by Lisa Shea
She turned to Anna. “Anna, what is Stephen’s crest?” she asked with curiosity.
Anna laughed with bright merriment. She waved a hand around the room. “Surely you are not as blind as that,” she teased her friend. “It is the noble unicorn, the creature of classic stories!”
Lucia shook her head, glancing up at the large tapestry over the fireplace. “But that is Lord Edmund’s crest,” she gently corrected, “And Ian’s.”
Anna’s mouth went into a round O. “I suppose you are right,” she conceded. “I always think of Stephen as being part of their family.” She scrunched her brow in thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose I do not know,” she admitted with a laugh. “I shall have to ask him at lunch.”
* * *
Stephen’s gaze held her with curiosity. “Anna said you were asking about my crest.”
Lucia nodded. “I assumed it must involve burgundy, given the beautiful dresses she has been making in that color. But it seems she might have been mistaken about -”
She looked down, blushing. It was not her place to speak poorly of her friend.
“She was mistaken,” agreed Stephen, his voice even. “That is the color of my foster father’s banner, not of my own family.”
Her eyes sunk into his depths. “And what is your color?”
He smiled wryly, drawing his eyes down the deep, cobalt blue of her dress. “You are wearing it,” he murmured.
She blushed deeply, running a hand along the fabric, soaking in the sight. She was embraced by his blue, sheltered by it. That it matched the color of her own family filled her with the greatest of joy.
Her voice was tight when she spoke. “And your sigil?”
His eyes were steady on hers, and his voice was low. “It is by your side it every morning when you wake, and every evening when you ease to sleep.”
She thought to her room, to the ivory tapestry curtains, to the alabaster comforter, and she shook her head in confusion. Surely there was nothing in the room that called to her. There had only been his warm eyes at her side, the deep eyes in the shadows, lit by the flickering oil lamp …
Her eyes snapped back to his, and he half smiled, nodding.
His voice was rough. “When my father returned from the holy land, he brought with him that one treasure, given to him by a grateful pilgrim. The King granted him that sigil in gratitude for his service.”
Lucia’s throat tightened. “A light to shine in the darkness,” she whispered.
“I knew you, of all people, would understand,” he murmured.
She looked away, her heart pounding. She could feel the connection between them, feel how it strengthened with every passing day. Thank all that was holy that, in another four days, she would be heading on her way south. She did not know if she could withstand this much longer.
* * *
The bubbling laughter of the women grated on her for some reason, and she diligently focused on the hem of Lord Edmund’s cloak and gave her all to making the stitches perfect. Three more days. Her stomach scar was all but healed, she had been taking care to rest, and she was sure she would be up to a carefully gentle ride south. She could take her time. But she knew she had to go. She had to be free of the strong pull of Stephen’s eyes, and the powerful draw of his honor and strength.
Anna nudged her. “Did I tell you?” Her face glowed with bright mirth. “Stephen told me what his sigil was at lunch yesterday.” Her eyes brightened in expectation. “It is a candle!” She fell back against her cushions, giggling.
A tweak of annoyance ran through Lucia. “It is an oil lamp,” she corrected, striving to keep her tone gentle.
Anna waved her hand. “Yes, of course, some sort of a lighting item,” she agreed. “Something to keep you from stubbing your toe when you go looking for your chamber pot.” Her eyes glanced up to the tapestries on the wall, and her eyes sparkled. “Hardly as romantic as a unicorn.”
Steel settled into Lucia’s spine. “A unicorn is mythical,” she replied. “Stephen’s crest is about holding out hope when all hope is lost.”
She thought of how Stephen braved Gray territory, tracking the enemy, while the keep guards huddled safely by their fires. “He seems the only one interested in taking action against the Grays,” she muttered. “He is the only one risking his life to defend our lands.”
Anna waved a hand around her. “The entire keep is in training,” she pointed out with a smile. “Soon they will simply march north and flatten the rabble into a paste. And life will return to normal.”
