by Shea,Lisa
“She was so cute,” sobbed Caroline, clinging tightly to her father. “I just wanted to hold her!”
Theodore turned to look up between the two. “How can I ever repay you?” he asked, his voice tight with concern and relief.
Storm smiled. “I am just glad she is all right,” she murmured, looking over the young girl. “We all make mistakes in life. She will learn from this one.”
Theodore nodded, then turned, pushing his way into his shop. The sobbing noises faded as he moved further back into the building.
Falcon turned his horse to come alongside Storm. He shook his head, looking her over. “I doubt any bandit woman would have flown across the stream the way you did to save a young girl from harm,” he pointed out, his voice gentle.
Storm smiled. “I imagine you are right,” she agreed. “When I saw her there, the little boar in her arms, I did not think. I just acted.”
“Actions speak far louder than words,” mused Falcon. “You gave no thought to yourself – you raced to her side.”
“As did you,” pointed out Storm, her eyes held on his. “You were barely three seconds behind me.”
“Caroline did not have three seconds,” countered Falcon. “She was lucky to have you.”
“I was lucky to have the dagger made by her father,” returned Storm. “That blade is balanced like a work of art. It flew true.”
Falcon’s voice became serious. “That throw was skill, not luck.” His eyes shadowed, and he looked away.
Storm shivered at his change in mood. She looked down at the dagger on her hip. It had felt so right in her hand, so easily thrown to exactly the spot she wished. She wondered what that meant. Perhaps it would come to her in time.
Falcon nudged his horse into motion. They slowly began walking their steeds back up toward the keep.
* * *
Storm did a full run through of her sword routine in the dawn mist, but by now it was for her own relaxation. Falcon’s soldiers had become familiar with her moves. They were already experimenting with integrated routines on all sides of her. When she finished with her pass-through, Falcon came up before her, his eyes holding hers with quiet curiosity.
“Do you feel up to an actual sparring run?” he asked, his eyes scanning her body. “How are your wounds doing?”
Storm gave her sword arm a spin. “I think I should be fine,” she assured him. “I would enjoy the opportunity immensely.”
“Well then,” offered Falcon, taking a step back and holding his sword in a high guard. “Let us see how you do.”
Storm swept her sword down and away, holding his eyes for a long moment. She had been watching him for almost a month now. She was familiar with his style of action, his preferred motions. He led with his shoulder. He tended to move his right foot ahead of any strike. The corner of her mouth quirked up. This would be interesting indeed.
She started slow, circling him, probing low to the left, then to the right. He blocked her easily, letting her come, his eyes sharp on her. She feinted left, stepped left again then spun hard right. He twisted, sliding barely in time to dodge the flat of her blade. His eyes brightened with amusement.
“So that is how we are going to play?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. Then he drove in, and they were off. He attacked high, and she turned beneath the blow, sweeping right. He deflected the move, pushing in, and she bent back, moving into a new attack. Every time she drove in, he managed to find an opening; every time he came toward her, she slipped away.
Her foot skidded; one of the dog’s bones skittered away across the dust and she sprawled hard on her back, her sword flying from her hand. Falcon’s sword came down against her chest, and she found herself staring into his eyes.
“I yield,” she called out in cheerful resignation, and the courtyard filled with applause. Falcon drew back his sword, then offered a hand down to her. She took the sturdy arm, allowing him to swing her up at his side.
Zach trotted up with her sword in his hand. “Sorry about that, Storm,” he apologized brusquely. “I should have cleaned those up before we began.”
She fondly tousled his hair. “It is my own fault for not keeping an eye out,” she grinned. “I could hardly expect my fields of battle to be lawns of perfection.”
Falcon swept her with an appraising glance. “That was nicely done,” he congratulated her. “The nuns must be quite grateful to have your arm protecting them.”
“I would hope I was more than just a figurehead,” agreed Storm. “If I am to do something, I should want to do it as well as I could.”
The soldiers turned, chattering in conversation, and headed off to the barracks. Zach remained at her side, eager, alight with anticipation. Storm smiled, nodding to Falcon.
“If you do not mind, I need to spend some time with Zach now.”
“Of course,” agreed Falcon, stepping back. “I will see you at lunch.”
* * *
Zach was even more enthusiastic than usual after having seen her in action, and the two grappled and sparred with high energy. She was coated with dirt and sweat by the time they were through. She grinned as Falcon fell in step alongside her, as she moved her way through the great hall, heading back up to her room.
She brushed the loose hair out of her face as they reached her door. “I am afraid I am not quite the elegant lady one would normally find in a well-maintained keep such as yours,” she joked merrily. “I am sure that I am more fit for the stables, the way I am coated in grime.”
Falcon swept his eyes down her lean frame, and a distant look came into his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking, but pushed it out of her mind. She stepped into her room, moving to kneel before the dresser. She gave a hard yank on the lower drawer, preparing to store her sword.
“You still keep the sword down there?” came Falcon’s voice from behind her, low and musing.
Storm glanced up. “This is where I found it.”
