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

by Shea,Lisa

  She drew the brush through her long waves. Not only was she unmarried, but the letter had not even spoken of a fiancé or boyfriend waiting at home for her. She imagined if she had been involved with somebody that the letter would have mentioned a man coming to fetch her sooner than this planned visit by Lord Walker.

  Storm stood with a sigh, moving to put the brush down on top of the dresser. She dropped to her knees to pull out the bottom drawer and retrieve the sword nestled there. She ran her hand slowly down the length of the decorated scabbard before pulling the sword free.

  She looked along the blade’s sharp edge, and regret seeped into her soul. Single she might be, but it did not change the greater problem. Falcon had a duty to perform, and he deserved a chance at happiness with his new wife. Storm recognized that her presence here long term could only serve to jeopardize that relationship. It was just as well that she had a job to return to, far from this keep.

  She turned her back on the window, holding her sword out before her. She knew now that there was no way that she could remain here, in the area, while Laura and Falcon settled down to a long married life together. Even beyond her wish to leave Falcon to his marital happiness, she knew that watching him in Laura’s arms would be a daily torment for her.

  Now that she had a reason for owning and using the sword, Storm felt no twinge of discomfort as she began doing gentle thrusts and parries around the central part of her room. The movements felt rusty and slow, but they were there, flowing easily one after the other. Once again she found herself lost in the movements, relaxing with the remembered motions. Once again she pulled herself up short when she found that Falcon was there at the door, watching her.

  This time when he spoke his voice had more tone in it and his eyes sparkled with intrigued curiosity. “Do that last part again, the part with the circling motion.”

  Storm shook her head. “I do not think I can,” she explained. “I do not really know what I am doing. It just sort of happens. I think I have to start from the beginning.”

  Falcon nodded. “Well then, that is fine. I will watch from here.”

  He stood quietly, his eyes keen on each movement she made, watching as she transitioned from a defensive to offensive posture. When she moved into the section that he had been asking about, he drew his own sword, smoothly injecting it into her motions. His voice reflected his confusion. “I am not sure I understand - I can simply do this …” He gently lunged forward against the attack she had begun, aiming for her exposed side.

  Storm turned on instinct, dropping to one knee under the attack, firmly using his momentum to smoothly roll him over onto his back.

  Falcon’s initial impact was soft, but his roll took him into the dresser, tipping it against the wall with a loud thud. The impact caused his sword to skitter out of his hand.

  A few moments passed, then Mary burst into the room with a cry of alarm. Her mouth made a large O shape when she looked between Falcon sitting against the far wall and Storm standing over him, sword in hand.

  “Everything is fine,” called out Falcon, calming his startled maid. “I was just explaining to Storm how you fall safely if you are attacked. There is nothing to worry about.”

  Mary did not look as if she believed this explanation, but she backed out of the room, closing the door after her. Storm waited until the door clicked shut before breaking into a wide smile, putting her arm down to Falcon. He took it, but used most of his own arm strength to push himself back up to a standing position.

  “Ah yes, I see now,” he commented complacently, brushing the dust off of his pants. “It makes much more sense to me when you put it like that.”

  Storm chuckled. “Teaching me to fall indeed,” she snorted. “As if that is a skill I need to learn. Judging by my fading bruises, I imagine I am quite good at that particular activity.”

  Falcon innocently shrugged his shoulders. “You never know when a new variant on a skill might come in handy,” he dryly replied.

  He bent down to retrieve his sword, and when he stood his face was a mask of concentration. “Still, there are things we can learn from your moves. I assume they are the standard sword moves for the Walkers?”

  Storm rolled her eyes. “As if I know!” she cried out in exasperation. “I barely know what I am doing, never mind whose style I am doing it in.”

  Falcon smiled and shushed her. “Right, right, that is fine,” he soothed, half to himself. “I imagine they probably are.” He thought for a moment more, then continued briskly. “If you start joining us in our morning practice, that would give us an even better advantage. That way, if this truce falls through -”

  Storm looked up at him sharply. “You cannot be serious!”

