by Lisa Shea
She drew to a halt. He glanced up; they had reached a dingy inn, and the well-worn sign above them simply depicted a copper pot over an open fire. He handed his reins to Marcus and followed Lucia through the heavy door. The room inside was nearly lost in shadows, lit only by a roaring fireplace and a few wall torches. Night had come on outside, a pitch black weight settling over the small town.
The large main room was packed with twenty sturdy oaken tables mobbed by shadows of boisterous sailors and merchants. The shapes were robust and, to a man, they seemed well armed. The fire roared, dancing an orange edge along the scene.
Stephen’s eyes were drawn to a table by the back wall. A well-built man in leather armor sat there, his eyes carefully surveying the room, exuding an aura of strength. Two soldiers sat by his side, conferring with him in low voices. A tremor ran down Stephen’s spine. If this room rose into motion against Lucia, he would give his life to hold it back, but he knew it would not be enough.
Suddenly, the room became quiet, and all eyes turned to gaze at the two entering the room. Stephen stepped up alongside Lucia, his hand settling more carefully on the hilt of his sword. A tense moment of silence pulled him to the edge of retreating, of dragging her to safety.
Glancing over at Lucia, Stephen saw her attention was fully on the brown-haired warrior across the room from her.
The breath eased out of her in relief and joy. “Michael.”
Stephen followed her gaze. Michael slowly rose, his expression easing from concern to bright thankfulness. Then his arms were stretched wide, Lucia was running, and she flung herself into his arms with laughter. They embraced as if they would never let each other go.
Stephen moved across the room to come up alongside them, taking in the easy way they held each other, the love in Michael’s eyes as he stood back and looked her over. “No serious injuries, then?” Michael asked with a smile. “When you were not waiting for us, I began to think the worst. I should have known that nothing on our God’s green earth could ever hold you back.”
Michael glanced at Stephen for a moment, his eyes dropping to the hand that still rested on the hilt of his sword. Then they swung to look out back across the room. “Where are the others? Stabling the horses?”
Lucia’s face clouded, and she dropped her eyes. “We had almost made it to Penrith when we were ambushed,” she murmured. “They died defending me. They are all lost.”
Michael’s eyes shadowed. He put his hand over hers in comfort. “I am sorry they are gone; they were good men. We will see to the proper rites for them.” He put a finger gently beneath her chin, raising her face to look at him. “My dearest Lucia, that you are safe …” He gave a half-smile. “Soldiers die. It is part of what we face. You got the message through, and you returned to us unharmed.”
Stephen looked down at that, and Michael glanced at him for a moment before returning to look more closely at Lucia.
Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. “Michael, this is Stephen. His family once owned the lands that the Grays have laid waste. It is he who found me after the ambush. I was near death; it is due to his careful attention that I stand before you today.”
Michael offered his hand, and after a moment Stephen took it. Michael’s eyes showed the depth of his gratitude. “I appreciate your efforts more than words can say,” he offered. “Anything I have that you want, it is yours.”
Stephen’s eyes flicked to Lucia, but he nodded, saying nothing. A tense pull formed at his shoulders.
Michael turned his head, flagging down a passing barmaid. “Bring along two ales and …” He glanced at Lucia. “A mead for you?”
“Yes,” she answered warmly, giving him a gentle nudge in the side. When he sat, she eased into the chair next to him, twining her fingers into his.
A trio of pottery mugs were plunked down before them in short order, and they clinked them together before downing the warm liquid. Lucia’s face eased as she looked over at the man at her side.
“Michael, dear, I have so much to tell you,” she sighed. “So much has happened. I am sure you have much to tell me, too.” Her gaze drifted to the group sitting around the fireplace. “But first, I need to break the news. I must let Marcie know about her brother, Vic ...”
Lucia broke off, her face shadowing. Then she was standing, turning, moving off into the dark room. Stephen watched as she went, and in a moment she was lost to him.
Stephen looked back to the table and saw that Michael, too, was staring at where Lucia had eased into the shadows. He finally gave a soft shake before turning his gaze to Stephen. A smile eased back on his face.
“Stephen, is it?” He raised his mug high. “Any man who watches over Lucia deserves a toast. She is very special to me, as you might have guessed.”
Stephen acknowledged the toast, taking down another drink of his ale. He looked over the man before him. Michael was perhaps twenty-five, wearing high quality leather armor that showed signs of both use and care. A well-worn scabbard was at his side, and the rippling muscles of his arms indicated that he was well able to wield the sword within it.
A jagged tear of jealousy pulled at Stephen’s heart. Of course he would have to be a talented swordsman to have captured Lucia’s heart so. Michael had been the one she called for in the depths of her fever, and in the trauma after Ian’s assault.
A twinkle came to Michael’s eye as he carefully watched Stephen’s face. “Did my Lucia never mention me?”
Stephen shook his head no. The tremor-induced hallucinations hardly counted as a discussion. He knew he had resisted mentioning Anna to Lucia; had she refused to bring up Michael for similar reasons?
Michael gave a low chuckle. “Lucia and I go back a long time,” he confided. “I will have to scold her for not saying anything.”
Stephen could not form a response to this. The tightness at his chest grew stronger, and he glanced over to where Lucia had vanished into the crowd. She was beyond sight now; she was lost to him.
