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

by Shea,Lisa

  Falcon’s eyes showed that he was caught up in the same strong emotions. Over the din of toasting and revelry, he called Mary over.

  “You and Molly have done wonders here with the food,” he praised her, “but we shall be retiring to our room. Feel free to carry on all week if you wish, and send up mead and cheese – but knock first!”

  Mary enveloped him in a warm hug, then turned to Storm. Her wrinkled face shone. “You deserve it, my lass. You will make Lord Falcon the happiest man on Earth.”.

  * * *

  Storm had never been to Falcon’s room, and she felt shy when he opened the door before her and led her into his private sanctuary. It was clean and neat, with dark burgundy curtains and blankets. The dressers and shelves were of the same fine, oak construction as her own room’s furnishings.

  A large wall hanging to one side showed a falcon in flight, coming down to roost at a nest which held a female falcon with three eggs.

  Storm’s eyes were caught by the hanging, and she turned to look at Falcon, her voice hoarse with passion. “Three children? We shall have to get started right away, then.”

  Falcon groaned with desire, effortlessly sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her over to the bed. He laid her down gently, and stood back a moment to admire her, love and need shining in his eyes.

  Storm reached up to draw him down, and their souls merged.

  * * *

  To Storm the ensuing week was one of soul-lifting pleasures, a week that she could never have imagined in her wildest dreams. Falcon never left her side, and their love for each other grew with each passing day. The finest dishes were ferried in by laughing, knocking servants, along with delicious meads and wines.

  Every night they fell asleep, exhausted, entwined in each other’s arms. Every morning she awoke in astonished joy to find him stretched out by her side. She felt she would never tire of the simple pleasure of being next to him.

  Chapter 26

  After a week of honeymoon had drifted by in tumultuous abandon, Storm knew it was time to start behaving like the responsible adults they were.

  She gave Falcon a gentle kiss on the nose when he awoke. “Not that I mind lounging around in bed all day …” she admitted to her handsome husband.

  “Or a week,” he interjected with a warm smile.

  Her eyes twinkled as she continued. “Still, it would hardly do for us to become fat and lazy while our keep fell to ruins around us. Perhaps it was time we began rejoining the world, to see just how the guards’ training has fared without us.”

  Falcon chuckled, tracing his hand along her cheek. “Now that we know you are a Walker, why of course we want to keep training with you. Who knows what insights you will be able to offer about a family which may shortly be at our gates.”

  Storm’s eyes sparkled with glee. “Now that my memory has returned, there is quite a lot of knowledge I can provide for our defense,” she agreed readily. “We will be the safest fortification in the entire land once we are through.”

  The two dressed quickly, and were greeted warmly by the staff when they descended to the main hall. Heather came over promptly with two mugs, then laid out platters of crispy bacon and boiled ham.

  Storm and Falcon were just finishing up the meal when Zach ran up to the table, his face solemn.

  “There is a messenger from the Walkers waiting at the main gate,” he nervously informed his Lord.

  Storm’s blood ran cold. Was her father planning to force her return? Would he attempt to annul her marriage? She turned to Falcon, her eyes tense.

  Falcon put his hand reassuringly over her own, his gaze steady. “Go ahead, Zach. Let the man in,” he instructed smoothly. He pulled his chair slightly away from the table, leaving his sword free.

  In a few minutes there were footsteps down the main hall. A muscular messenger, dressed in the Walker colors, slowly approached the head table, drawing a sealed note from within his tunic. He held it up to Falcon, then placed it on the table before him. That done, he stood silently, waiting.

  Falcon ran a practiced eye down the messenger, then turned his attention to the missive. He picked up the note and broke the seal with the flick of a finger. After one more glance at the man before him he sat back to scan the contents.

  When he was done, he turned to Storm, his eyes reassuring.

  “Your father has heard about our wedding, of course,” he began in a matter-of-fact voice. “Now that our marriage is sealed, your father feels that a truce is in order. He does not want to be warring with the house of his daughter. He says we are all family now.”

  Storm openly scoffed at this idea. “My father’s idea of family is using someone until they can conveniently be killed,” she warned with heat. “I would not trust him over far.”

  Falcon nodded in agreement. He glanced for a moment at the messenger, then continued. “Still, if your father signs something, he might not be willing to break his word openly. That would cause all of his other truces with his neighbors to become suspect, and several of them would love an opportunity to go back on their agreements. It may be worth it, to hear him out.”

  Storm poked at a piece of bacon with her knife. “I do not trust that man,” she repeated with soft fury. She looked up at Falcon, her eyes filling with pain. “If he gets you within his walls, what is to say that you will ever come out again? I could not stand to lose you.”

  Falcon shook his head. “Lord Walker is suggesting a neutral location – a small church halfway between our two bases. I know the priest there, and trust him. That way there is no threat of an ambush, and if we both take five men, the odds should be even.” He paused for a moment, then looked resolved. “If there is even the smallest chance of a truce, even a false one, we would be wise to see what he has to say.”

  Falcon turned to look up at the messenger, who was waiting at attention, a stony look on his face.