Lucia wished it would be that easy. Keeping a tight rein on the turmoil that boiled within her, she dropped her eyes to her project.
* * *
Dark clouds swirled overhead, a sharp wind whistled, and Stephen’s shoulders were stretched tight with tension as he eased himself down against the oak. “Anna seems to think the fight will be an easy one,” he stated harshly. “She does not understand what monsters those men are.”
Lucia shook her head, black fogs roiling within her. “Anna has never seen a fight of any kind,” she pointed out. “She grew up in a land where she spent her time weaving daisy chains and sprawling on blankets at summer picnics.” Her eyes shadowed. “My summers were spent patrolling our borders, watching for any trace of Gray activity. I buried myself in worm-infested mud to crawl, unseen, into their camps. I wove my arrows past hostage’s bodies, to drill the shafts deep into wolves’ heads’ hearts.”
Stephen’s voice was rough. “Wolves’ heads is an apt name for them,” he agreed. “They should be tracked down and slaughtered at will.”
Lucia’s jaw tightened. “We do not slaughter men indiscriminately,” she shot back. “But if they attack us, we absolutely will defend ourselves.”
Stephen’s eyes became swirls of dark ebony. “We should ring the wasteland with fire,” he growled. “We should hunt down and burn every Gray alive.”
Lucia’s eyes flashed, anger flaring out of her. “Are you insane?” she snapped. “The children too? Is that all you southerners think about down here, wiping each other out completely?”
Stephen’s eyes sharpened with anger, and the thought pleased her. Let him be annoyed. Her voice gained an edge. “My family has always sought a truce, a compromise, some way of resolving this without slaughtering every man, woman, and child. My father prided himself on finding some way to connect with even the most distant of enemies.”
Her soul chilled with disappointment. “What type of person is motivated solely by hatred, by a lust for death?”
Stephen’s shoulders rippled; his hand slid to his sword hilt. “A person who saw his sister’s throat slashed by a foul beast,” he snarled. “Love for your family becomes hatred for those who would harm you. My family and my town practiced kindness and charity. We were known for our open arms. In return, that trust was taken advantage of, and my people were slaughtered like cattle.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “The Grays need to be stopped. Permanently.”
Lucia took in the tense line of Stephen’s muscles; clearly his anger was being held on an exceedingly tight rein. She locked her eyes on his. She didn’t know what was whipping her to antagonize him like this, but she was driven to push even harder.
He deserves it. After all the pain I have felt …
He blew out a breath, seeming to strain to draw in his emotions. His voice tightened with the effort. “The Grays are a sickness, and their plague has hurt both our families –”
Anger roiled within Lucia, and she stormed to her feet. Stephen matched her movement instinctively, facing her.
Her voice was rough was emotion. “How dare you imply the Grays sprang up from nowhere, as if you were innocent bystanders?” she spat out. “You were the ones who drove the Grays to rebellion. It is your fault that they exploded. Our keep was assaulted in a war in which we had no part!”
Stephen stared at her. “What?”
Her father’s desperation as the Grays had stormed over the keep walls filled her vis
ion, and her fury grew. “The Grays are from your area. They are not raiders from across the seas; they are not foreigners out for gold. These people are locals. They were driven to their straits by callous misuse and soul-searing famine.”
Stephen had gone very still. She saw the warning sign clearly, but heedlessly plowed ahead, her anger pushing her beyond her limits. “The deaths of your family members are grievous - but I have heard plenty about the motivation of this ‘enemy’. Perhaps their warrior leader is power hungry, but where does his support come from?” Her eyes flared. “I’ve heard that many of his best soldiers joined him to take on injustice - to boldly fight against egregious wrongs wreaked by the ‘nobles’ in this area.”
The horror hit Lucia full force.
Stephen’s family’s actions had caused her father’s death.
