Creating Memories - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 6)

by Shea,Lisa

  She would have to let him go. There was no other choice.

  Resignation slid over her, and as they came out into the main courtyard, it settled into something firmer, more desolate. She drew her sword, immersing herself in the routine, drowning her pain and loss in the sweeping motions and turning thrusts.

  Chapter 20

  Storm sat at the lunch table, her eyes downcast, forcing herself to swallow a forkful of steamed turnips. The food was delicious, but her stomach turned at the thought of eating. Only a few days remained, and then she would be gone. Her hours were ticking away, one by one, and there was no way to regain them. There was no way to unscroll the smooth progression of time.

  At her side, Falcon was silent. His face was shadowed, lost in his own thoughts.

  There was the sound of quick footsteps. A messenger in a roughly-made tunic came striding in through the main gates, accompanied by a guard. The guard glanced at Falcon, who waved them over with a raised eyebrow.

  The messenger moved directly to Falcon’s side. He reached into a leather pouch at his side and, with a flourish, drew forth a sealed scroll.

  His voice rasped. “A note from my master, Lord Walker.”

  Falcon glanced at Storm with a concerned look before taking the proffered letter. He quickly unrolled and scanned it.

  “It appears the Walker contingent will be arriving in five days, as planned – on the feast of St. Martin of Tours,” he commented, his voice tight. “They ask for you to be ready to travel home with them once the feast is complete.”

  Storm dropped her eyes, staring fixedly at her plate. Five days. Less than a week. Bands of iron constricted around her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  She thought again of the way she flinched at any touch, of her dagger beneath her pillow. What kind of a world awaited her? Were there harsh circumstances which she could not escape? Was the nunnery the way she had fled a violent childhood?

  As if from a far distance Falcon’s voice whispered into her musings, as he issued orders to Heather to prepare the necessary cleaning and culinary tasks. She pushed the discussion out of her thoughts. Her world seemed to close down. Five days. After five short days, everything she knew would be lost. Time was slipping away from her.

  A fresh clatter of footsteps sounded in the entry hall, and Storm looked up in tense surprise. Was yet another messenger arriving with fresh news?

  Jessica swept into the room with wide arms, beaming. Her blonde hair was done up in a glorious, complex braid, decorated with gold ribbons and sparkling pearls. She wore a sumptuous gold and yellow dress which glistened in the sun.

  Storm’s mouth hung open at the effect. There was no denying it - the woman was stunningly beautiful.

  Jessica smiled broadly as she spotted the pair, then moved over to offer her hand to Falcon in greeting. “There you are, my dear. It has been far too long that I have been away! You know how it is to run a business venture, to keep plans moving along properly. Sometimes it takes more time than you expect! I hurried back to you as quickly as I could.”

  She waved a hand to a page, instructing him to bring a chair over to insert between Falcon and Storm. “I am simply famished!” she insisted as she settled herself down with a smile. “I have brought you a treat! Some cyser mead from my own storehouses. You will see now how sweet life can be when you have a woman with connections in it!”

  Storm slumped back into her chair, looking down at her dark blue dress, drab and quiet in the shadow of the glowing apparition. Jessica bubbled merrily along to Falcon, her conversation running at full steam, regaling him with tales of what she had been up to in the intervening days. When Heather brought around the cyser for the table, pouring it into beautiful new pewter goblets which Jessica also supplied, Storm had to admit that the drink was every bit as luscious as promised. It felt like the final nail in the coffin of her remaining days.

  She did not wait for Jessica to push her out of the afternoon’s ride. The moment lunch was complete, she offered quiet excuses and retired to her room. She drew her stool over to the window, leaning her head against the side, her shoulders slumping.

  Long, grey clouds drifted in slow progression across a pale blue sky. Storm’s thoughts trailed to the conversation at lunch, and something nagged at the corner of her mind. There had been an oddity in Jessica’s ebullient conversation, in the quick, tense movements of her hands. Was Jessica becoming desperate? Surely she was also aware of the approaching visit of Lord Walker and the upcoming marriage.

  Storm shook her head. That golden dress had been a clear signal. Undoubtedly Jessica was going to do everything in her power to turn Falcon’s purpose in the remaining days. Storm had no desire to become caught up in that struggle. She counted her blessings that Jessica would no longer consider her a threat, since her days here were now so few.

  She spent the afternoon working on her sword exercises alone in her room, willing herself to put everything else out of her mind.

  * * *

  Storm steeled herself before heading down to breakfast. If Jessica were grasping at her final chance to turn Falcon’s purpose, the last thing Storm wanted was to get in the middle of that battle. It seemed the woman would be as tenacious as a badger and would let nothing stand in her way.

  She moved to the stairs - and stopped in surprise. Angry voices were in tense conversation in the main hall, and it was only a moment before she picked out the speakers’ identities. Jessica and Falcon were almost shouting at each other. Jessica’s voice rang out, sharp and clear.

  “And if you do not send Storm away immediately -”

  Storm turned on her heel, striding back to her room, pulling the door solidly shut behind her. Could she not even have four days of peace? Could Jessica simply not leave her alone for these few remaining days?

