Believing Your Eyes - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 3)

by Lisa Shea

  The fourth member of the group wore a long, thick brown robe edged with gold thread. From his belt dangled various leather pouches and worn bags of different shapes and sizes. Matthew, the religious brother. His smiling, friendly face seemed quite different from the strict, military priests popular in her land. Her own religion placed faith in the strength of man, and looked to God for peace after dying in battle. She wondered how this brother viewed the role of his God.

  The last man at the table stood in the shadows. As her eyes adjusted, she saw he was tall and broad shouldered, with firm muscles tracing down the length of his body. A mane of thick, dark hair reached just to his shoulders. He was dressed in a light leather tunic; a worn brown cloak fastened at his shoulder with a bronze circlet. He wore a long sword, and a bow and quiver rested against the chair next to him.

  The man glanced up at her and held her gaze. His eyes - they were charcoal brown, deep, steady. She was caught in their depths. She felt the power of them, felt the draw of their safety.

  His eyes dropped to her wound, and he raised an eyebrow in question. She gave a short nod. She certainly could feel the sharp pain with every step she took, but she had dealt with far worse. She would make it through this meeting.

  As Lucia reached Lord Edmund, she dutifully dropped on one knee and lowered her eyes. She was not one to enjoy speeches, but she knew and understood the value of the proper protocols.

  “My Lord, I humbly thank you for rescuing me from the forest and allowing me to stay in your home,” she stated formally. “I am Lucia, from the land of Keilder, daughter of Lord Keilder.”

  She stood again, respectfully keeping her eyes lowered. “I request shelter until I heal, and then an escort to Harwich.” She took in a deep breath. “Last month, our final defenses against the Grays were breached. Those who survived fled to the coast. Once the winter storm season is over, they will head south to meet up with my uncle at his keep.”

  Lucia reached into a slender bag hanging from her belt. From it she brought out a parchment tied with a gold ribbon and wax-sealed with the deep blue signet of a diving hawk. “I am also here on a diplomatic quest. This is the letter written by Lord Keilder explaining our plight and requesting your assistance.” She offered it to Lord Edmund, her eyes downcast, holding her position with patience.

  Lord Edmund smiled at her introduction. “Welcome to my city and home,” he greeted Lucia formally. As he indifferently handed the scroll to Ian, he continued more congenially, “We will deal with your father’s letter later, after you have told your tale. No need to worry you with the technicalities of our plans.”

  He smiled at her. “You have certainly been through quite a lot, young lady. An arduous trek, indeed. How long were you in transit? You say you were accompanied here - how were you separated from your traveling companions? Were you lost in the snowstorm, fleeing from the battle?” He motioned Lucia to a seat between Stephen and Hector.

  Lucia stood her ground, the memory of her dead friends flashing before her eyes. She threw her cloak back, revealing the weapon she wore, and the mark of the wound still scarring her clothing. She had known she might not be taken seriously, but for the letter to be so dismissed, when it had cost so much to bring it this far? It was not to be borne!

  A slight movement to the side caught her attention. Stephen’s gaze was on her, holding caution, and his eyes flicked to the map at the table. She glanced down, then looked more closely as awareness hit her. There were no words on the map – only symbols. Carved blocks representing various forces lay on top of it.

  Lord Edmund, apparently, could not read. She had just shamed him in front of his men.

  She took in a deep breath, staring at the map. Half of the blocks were in the wrong place. She stalked around the table to stand at Stephen’s side. With a sweep of her arm she roughly pushed the shapes away. She grabbed up a block of a soldier with a shield and put it in the forest to the far north, perhaps thirty miles given the scale.

  “This was Keilder,” she ground out. “This was my home until the Grays overran it several weeks ago. It is the northern edge of their range of destruction.”

  She grabbed several blocks holding images of wolves’ heads on them. She peppered them across the mountains and high hills of the map’s center. “These thirty miles of wasteland are what I just fought through with my five fellow soldiers. We hit raiding party after raiding party as we forced our way south amongst the smoldering ruins of farm and mill. My men were the best there were; we only lost one during that time.”

