by Lisa Shea
Stephen and Marcus were silent ahead of her, their eyes constantly scanning the road ahead, but behind her the three keep guards kept up a constant, excited chatter. This trip was apparently a novelty for them, and the thrill of it echoed in their every word.
The noise intruded on Lucia’s sense of calm, and after a few minutes she nudged Troy into a trot. She moved around Stephen’s left side, took the lead, and put enough distance between her and the group that the bubbling voices of the guards faded to a quiet hum. Soon the sounds of her horse’s hooves and the birds in the streaming sunlight were all that filled her world.
Just right.
It was easier, now, to keep her mind quiet, to simply become one with nature. Their smaller road joined up with a main path, and they headed nearly straight south, the sun slowly tracing a curve across the sky and toward the horizon. They passed through the occasional village, and stopped every second hour or so to stretch their legs and give the horses a chance to rest. She would not admit it to the others, but she greatly appreciated the breaks. As the day wore on, the aches grew in intensity, and by evening it was all she could do to hold back a groan when sliding off Troy.
Stephen strode over, his eyes on her in concern. “We have pushed quite far enough for the first day,” he murmured. “There is an inn another half-mile ahead; we would do well to rest there for the night.”
Her brow creased. “What, at an inn?” She looked around the clearing where they had stopped. There was a gentle river running to the east, a good, flat spot of grass, and even a small fire ring left by previous travelers. “Surely this is fine?”
His eyes moved down to the injury at her leg. “Would you not be more comfortable in a bed?”
She gave her head a shake. “Not at all. I prefer it out here. Unless you – ”
He gave a half smile, shaking his head as well. “Absolutely not,” he agreed. “It is settled then.”
The group hobbled the horses and set up camp. Bread and cheese were passed around, and she took a long pull on her ale as the sun finally eased in violets and purples past the edge of the world. The keep guards were curling up in their cloaks in short order, apparently exhausted at the day of riding, as slow as it had been.
Stephen and his two friends sat by the fire and stared into it, immersed in their thoughts.
Lucia’s body ached, but she was not sleepy. She stood, stretched, then walked down to the stream. It burbled quietly in the darkening night, the water slipping past mossy rocks and tangled twigs.
The night seemed crystal clear. Every sound, every animal moving around, was a distinct occurrence in the nighttime air. She marveled at her senses. She had noticed during the day how keen her perception seemed, but at night she sensed its sharpness a thousandfold.
She pulled a fresh parchment scroll out of her cloak pocket; the scroll and ink was a parting gift from Anna. She opened it slowly, marveling at the newness of it. The clean, tan surface seemed to invite her thoughts. She sat on a rock overlooking the moving water and gazed about her at the dark green trees, their lines sharp in the moonlight. She enjoyed the stark contrasts. She pulled out her pen and ink, and began.
Stately trunks divide
Dark from dark, and yet
nighttime breathes as one.
Lucia smiled; she had always liked the night. Shadows in the moonlight were crisp, not hiding anything. For some reason she felt in control. She glanced up at the cool, clear sky; the stars twinkled with a pure white light.
Beacon-like gleaming,
Calling strongly, or
Sending down a sign?
She took in a long, deep breath of the night air, the ebony darkness wrapping gently around her. A sparkling thought floated at the edge of her mind that she should lie down and get some rest, but for some reason a tremor of fear accompanied that glistening mote. She pushed it out of her mind. Right now things were quiet and serene. She would remain here, in this moment, and be safe.
Shadowy clouds drifted across the moon, the constellations wheeled in their path, and her mind remained a calm sea without ripples or waves. It seemed but a breath’s length when a soft, rosy glow swelled in the east, and a new day approached.
Stephen’s eyes were hollow and shadowed as she walked back into the camp.
“You should have gotten some rest,” he stated tersely. “Your body needs to heal from the injuries.”
Lucia glanced down at her bandages. Part of her knew he was right, but she flared at being told how to manage her own body.
“I am fine,” she snapped back, moving to the fire to roust it into life.
His eyes held worry, but he did not speak again as they shook awake the keep guards and passed around breakfast. In short order they had saddled the horses and begun the slow walk south.
When Lucia again nudged her horse forward to take the lead position, Stephen’s steed was right at her side. His voice was brusque as they settled into a walk at the front of the group.
“Perhaps you forget that we are escorting you,” he pointed out. “You should stay in the center of the party for the greatest safety. We may have left the Gray’s range of destruction, but there are other wolves’ heads on the road.”
A hot temper flared within Lucia. “I am barely ten horse lengths ahead of you!” she shot back. Her hand dropped to the hilt at her side. “And, believe me, if bandits do come, I will be quite capable of wielding my sword. I am no helpless maid.”
He moved to say something more, then glanced at her eyes and stopped. After a moment he nodded. With clear reluctance he reined in, allowing her to move ahead, falling in alongside Marcus.
The group quickly fell into a rhythm for the day; the long rides broken by stops for meals and rest was a pattern Lucia knew well from her days on patrol. The pace was far slower than she would have liked, but the growing aches of her body reminded her that she was far from healed.
