’s gaze. She could imagine no better way to spend her time – and no more dangerous.
She gave herself a gentle shake. There were no more wishes to be granted her. She had already been given the greatest news she could hope for.
“I am not a bandit,” she sighed in overwhelming relief. “I am not a threat to you or your people. They cannot force me to betray your trust in me.” She was shaky and incredibly light as the overwhelming worries of the past days were finally swept away.
Falcon’s eyes shone, and his voice came deep and hoarse. “That your sole concern would be our safety …” With a low groan he wrapped her beneath him in a firm embrace.
They stood that way for a long time, Storm pressing her head against his chest.
Finally, Storm gathered up her last remnants of strength. She gently separated herself from Falcon’s arms, making her way up the long, quiet stairs alone, pressing the door shut with a firm, regretful hand.
Chapter 13
Storm sat on the end of her bed the following morning, gently brushing out her hair, awash with almost overwhelming relief. Everything was as she had barely hoped to dream. She was not associated with the bandits. There was an honorable reason for her possessing the skills she did.
She glanced out the window, watching the men below, her eyes automatically seeking out Falcon’s form. Her heart beat a little more quickly when she spotted him moving amongst his men. She had not realized it before, but the news that she was single raised a great shadow from her heart as well. It was not immoral or unworthy of her to have been so drawn to her host. She had not been violating any sacred vow with her desires.
