by Lisa Shea
nighttime of rest,
And now, oh my love,
so must you.
Stephen smiled; this was a song he remembered from his youth. Bittersweet memories of his family flooded back as the fire flickered and the logs settled into ash. Quietly, he joined in with Michael as Lucia’s eyes eased closed.
Fish in the pond snuggle
close to the reeds,
Wrap themselves up in
a blanket of weeds,
Nestling on dreams of fresh
cranberry seeds,
And now, oh my love,
so must you.
Stephen waited by the fire as Michael brought his sister back up to her room. He drew his sword from its leather scabbard and stared at it for a while before stirring up the remaining ashes. He didn’t look up as Michael’s heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and he settled himself on the opposite bench. All he heard was the sound of Ian hitting Lucia. Its sharp report repeated over and over again in his memories.
Stephen stood suddenly, his motion knocking over the heavy bench. “It is not fair!” he growled. He looked angrily at the sword in his hand. No fancy scrollwork adorned the weapon. Instead, rough nicks and stains ran the length of the blade.
“I have spent my life defending others, fighting for what I thought was right. That night, even, I was on watch, taking care of the others. Who was taking care of her?” He stared bleakly at the overturned bench. “I trusted him.” Stephen stalked over to the window and looked out into the darkness.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “There was little you could do, my friend,” commented Michael quietly. “Lucia is, after all, a fighter in her own right.” He chuckled softly. “There were many times in our youth that I tried to shield her, to no avail. Every time she goes through the fire she comes out even stronger. Let us just give her time.”
Stephen nodded, but the pain refused to go away. The two took their seats by the fire, lost in thought.
Chapter 19
Lucia awoke to waves of nausea rolling through her stomach. She remembered drinking a fair amount of mead the night before, but somehow little food had managed to pass her lips during that long evening. She staggered over to the chamber pot, knelt over it, and fought to hold in the contents of her stomach. She won the struggle and wiped her forehead off with a nearby cloth. Marcie had already gone down for breakfast, and Lucia dressed quickly to join her.
It seemed that many other people were in the same state; she saw a large number of drooping eyes and long faces amongst her friends that greeted her as she came down the stairs. Even Stephen and Michael, who shared a table at the far end of the room, looked quiet and thoughtful as she sat down to join them. Soon they all dove into a breakfast of fried fish and toast, which, while greasy, was quite filling.
The next week was spent in preparations for the trek northwards. Lucia was glad for the break. The stress of recent events was catching up with her, and she often found it hard to climb out of bed in the morning. The constant diet of greasy food did not seem to be helping her stomach any, either. She took good advantage of the time to sit and rest, although she also looked forward to returning to the trail, if only because the food here disagreed with her so much.
Michael and Stephen kept her well informed of the arrangements that they were making. The villagers had been safely escorted to her uncle’s keep nearby, and he had sent thirty men to join their forces. The group could now head north and focus on defeating the Grays’ armies.
Michael had not been named Lord yet. He had chosen to wait until this conflict was settled before taking on the title. While some wondered at this, Lucia understood. He wanted to retake the keep first.
The week passed quickly, and by its end Michael and Stephen had garnered horses and supplies for the sixty soldiers that would be accompanying them back to the keep. They would join with the native forces there to help defend that town and push the Grays back over the river. After that, they would continue to push them back steadily to her own area and stage a final battle to regain what was left of the lands she grew up in.
Despite her stomach problems, Lucia was in high spirits. The officers she had grown up with were around her again, laughing, joking. The faces around her knew her, respected her. She fell easily into the old routines. She hadn’t realized how homesick she was until now.
* * *
Stephen watched with a heavy heart as Lucia led the party back north up the sunny path, two young men flanking her and telling stories of their recent endeavors in battle. Where was the artist who composed poetry under the stars? The quiet archer who debated politics over a campfire? The woman who had emerged glistening from the lake glowing with desire? At the keep, Lucia had seemed his alone, a jewel in a dark night. Here, she was a star for many, and he realized Michael was not joking when he had said that Lucia had numerous admirers.
Stephen sighed and looked away. It was slow, agonizing torture watching her drift back into her old world. He knew pushing her with his own feelings would be a mistake, and he could not think of a way to have her gently confront what had happened with Ian. He knew her refusal to face that night was the main roadblock in her remembering just how close she had been to him previously.
Lucia needed time - but time was drawing her away from him.
He shook his head in frustration. Watching her slip from his grasp in the meantime was more than he thought he could endure.
Michael rode up alongside Stephen. The two men, along with the original party from Penrith, were guarding the rear of the group. In the spring sunshine it seemed little would threaten them; riding arrangements were quite lax.
Michael was silent for a moment. “She is hurting,” he commented softly, seeing the direction of Stephen’s gaze. “Be patient. She is starting to relax the walls she put up against the memories. They will come down soon enough. We will make sure we are there when she does come face to face with her pain, and is ready to take it on. She will not avoid it forever.”
“It is so difficult,” replied Stephen softly, watching how the sunlight sent golden highlights through Lucia’s long hair. The waiting was eating away at him. “I am not one to sit on the sidelines and hope for a good outcome,” he added.
