by Lisa Shea
Lucia turned her attention back to the group below her. There were a few archery targets painted on hay bales behind the pair, and judging by the number of arrows lying around she guessed the students had spent some time firing at them. Stephen appeared to be making the exercise a little more difficult, for he had suspended one of the bales from a nearby oak tree by a rope. He was swinging it slowly and encouraging Ian to shoot it from horseback. Ian held an elaborately decorated bow, inlaid with contrasting wood, and was making a show of setting up to take his shot.
Lucia settled back on her horse to watch. How many times she and Michael had played this game over the years! It was almost funny to watch the same exercise being explained to grown men. She had to remind herself that most of these men had never wielded a weapon against a soldier before, but had come from farming families - only now needing to build skill to ward off the Grays. Still, could they not even have had bow practice, shooting down an encroaching badger?
Ian let loose an arrow and hit the swinging bale in the outer red ring, prompting the troops to call out shouts of encouragement. Ian moved twenty feet back, and let loose another arrow, this one landing a bit closer to center. The roars became louder, and Ian bowed deeply, basking in the attention.
Lucia smiled to herself, feeling mischievous. So they thought those shots were good? Perhaps she could demonstrate her own skill and help build the trust the men had in what she could offer. She lifted her well-worn bow from the back of the saddle where it was strapped, and slid an arrow from the quiver hanging next to her stirrup. She gently nudged Troy sideways to line up her shot.
Troy whinnied softly as he turned, and though the troops did not hear the noise, Stephen looked up quickly with sharp interest. Seeing Lucia on the hilltop, bow drawn, his eyes twinkled. Watching her carefully, he pulled the bale back again, motioning to Ian that he should try a third shot. Ian slowly, with great show, prepared his aim.
Lucia blocked him, and everything else around her, out of her consciousness. She sighted her arrow on the solid dot in the bale’s center, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. When the arrow tip was a finger’s height from the target, she gently let the string slip from her fingers. The arrow flew through the air, down the slope, and it almost seemed that the bale swung back into the arrow’s path as it descended toward the snow. The arrow came to rest in the middle of the center dot, and buried itself to the last blue band.
Lucia let out her breath with a smile. The men turned in surprise, and let out a rousing cry when they realized it was she who had loosed the arrow. Ian tossed down his bow and slid off his mount. He ran up to meet her, laughing as he approached, “Why, Lucia! That was quite a shot! We should have woken you and brought you down to entertain us, sickbed be damned!”
He gave Troy a possessive pat on the neck, eyeing the steed with bright interest. Then he looked up at Lucia, continuing, “Do come down and join us. We would love to learn of your techniques.” Lucia dutifully nudged Troy to follow him down the melting slope.
Stephen was pulling the arrow free from the hay when the pair reached the bottom. “Your arrow, M’Lady,” he offered up to her. Lucia reached down for it, and her fingers ran along his as she accepted the offer. She blushed at the contact, turning and sliding the arrow back in her quiver.
Despite her strongest resistance her eyes were drawn back down. Stephen’s gaze was steady on her, edged with concern. It reminded her of the depths of an old forest, the comfort of solid trees, a soft moss underfoot. With an effort she looked away to where Ian was standing.
“Do continue with your practice,” Lucia prompted Ian, drawing a friendly smile onto her lips. “I will find an area to sit in this lovely meadow and watch you both at work.”
Ian’s eyes lit up with delight. “An audience! Wonderful!” He moved into action, rousting the men and getting them organized.
Lucia gave her steed a pat, and then swung her leg over the saddle to dismount.
The simple act, one she’d done thousands of times before, suddenly, baffling, disoriented her completely. The landscape around her swirled in a blur of icy whites and dark greens. Her legs became as wobbly as a newborn colt’s. She continued to lower herself down, praying she did not collapse in front of all the watchers.
Then there was an arm at her side steadying her. Stephen’s voice murmured softly into her ear, “Hold on. It will pass. Wait a moment.” He moved into a position between her and the men, shielding her with his body.
