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

by Shea,Lisa

  Harold’s eyes swung around, and his sallow face brightened when he spotted her. He stood up tall and gave a bellow. “I have her! She is down by the study!” He headed toward her at a trot.

  Storm gasped in surprise, then turned and sprinted down the hall, coming up short as she reached the stairs which led up to the tower. That was a dead end. She turned and put her back to it, watching warily as Harold and two bandits slowly came down the hallway after her.

  Storm backed herself into the doorway to the tower, keeping it behind her. If she could force them to take her on one by one, she had a chance.

  The hallway was narrow here, and the three bandits conferred for a moment before sending the large, burly one in after her. Storm grimly chuckled to herself. The bigger they came … he certainly seemed very sure of himself. She allowed herself to seem frail and weak, to play upon his feelings.

  He reached out a hand to her. “Come on, little girl,” he said, in a voice which he undoubtedly meant to be soothing, but only sounded sepulchral. “You can trust me.”

  Storm moved as if she would take the hand – then spun and stabbed him hard in his upper right arm. Crying out in pain, the bandit immediately dropped his cudgel. Without missing a beat, Storm swooped up the weapon and turned to bash the bandit hard where his legs met.

  The man crumpled without a sound.

  Harold and the other remaining bandit looked at each other with a smirk before moving in side by side. Storm now had two weapons – but these men would be harder to trick. The men’s reach was longer than hers by several inches, and it would only take one swipe for them to force her to drop her dagger. The unknown bandit wielded a sword, while Harold pressed his staff toward her unrelentingly.

  She turned her focus on Harold. “Falcon trusted you,” she spit at him in anger, holding her dagger before her defensively. “How could you betray him like this?”

  Harold chuckled dryly, holding his staff to point forward at her, prodding her backwards up a step. “I was the oldest son,” he replied simply, slowly pushing her up the stairs. “Now hush and get moving.”

  She backed up a step. They pushed forward, and she found herself inching back up into the tower. She knew this was a dead end – but she had no choice. There was no way to get to them past the long reach of the staff. Maybe there would be something helpful up in the tower room.

  When she reached the top, and backed into the room, she was surprised that neither of the bandits entered. They simply stood at the entrance, as if on guard, and waited there.

  Storm found she dreaded the silence even more than she had the chaotic attack. Something dangerous loomed in her future, and she felt powerless to stop it.

  Chapter 27

  Footsteps sounded on the stair. Storm backed herself up against the window, holding her dagger out in front of her. Whatever they had planned for her, if it was going to be a hopeless fight, at least she would die trying.

  To her great shock, the bandits parted and her father entered the room, accompanied by Much. Her father smiled when he saw the look on her face and nodded with pleasure.

  “Oh yes, that truce talk of mine was of course a ruse,” he merrily related to his daughter. “I am sure your true love is figuring that out about now, right on time. Everything is in place.”

  Storm gripped her dagger even tighter. “I will never come back with you,” she snarled. “It is too late. I am legally married to Falcon. Nothing can undo that now.”

  Much chuckled without mirth. “My dear, you put too much stock in your charms. Truth be told, I am quite pleased to be out of that arrangement. It would have put a crimp on my wenching habits. Not that I would have stopped, of course, but some of my regulars would have complained.”

  Storm looked between the two men in confusion. “If you did not come to kidnap me back …”

  To her horror, her father looked suggestively at the window behind her. “Oh come now, my dear. Surely you are still not so blissfully ignorant of the meaning of this tower? Falcon’s mother – she was so weak after her husband passed away that she flung herself out of that very window. Is that not how the story went?”

  Realization slowly dawned on Storm. Her face drained of all color. “You cannot tell me you … you pushed a defenseless woman out of the window?”

  Much laughed out loud. “Defenseless? Hardly! That woman was a hellcat, and good with a sword to boot. She reminds me a lot of you. We had to get rid of her, to be able to have a few years to regroup while that brat of hers grew into manhood. Maybe one more tragic death would be just what he needs to throw in the towel and become a priest.” He paused, then smiled. “My daughter has other plans, though. She figures she can become the next Lady Falcon. God help him if he agrees to that!”

  Storm bit her tongue. The men were quiet and relaxed for now, thinking they had the upper hand. If she revealed to Much that she had just slain his daughter, things could become much more challenging to manage.

  Storm’s mind settled itself into the basic training of her combat years. Her mind sorted quickly through the options available to her. She heard a noise outside on the stair and remembered that the two bandits were still out there. Perhaps Harold could still come to her aid.

  “What about your helper, here in the keep,” she called out, raising her voice. “What does Harold get in return for the betrayal of his master?”

  Much glanced over his shoulder in mirth. “Harold, have you any desire to explain to the lady how thoroughly she has been duped?”

  Harold turned to stand in the doorway, resting his staff against the jam. “I drew the short end of the stick,” he explained with a dour look. “It was the burden of being the eldest. My two younger brothers stayed with the bandits, living the life of freedom and fun. I had to take the boring job, mucking out horse stables, trapped here in this keep. Believe me, it was not my choice.”

  Storm shook her head in confusion. “You grew up with the bandits? I thought you had been with the Falcon family for years … if not for decades?”