  Her eyes drew down to a line, the border of the lands controlled by Lord Edmund. She picked up another wolf block and pressed it into place with a growl. “And here is where we were ambushed by fifteen of them; right on your borders. We had evened the odds when –”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she pushed them away with harsh effort. Stephen moved a hair closer, and his voice eased into the space.

  “Lord Edmund, this is where your son and I found her a week ago. Ian can confirm that we saw the ten dead Grays where they had been slain.”

  Ian spoke up in delight. “I certainly did see them!” he cried. “And I would have taken on the two Grays that returned to finish the job, if they had not fled before the storm.”

  Lord Edmund eyed Lucia speculatively for a moment, then nodded to Ian. “Please read the scroll, my son.”

  Ian beamed with pride, breaking the seal and carefully reviewing the contents. When he was done, he put down the scroll and looked with delight at Lucia. “What she says is true,” he reported. “She comes from Keilder keep, and is the daughter of the Lord there.” He motioned to the map, and indicated to the others as he spoke.

  “This area in the north is where Lucia’s land lies. Her father writes to say that this whole area,” he motioned to a large radius around the northernmost block, “is now overrun by Grays. They will undoubtedly turn south next, toward us.”

  He nodded his head at the southern regions. “Lord Keilder requests that we gather all of the local lords and leaders and ask them to unite, putting put aside their petty differences as needed to defeat this common enemy. Until now, the Grays had no fortified base to work from. Now that they have taken the keep, it is imperative we undo their advantage.”

  Lucia leaned over the map, tracing routes with her finger as she spoke. “The Grays advanced here and here to the south of this river, but their main forces hit us through this pass to the east. We were not braced from this direction, and could not divert our forces in time. The onslaught pushed us back into our keep. Despite our best efforts, we were outnumbered there as well.” She moved the small figurines appropriately.

  Her hand wavered for a moment as Lucia remembered the ferocity of that battle. “When I left my father, he was fighting two Grays with one hand and pushing me out the back exit with the other. With the keep fallen, most of the townsfolk have been sent east to the coast. They are finding ships, then waiting on better weather to sail south.”

  She glanced up to Lord Edmund. “It was left to me and my men to bring this message to you and to plan the counter-attack.”

  Ian bent over to whisper something to his father while Hector scowled at the map. Suddenly the ground tilted sharply. Then Stephen was beside her, his arm at her waist. Lucia leant on its sturdy strength with gratitude. It would do no good for the group to think her a weak female prone to fainting. Luckily, the others seemed not to notice.

  Lucia took a deep breath and regained her footing. She motioned toward their immediate area, where the forest surrounded the town and a wide stream stretched along the eastern side of the map. “You all think this river is impassable because of its width, and that the Grays would have to travel much farther north or south before they could ford it. Unfortunately, they have already constructed a series of sturdy rafts, in sections, strong enough to hold horses and wagons. As we speak, they are assembling them into a rudimentary bridge in order to cross the river much closer to your defenses.”

 
Hector scoffed at this news. “How could that possibly be true?” he asked, not bothering to hide his disbelief. “We would have seen them. Who told you this wild story?”

  Lucia’s eyes reflected her weary amusement. “I saw them myself,” she stated simply. “I stole into their camp with two of my companions a few nights before you found me. We watched them finish the construction of the floats.” She chuckled softly. “I also released a few of their mounts from service while I was there.”

  Hector blinked in surprise. “So that is where the horses came from,” he commented, half to himself. He looked at his lord and Ian uncertainly, then back to Lucia. “If this is true, then we would have to move our defenses quickly,” he suggested to Lord Edmund. “I do not see how we could do it before they set upon us, though. First we would have to decide on the precise course of action. Then it would take months to reinforce these walls.” He motioned at various sections of the outer walls shown to need repair on the map.