Lucia nodded slightly, taking in long, slow, deep breaths. She leant her forehead against her steed’s side, inhaling his musky, familiar scent. Slowly the spinning eased and the ground leveled out. She stood up straight again, then tapped Troy on his hindquarters to send him off with the other horses grazing to one side.
Stephen remained close beside her, his back to his men, subtly providing his arm for her to lean against. Reading the weariness in her face, he deftly rearranged her hand into a position of courtly courtesy, and said in a louder tone, “Yes, M’Lady, let me escort you to your seat.”
Lucia glanced up in appreciation as with elaborate ceremony he led her over to a blanket and helped her settle in a seated position. The men smiled and nodded, solely seeing in this interaction the generous behavior of a chivalrous host.
Stephen’s eyes showed his deeper concern as he asked lightly, “Is everything to your satisfaction?”
Lucia did feel much better, now that she was seated. The wave of nausea had passed, and she felt fresh again, if tired. “Yes, thank you,” she replied gently, hoping her eyes showed her gratitude more fully.
Stephen nodded briefly, then turned to the men, waving up a group to begin their swordplay.
Lucia was more tired from the ride than she would have thought possible. It seemed she would have to spend the morning simply stretching her muscles instead of engaging in more strenuous activities. Pushing herself too hard might delay her recovery, something she could ill afford.
The morning eased past her as Ian and Stephen ran the troops through a variety of combat drills. She held the disappointment from her face as the green recruits ineptly clashed wooden swords on shields. These men needed encouragement, she reminded herself sternly. She wondered if she had made a mistake coming to what now seemed a large farming community for assistance. She reminded herself that this was the beginners’ troop; surely the experienced fighters were better trained.
As the hours passed, Lucia was struck by the difference between the two teachers. Ian was full of wild, coltish energy. His actions were highly enthusiastic, doing runs by the book but with great show and flourish. By comparison, Stephen conserved his energy, moving quietly without apparent effort. His attacks and blocks often showed the mark of quick improvisation, and every movement reflected purpose and strength.
Finally, with the sun high in the sky and the men lying on the slope panting for breath, Stephen called a halt to the morning exercises. “Well done!” he praised with a smile, running his eyes across the troops. “You have the energy and drive to learn quickly. We will make fighters of you yet - you all show promise. Let us head back to the castle for our lunch. Do not wear yourselves out tending the cattle, though; the next lesson starts tomorrow morning promptly at sunrise.”
Amidst groans and laughter he walked to gather up his horse and Lucia’s. He walked the two over to where Lucia had gotten to her feet. His eyes were sharp on her, but he said nothing. Lucia gave him a reassuring nod. She did feel much better after the several hours of rest. She was glad to find that mounting was as easy as it had always been for her, although she was grateful for Stephen’s presence at her side should she need it.
Once she was settled in her saddle, he smoothly climbed into his own. He then glanced around at the group, and together they gently herded the troops back toward the castle.
Lucia relaxed as she settled into the familiar saddle, her horse ambling through the winter grass which crunched beneath his hooves. Her thoughts drifted. This morning�
�s session was not encouraging. It seemed she had a lot to think about.
Ian galloped up from behind, laughing as her head whirled at the sound. “Want to race to the main building?” he challenged eagerly. “I have to get back in time to start lunch with my father. You could join us at the head table,” he added. “You are one of our guests.” He wheeled his horse expectantly.
Lucia smiled, but turned him down gently. “I am afraid I am not up to a race quite yet,” she admitted reluctantly. “You go on ahead – I will meet you there.” Ian grinned and kicked his horse into a gallop, tearing up the slope back to the hall. Lucia shook her head at her state as Stephen remained steadily at her side.
“I am sure your strength will return soon,” Stephen commented softly as their horses walked slowly across the melting farmland, the farmhand troops lagging behind. “You are already far stronger than most women I know.” His eyes moved down to the bow and quiver which hung laced to her saddle. “Your archery skills are all you said. You would be an asset to any troop.”