  “Tell your master that I will meet him four days hence,” he instructed with quiet firmness.

  The messenger nodded in agreement, then turned and headed out.

  Storm looked up with worry at Falcon. “Are you sure about this?” she asked with trepidation.

  He tenderly kissed her on the forehead, smoothing down her long hair. “I will be fine.”

  * * *

  The next few days dragged by anxiously for Storm. The other-worldly beauty of the honeymoon had transformed into a sense of foreboding doom. She treasured every moment she spent with Falcon, worried that it might be her last.

  When the morning of the meeting dawned, Storm found herself unable to leave her husband’s side. She wanted to be with him every minute before he left. She helped him dress and walked down to the stables with him.

  Falcon joined his men there. John, his captain, was in the group, as well as David and Shawn, their eager faces shining. The men waited patiently while Falcon gave a farewell embrace to his bride.

  Falcon looked around at the guards who surrounded them. “We should be back by tomorrow evening,” he let them know. “You know the spot – come to meet us if we have not returned by then.” He looked down to Zach, who stood by his side. “Zach will be stationed halfway at a village, to ferry messages if needed. If we run into trouble sooner, we will light a signal fire, and Zach will be back to you as soon as possible to bring relief.”

  He nodded reassuringly to the group. “I am sure there will be no trouble. Walker is family now, and the truce is all but assured.”

  Harold stood to one side as the men mounted and turned their steeds out toward the main gate. His normally dour face held a hint of a smile, and Storm took this as a good sign.

  “You think Falcon and his group will be fine, then?” she asked of the normally truculent man.

  Harold nodded slowly, a wry grin coming across his features. “Yes, I think that today shall be a very good day,” he prophesized. “You just wait and see.”

  Storm took heart at this and followed the group out to the main gates. She stood in the center of
the opening, watching as the men rode into the distance. She dismissed her nagging concerns as she stared after them until they had vanished into the trees.

  * * *

  There was nothing to do now but wait. She went up to her bedroom and gathered up a pillow and blanket. Then, tracking down Mary, she was able to acquire a collection of sewing implements.

  It was only a short period of time later that she had set up her supplies in the tower in order to wait and watch for her husband.

  Her location provided a great vantage point; from the window she could see across the entire woods. From here she had the best chance of seeing him first when he returned, however things turned out.

  Now that it was cleaned, the room was a pleasant retreat. It was peaceful and quiet, up away from the main keep proper. The views from here were gorgeous.

  She pulled a chair next to the window and settled down to her main task – that of starting a new tapestry. She had decided to leave Falcon’s mother’s tapestry as it was, unfinished. That represented the end of the old life. Her tapestry was for the beginning of a new life; a new family.

  Heather brought up ale and platters of cheese as the day progressed, and often sat to talk with Storm as she worked. Storm read to her from the small poetry codex, sharing her favorite passages. The day passed in quiet discussion and delicate needlework. Soon candles twinkled in the window as dusk approached.

  There had been no word or sign, but that was to be expected. The men were not due home for another full day. Storm had resigned herself to be patient.

  * * *

  She had drifted to sleep in the corner when some noise shook her out of her dream. Curious, she moved over to the window and looked out over the sleeping landscape. Only a sliver of the moon lit up the quiet fields and town.

  Her eyes strayed along the wall that surrounded the keep proper.

  There, was that a movement?

  CLINK.

  A crisp metallic noise sounded clearly in the night, and Storm’s senses became sharply alert. She saw it now – a figure coming up over the wall, probably on a rope. Then there were two figures. They quietly crept over toward the ladder that led down to the main gate.

  A man from the stables moved stealthily across the main square to join the two, and Storm’s brow wrinkled in confusion, her still-sleepy brain fighting to process what she was seeing.

  In only seconds the trio had slid open the main bolts of the gate and were swinging it wide open.

  Storm’s senses came wide awake and she found her voice.

  “BANDITS! BANDITS!” She called out the warning at the top of her lungs. From her perch high in the tower, her voice carried easily across the courtyard and down to the barracks.

  Torches flared, and suddenly a stream of bandits poured through the gates at full speed, no longer interested in hiding their numbers. The guards, caught unawares, were fighting at a disadvantage, and most were beaten quickly into unconsciousness as the troupe moved in toward the main keep.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Storm flew down the steps toward the dining hall. If the bandits wanted a fight, then by God it was a fight they would have. It was only moments before she reached the main hallway.

  Her feet had barely touched the floor when a group of roughly dressed men swarmed in from the front door. Storm dodged to the right. There were too many to take in an open fight, and she needed a weapon. She had not thought to ask Falcon what had happened to her own sword, and her dagger was back in her room.

  She ran down a hallway, aiming to reach the pantry. There would be plenty of sharp knives there, and the room would be easier to defend. If she was able to face each bandit one at a time, and attack from the shadows, she had a chance.

  When she reached the pantry, she pulled up short, drawing herself into the shadows on one side of the room. The main fire was banked low, and only a feeble glow shone on the scene. Molly was being held to one side by a large, burly man with a cudgel. Her face was white with fright.