  Falcon’s brows came together in concern. “You would feel uncomfortable about practicing out in front of others? We can do it in private, then.”

  Storm shook her head distractedly. “No, of course I do not mind practicing in front of the guards. We can practice in the courtyard, or in the hall, that does not matter to me one whit. What matters is you giving up on the truce when it is so important to your people and your land’s stability.”

  Falcon’s eyes caught hers, and she was swept up by the attraction between them, the heat in his eyes as he looked down at her. Time seemed to slow. She forced herself to remember the impact of just how much could be lost if she inadvertently turned Falcon from his chosen course.

  She swallowed and willed herself to speak. Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “Falcon … if my presence here is going to end up compromising the safety of the townsfolk, then I will move to the inn immediately. I can remain there until Lord Walker can send an escort to take me home.”

  Falcon’s response was immediate and guttural. “Please, no ...” He held her gaze and took a long, deep breath before replying. “We are both adults. We can acknowledge that we enjoy each other’s company – and it will stay at that. Please do not deny me these few days of pleasure in the meantime.”

  He paused for a moment, then nodded, his voice more somber. “You are right, of course. This truce must go forward. It must be signed for the sake of everyone I care for. I have tried other solutions for too many years without success. There is no other choice.”

  Storm looked away, her heart heavy, but her mind in full agreement. She gave her blade a quick wipe down, then put the sword and scabbard away in their drawer.

  Steeled for what lay ahead, she turned and preceded Falcon out the door to head down for lunch.

  Jessica was waiting for them at the table, her eyes bright with interest as Falcon and Storm sat on either side of her. “I hear the messenger has returned,” she called out with a smile. “So you have figured out where to send Storm back to? Is she a farmer’s daughter? A fisherman’s wife? I want to hear every last detail!”

  Falcon turned to her, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Actually, Storm is a well-trained protector at a nunnery, keeping the women safe from harm,” he told Jessica, his eyes twinkling. “She is unattached, so she will stay with us for at least another month or so until Lord Walker arrives. We will see at that point what we choose to do.”

  Jessica’s eyes flashed with sharp annoyance, her lips flattening for a moment. She took in a long, deep breath, resetting herself.

  “Nuns, they take a vow of chastity, do they not?” she asked with a bright smile, buttering a roll with a vicious swipe of her knife. “I imagine the guards must too, so they do not corrupt the pure souls within the walls.”

  Falcon shook his head, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I believe the nuns like to live vicariously through those with whom they work,” he commented with a soft chuckle. “It is why they like to take in the most wayward souls, to hear about their exuberant lives in the lusty world of the flesh.”

  Jessica did not like this answer much, and showed her simmering anger with her renewed knife stabs at her chicken filet lunch. Storm knew that she should be charitable, but the urge to laugh grew when she glanced up and
met Falcon’s twinkling eyes. She bit back her mirth with an effort.

  Jessica looked up and down the table with a steely eye, then commented with a snap, “What did the maids do with that vase? I had wanted it to be here for us to enjoy for our lunches, to add beauty to our afternoon. After all, it was brought back from the sunny Mediterranean, where it undoubtedly held roses, irises, and lilies.” Her voice took on a lilting quality, and she waved her hands in time with her words. “To me it symbolizes the tumultuous seas, traversed by elegant two-mast ships. It reflects the joy of life’s travels that two people can share. The blue vines symbolize the binding ties of matrimony, never to be released.”

  Storm leaned back to take a sip of her of mead. Jessica’s description brought to mind a vivid mental image of the slim, white pottery vase, the blue tracings of ivy swirling up its fluted center. The mead washing down her throat, the vines on the vase …

  “Not the sea,” she mused almost to herself. She had spoken softly, but Jessica immediately stopped her gesturing and turned to look at her, mouth half open at the interruption. Beyond her, Falcon put his mug down and watched her with interest.