Falcon looked consideringly around the room. “The weapon seems so much a part of you. Maybe if we arranged things differently, it will trigger some memories of yours. I cannot imagine you kept it in a drawer like that in whatever home you lived in before. After all, your dagger …” he glanced at the pillow meaningfully.
Storm flushed, but stood again, her sword still in her hand.
Falcon held out his hand. “Here, give that to me.” Storm dutifully placed her sword in his grasp.
Falcon stepped back toward the door. “Now climb into bed, and close your eyes.”
Storm’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but she complied without a word. In a moment she was stretched out on the bed, her lids shut.
Falcon’s voice came soft but sure. “Imagine your home is surrounded by enemies. You know that they will attack soon. You will need your sword to defend yourself. Your knife would be too small. It would be your sword you would go for. You are resting … it is night … and then …”
There was a burst of sound as Falcon slammed the main door of the room open so it rebounded against the side wall. Storm acted instinctively; she rolled off the bed in a flash, her hand outstretched to a spot beneath the window, grasping. Her eyes flew open in surprise when her fingers closed on empty air.
Falcon was beside her in a moment, looking into her eyes. “The sword – where was it?”
Storm looked down to her hand still held in its desperate reach for a weapon. She spoke without thinking, the vision coming in a flash. “It is always under my window. It rests there, lying on a low box. They are my only possessions, in my empty stone cell.” The vision faded, and she strained to see in the mists. “The box … I know it has all I hold dear in it.”
“How big was the box?” asked Falcon, his voice low.
“As long as my forearm, and perhaps six inches high and deep,” recited Storm, trying to hold on to the faint memory. “There is something carved in it … but …” She sighed in frustration. “I do not know, it is gone. I have no idea what is in it. I just know it is all I have.”
/> Falcon handed her back her sword, and she carefully put it down in the spot beneath the window. She looked at it for a long while.
Falcon’s murmur eased into her thoughts. “If you lived in a nunnery, what you say makes sense,” he commented half to himself. “A bare room; a small box of personal belongings.” He stood slowly, still looking down. “I will have one made for you, to sit in that spot. Who knows, maybe more memories will follow once your surroundings become more familiar.”
Storm stood to stand beside him, looking into his eyes. “Thank you so much for helping me with this. Even the smallest memories mean so much to me.”
Falcon looked away, and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. “You had best get changed now, so we can head down for lunch,” he instructed. He turned and left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Lunch moved by in quiet conversation; when the table was cleared they rose without a word and walked over toward the stables. Soon they were walking their steeds side by side down the sunny pathways of the village.
* * *
The next morning’s practice went smoothly, with Storm spending even more time doing one-on-one combat with Falcon. She found her strength returning, and her quick reflexes allowed her to dodge and roll out of the way of many of Falcon’s strikes. She even landed a few blows with lightning-fast hits, drawing enthusiastic cheers from nearby soldiers.
Zach’s mastery of the basic blocks and throws was improving day by day, but Storm was more impressed with the change in his demeanor. Rather than looking at the ground when he walked, he was holding his head high and moving with purpose. The thought pleased her greatly, that he was finding his self-respect.
Falcon was waiting for her when she approached the keep, and he grinned as they headed up the stairs toward her room. When Storm pushed open her door, she immediately saw the new item. A simple but well-made box lay beneath the window, an ivy design woven along its top.
Storm moved over to it, dropping to one knee to run a finger along the carving. She lay down the sword on top of the box, and a swell of emotion overcame her.
This was right. It was just right.
“Well?” asked Falcon behind her, his voice warm with curiosity.
“Yes,” replied Storm simply. “Yes.”
She stood looking down at the sword and box, her world feeling more and more natural to her. It was almost unsettling to raise her eyes and look around at the rest of the room, with its sumptuous curtains and elegant tapestries.
Falcon followed her gaze. “I could always have the rest of the room stripped …” he mused with a quiet grin.
Storm shook her head, chuckling. “No, that is quite all right,” she reassured him. “I am sure memories will return to me in time without having to ask your staff to rearrange the entire place for my pleasure.”
Falcon gave her a gracious bow. “As you wish, my lady,” he agreed with a smile.
Their lunch and afternoon ride sailed by in a blur of quiet, contented motion, and Falcon drew her into a game of chess when they returned. The day seemed perfect.
As she lay in bed ready for sleep, nestled deep within the blankets, Storm thought back over the calm of the past few days. She was truly at peace. Yes, she still cherished fond thoughts about Falcon – but to her surprise she found she was able to put her feelings into perspective. He was a wonderful man, and he was betrothed to the lady of her land. The marriage would bring a lasting peace which would benefit the entire countryside.
Storm only hoped that the lady was worthy of this sacrifice … worthy of Falcon’s love.
Still, Storm felt blessed beyond measure. Even if she left with Lord Walker never to return again, she would always treasure the memory of these weeks with Falcon. The memories would have to be enough.
* * *
Friday morning offered bright sunshine and a warming heat. Storm was finishing up her lunch and looking forward to the afternoon ride with Falcon when there was a noise in the entryway. Thom came trotting into the main hall, his eyes sweeping the room, seeking out those of his master.