“You are not good at waiting,” returned Michael with a grin. “Let me tell you about the time Lucia ...” Soon their laughter rang out down the line of horses.
The weather held up well for the next few days, and the party was in high spirits. They had brought plenty of food from the town, although Lucia was still feeling poorly and tried to avoid the dried fish. Stephen made an effort to supplement those rations with fresh game from the surrounding forest, and it seemed to help her somewhat. The road itself was quiet. The few travelers they met coming down from the north said there was little activity from the Grays. The group fell into an easy pattern that was almost relaxing.
At about the half-way mark of their journey, at the end of one of the warmer days, the group came across a clearing off the side of the road. Stephen took a ride around the border of the clearing, then a second, wider loop. He found that in addition to being easily defensible it had the added attraction of a small pond not too far away. The party, cheered by the good news, made preparations to camp for the night.
Michael was getting a meat stew ready when Stephen returned from a scouting mission. The others had already brought in various game, and the dinner was putting forth a wonderful aroma as Stephen helped Michael skin a deer to add to the pot. Lucia was off to one side, rubbing down the horses and joking with Marcus.
“We are making good time,” commented Michael to Stephen, running his knife down one of the stag’s leg bones. “We should reach Penrith in another week or so, given your estimations. It is lucky this weather has held up so nicely. It will be much easier to make a stand with troops in good cheer.” He looked out at his friends. “That sea voyage was tough. We almost lost a few, and were very lucky to make it through with only a few injuries. It will certainly
get worse before we are done.”
Stephen handed him a slab of meat and smiled. “Just the fact that they are well trained will help us immensely. Most of this area has never seen fighting. Some seasoned troops will boost morale a great deal.”
He thought of the first day Lucia had come out to watch the drill, of her disappointment.
What was she thinking now?
* * *
Lucia felt the weight of Stephen’s stare and glanced up briefly, then returned quickly to cleaning Troy’s hooves. Marcus continued to joke, and she felt completely at ease. This was the life she loved, being out in the country. Her patrols back home could last for weeks, and the troops got to know one another quite well. Surrounded by her old bunkmates and her new friends, she knew that she trusted each member of her party implicitly.
Then why did she feel uncomfortable? It wasn’t just her stomach, which was starting to get over its sickness. There was something else ... not right.
She shook her head. When she took the time to think about it more, she realized that something had been bothering her for a while, perhaps since she left Penrith. She just didn’t know what. She was back with her kinsmen. She was where she belonged. Finishing with Troy’s hooves, she wiped her hands on her legs and looked down at her clothes. Lord, she was filthy!
Lucia grinned to herself - until recently it wouldn’t even have occurred to her to consider her appearance. She realized it had been quite a while since she had taken a bath. That might do her some good.
* * *
Stephen looked up as Lucia strolled over to the cooking area. It seemed weeks since she had really spoken to him. He searched her face for some emotion, some sign, but it was flat, with a mask of simple contentment laid over a base of hard pain. Stephen cut deeper into the meat he was carving, frustrated. What could he do to help?
Her voice was light as she smiled up at her brother. “Michael, I think I will take a bath. I should be back in an hour or so.”
Michael nodded, his eyes following her as she stopped to grab her bag and sword before heading out toward the far end of the clearing. Michael watched her go, contemplating something. Then he turned to Stephen.
“I have not asked what exactly passed between you two,” he stated. “I know that your feelings were rather strong before ... well, before she was hurt. I would like you to go and keep an eye on her.”
He stopped and took a deep breath. Stephen could see that within the strong, powerful man was a caring brother who was uncertain. He easily understood what Michael was going through.
“Do not worry,” he promised, his voice solemn. “I would not do anything to hurt her, as much as I want to help move her past this block. I will make sure she comes through this whole, even if it means losing her.” His throat grew hoarse as he said this aloud, realizing just how real a possibility that was now.
Michael clapped him on the back, then watched as his friend headed after his sister. Shaking his head, he turned back to their dinner.
* * *
Lucia walked slowly through the dense underbrush, pressing her way through toward the pond. For the first time in many weeks she was truly alone with her thoughts, while at the same time safe with her friends and family near. She took her time, enjoying her surroundings, marveling at the beauty of nature. She took in the budding trees and flowering plants which surrounded her. Everything was so peaceful and different from her home lands. The climate of her youth was much harsher, and vegetation and wildlife that managed to survive was rangy and lean. The forest here, on the other hand, was lush and alive.
Surrounded by the fragrant foliage, her mind open and unguarded, she suddenly, vividly, remembered riding side by side with Vic, having this very conversation. The memory was powerful, overwhelming. She could see Vic’s laughing face, hear the merriment in his voice …
Her feet stopped moving of their own accord. She almost felt he stood beside her, his eyes gazing at hers in understanding. Her heart began to pound; she leant on a nearby tree, sorrow sweeping over her. The power of the emotion nearly overwhelmed her. She realized with wonder just how much effort she had put into pushing those memories into the past. She had made compartments in her heart, and had shut things away, finding it easier than accepting the loss and hurt.