  In the center of the room, Storm was shocked to realize that Jessica stood proudly, holding an all-too-familiar dagger to Heather’s throat. Jessica had a wide grin on her face, and seemed to be relishing the moment.

  “My father will have this situation under control in no time,” she smoothly advised the pair of servants. “I think it will do nicely to implicate Storm in the attack. When Falcon realizes that his new wife has betrayed him, he will hardly mind that she was killed during the ensuing melee. I will be there to help console him and to nurse him back to happiness.”

  Heather’s eyes shone with loyalty. “He will never believe you,” she stated with determination. “He would never turn on Storm, after all they have been through together. Why would he believe in your lies?”

  Jessica chuckled in merriment. “Why my dear girl, there will be proof of the betrayal! A dead body always does wonders in these situations.” She wiggled the dagger at Heather’s throat suggestively. “This dagger, which was acquired recently from Storm’s belongings, will clearly indicate who did the horrific deed.”

  Storm glanced quickly around her. A wood block holding a collection of knives lay to her right. She sidled along in the shadows, slipping out a medium sized carving knife with a stealthy pull. Her eyes carefully moved over her target. Jessica was slim, while Heather was curvaceous. With Heather held in front of her, the maid formed almost a complete shield for Jessica’s body.

  Storm’s frustration grew. There was no way she could get around behind Jessica, and time was running short.

  Suddenly, Heather’s eyes caught her own and opened wide. She pursed her lips tightly, catching herself in a gasp of surprise.

  Storm realized she had a chance.

  Staying hidden in the shadows, she made a circling motion with her hand. She mimed to Heather that she had to convince Jessica to turn around, putting her back to Storm. It was her only shot.

  Heather blinked in understanding, her face becoming resolute. Then she said aloud in a tremulous voice, “If I am to be the sacrificial lamb, can I at least see my mother one last time to say goodbye to her?”

  Molly burst out sobbing at this, struggling to get free of the resolute bandit who held her firm. Jessica laughed out loud at the situation. “A lamb, indeed! You are all sheep to the slaughter. Yes, how delightful for you to have one last glimpse of your dear mum before you sacrifice yourself for my upcoming wedding.”

  With a flourish, she turned Heather around to face her mother, in the process spinning her own back to face Storm. Storm did not hesitate. She flung the knife with pinpoint accuracy into Jessica’s back. The strength of her throw buried the blade up to its hilt.

  Jessica coughed in surprise, the dagger in her hand dropping with a clatter to the floor. Heather immediately crouched to the ground to pick it up. Jessica was falling backwards in a heap as Heather ran forward to her mother and the bandit, dagger held close to her body.

  The bandit raised his cudgel to bash the girl down, but Molly grabbed at his arm with both hands and bit down on it in fury. Before the bandit could react, Heather had driven the knife into his chest. Molly pulled the cudgel free from his grasp as he let out a yell. She drove it with all her might down onto his head.

  He dropped like a stone, dead.

  Storm skidded to a stop next to Jessica. Storm could see the dying embers of the woman’s life fading from her eyes.

  Storm knelt by Jessica. “Jessica, it did not have to be like this,” she softly grated. “There were other men out there for you. Other choices.”

  Jessica’s eyes went cold. “I do not make choices,” she bit out, her breath wheezing. “I make demands, and life provides them to me. I demand … I demand …”

  The light faded from her eyes, and she fell back, silenced.

  Storm closed Jessica’s eyes, then stood and glanced at the other two women. Molly stood protectively by her daughter, cudgel in hand. Heather cringed at the sounds of combat coming from around the keep, but her face was resolute.
As Storm approached the two, Heather handed her back the dagger.

  Storm automatically wiped the blood off on her dress, then addressed the pair. “Get a pair of knives. Molly, do you have the keys to the pantry?”

  Molly turned them over, and in a few moments Storm had locked the two women in behind the thick, stout doors. It would take hours for the bandits to hack their way through there, if they even felt the inclination to do so. She passed the keys beneath the door to Molly, so that they could arrange to be let out once it became safe again.

  Storm tucked a few more knives into her belt and, with a quick glance to ensure all was clear, headed back down the hallway. She came across a bandit who was searching behind the curtains of the study; she was able to sneak up on him without much effort. A slice across his neck, and he was dead.

  Storm searched his pockets and realized that the bandit had not taken anything, even though the room was full of valuable items. She found this to be quite odd. Apparently the bandits were not on a raiding mission.

  She stopped to listen for a moment. There was only the occasional sound of steel on steel – it seemed the fighting was dying down. She poked her head out of the room, looking down the hallway toward the main dining hall.

  The bandits were moving around with a purpose, as if they were searching for someone. She spotted a few staff members tied up and realized they were not being slain out of hand. Something unusual was going on.

  A familiar face came into view. It was Harold, cautiously peering around the corner of a doorway. He held a long staff in his hand.

  Storm relaxed in relief. She waved her hand to catch his eye. “Over here,” she softly called.