Lucia smiled at the praise. “I used to practice that same exercise for months on end,” she pointed out. She sighed, thinking back over the exhaustion she had felt after such a short effort. “Still, I wish I was in better shape. It is frustrating to tire so easily.”
Lucia winced as Troy picked his way over a rocky outcropping. “My side has been hurting, too,” she admitted with a grimace. “I suppose Matthew was right – perhaps I should not be out so soon after the battle. It is tough for me to rest.” Troy stumbled again, and she let out a low curse at the sharp stab of pain which followed. She pulled to a stop, looking down. If she had pulled the scar open …
“Here, let me get that,” offered Stephen. He edged his horse in more closely to hers, and leant over. As he pulled the cloak and tunic away from her side he commented, “After all of my years on the road, I have become a pretty adept field medic. You learn techniques that can make the difference in the woods, although the keep staff usually have a fit when they see what you have done.”
His touch was gentle, and Lucia reminded herself that he had done this many times already, undoubtedly, while she was in the grips of the fever. She drew in his scent, and it reminded her of home, of safety. She could feel every motion of his fingers against her flesh.
Stephen glanced up at her for a moment, and strong emotion flickered in his eyes before he looked down again, focusing on the injury. He carefully pulled the white cloth bandage away from the skin, and smiled in relief when he saw the healing scar. “No damage done. Just remember to go easy.”
Lucia gave a half grin. “I think those words have a different meaning here,” she protested. “For the north, I am going easy.”
He smiled at that, then carefully relaid the bandage and pulled her tunic and cloak back into place. “Then I propose you find some sort of compromise,” he offered.
Her eyes brightened. “I am not good at compromise,” she offered with a low laugh. “It is one of my more egregious faults.”
“Oh?” he asked with interest. “And what others might there be?”
She gave him a nudge as they set back into motion. “I am sure you saw most of them this past week,” she reminded him. “I do not believe any injury or illness has ever taken me on so hard.”
His eyes shadowed. “It would have killed a lesser person,” he stated with certainty. “You showed strength to make it through. Never doubt it.”
She glanced over at him. “It was your tender care which brought me through,” she countered. “I would not be here if it were not for you.”
He looked away. They rode in silence for a few minutes, their horses’ hooves making soft crunching noises in the crisp snow. They were drawing closer to the keep now, and its wide windows made Lucia long again for her own home, safe, secure, nestled into the crags and juniper trees. She had risked her life to come here for help – but what help could Penrith really offer? Could those greenhorns she saw sparring last more than a half second against even the youngest Gray scout?
Stephen glanced over, and his focus sharpened. “What is wrong? Is it the wound again?”
Lucia shook her head no. She glanced around, but Ian had long since vanished ahead of them, and the troops were now far behind. Perhaps this would be her only opportunity to bring up her concerns in private.
“It is the state of the troops here,” she admitted softly. “Ellie told me how Lord Edmund called you in to help oversee the training. Certainly your skill is beyond question, but not even a magician could turn these farmers into warriors in a few months.”
She looked over at him, and he nodded in understanding. His voice came rough. “You had hoped to regain your keep instantly,” he murmured.
“It is still hard to believe it is lost,” she pressed. “I thought, somehow, that I would arrive here, a wealth of troops would be sent north, and the Grays would be drowned in a sea of warriors. But now …”
She looked up toward the north. “During the ride down here, we passed farmhouse after plundered farmhouse. Mill buildings lay in ruins, fields had long since returned to wilderness. And those were your lands.” Her eyes drew back to his, taking in the pain which sheltered behind the dark steadiness.
Her voice came out in a whisper. “How do you do it? How do you hang on to hope?”