She let the tears flow, let the torment come. To her surprise it did not overtake her completely; a cleansing sensation drew through her as she accepted the loss and pain. After a while, strength returning to her, she gave herself a shake and continued slowly down the path.
Cautiously, she allowed herself to consider what she had been doing with her thoughts. She realized that she had not just put away certain emotions and events. Instead, she had refused to think about anything or anyone from her time at Penrith. She had equally blocked out all emotions from her current life. She was riding from day to day, doing what she had to, and leaving considerations of tomorrow to her brother.
She never used to be like this. She knew this was unhealthy, but she hesitated when considering a solution. She focused on the trail ahead of her with deliberation. Her vision narrowed down to the path. Maybe the cleansing bath would do her some good. Perhaps her pinpoint thoughts were just a symptom of the remaining winter doldrums. Spring was here now, and some fresh air and cool water would reawaken her spirit.
She came over a small rise and saw the pond beneath her. Next to her, the stream spilled down over a rocky waterfall to splash gently into the oak and moss-circled pond. The water was clear, and seemed quite deep. It was idyllic. She quickly scrambled down the hill and removed her clothes on the small beach next to the water. Soon she was naked, except for the small knife strapped to her thigh. She knew her security-conscious brother would scold her if she removed that, and she smiled at the thought.
The moon was just rising, waxing over the trees as she eased herself gently into the water. It brought to mind her childhood, her happy days of swimming and playing in the local ponds. At first she stayed near the bag and sword on the beach, but as the moon rose higher she swam the full distance of the pond, enjoying the splashing of the water on the rocks and the sparkle of the moon’s reflection. The rocks under her feet were smooth and large. How she loved to swim!
She dove under the surface, relishing the feel of the smooth, cool water running down her side and over her calves. The water felt almost like hands running over her body. She swam strongly, suddenly troubled. Hands? She remembered another night like this, with Stephen, by a pond like this one. She remembered the passion and love. What had happened to it?
She dove under the water again, rushing through the depths. An overwhelming wave of loneliness hit her full force. It enveloped her completely, and she was staggered by its power. She desperately missed Stephen. The pain wrenched at her heart, and she wondered how she had not felt it this entire time. The talks, the closeness. She remembered the dark eyes, so full of caring and concern. Why had she been pushing him away?
Everything swept in on her with a sudden ferocity, and her tears mingled with the water through which she moved. Her rage at Ian, her helplessness under his attack. Her love for Stephen. All of it had been submerged in the same layer of fog, all pushed away with the same smothering movement. She gasped out sobs, realizing how much she had lost. She had to let it all in, the angst and the warmth. She let the pain come as she swam, let it flow over her ... and then she let it pass through her. The pain was worth it, to allow her to refill the hole in her heart with her love for Stephen. She could shoulder the anger she still felt burning for Ian’s deed. She could carry that burden. As long as she held the love, she could face anything.
Suddenly a dark shadow was ahead of her. For some reason, it reminded her of Ian, standing in the darkness of her room, laughing down at her. Rage poured through her. He had taken advantage of her friendship, of her unwillingness to act against him. He would not find her so trusting this time. Her hand went to the dagger at her side, and she sprung out of the water at the form ahead of her.
It was Stephen standing at the side of the pool, his body motionless. His face was etched with pain. She realized that he had carried that look since that night. She had not acknowledged it, had not given any thought to what he was feeling. She had hardly spoken to him.
The knowledge startled her. She realized that she had been filtering entire sections of her world. Somehow this had been happening despite her self-congratulations on her keenness in certain areas. She realized she would have to rethink the entire past month, to look at events in a new light. It bothered her that she had been so blind, without realizing it.
Stephen stood still before her, not moving. Lucia could see that his hands were trembling slightly, staying well clear of his sword. His eyes strayed from her face to her hand at her side. Confused, she looked down and saw the knife still clenched in her fist, her body still in a fighting stance. She gazed at the knife for a moment, not really seeing it, then back into his eyes. He had been there for her, even during her darkest times. He had come for her when she needed him; he had stayed by her when she had turned her back.
She was overwhelmed and humbled. To her shock, she realized that in avoiding her pain she had pushed away something far more valuable - her love for this man.
Still, she hesitated. Her feelings felt new, raw, and untested. The rush of emotions - pain, anger, love - would surely overwhelm her. Could she truly come to accept the loss and pain she had gone through, knowing that this action would also let in his love? Could she weather the heartache which pulled her down, knowing he would be there beside her?
His eyes gave her hope with their trust and compassion. Her grip weakened on the knife, and she became lost in his gaze, in the eyes that had stayed beside her for so many long nights. She took a step toward Stephen, who stood still before her, steady, waiting.
A shout of outrage and fury came from down the beach, and she spun. She heard metal sliding on leather behind her, knew peripherally that Stephen had drawn his sword, but this was a mere echo of a sound coming from far off. Nothing registered fully in her consciousness except the movement now before her.