  “No, not the sea,” Storm continued, the feeling growing stronger. “A stream. A mill stream, with a rolling mill wheel. So peaceful, so rhythmic. The vase sat in a window.” She chuckled softly to herself, her eyes turning to meet Falcon’s. “With reeds in them, from the local pond.”

  Jessica scoffed in open disbelief. “These vases were made by artisans in the south of France,” she sniffed. “They were meant to hold the highest quality roses, not pond reeds.”

  Falcon ignored her outburst and held Storm’s gaze steadily. “A window,” he gently encouraged. “A big window?”

  Storm shook her head, remembering the feeling more than the visual image. “A small window, perfect for curling up near. I would drink mead as I nestled there. I would watch the wheel turn; I can still smell the wet clay.”

  Falcon leant forward, his stare intense. “Beyond, out the window? Past the mill wheel?”

  Storm did not concentrate – by now she realized that she had to relax, to sense faint glimpses of feelings and emotions. “Church bells,” she responded after a few moments, closing her eyes. “Four of them, four descending notes pealing out.”

  Jessica was indignant and angrily launched to her feet. “These wares are from France!”

  A hush fell over the room, and all eyes turned toward the commotion.

  Falcon’s voice was low and smooth, talking up to the rigidly set blonde. “It should be easy enough to find out,” he replied in a conciliatory fashion. “There’s a well-known church which fits that description in Walker’s lands. If a potter is not at that church, maybe Storm did indeed take a trip to France, near your artist colony. A similar church could easily exist there.”

  He motioned to Thom, who sat at a nearby table and was, with most of the occupants of the room, watching the scene with undisguised interest. Thom came over at once.

  “I realize you are just returned from a trip,” offered Falcon by way of apology, “However, you know the Walker territory better than anybody else here. I would like you to go on a bit of a scouting mission.”

  Thom dropped to one knee immediately, with no hesitation at all in his movements. “Where would you like me to go, my Lord?”

  Falcon nodded. “There is a church near the town of Dilham,” he explained. “They are famous for their bells. Ask around the region; see if any know of a millhouse which has a potter in residence. If you find that location, describe Storm to them and see what you can learn of her past.

  Thom nodded in understanding and promptly stood, heading out the door on his mission.

  The room began humming with conversation again, and Jessica regally regained her seat, leaning forward to maintain Falcon’s focus on her. A fresh smile brightened her features.

  “I hear from my servants that you have been out riding recently, Falcon,” she purred, drawing his eyes down to her. “I am a fine rider and would love to spend the afternoon on a trail with you! Shall we get our horses ready to go? I have my own, of course, and will not need to trouble you for a loan.”

  Falcon’s eyes turned automatically to Storm. “What do you think? Does that sound of interest to you?”

  Jessica gave a cry, interrupting before Storm could draw a breath. “Oh, but I wanted to go at a fast rate, to canter or perhaps even gallop! Surely Storm is not up to such exertions just yet in her fragile condition.” Her smile widened. “After all, we would not want to risk the health of our guest, would we?”

  Storm saw at once the possessive look in Jessica’s eyes and hastened to soothe the woman’s prickly pride. It would do no good to exacerbate the problems between them, if they were to share the keep’s environs for another month.

  “You are quite right, of course,” she agreed with the blonde woman, her voice low and accepting. “I do need to heal. I will stay here. You two go on ahead and enjoy yourselves.” She turned back to the food before her.

  Falcon’s eyes shuttered, and the trio finished their meal in silence. Storm forced herself to smile a farewell when Falcon graciously offered an arm to Jessica, escorting her out toward the stables. It was only when they were both safely out of sight that she sat back, sighing deeply, her thoughts muddled.

  Storm turned her mug in her hands. She felt unchivalrous about abandoning Falcon to Jessica’s clutches. However, perhaps Jessica’s forward behavior would help him to be more content with the relative quiet of what Laura offered.