She could barely get the words out. “Your people drove them to this. You killed my father. You are responsible, and by God, you will pay!”
Her hand was at her hilt, his own dropped in a mirror image, and every fiber of her body called for her to draw her sword, to attack, to avenge her beloved father.
The pain nearly overwhelmed her, nearly caught her breath in her throat. A long minute passed, and it seemed she balanced on the edge of a cliff, a black abyss stretching out to the horizon.
Then, with a visible effort, Stephen flexed his fingers and exhaled slowly. He released his hand, dropping his arms away from his side. To Lucia it appeared that the stream started to bubble softly again, that the winds picked up their silent song.
Stephen leant back against the tree and was quiet for a moment. He took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out again. The silence stretched on for several minutes. Finally he looked up at Lucia and spoke in a low but clear voice. “I think we both said some things we did not mean. It has been a while since I have talked with a person with enough at stake to say anything besides ‘I am sorry for your loss’.”
He looked down at his sword for a moment and ran his hand absently over the hilt. “My world has seemed black and white for many years now. If I look at the history objectively, though, I do admit that this situation grew out of faults - on both sides.”
Lucia exhaled deeply, draining of emotion, then eased herself back to the ground. A chill ran through her as she realized what she had almost instigated. She was barely up from her fever-bed, and she doubted even at her best that she would be a match for Stephen’s sword.
She had been beyond foolish for driving him to such anger. She had been far more harsh than she had any right to be.
“I was wrong to blame you for the faults of an entire region,” she murmured, looking away. “You were barely a child when the Gray rebellion took place. And your father was away …”
Stephen nodded. “He was in the holy lands,” he agreed in a rough voice.
Lucia sat back against a gnarled stump. She closed her eyes, letting her head tip back against the tree.
Thank all that was Holy that Stephen’s self-control ran as deep as a mountain’s roots. She had been playing with fire, and could easily have been immolated, had he been a lesser man.
The thought sent a flush through the deepest reaches of her soul.
It was clear to her why she had burned with such heat; her desperate longing to have him by her side was barely being kept in check.
Her throat tightened. Three more days, and she would be gone.
Chapter 9
Stephen cursed under his breath as Lord Edmund and Ian raised their voices even higher, their shouts echoing across the arched ceilings of the great hall. He knew with keen awareness that Lucia was just one room over, engrossed in sewing with Anna and the other women. If the voices were to draw them in …
There was a movement and a swirl of color and she was there, surrounded by the others, but to him it was as if she were the only woman in the room. Her simple, blue dress shone out in the sea of burgundy, and his heart caught as always at the sight of her strength wrapped in his family colors.
His mind swept back to the openness of their conversations, to the raw honesty which he had found with no other person. He thought of her passion, her wisdom, her intelligence, her strength.
Her eyes drew up to his, and for a moment he thought he saw a reflection of the longing, the desperate desire which echoed within his own heart.
Then she looked down, and it was gone.
He shook his head, looking back at the two men standing across from him. This was a difficult enough discussion as it was, but now Ian had an audience. He would be almost impossible to engage with reason in this situation.
Ian rose his voice a full notch and played to the room. “I still say I should get to lead the main attack,” he cried, his voice loud with indignant petulance. “This is my first real battle! Should I not be able to finally do something?” He strode with energy away from his father. “We know the plan. It is an ambush along the path. I have walked these woods since I was able to raise myself on my feet. I know those woods better than any man alive. I will give us the best chance for victory!”
Lord Edmund made a placating gesture to his son. “I am not doubting your intentions,” he replied soothingly. “It is important to remember that these Grays are mercenaries fighting for food in the middle of winter. This is not a regular battle with just honor and land on the line. These are not men who will call a retreat if things look bad. They have been butchering cattle on the outlying lands for food. They kill nearby women and children for the sheer pleasure of it.” He motioned toward Stephen with one hand. “We simply need Stephen’s experience to make sure they do not get through our lines.”