  Lucia studied the map, assessing the weaknesses of the town. “No, not that way,” she countered.

  Her world spun again, and she closed her eyes for a moment, willing it to steady. Not now, she couldn’t afford to be weak now. She felt rather than saw Stephen move closer in concern, and she took a deep breath to clear the encroaching fogginess. She pointed out the three areas where the Grays would be pinned close while they crossed tricky terrain. “Do not concentrate on the last defenses - if they get that far, it is probably too late. Get them here, and here, where they are vulnerable from attack on all sides. With proper preparation, you should be able to pick them all off before they get through.”

  The men looked at her ambush points, and nodded in understanding.

  Lucia pressed on, thinking it through. “Especially with the cold, this current move is likely to be a foray to test your strength. If you defeat them soundly, it will give you that much more time before they contemplate attacking in force. Maybe it will be enough to convince them to turn elsewhere. It is winter, and their stores are running low, at least from what we saw. They are raiding for food and shelter, not for land.”

  Lucia took another deep breath and mentally cursed her weak body. This was no time to feel faint!

  Matthew murmured in a deep, rumbling voice, “It is what I have been praying for, a light to guide us through the darkness.” Ian and his father nodded to the robed monk in deference.

  Hector glanced up in annoyance, then concentrated on the problem for a minute. He moved the pieces representing troops about the map, focusing on the areas mentioned. “If we do take this approach,” he explained to Lord Edmund, “when we move here and here, we have them at a strong disadvantage. It could work!”

  Ian joined in sliding other pieces toward the newly-discovered threat from the river. “We would have to get started right away, though. Scouts could get confirmation to us before nightfall tomorrow. Once they cross the river, how long do you think it would take them to get here, Stephen?”

  Stephen turned to answer, but Lucia’s last reserves of strength gave way, and she spiraled down toward the floor. Stephen deftly caught her limp form in his arms.

  Lucia’s eyes fluttered open at the gentle impact; once again the dream world seemed to have taken over, and the dark eyes were back, looking down at her with concern. “I have got to get back to my father,” she pleaded weakly, looking up into those eyes. He nodded, silently assenting. She relaxed then, giving herself fully to Stephen’s care. The table was silent for a moment.

  Stephen turned to Hector. “I will find out the details for you by tomorrow,” he promised. He snugged up Lucia’s limp body firmly in his grasp, then nodded his leave of Lord Edmund. He walked quickly around the table and made his way up the stairs.

  He knocked briskly and soon Ellie came running. She seemed surprised to find Stephen carrying her lady, but clucked to herself as she led him to the white-canopied bed across the room. “I just knew she should not go out so soon after her ordeal. Now I will likely spend weeks restoring her to good health. That girl should learn to live like me - careful and safe.”

  Stephen gently lay Lucia on the bed, gazing at her for a long moment. Then Ellie was at his side, bustling him out the door.

  “I can handle changing her – you wait outside,” the girl insisted. He nodded, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Lucia found herself watching the door as Ellie tugged off her boots, removed her pants and then tunic. In short order she was clothed in the white nightgown and tucked back beneath the warm blankets. None of this mattered to Lucia. Her attention was fully on the closed door, on the man who waited behind it.

  Ellie pulled the door open, and in a moment she was sliding out into the hallway while Stephen took her place. He eased the door shut, sliding the bolt in place. A tremor ran through Lucia at the motion, and it had nothing to do with fever this time. It was a sense of security, of warmth, that he was in the room with her, there to protect and watch over her. She drew her eyes over his broad shoulders, the muscles of his arm, and a fierce longing ran through her.

  He turned suddenly, catching her eyes, and she flushed, dropping her gaze to her hands. He moved with a cat’s grace, taking a candle from the mantle and coming to sit beside her. He lit the oil lamp from the flame, then looked down at her.

  “You did well at the council meeting tonight,” he murmured.

  She gave a wry smile. “I barely lasted ten minutes before I collapsed into a puddle of gruel,” she reminded him.