  She drew her chair by her window, wrapping her arms around her and staring out at the empty courtyard. Jessica’s fury made no sense to her. Why in the world would Jessica still feel so threatened by her? Besides, with her days ticking away to nothing, why would Jessica risk Falcon’s good graces by starting up an argument about anything at all? Surely she would do better by dripping honey and sweetness, attempting to capture Falcon’s affections before Lord Walker arrived.

  A soft knock sounded on the door and Storm hesitated for a moment before turning.

  “Come in,” she offered, her heart pounding.

  Would it be Falcon, or perhaps Jessica?

  She sighed in relief as Heather poked her face around the door, her braid-ringed face looking lovely and serene.

  Storm smiled at her friend. “Zach really is agreeing with you,” she teased as Heather slipped in and closed the door behind her. “Are you two doing well together?”

  “I cannot even put it into words how content we are,” gushed Heather, coming over to sit beside Storm. “If you had told me a month ago how much my life could have changed, I never would have believed you.”

  Storm sat back against the window ledge. “I am happy for you. You well deserve it.”

  “And you do not deserve the words being said below!” retorted Heather, a frown creasing her brow. “I came to let you know that I would gladly bring your meal up here, if you wished. Jessica has wound herself into a high dudgeon!”

  Despite her better judgment, Storm found herself drawn in. “I admit I am at a complete loss as to what that woman is up to. Just what irks her so that she would risk Falcon’s ire?”

  Heather planted her feet solidly on the floor, leaning forward to talk to Storm. “She is insisting – again – that you are in league with the bandits. She claims that she heard it from a reliable source that an awful event will happen in the coming days. She is demanding that you be sent away today.” She flushed and looked down. “She has threatened Falcon that, unless he acts within a few hours, the blood of his slain servants will be on his hands”

  Storm blinked her eyes wide. “People will be slain? What, by me?”

  Heather shook her head. “I
do not think even she would dare to go that far. She seems to imply that you would let the bandits in to do their dirty work. She insists that your friendly actions, in getting to know the staff, have all been part of your plan to become trusted. She swears that within a few days your lies will bring destruction. According to her, Falcon’s only option is to have his soldiers immediately take you across the border to North Walsham and deposit you there.”

  Storm’s heart pounded against her chest. Her throat went dry. She took in a long breath, holding Heather’s eyes with her own.

  “I swear to you, on my honor and my life, that I have no such plot in my mind.” She swallowed. “I would never allow bandits, or anyone else, to bring harm to you or anyone else here.” She looked down, flushing, as her past fears bubbled to the fore. “Even if, at one time, I had been allied with the bandits, I have had no contact, no recollection, not even the inkling of such a thought since arriving here.”

  Heather tenderly patted her hand. “I know that. Everyone here knows that. Do not feel that we are taken in for a moment by Jessica’s rantings.”

  Storm shook her head. “But why would she lie? What could she hope to gain by these arguments? She had a chance of wooing Falcon to her cause. If she had planned her seduction carefully, she might even have drawn him away from his plans for a truce.” Her eyes glanced to the door, to the hall beyond. “She is undoing her own success. I cannot imagine engaging Falcon in a public screaming match will bring him into her arms.”

  Heather nodded, her eyes reflecting her confusion. “Besides, you are leaving in only a few days anyway,” she added. “Why should it matter so much that you are here for another day or two? What does she fear?”

  Storm’s throat closed up, but she made herself ask the question which mattered most to her. “What has Falcon said?”

  Heather’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Falcon has sworn he will not send you away, and that he feels Jessica’s claims are completely ridiculous,” she assured Storm. “He snapped at her, saying she has been consuming belladonna and should take a purgative.”

  Storm’s heart lightened, wondering how Jessica had taken this comment.

  Heather drew herself to her feet. “I imagine you would rather avoid the drama, all the same,” she mused. “I will bring you up some wine and a platter of roast duck. I will tell the priest you are not feeling well. Later, when they are finished with mass, you can feel free to go down and spend time in the chapel on your own.”

  “Thank you, Heather,” sighed Storm. In a moment the girl was gone.

  Soon Storm had her meal laid out on her table. She ate it slowly and in silence. From her window perch she watched as Falcon, Jessica, and the rest of the household headed into the chapel for mass. Falcon headed out shortly after mass was complete, riding hard on his horse, heading north. It was only a few minutes before Jessica was following him, her face set in determination. Storm waited until she was sure neither was returning soon before making her own way down to the chapel.

  She slowly walked up the aisle, sliding into the front pew of the quiet stone building. She lowered herself to her knees. Her head dropped in complete submission. She felt lost at sea, without any sight of land.

  On one hand, it seemed ignoble to resist the idea of returning to protect a nunnery. Perhaps she was all that stood between the helpless women and the cruel designs of bandits.

  And yet, it seemed that a tumult of competing thoughts swarmed at her. They clamored for her attention, tumbling one over the other.

  Jessica was acting completely out of character – why?

  Falcon needed to marry Laura. The safety of the keep and his lands depended on it.

