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

by Shea,Lisa

  Storm smiled and patted his arm. “It is a long story, and I will tell it all to you later on, when you are able to return home. For now, I need to gather up a few things. I wish you fond travels; I am sure my father will be releasing you soon.”

  She turned, her heart beating quicker now that she saw what lengths her father had gone through to maintain his deception. She took the stairs to her room two at a time.

  Her room was much as she left it. The thick curtains were pulled snugly across her window, and her small bed was neatly made.

  She knelt beside her window, laying her hand fondly on the small wooden box that had for so long protected her personal mementos. She lifted the lid. Everything was as she had left it. The delicately woven scarf left to her by her mother. A small sapphire and silver locket that her mother had given to her for her wedding day. A poetry codex wrapped with care. She verified that all was secure, then closed the small chest’s lid with a click.

  A louder click echoed in her ears, and she looked up in disbelief at her door. The thick oak had bolts on both sides, and she found, as she ran to it, that the outside bolt was now firmly in place.

  Her father was trying it yet again.

  “You have no right!” she screamed, incredulous that her father would conceive of holding her prisoner after everything she had been through. “Let me out of here now!”

  She rained her fists on the door, hammering, but to her surprise her father did not even respond to her pleas. There were no taunts. No challenges. The keep echoed in its silence.

  Her eyes sparked with fury. If he thought he would keep her in with a mere lock, he would be vastly mistaken. She spun on her heel and strode toward the curtains, tossing them open.

  An incredulous shock staggered her. She dropped to her knees, her heart stopping.

  Iron bars had been installed in a grate across the entire window. Her escape route had been cut off. She was absolutely trapped. She was completely under the control of her father.

  She collapsed into her bed, her mind refusing to work. There was no other way out of her cell. There were none who would care what happened to her here. For all she knew, her father simply planned to starve her to death in punishment for her actions since he had retrieved her. All hope drained out of her, and she closed her eyes in despair.

  A warmth filled her, suddenly. The sense of strong arms holding her. The nuzzling of a head against hers. A gentle voice telling her that everything would be all right.

  She rolled on her side, wrapping her arms about herself, allowing her to lose herself in the memories - and in the longing.

  Chapter 23

  A noise snapped Storm to instant wakefulness, and her hand shot beneath her pillow.

  It grasped empty air.

  Panic swept through her. She pushed herself up, sitting up on her thin mattress and glancing around the darkened room.

  The curtains were still open. A scattering of stars was visible in the night sky.

  The sound came again; it was from outside her window. She stood and carefully gazed out through the bars. The creaking was coming from above her. To her surprise she saw that a thin wicker basket hung there, dangling from a rope undoubtedly lowered from the roof. The basket was narrow enough to draw through the bars, and she carefully eased it through the tight space.

  Opening the lid, she found a skin of mulled cider, a loaf of brown bread, and a hunk of cheese. Storm did not hesitate; she was famished. She eagerly wolfed down the fare. She recognized that she would have to keep her strength up for whatever came. She might have lost her sword, but opportunity might yet present itself.

  Only a few minutes after eating, she suddenly felt drowsy. She stared at the skin, rage sweeping through her. God’s teeth, the man would resort to any trick he could concoct. Her father had undoubtedly drugged her drink.

  The lethargy quickly set in. She dragged herself into the corner of her bed, setting her back up against the wall, but she knew it was no use. In minutes her heavy eyelids had fallen shut, and the world drifted from view.

  * * *

  A loud slamming noise, of a bar being dropped into place, and she was jolted awake, her hand reaching … but it jarred against a restraint. Her hands were held together by the tight pull of a rope. The dry fabric of a gag was firmly in her mouth, and it seemed that even her ankles had been tied. She glanced around the dark room in a panic, but there was nobody else in sight.

  Myriad thoughts deluged her, and she fought to bring them into a semblance of order. There was nobody else here; why bother to gag her? Her door was sturdy and barred. Her window, solidly blocked. Why in the world would he need to bind her hand and foot?

  She wrestled with the ropes at her wrists, attempting to get each one to loosen, if only slightly. Her frustration increased as she found they would not budge even the tiniest fraction of an inch. Apparently they had learned from their previous mistakes. Still, she kept at it, her brow furrowed in determination, as the soft pre-dawn light eased into the room, drifting across the rough wood floor.

  There was a fresh sound from outside the window. At first it was a distant rumble, but soon it became the merged thunder of several hoofbeat coming at a canter up the main road to the keep. They turned off before the main gates, circling around the outer walls.

  Storm’s heart pounded against her ribs, and she pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her waist caught, and she snarled in frustration. The man had even tied her waist to the handle of her door, preventing her from getting any closer to the window. Was this his aim? To keep her from being seen by whoever was approaching?

  The hoofbeat came to a clattering stop below her window, and there was a call. It was the voice she heard in her dreams; the one she craved with all her being. The one she now knew as well as the worn feel of the ring on her finger.

  “Storm! Storm, it is Falcon! Are you in there, Storm?”