  He gave a shake of his head. “Few would have been out of bed at all, given what you went through,” he countered. “You presented your case well.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “I should hope so; I have joined my father’s strategic meetings for what, five years now?”

  His eyes drew over her face. “So your father and council respect your opinion; I am not surprised.”

  She gave a soft shrug. “I have been on patrol since I came of age, and the accuracy of my arrows is easily proven. It is an area where my lesser strength does not impede my worth. My sharp eyes and steady hand are all that matter.”

  He smiled gently. “I am sure you invested practice as well,” he commented.

  She nodded in agreement. “Three hours a day,” she agreed. “If this was to be my way of helping, I would do it as well as I could.” She chuckled. “Michael helped, of course. He set up a swinging target on a rope for me, and that added an entirely new level of challenge.”

  Stephen looked down for a long minute. At last he spoke in a low voice. “Did you want some mead?”

  She nodded, and he moved to the larger table by the windows, bringing back a mug. He put it on the side table, then leant forward to wrap his arms around her, to ease her up to a sitting position. The warmth of his chest, the rich smell of juniper and leather embraced her, and she found herself drawing her hands along his side as he stepped back. He handed the mug to her, and she took a long drink.

  His voice was rough as he looked down at her. “You spoke of Michael in your fever.”

  She smiled, thinking fondly of her twin. He could be an imp sometimes, but she loved him dearly.

  Stephen’s voice was low. “And yet you are not married?”

  A wave of pain swept through her at the words. The topic had been off limits at home; the engagement was never brought up, Evan’s betrayal never even hinted at. That the man could have sought to destroy everything she had loved most dear …

  Stephen sat back in the chair, his eyes close on her face. “I am sorry; I see this is not an easy topic for you.”

  She took another long draw on the mead, shaking her head. The near darkness of the room was comforting; Stephen’s face was half in shadow. She handed over the mug, and when he took it their fingers overlapped. She was warmed by the touch, could not release the mug, and in a moment he reached over with his other hand, putting the mug down with it, leaving their hands intertwined.

  “I was seventeen,” she murmured, closing her eyes, the
darkness pulling at her. It had been so long that she had allowed even the slightest thought of those events. Why was this place bringing them to light again? “Evan had been with our guard for several years, had trained me, and had proven himself to my father. We were out on our first patrol together when he proposed to me.”

  Stephen’s voice was low. “You loved him?”

  She shook her head, iron bands drawing around her. “He was my father’s hope for securing our lands,” she countered wearily. “The Grays were just reaching our borders at the time. We needed skilled fighters manning the walls. It was a way to ensure he stayed and lent his talents.”

  His grip was strong on her hand; tears trickled in warm rivulets down her cheeks. “With the engagement, Evan gained full access to the keep. Any question he asked, my father answered. Anywhere he wanted to go, he went. He had rights to everything.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and her hand moved to press against her chest, thinking of the nights he had come to her. “I gave him everything he requested of me, as was his right,” she whispered.

  Stephen was silent beside her, lending her strength with his presence. Still, it was several long moments before she could go on.

  “Then, one night in deep February, the shouts rose from all sides. The walls had been breached. Grays streamed in like waves in an ocean storm, seemingly without end. We roused every person capable of wielding a sword and fell back to the keep proper. We stood there holding our ground, on those steps, for a full ten hours. I went through every arrow we had, and I lost many dear friends. But in the end, thank God, the Grays gave up and fled.”

  She brushed the tears from her eyes. “I still remember the last time I saw Evan. It was he who sounded the Grays’ retreat from the main wall gates. He had not been involved in any of the fighting and had carefully stayed out of arrow range. But as he gave the call, his eyes came up to hold mine. Even as his bandit horde fled past him, those eyes held a bright note of triumph. He drew his gaze proudly across the slain, across the wounded, and I knew without a doubt that he would be back. He would come, and come, until he had taken the keep wholly.”