Stephen knew Ian’s ego would flare at this. He spoke up quickly, his tone holding respect. “Ian, while I will be providing overall direction, I will need an absolutely trustworthy captain to make sure each step is done properly.” He clasped Ian on the arm. “Your skills will be key to any success. Every soldier here will look to you for instructions.”
Ian’s face was a mask of displeasure. His voice remained high and truculent. “I have been studying historical battles for years. I have spent hours each day with the sword masters. I am the better man.”
His eyes suddenly lit with an idea. “I will prove it to you both. If I best Stephen in a match, here in the hall, will you admit that I am the man most suited to lead?” He stood tall and defiant, daring them to deny him this chance.
Stephen was shocked into silence. He could not imagine a more difficult solution. Around him, he could see the soldiers who had been watching the discussion now looking at each other with curiosity. Ian was serious. There was no hint of levity in his demeanor.
Stephen hesitated for a long moment. He felt torn between the duty to the land that had adopted him and his loyalty to the only brother he’d ever known. He knew he should do all he could to support Ian in his quest to learn the skills necessary to lead. However, Ian simply did not have those talents right now – and Stephen felt in his bones that to let Ian manage the keep’s defenses would lead to its ruin.
Stephen could see no right answer, and after contemplation, he felt it was not his choice to make. The question concerned the safety of the entire keep. Stephen took a deep breath, then nodded to Lord Edmund. He would give Lord Edmund the choice, and abide with whatever was decided.
Lord Edmund looked between the two men for a long while, then set his hands on his hips. “Agreed. We will let skill determine this.”
Ian dove into the opening before his father could change his mind. “Time is of the essence, if we plan on laying the ambush in the next week. I say we do the challenge tomorrow night! This will give us time to draw a proper audience. I am in fine shape. I hope this will not inconvenience you, Stephen?” He looked over at Stephen with prideful challenge in his eyes.
A dark foreboding washed over Stephen at this latest example of Ian’s competitive and impulsive nature. He was deeply unhappy at the thought of drawing blades against his kinsman in a situation where Ian’s
self-image was involved. Still, to turn down the challenge as meaningless would shame Ian even more.
Stephen nodded silently in agreement, then bowed to the lord and son. He headed out to the walls, to inform his men of what had happened.
* * *
Lucia watched him leave with a heavy heart, understanding fully what this situation would cost him. She looked back to see that Ian was reacting with quite a different emotion. He had broken into a large grin, apparently thrilled at his victory. He kissed his father on the cheek before calling for a round of drinks for the room.
Anna practically dragged Lucia back into their sitting room. “How exciting!” she crowed to the rest of the ladies, who were bubbling over with eager conversation. “A contest! This should be great fun!”
Lucia sat down slowly, considering. She spoke quietly to Anna, her voice almost lost in the excited chatter. “Is this really wise, to have such a match right before we go into a battle? What if bad feelings result from this contest between our own ranks? What if Lord Edmund wants Ian - his only son - to lead, but Stephen beats him easily? What if Stephen holds back, unwilling to disgrace the only brother he has ever known - but we lose the battle due to Ian’s inexperience?” Lucia bit her tongue, and did not mention the worse possibilities, that one or both might actually be wounded.
Anna’s enthusiasm visibly lessened. “I had not thought of any of that,” she admitted slowly. “You are right; this may be more complicated than I would have thought.” She smiled, her worries dispersing without much effort. “Still, I think it will be great fun. Whatever feelings get hurt, they will sort them out, like boys always do.”
Lucia thought about the ramifications of the match from every angle as they finished their work for the morning. The happy chatter around her washed over her. The more Lucia thought about it, the more she was sure that the fight was a bad idea. She skipped lunch, having no desire to hear Ian crow on the topic. Instead, she rode out to the stream at a slow pace, her thoughts muddled. She sat by the water’s edge, lost in her musings.