She was beyond exhausted when they pulled into a small clearing by a pond, dusk easing crimson fingers across the sky. It was all she could do to hobble her horse, to force a few pieces of cheese into her mouth before tumbling down into a small patch of moss at the side of the clearing.
She had barely finished arranging her cloak around her when darkness swept in and overtook her.
Ian’s weight had her pinned to the bed, and she stared up at him in unbelieving confusion. Her mind could not wrap itself around what was happening. Surely he would start laughing in a minute, explain this was all a joke of some sort, a rough, drunken joke which had gone horribly wrong.
And then his hand was sweeping down toward her head, and her vision blurred, then staggered into focus again, and she fought … she fought …
Her eyes flew open in the dense dark, tears streaming down her face, and Stephen was there kneeling at her side, his gaze rich with concern.
His voice was rough. “It is only a dream,” he soothed her. His hand moved shakily out toward her cheek.
She rolled sharply away, turning her back on him, pulling her cloak higher around her shoulders, nestling her head down within its folds. There was stillness behind her for a long minute, and then she heard him rise to his feet and move back toward the campfire.
Dawn was still a long way off, but she steadfastly fought off any thoughts of sleep, waiting for the cold light of dawn.
* * *
It was all Lucia could do to hold herself in the saddle. The sun was only in the midday position, high in the clear, pale-blue sky, but she was beyond exhausted. Her head drooped, and she gave it a shake, willing herself to keep alert. They had a ways to go yet if they were to stay on the schedule she had set.
There was a sound and a movement, and Stephen had come up alongside her. His eyes rich with concern. He held her gaze for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was low.
“We should call it a day,” he advised her. “You will do your kinsmen no good if you drive yourself past the brink of health. You need to rest.”
Lucia’s thin hold on her
reserves of strength stretched to its breaking point. She could feel the draw of Stephen’s strength, his courage, and it was all she could do to maintain the wall between them, to keep him safely on the other side of her protective shield. Her voice was sharp and harsh.
“What I need is to get back to my family,” she shot out. “This is my trip. My trip.” She drilled her eyes straight ahead, focusing with every ounce of her sanity on the path before them. “And if you continue to harass me, you will awaken one morning to find me gone.”
Stephen took a long, deep breath. Then, nodding, he pulled to a stop, again allowing her to move forward on her own. When he fell in with Marcus she could hear the low murmur of voices. She had no doubt what the men were discussing. She would be under close watch from this point forward.
A wry smile tweaked at her lips. As if they could stop her, did she truly decide to run. They might have spent years in wilderness raids on the Grays, but she had put in her own years of patrol duty. She knew how to slip through night shadows and remain unseen.
By the time dusk tickled the edges of the horizon, Lucia could barely see the road before them, her vision had become so blurred. She slid her way down Troy’s side in agony, and when Stephen came alongside her and began handling the saddle and grooming, she did not voice a protest. She would just take a short nap before supper. The aches in her leg, her side, her back just needed a few minutes to …
Lucia stood on the front steps of her keep, her chest heaving, the moans of the dying spread out before her in the open courtyard. The few remaining Grays were streaming away from her, some carrying wounded comrades, and her eyes were drawn to the main arch of the curtain wall gate.
Evan was standing there, his face bright with triumph, his gaze holding hers with arrogant pride. She could see it with perfect clarity. He would be back, again, and again, until he had driven her keep into submission.
And her father would fall defending it …
Her shoulders were shaking with sobs, her face was wet with tears, and a steady hand was twining into her own, soothing her. His voice was low and rough.
“Lucia …”
She pulled her hand away, turning, curling up, struggling to bring her breathing under control. She waited for him to ease to his feet, to leave her, but he did not. He remained by her side, steadfastly, and after several long minutes her breath was coming in longer draws, her shoulders eased. A tiny glimmer of security warmed her, and she drifted back down into an ebony pool.
* * *
Lucia rode at the head of the group, finally feeling at least a shadow of her former self. The rest had done her some good, and her body was slowly healing. The arrow wound from the snowy ambush was a thin scar which only troubled her when she turned sharply. The slice in her leg from the attack by the stream was still red, but with time that, too should fade.
And the more recent injuries …
She gave her head a shake, pushing them out of her mind. Somehow she would heal.
* * *
A week passed, then two. Each day had her riding alone at the head of the group, her mind deliberately blank and clear, no thought beyond the next hoof-fall of her steed. The dreams still came at night, jarring her awake with their power, but each time Stephen was there at her side. He no longer spoke; simply knelt there, his eyes warm on her. Each time she turned away, but his gentle presence soothed her, allowed her to pass the rest of the night in a dreamless oblivion.
Chapter 18
They had passed Bedford, a week remained of their journey, and the road had more traffic with each passing day. Lucia imagined it was a combination of the warmer weather and the more populated part of the lands which had them passing penitent pilgrims, merchant carts overflowing with goods, and the random detritus which comprised the world.
She ran a hand gently down her leg, smiling as there was no echo of pain at her movement. She was, finally, healing well. Soon she would be by Michael’s side. Everything would be back to normal.