  Harold nodded in agreement. “It has been over twenty years now that I have been handling the stables.”

  “Falcon has treated you fairly in all that time,” insisted Storm, seeking to draw him onto her side. “I have seen how he is with everybody here. You have been well cared for and have a comfortable living. Why would you betray him after all this time?”

  Harold’s face grew cold. “When I was young, my father was well respected in the bandit group. He led many of the raids. Falcon’s father caught them at their work one night, and my father was grievously wounded. My brothers and I tended to his wounds for a week, but he suffered horribly until he finally died. I swore revenge. The very next day I rode to the front gates, offering myself as a stable boy.”

  Storm shook her head. “This entire time you have been waiting, plotting Falcon’s downfall?”

  Harold’s face broke into a sly grin. “Do you really believe I have been idle this entire time? It was I who let the bandits know when Falcon’s father rode out, so they could ambush and slay him. As the son grew to manhood, I would alert the bandits whenever he went on patrol, so they could stay clear of him. For many years the situation was ideal – he was young, inexperienced, and not much of a threat. When he began to amass strength and consolidate his position, Walker let me know that the time had come.”

  His face became stony. “It was too late for my family, however. In the past few weeks, Falcon has slain both of my younger brothers. I am all that is left of my family. I insisted that I be allowed to watch you die myself, to have some revenge for my loss.”

  All emotion drained from Storm. Far from being a source of help for her, Harold was an active participant in this night’s planning – and much else besides. She prayed desperately that she could survive to relay this information to Falcon. She settled down into a defensive position and prepared herself for what was to come. She knew her chances of success were slim.

  She held the dagger out and to the si
de, watching both men with sharp precision. Her voice was a deep snarl. “If you want me, you will have to come and get me.”

  Time seemed to slow. She could see every movement, every flexing of a muscle as the men carefully approached …

  Suddenly, Harold gave a sharp cry, and a blade emerged from the center of his chest. A low voice growled from behind him, “That is for my father!” The sword pulled clear with a quick movement, and as Harold collapsed to the ground, Falcon stepped forward, his chest heaving, his body covered with sweat.

  “Storm!” he called out in relief. His eyes quickly scanned her body, noting that she was unharmed. He promptly turned in a spin to block the sword stroke that nearly decapitated him. With another twist of his arm, the bandit’s sword flew through the air, landing with a thud in the pile of blankets Storm had been using as a temporary bed. Storm scrambled toward the weapon, tossing her dagger into her left hand. Suddenly more secure, she turned to face her enemies.

  A pair of bodies now lay outside the doorway, and Falcon strode into the room, his face a mask of cold fury. He worked his way along the wall until he stood side by side with Storm, facing the other two men in the ten by ten stone room.

  Much and her father seemed only slightly put out by this new arrangement.

  Lord Walker’s sword drew lazy circles toward the married couple “Oh look,” he commented drolly. “This gets easier and easier. The new wife is so disappointed that she runs back home to her loving father. Despondent, the husband throws himself out the window, just like his mother had. The lands all go, naturally, to the wife, and therefore, to me. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

  Falcon settled down into a ready stance, balanced on the balls of his feet. At his side, Storm did the same. He glanced sideways at her and held her gaze for a long moment.

  “I love you,” he whispered softly, his eyes holding hers.

  “You are in my heart forever,” she responded tenderly, her gaze steady.

  Without another word, both turned and launched into an attack against their foes, using a combination of their two combat styles that they’d been developing over the past weeks. Much and Walker were both experienced fighters and quickly regained their balance, adjusting to this new style of attack. The close quarters made the feints and counter-feints require every ounce of Storm’s focus

  Much and Walker grinned as they worked their way around the outside of the room, pressing the two lovers’ backs into each other. However, as the fight wore on, it quickly became apparent that Storm and Falcon were even more powerful in this position – by guarding each other’s backs, they had only one front to focus on.

  The pair of assassins turned to taunts instead, to distract their enemies. Much began the verbal assault. “So, Falcon, would you like to hear how your mother died?” he teased slyly. “She did not volunteer to go up over that ledge, you know.”

  Falcon did not respond. His attacks became more focused, his movements more deliberate.

  Much’s eyes twinkled, looking to throw his opponent off guard. “Maybe you would like to hear how I will console your grieving widow, once we get her back ‘home’ again.”

  Falcon’s eyes grew steely, but he held an iron tight control over his emotions.

  Storm’s mind snapped at Much’s cruel tormenting of her husband. “Maybe you will not be in much of a mood to console me, Much, once you learn that your daughter lays dead on the floor below us. I killed her while saving Heather’s life.”

  Much drew back in shock, then roared in anger, renewing his attack on Falcon with wild intensity. Storm prayed that Much’s lack of control would turn the fight to Falcon’s advantage.

  She noticed with pride that Falcon was holding his own against the expert counter-cuts and low sweeps Much threw at him with fierce fury. She knew that Much’s reputation as an expert swordsman was richly deserved. Falcon pressed to gain an advantage, but they seemed evenly matched.