“Faith, patience, and determination,” he responded quietly. “Yes, it has taken a while for some of the local leaders, like Lord Edmund, to look at the Grays as more than passing bandits. But now that the wasteland has grown to reach their doorsteps, action will be taken. They are investing in the training, and working on combining their forces.” His eyes held hers with steady regard. “Come spring, between your forces and ours, we will have what is needed to wipe them out for good.”
She shook her head, gazing in his eyes. “But twenty long years,” she repeated. “Surely it has eaten away at you?”
Stephen looked away, out over the rolling farmland. “When my family was driven out of our lands,” he remembered, “the Grays burned everything. We barely escaped with our lives. My father thought, as you did, to retake the lands quickly. He died six months later in a failed raid. My mother, heartbroken, passed away not long after that. Lord Edmund took pity on me, and brought me on as a ward.” His eyes shadowed. “But I came to him with nothing. Nothing but the one oil lamp my father had brought with him from his time in the crusades. That one object is all I have left of the family and lands I have lost.”
He gave a soft laugh. “It seems such a silly concern, but I have not one stitch of clothing, not even the smallest item with my family crest on it. It is as if we do not even exist any more.”
Lucia’s heart echoed in pain. They had both lost so much. He had been shouldering his burden for twenty long years, and had been doing everything in his power to work against the Grays. She smiled slightly. Now, at least, she could lend the strength of her family’s forces toward that fight.
She looked over at Stephen, and found that he was watching her. “In the end, we shall be the light in the darkness,” she vowed. “To give in to despair would provide the Grays with the victory they desire. As long as we stay strong, we will have won, no matter what else happens.” She saw recognition in his eyes. The feeling that he understood her, without need for explanation, filled her with a comforting warmth.
The pair rode in easy silence the remainder of the trip, their horses picking their way slowly along the quiet dirt path. As they came around the edge of a larger building, the main doors of the keep came into view. One of the court women was waiting on the massive stone steps.
Lucia studied her with interest. The woman was quite lovely, delicately thin, with waist-length blonde hair done in an elaborate style. She wore an intricately embroidered burgundy gown. Even the finest dress in Lucia’s wardrobe back home came nowhere near the fine stitchery of what the blond woman apparently wore as a daily outfit.
The blonde saw them and waved a lace kerchief to them, a wide smile on her
lips. “Stephen!” she cried out in glee, running down the steps with her arms outward. “Finished with your morning lessons already? Let me take a look at you.”
She laughed joyfully as he easily dismounted and bowed low to her. “Have you worked up a healthy appetite? It would not do for you to waste away to nothing, my betrothed!”
Chapter 7
My betrothed.
Lucia reeled with shock. Suddenly the scene seemed far away from her, a play on a stage that she was watching but had no part in. Stephen straightened up and glanced at her with a shadowed look before replying cordially to the woman. “The training is going well. We should have the men ready in good time,” he assured her. “They will be well prepared by the time the Grays reach us.”
The woman turned to look at Lucia with unconcealed interest, and he reluctantly turned with her. Lucia found herself being pulled into this tableau that she would just as soon escape. She had to do something, and the first step involved getting down off of Troy.
She could not be weak and cause a scene – not here, not on the main keep steps with this blonde beauty gazing on.
She turned Troy so his body would shield her from the couple. Then, holding firmly on to the saddle, she carefully slid down his side. A wave of dizziness swept over her; she focused on her breathing and on spreading her weight evenly across both feet. In a moment it passed, and James was there at her side, the young boy giving a gentle pull to Troy’s mane to head him toward the stables.
Stephen’s eyes were shadowed with concern as he came into view again. Lucia pushed down her weakness and confusion, and forced herself to smile brightly at the couple. She stepped forward and looked to Stephen. “I do not believe I have been introduced to your companion?”
Stephen nodded, blinking himself back from wherever his mind had gone to. “Yes, of course. Lucia, I would like you to meet Anastasia. She is first cousin to Ian. She hails from Dacre, a small town to the south of here.” There was a long, awkward pause. His eyes, usually so open and readable to her, were now shuttered and distant.