  She loved Falcon with all her heart.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed them away with a rough movement. She desperately wished that her memory would return; that everything would begin to make sense to her. Her world was a turmoil, a spinning whirlpool which was sucking her down into its depths, and she could not find a firm hold to escape.

  Her eyes went to the long line of beeswax candles against the wall, and she found herself calming, drawing peace from their gentle flickering. Somehow, life would go on. A path would be found in this twisting, briar-filled forest, and eventually she would emerge on the other side.

  The image of Heather’s sweet face came to mind, and she smiled, nodding. If nothing else, Heather and Zach had both developed the self-respect they so richly deserved. If no other good came of her time here, she would leave that legacy behind. As for the rest …

  Falcon’s deep eyes filled her imagination, and a swirl of pain spread out from her center. She would have to let him go. She adored him, craved him, and felt a connection she knew she had never found before. Even so, there was no place for her in his world. It was absolutely necessary for him to marry Laura; for him to seal the truce which would protect his land from danger. He would take Laura by his side. Perhaps in time he would grow to care for her.

  Storm bit her lip, flushing. In all of her musings, she had barely given thought to Laura. Did the woman even have a say in any of this? Falcon was the unwilling groom, and Lord Walker seemed a man not given to much thought about the comfort of others. Maybe Laura was as miserable at the thought of marrying Falcon as he was of being with her.

  A slight easing sighed through her shoulders. The staff here at the keep was gentle, friendly, and kind. If Laura had become used to the harsh treatment her father was famous for, a few weeks in this far more gentle climate could do wonders for her. It might be that she would quickly warm to the comforts of her new life, and that Falcon in turn would warm to her.

  Storm clasped her hands together in prayer, dropping her head. She released all hope for herself. She knew there was none to be had. She had to let Falcon go. All that remained now was to pray that the life Falcon had awaiting him would be a long and happy one. She could pray that Laura would be a woman he could learn to love. She hoped with all her heart that Laura was worthy of him, and that over time she could come to respect and care for him as well.

  A new calm washed over her, and she poured every ounce of her soul into the prayers.

  * * *

  Storm did not even attempt to leave her room the next morning. She remained by the window, watching the soldiers gather in the courtyard, knowing it would be one of the last times she did so.

  Falcon strode out into the center of his men, glanced around, then turned to gaze up at the window. His eyes hooded when he saw her there, watching him, and it was a long minute before he nodded in acceptance. He turned back to the guards, and in a moment they were in action, moving through lunges and low thrusts in a smooth rhythm.

  Storm felt the draw, felt the yearning to be down in their midst, but she held it off with rugged determination. Only two more days. Two more days, and she would be back to her proper place in life, whatever it was. Falcon would enter into his truce, and all would be as it was meant to be.

  It seemed only minutes later that the men were heading in for lunch. Shortly after that, Heather was slipping in through the door, bringing her stewed turnips, and setting down the glass of thick red wine. The blink of an eye - the empty trencher was being cleared, Falcon was streaming through the gates on his horse, and Jessica only a short distance behind. The courtyard settled down into a dusty silence.

  The quiet of the keep gnawed at Storm. Finally she stood, taking the long stairs at a slow pace and making her way into the kitchen building.

  Mary’s eyes were gentle. “Welcome,” she greeted in a low voice. “Come, have a seat. We were just going to work on some mending.” Heather and Molly joined them at the table, picking up their supplies and setting to work.

  Storm easily fell into the task. She lost herself in the even stitches, in the quiet progression of thread and fabric. The women were subdued, and an ache settled into her heart. They had become friends to her; she would miss them dearly. It would be so comfortable, so restful to simply remain here, to immerse herself
in this world. If only she had some reassurance that the life she was heading to held even a portion of this companionship.

  Every item which passed through her hands reminded her of Falcon. The table runner with its designs of apple and pear brought to mind their long conversations, his keen insight into the cares and concerns of his staff. The curtain from his study reminded her of their chess games, of what an able companion he was, how he seemed perfectly crafted to stand by her side. Holding one of his tunics in her arms, she could smell his musky scent, the hint of sweet woodruff. It took every ounce of her self-control not to bring it to her face, not to immerse herself in it, to wrap it around her and become embraced …

  She tried to drive her longings from her mind, to pay attention to the quiet conversation of the women around her, but with every passing hour it seemed that her desire for Falcon grew. It became an acute ache, permeating every bone in her body.

  Finally she placed her mending on the table, murmuring an apology to the women. She practically ran back to her room, closing the door behind her. The tears welled to overflowing, and she let them stream down her face. She climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and lost herself in the heart-rending sobs.

  * * *

  Tuesday dawned with grey storm clouds. Storm stared out at them for a long while, all hope lost. The Walker contingent was due on Thursday. Her time was ticking down, draining away, moment by moment. Soon she would be taken away from Falcon forever, only memories left to cling to in her darkest nights.

  She finally forced herself to dress, to head down the long stairs with slow feet. The main room was bustling with activity; it appeared the cleaning of the keep had begun in earnest. She spotted Heather to one side and strode up to her.

  “I need something to do,” murmured Storm, her voice tight.

  Heather’s eyes went to hers in concern, but she nodded in understanding. “What would you like?”