  Storm faced a similar problem with her father who, for all his years, was extremely skilled in fighting techniques. At least he could not play Much’s tricks with her. The converse was true - she knew there was not much she could say to him that would shock him out of his steady assault.

  Out of the corner of her eye she realized that Much had moved himself into a position where he was within almost an arm’s length of her. She realized that Much was hoping to grab her, to take her hostage against Falcon’s sword arm. An idea formed in her head.

  “Clumsy,” she called under her breath to Falcon as she parried yet another attack from her father.

  “Ready,” replied Falcon without missing a beat, understanding with a glance what Much was preparing to do.

  Storm waited for another pair of swings, then allowed herself to trip, falling to one knee in front of Much. This was too much temptation for Much to pass by. He looked away from Falcon for a moment, reaching down to drag Storm up in front of him as a human shield.

  The next moment, Much gasped in shock as Falcon’s sword rammed through his chest, pinning him to the back wall. Storm rolled out of the way, coming up to a crouch alongside Falcon. Much looked between the pair in surprise, then his eyelids fluttered closed.

  Storm did not hesitate; she had heard too many tales of deception to take anything for granted. She knelt at Much’s side, quickly checking his pulse, verifying the threat was indeed past. Then she turned to stand alongside Falcon. Together they faced her father, their slowing breathing the only sound in the small stone room.

  Storm’s father’s eyes flitted from one opponent to another, his face calculating. Before their eyes his body slid easily from an offensive to a defensive posture; his voice became soothing and gentle. “My daughter, I can see now how much I have been misled by this evil bandit chief!” he promised, his voice full of honey. “I cannot believe he has confused me for so many years. Tell me that you forgive a doddering old fool.”

  He lowered his sword, pleading with his daughter. “Much is the one who killed your mother, not me. I was heartbroken over it! What could I do, though? I had a young child to raise, and a kingdom to keep safe.”

  Storm’s voice was as steady as iron. “You will be brought in for public charges,” she stated coldly. “The world will know of your lies and deeds, and your lands will be divided up amongst its neighbors. This killing will come to an end, and your reputation will be ruined.”

  Her father’s voice took on a wheedling note. “Surely you would not do such a thing to me!” he protested. “For all the years I cared for you, raised you as my own -”

  Storm’s eyes widened in shocked surprise. “AS your own? What do you mean …?”

  Walker’s eyes held hers with gentle pleading. “It is time you knew the truth, that we were completely honest with each other. It will be a fresh start for us.” He drew in a long breath, as if he were opening himself completely to her. “Your dearest mother had been instructed by her family to marry a different man, and she dutifully obeyed. She soon was pregnant by him, but sadly, he met a tragic end before the child was born. She then accepted me as her husband, and we raised you as our own.”

  A tragic end. Storm had no doubt that Walker had a hand in that outcome, in ensuring that her mother’s lands and fortunes ended up under his control.

  Storm was suddenly free. Any last vestiges of guilt she felt over how she was going to deal with this man vanished like morning mist. “Your brutalization of all around you is now at an end,” she stated with a clear voice. She spun the sword on her wrist, staying alert for any motion from Walker.

  To her surprise, Walker nodded in acceptance, his eyes rich with sorrow. He bent down for a moment, laying his sword on the ground. “You are right,” he responded with dense sadness. “I should pay for my sins. I have led an immoral life, and it is time to make amends. You may take me in.” He held both hands out in front of him, quiet and docile.

  Falcon held his sword at Walker’s throat as he moved forward to kick Walker’s sword out of reach. Storm was
already crying out for him to wait when her father flipped up one hand to reveal a small dagger with a wickedly sharp edge. In the next moment he was lunging, slashing sharply at Falcon’s arm.

  Suddenly Falcon’s sleeve was drenched in blood and the pair were locked in a powerful struggle, both trying to push each other toward the window.

  Storm kicked the sword far out of reach of her father, but could not find an angle that would enable her to provide any help. The pair was spinning and moving too quickly. Falcon still had his sword in his hand, but the two were too close for him to use it effectively. Storm watched in horror as her father aimed a fierce kick at Falcon’s kneecap, causing Falcon to groan in agony and fall back against the sill.

  Falcon looked up past his opponent, meeting Storm’s eyes, gazing at her with absolute trust. Then he allowed himself to drop to his knees, leaving himself completely open.

  Walker cried out in triumph, turning and raising his dagger high for the final blow.

  Storm had only a split second of opportunity. She had only the smallest sliver of space between the two men. She gave herself over to the moment. She put all thoughts aside except for this instant of time.

  She cocked the knife back.

  She aimed.

  She released.

  The dagger’s blade shaved a ribbon of fabric off of Falcon’s tunic as it flew past his body.

  It implanted itself firmly, fully, in the center of Walker’s heart.

  Storm’s step-father gasped in surprise; he turned in a rush to escape the pain. His momentum carried him up … over … and a second later he was tumbling out the window.

  There was a long, poignant cry.

  Then, a heavy thud.

  Storm ran into Falcon’s arms, wrapping herself tightly around him. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her lips, reassuring himself that she really was unharmed.

  “You are safe … you are safe …” he whispered against her, holding her close.

  Time seemed to slow down.

  An eternity passed.