  Storm shook her head. It was as bad imagining Falcon with Laura as it was thinking of him out riding with Jessica. One thing was clear to her, though. She was uncertain of her own ability to keep Falcon at arm’s length, now that she knew she was not promised. She could not afford to become fonder of him, to test her own limits.

  Resolved, she headed out through the courtyards and into the kitchen building. She was pleased to find her three women friends sitting around the sunlit table in cheerful conversation. The trio welcomed her with bright cheer.

  There were carrots and turnips to slice, and Storm eagerly sat down to join in the task. The women had already heard of the message’s contents, and shared their appreciation with her that she was not a member of the bandits, but had an honorable profession.

  Storm reflected, as the conversation wended its way through the afternoon hours, that this time seemed so unique, so special. She would have imagined that she would have many female friends around her if she worked in a nunnery. For whatever reason, this time with the three women seemed a fantastic treat, one to be savored.

  The time spun by, and she was relieved when evening came that she had made it through the afternoon without thinking about Falcon and his outing with Jessica. Maybe these remaining weeks would also fly by, if things were planned properly.

  * * *

  The next morning, true to his word, Falcon showed up in her room early to take her down to the courtyard for practice. The soldiers had all heard by now who she was and were curious to see what she was capable of. John, David, and Shawn stood to one side, their attention keen.

  Storm had strapped her sword and dagger to her hips and stood, relaxed, in the cleared courtyard. To her surprise she did not feel uncomfortable at all standing in the center of the group of soldiers. She accepted their interest with ease.

  She considered that, even if she was currently a guard at a nunnery, she must have learned her skills somewhere. Maybe she had grown up around a soldier’s camp with a military family. That could explain many things about her personality.

  Falcon’s voice pulled her from her musings. “Now, keep in mind,” he cautioned, “she still has amnesia. She does not remember specific things about what she has learned or why she does them. We cannot ask her to explain what she is doing. All we can do for now is watch and make guesses. Still, I believe we can learn a lot from observing her style of movement.”

  He turned to Storm and gave a nod. “All ri
ght then, whenever you are ready.”

  Storm took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The weight of the sword and dagger on her side were comfortable; it seemed as if they were a part of her. She reached down to draw the sword out smoothly from the scabbard, giving a flourish bow as she did so, bringing the sword up to her forehead and then swinging away to the right.

  The movements began on their own. Her hilt dropped to her left hip, and she took a quick step forward. She thrust forward, her sword outstretched, then swung it down sharply, bringing it to rest just above the ground. She pivoted smoothly, facing in the opposite direction. The blade came up and through an imaginary opponent, resting for a moment over her shoulder, preparing for the next attack.

  The movements seemed an instinctive part of her, as she turned, ducked, and retreated. She was no longer aware of the men watching her or the surrounding walls. She became lost in the movements, a part of the sequence of events.

  Suddenly she realized she was kneeling on the cobblestone ground, her blade wide to the right, her head bowed at the end of the routine.

  There was a loud clapping noise around her. She opened her eyes to see the soldiers sincerely applauding her efforts, showing great interest in what she had done.

  Falcon’s eyes sparkled inquisitively, his face alive with interest. “I know you are still healing up, but could you do that once more? I just want to see -”

  Storm chuckled and nodded. She knew that feeling only too well. She closed her eyes and set herself into the initial stance. In a moment she was in motion again.

  When the workout was complete, she returned to her room to clean up for lunch. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, Jessica had already joined Falcon at the table and was in close conversation with him.

  “Of course you were right in sending Thom off to the Walker territory, after that ‘memory’ of hers conveniently appeared,” insisted Jessica with serious intensity, her eyes held on his. “Who would not check up on such a story? After all, you only have Lord Walker’s word for it that she is associated with a nunnery. You must admit, that hardly seems likely.”