  Tears streamed down her eyes as she flooded with relief, desire, and longing. She screamed against her gag, thrashing against her bonds, but her noises were feeble and lost against the fabric wound to her mouth. Her strongest pulls did not even slightly release the ties around her. Frustration swallowed her, hearing his sharp cries for her, and there was no way to answer. There was no way to let him know how much she needed him.

  She flung herself with every ounce of strength against the ropes. The wound material cut into her skin, leaving long, crimson welts against her flesh, but they did not budge an inch. Again and again she screamed until her throat was hoarse and dry.

  Finally he stopped calling. The hoofbeat circled beneath her window, and she glanced with frustration at the iron bars. Surely he could see they were a new addition and surmise that she was being held within this cell. There was no way for him to reach her, however. He would need to first surmount the outer curtain wall and then scale the inner tower, all while warding off her father’s troops.

  The hoofbeat moved at a trot back toward the main gate, and the keep eased into a fresh silence. She lay back against the mat, exhausted. Now it was up to her father. It was up to whatever plans Lord Walker had in mind for her.

  She was suddenly flooded with a realization, and the force of it took her breath away.

  She had been engaged to Falcon.

  Everything had happened so quickly that she had not had time to take stock of the situation.

  She was Laura.

  She was Falcon’s intended bride.

  With all her longing and restraint, she was the one who would have been loyally at Falcon’s side. She would have been the mistress of his keep. She would have been able to ride with him on springtime afternoons, able to snuggle in his study for a game of chess and a mug of mulled wine …

  The tears came again, and she shook her head at the insanity of it all. She had lived through such torment, and the whole while Falcon had been hers, had been there for her to take, if she had just reached out her hand and claimed him. If she had only realized the full import on that day when her
father had arrived.

  The clear image of Falcon’s eyes on that day came before her, and her chest ached. He had not spoken one word to her on the day she had met her father. He had stood by while she had been deluged by her memories flooding back in on her. His gaze had been cold, dismissive, and untrusting. Jessica had been alight with triumph, and he had built a wall separating them. What could have happened to turn his heart so soundly?

  Her mind sought back. The previous day … that had been the day he asked her to throw the knives at the target.

  The images began to snap into a sequence. Her heart sank, a dark understanding wrapping itself in a cold embrace around her.

  The day before. He had gazed at her, after her breakthrough in the tower, and he had said something. What had it been?

  “J’espere que cela vous convenient, ma chere?”

  Her heart stopped. The timeline was complete. Falcon must have suspected who she was. He had remembered the list of traits Laura was known to possess. He then laid out a plan of action to prove his suspicions.

  She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. No doubt Jessica had encouraged him, claiming that Storm was aware of her past at every moment. Jessica probably warned that Storm was playing Falcon for a fool. She knew how Falcon felt about deceptions. It might have been Jessica’s one tactic with a chance for success.

  Anger and disappointment swept through Storm in a tumultuous rush. After all they had been through together, Falcon did not trust her enough to give her even one chance to explain? It seemed too hard to take in, but his actions could not be explained in any other manner.

  Her mind went again to the meeting with her father. Falcon had been completely shuttered, while Jessica had glowed in triumph. Storm realized ruefully that her own behavior had done little to help her cause. She had been filled with fury, quick to draw a weapon on her own father. If Falcon had fostered concerns about her “true nature,” she had proven to him how little like the calm, caring woman he had grown to care for she truly was.

  Empty desolation grew beneath her, and she sank into its depths. In Falcon’s eyes, she was naught but another deceiver who had taken advantage of his trustworthy nature. She had manipulated him, coerced him, and almost drawn him into her trap. He would undoubtedly be below expressing his fury at Lord Walker for the machinations. He would be utterly refusing any future truce or marriage.

  All was lost.

  Falcon was lost to her forever.

  She closed her eyes, releasing her last remnants of hope.

  * * *

  Church bells chimed, pulling her awake with their melodious sounds. She blearily opened her eyes. Streaks of golden daylight streamed through the window’s bars, setting a striped pattern across the floor of her room. Her bonds had been removed and the gag gone. A mug of wine, a half loaf of bread, and a wedge of cheese were stacked on her box beneath her window.

  She crawled weakly out of bed. Ignoring the food, she made her way to the door, giving it a firm tug. It was still securely barred. She next made her way to the bars, gripping the cold metal with her hands and leaning heavily against them.

  No savior gazed back up at her with fierce determination.

  Falcon had gone.

  She collapsed wearily next to the food. Despite her fears, she began eating as much as she could, washing it down with the wine. If they planned on drugging her, so be it. She needed the nourishment more than she could afford to worry about their plots.

  When she finished the meal she collapsed back onto the bed, beyond thought. The dark and light shadows drifted across the floor of the room, and she watched them move with utter disinterest. There was nothing left.

  Footsteps sounded distantly, grew closer, and then came to a halt outside her door. She looked up with only the smallest sense of interest. It mattered little now.

  Her father’s voice was sharp, brooking no opposition. “Laura. Are you awake?”

  Storm considered playing silent, to lure him in. She shook her head. She could barely stand against the bull of a man at her healthiest; to try him now would be suicide.