A twinge tugged at her. She had the thought, suddenly, that Michael would know she was different – that she was playing a part. She pushed it away with fierce effort. She was the same as she had always been. She was now simply stronger, firmer in her resolve. Nothing had changed.
A lone rider came up over the hill toward them, a rough cloak not quite covering the long sword at his hip. Hoofbeat sounded from behind her, and in a moment Stephen was pulling in at her side, his eyes focused on the man before them. She knew she should feel annoyed at his protectiveness, but instead a sense of warmth stole over her, and for a moment the vision flashed in her mind of the way they had stood side by side at the stream facing down the Grays.
She pushed away the image sharply. That was in the past, and the past was gone to her. She forced herself to concentrate on the man as he came toward them, as he gave a curt nod and rode along past them.
Soon it was only their party on the road, and Lucia waited for Stephen to pull in, to ease back to ride with Marcus, as he had for the past two weeks. But he did not. He remained by her side, not speaking, not looking over. She knew she should speak up, should push him to leave her alone, but she could not put breath behind the words. A deep ache nestled within her heart, and his presence by her side was a soothing balm, easing a tenseness within her.
* * *
All color had drained from the scene. The alabaster curtains billowed into the room, driven by a strong breeze, glowing against the dark shadows. The once pristine ivory sheets beneath her were now speckled with dark sprays of blood. Ian’s ebony form sucked the heat from her heart as he violently twisted her back into place, wrenching her wrist as she struggled with all her might.
“I will not yield!” she screamed, flailing against him, pulling open the wound at her leg, pain ripping through her very soul. “I will not yield!”
Stephen’s voice was rough but steady at her side. “I know you will not,” he vowed.
Her eyes opened; her breath caught. He was there, kneeling beside her, his eyes holding concern and pride. There was no other sound in the dark camp.
A sigh eased out of her, and she knew she should turn, should put her back to this man who so resolutely remained at her side. But she could not bring herself to do it. She gazed up at him, tears wetting her cheeks, her breath easing, and after a long moment there was a new emotion in his eyes, of soft hope.
She closed her eyes, letting the sleep wash over her.
* * *
Lucia reined in at the crest of the hill, a long breath easing out of her. The three weeks had been arduous, but she had made it. Harwich lay spread before her in the growing dusk, torches glittering along its narrow lanes. And beyond it, the sea glistened like a polished jewel, reflecting the rays of the setting sun. A breeze off the water brought a sharp tang, and she pulled her cloak tightly around her.
Her eyes scanned the motley collection of boats anchored in the harbor. Which one was Michael’s? She gave her head a soft shake. Even with her delays, she could easily have beaten him here. She would need to go down and find out if he had arrived yet. If not, she would settle into an inn and await him.
She gave her horse a nudge, heading him down the long slope toward the scattering of out-buildings. They wended along narrow streets, moving their way toward the wharf. Seagulls cried out overhead, and there was the steady whoosh of the sea as they drew closer to the waterfront. Piles of aging barrels and half-broken crates lay littered amongst the low buildings.
A large, red-bearded man was climbing up out of a dinghy onto a wharf, and her heart sang with joy.
Charles. The Captain of the guard.
She was off Troy in an instant, running full tilt toward him, and he turned at her approach, putting out his arms, sweeping her up into a powerful bear hug.
“Lucia! Thanks be to God! You are all right!” After a long while they parted, and he stood back to look at her. “We were concerned when you were not here to meet us. You should have easily been weeks ahead of our ar
rival. I have to warn you, Michael was fit to be tied.”
Stephen had come up alongside them, and his face shadowed. He looked out toward the sea for a moment, his shoulders tight.
Lucia clapped her hand affectionately on the larger man’s arm. “I will be sure to personally reassure him I am quite fine, Charles. How was the voyage?”
Charles grimaced at the memory. “The trip was horrendous. There was a great storm, and it was only due to the Captain’s skills that no one was hurt badly. I am not sure where the rest are, but Michael is down at the Copper Kettle, asking after horses. I’ll warn you, Harwich seems a bit rough …” He looked over Lucia’s well-toned form and chuckled broadly. “Not that that would ever be a problem for you, of course.”
He turned and nodded with his head. “The place is right down this street here.” He pointed to a dingy alley behind the group. “I will be coming down later, as soon as we get the ship settled. We actually just got in a short while ago. Your timing, as always, is perfect.”
* * *
Stephen watched as Lucia fell easily into her role with her fellow soldier. Clearly the man had great respect for her, and Stephen could see the change in her bearing, in her stance. She would slip with ease into the protection of her family and friends, and she would be lost to him.
He wondered for the hundredth time if he should have pushed her harder to face her demons, to break down the walls she had erected. But he knew he could not do it. She needed to heal in her own time. If that meant that he had lost his only chance, that she would return to Michael, and all he offered …
He turned his head again, looking out at the ocean, willing himself to acceptance.
Lucia gave a final hug to the sturdy warrior before her, then turned to lead her horse up a narrow, shadowed alley. Stephen dismounted and followed close after her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Charles had been right in his description; a number of seedy characters lurked in doorways, watching them with interest as they passed. Lucia’s step did not slow, and Stephen stayed steadily behind her.