Storm’s throat tightened, and she could barely breathe. Falcon rose without a word and drew Thom and Storm into his study. He shut the door firmly, then turned to face the pair.
“Out with it,” he barked, his face tense. “Was Storm’s memory of the vase a true one? Was Jessica deceiving us?”
“What Storm says is true,” replied Thom with an exhausted but pleased smile. “The potter who makes those wares does indeed live near the church. His work is well respected in the neighborhood. He is a high quality craftsman, but he is definitely not French.”
Relief swept over Storm when she heard this, and she sagged back against the bookcase. Her memories had not been false.
Thom’s eyes flicked toward Storm in concern for a moment, but on seeing her regain her footing, he continued his report. “The potter’s studio is as she described it. The structure is laid out with small windows overlooking a mill stream.”
“Yes, yes, and what did he have to say about Storm?” asked Falcon with tight impatience.
Thom’s face fell. “I am afraid I could not find the potter to speak with him directly,” the messenger admitted in chagrin. “Apparently he had just been called to go in to court, at Walker’s request. The man’s neighbors said that he was ordered to make a set of plateware for the upcoming wedding.”
Thom paused at that, then continued more slowly. “I did not feel you would want me to chase after him, to question him in Walker’s own home.”
Falcon patted him on the shoulder. “No, no, you did well,” he praised the messenger. He stalked across the room for a moment, lost in thought. “Still, did nobody else in the area have any information on Storm’s past or situation?”
Thom shook his head. “None knew of any missing woman matching Storm’s description, or of any woman who had become a guard at the nunnery,” he admitted. “She is definitely not from the area around the potter’s studio. If she visited there, she was a visitor from somewhere else.”
Falcon pursed his lips, but nodded. “You have learned a great deal, and I appreciate it. Go rest, you deserve a drink.”
Thom saluted him, nodded to Storm, then turned and went through the study door back to the main hall.
When the two were left alone, Falcon turned and gazed with curiosity at the woman before him.
Storm sighed. “I do not know whether I am relieved or frustrated,” she admitted at last. “It seems we are stymied at every turn when we seek to know more details. Still, at least the memories I am having are proving to be accurate. It gives me something to hold onto.”
Falcon put a hand beneath her chin and raised her eyes to meet his own. “Have faith,” he whispered. “The truth will out in the end. Whatever it is, we will face it together.”
Chapter 15
Storm dodged left, twisted under Falcon’s blade, and came to her feet in a low guard. Her reflexes were returning; she gave a broad smile, breathing in the crisp autumn air. She feinted left, then leapt to the right, laughing out loud as Falcon followed her move and turned with her. They were beginning to learn each other’s tactics, to anticipate each other’s pivots and thrusts. Falcon’s eyes were on her, bright with appreciation, and she basked in the glow of his gaze.
Suddenly Falcon drew up, and she turned, following his attention. Jessica, clothed in an elegant violet riding outfit, trotted into the courtyard. She was flanked by a pair of burly guards in expensive leather armor, mounted on equally fine steeds. The two men dismounted first, then made a great show of helping her down. They walked in escort over to where Falcon and Storm stood watching.
Jessica scanned Storm’s dusty outfit with hearty enthusiasm. “There she is,” she announced. “Look, she has weapons in her hand, too. Why am I not surprised?”
Falcon took a step forward, his voice calm but steely. “Storm is a guard with a nunnery, to the far northeast of the Walker land,” he pointed out. “It would be natural for h
er to handle weapons in that position.”
“For a woman who held that position, yes,” agreed Jessica with a sharp grin. “However, my sources tell me that the nunnery in that region does not have a female guard matching Storm’s description.”
Storm could not help herself. She spoke up with quiet heat. “Would these be the same sources who claimed that your English pottery hailed from the south of France?”
Jessica’s eyes shot daggers at her, but her lips curled into an apologetic smile. “I am so sorry about that, Falcon,” she agreed demurely. “I am still new at some of these arrangements, and I am afraid I must have misunderstood what my suppliers were telling me about the pottery. It was a different line of pottery – one of the most delicate green – which came from France. That white and blue pottery was definitely of English origin, although of course of the highest quality. We only carry the best items in our shops.”
Falcon’s voice retained its sharp edge. “This story of yours about the nunnery? You have proof?”
Jessica laughed in merriment. “What kind of proof can you have about a situation that does not exist? If she did work there, we could have asked for a copy of the contract of employment. As they say she is not associated with them, there is no proof for them to offer.”
Storm deflated. Why would Walker deliberately lie about her past? She had laid so much hope on the idea that she worked with a nunnery, helping to protect innocent women. It explained her familiarity with swords and weapons.
If it was true that this was not her calling in life, then there were few other honorable situations she could imagine herself in. It suddenly seemed again that she was somehow involved with the bandits. Why else would Walker have tried to deceive Falcon? Her throat went dry.
When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “I am going to head up to my room to change,” she rasped. “I will see you both at lunch.”
She turned and walked across the courtyard, not looking at either of their faces.