  She strove to draw her thoughts into cohesion, to consider her options. To begin with, she knew it was always critical to hide any weakness from him. She could not provide him with any opportunity to take advantage. She filled her voice with as much strength as she could muster.

  “Yes, I am awake. What do you want?”

  Her father’s voice was firm and unyielding. “You will be glad to hear I am no longer turning you over to Falcon. You had clearly begun to fall under his spell, and your presence there would now serve his purposes, not mine.” He drew in a breath. “In addition, your … retrieved memory, although flawed, could have caused problems. Therefore, I have accepted your refusal of the offer. When Falcon visited, I made it clear to him that you have been against this alliance from the start, and that the offer is no longer on the table. He has been sent away. You will have nothing to fear from that quarter, ever again.”

  Waves of blackness coursed over her, and she drew her knees to her chest, utterly lost. Yes, there had been a brief time that the thought of marriage with Falcon had filled her heart with fury. Since then, so much had changed …

  She closed her eyes and lay back on the bed, exhausted with grief.

  Her father’s voice echoed through the door, harsh with disapproval. “There is still the matter of a match for you. I cannot be expected to feed and clothe you forever – and I deserve some payback for the years I have spent raising you. I can hardly allow you to simply traipse out of this keep without any compensation.”

  “Therefore, I am handing you over to Much, the leader of our … associates to the West. He has been quite a loyal ally of ours for many years. He will keep you out of harm’s way. He has also got the ability to deal with that fiery nature of yours. I think he is the man to tame you.”

  Storm could not have thought that her emotions could become more jumbled. It was as if she had been swirling in a darkened whirlpool and suddenly she realized that this was just one small part of a cavernously huge storm.

  She was being sent completely into Much’s control?

  The man would brutalize her. He would make her life a hellacious torment. She would dream of death. She might willingly seek it.

  She thought of speaking out, of pleading with her father, but she knew he would not turn from his purpose. He would certainly never let her into Falcon’s home again. He undoubtedly knew that, in a heartbeat, she would reveal to Falcon every detail of Lord Walker’s castle defenses and guard strengths. She had served with Walker’s troops for her entire life. She knew the weaknesses of the men and the keep, inside and out.

  Yes, she had no doubt that her father would keep her as far away from Falcon as possible.

  The footsteps faded from her door, and she collapsed back against the bed again. The light from the window grew golden, then rosy, then finally faded into an inky darkness.

  The quiet sound of hoofbeat approached; a trio of riders. Her hand slid half-heartedly beneath her pillow, closing on nothing. There was no hope. No way to protect herself.

  The horses came into the courtyard, and it was only a short time later before footsteps were drawing close within the keep. They came to a stop before her door. She wearily pulled herself into a seated position.

  The door flung open, and her father stood in the doorway, along with a short, tubby man with reddish hair. Storm did not say a word or move. The man slowly smiled, running his eyes lecherously down the full length of her body. His eyes returned to her lips, and he chuckled.

  “I am Much. Surely you remember me.” He paused, then snapped, “Well, can you speak, girl?” His oily voice gained a sharp edge.

  Storm was tempted to stay silent, but she knew this battle was not one she could win. It was best to save her strength for later, when she was free of this room. “Yes,” came her short reply. “I have a tongue in my head.”

  Much’s grin widened. “Well that is good fo
r the both of us,” he commented slyly.

  Satisfied, he turned to her father. “You have yourself a bargain,” he stated decisively. “Let us go down and drink to seal it. Have your guards put her in that spare wagon in your stables. There is a chain in there that connects around the axle; I use it for some of my more … excitable purchases.”

  The two men left, and four guards moved in against her. She took on a pliant, docile posture. She could not hope to win against these strong guards, and even if she did, she was still stuck in this cell. They would help to bring her out closer to escape.

  Storm was less sure of herself when a leather ankle cuff was securely fastened to her. A locked chain led down from the restraint into the lower reaches of the wagon. The wagon looked extremely familiar with its piles of rags and assorted boxes. She wondered if it was the exact one she had been kidnapped in, so long ago. Certainly the guard who watched over her could have been a cousin of that man who tried to rape her. His sallow complexion and reedy frame seemed familiar.

  This guard seemed to have better control over himself; he barely looked her way. He passed the time whittling at a piece of wood.

  Storm hunkered down in a dark corner of the wagon, conserving her strength.

  The moon was high in the sky by the time her father and Much came down to the wagon. Her father glanced in at her, placing her small chest and dagger in a far corner of the wagon. “These are yours, after all, girl,” he commented with another look in her direction. “Perhaps with these items by your side you will not find it necessary to return to the keep again for any family visit.”

  He glanced her over, then continued. “Who knows, you might actually find happiness with Much. I hear he has tamed many wild beasts. In any case, in a few days their priest will make you man and wife, and we will find out!”

  Much seemed to like this jest greatly; his belly shook with his laughter. Then he clasped her father’s hand in farewell. The flap on the wagon was closed and the wheels creaked into motion.