Michael’s voice took on a serious overtone, and he leant forward. “You will find that I value honesty over all else, Stephen. If you are joining our party, you need to come clean. How do you feel about her?”
Stephen looked up and saw the firmness in Michael’s eyes. A hollowness spread within him, and he nodded. Yes, now was not the time for half measures. If this man did have ties to her, then Stephen owed it to Lucia to be truthful, to prepare Michael for the long road which lay ahead. And part of that was revealing his own part in her life until now. It might be the only way Michael would take his revelations seriously.
“Lucia and I became close while she was recuperating from her wounds,” he admitted, holding Michael’s gaze. “I respect her a great deal; she is an exceptional woman. I believe she felt the same about me. Our conversations together were ... intimate.”
Stephen gripped his mug and looked over into the fire. She was gone to him now. He had given her time, and now he had lost her.
Michael’s voice came softly across the table, drawing Stephen back from his musings. “With Lucia, the ability to talk honestly rates far above other considerations.” As Stephen turned, Michael’s gaze sharpened, taking in the pain in his eyes.
“It is clear how much you care for her. Tell me, does she feel as deeply for you as you do for her? Does she love you?”
A tense stillness came over Stephen. It was one thing to admit his own feelings. It was another to cause damage to her relationship with Michael over something which was now in the past.
Michael shook his head, his gaze holding Stephen’s steadily. “I say again; my relationship with Lucia is based on complete honesty. In all our years I have never hidden one thing from her, nor her from me.” He glanced toward the fire for a moment. “Be certain that whatever happened these past weeks, I will know every detail soon enough. But for now …” His gaze drew back to hold Stephen. “With all she is shouldering, I would spare her the burden of reliving whatever hardships she might have undergone.”
Stephen saw the truth of it in Michael’s eyes. He would indeed know everything. His respect for Lucia grew further, that she would have this level of relationship, and his heart ached that it was with another man.
He set his mug down carefully, then drew his gaze up to hold Michael’s with acceptance. “I love Lucia,” he admitted, his heart easing to say it out loud. “And she loves me as well.” A tightness came to his throat. “Or, she did,” he amended. “Her time at Penrith was not easy. She has put up high walls, and she is sheltering behind them. I was giving her time …”
His voice caught, and he took in another drink of ale.
Michael brow furrowed with concern. “Lucia, needing time? That wild imp of a sister was always the first one to fly into battle, and half the time it was all I could do to stay by her side and keep her safe.”
Stephen’s mouth fell open, and he blinked, staring at Michael in confusion.
“Sister?” he ground out.
The grin on Michael’s face grew wider. “Twin,” he agreed.
Stephen could see it now, the similarity in their eyes, the stubborn set to their jaws, and he fell back in his chair, all tension flowing out of him in a long rush. He brought his ale to his mouth, taking down a long swallow before shaking his head.
“God’s teeth, you Keilders are something,” he muttered at last, a smile easing from him. “Do you normally like to torture your guests as some sort of greeting ritual?”
Michael’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I have had a lot of practice at it,” he countered. “Lucia tends to attract enthusiastic admirers. Many times the jealous suitor routine is just what she needs to redirect their energies.”
A calm came over him, and he looked at Stephen with fresh appreciation. “It appears, at long last, that in this case it was not warranted.” His smile became tender. “I am impressed if she is truly beginning to think in that way again. It has been a long time coming.” He gave Stephen a toast, then drank.
Stephen thought back to Lucia’s story about Evan, about the betrayal she had experienced at seventeen. Had she pushed away all suitors since that tragic event? He thought to her nightmares, to her solid walls which had blocked him at every turn.
Michael’s gaze became serious. “Lucia means the world to me. How did she end up in an ambush? What has happened since her arrival at Penrith?”
Stephen downed another swallow of ale, then began. He told Michael everything he had learned about Lucia’s trip down from her homeland, and the battle that ended in the death of her companions. He talked about their time at the keep. The only details he left out were the night at the hot spring, and Ian’s assault on Lucia. They were in a public place, and he could not bring himself to describe such intimate situations with others listening.
Michael was sharp, asking many insightful questions about the forces at the keep and the manner of attacks by the Grays. The hours rolled on, stew was brought and taken away, and Stephen found himself relaxing with Lucia’s brother.
They had much in common, Stephen realized, these people and his own. Michael could easily become a close friend of his. The group around him at the inn, from the pieces of conversation he overheard, seemed goodhearted and kind. Marcus and Shawn were off in a corner singing with some of the guards, and the keep soldiers had wandered off to bed.
As the room cleared out, he was finally able to spot Lucia again. She was sitting by the fire on a low bench, talking to a young woman about her own age. The woman was blonde, sturdy, and her face was streaked with tears. Lucia was consoling her tenderly. In a lull in the room he could make out what she was saying as he watched her lips.
“Yes, he is gone, Marcie. He died fighting with honor. He would have had it no other way.” Marcie nodded and dried her eyes against her dress sleeve. Lucia held her for a while, then eased on to a softer conversation he could not hear. Stephen sat quietly, drawn to Lucia’s care and attention for this woman.
Michael’s voice at his side brought him back to his present company.
“So Lucia was in an elegant dress, and dancing,” commented Michael with a smile, shaking his head. “That I would have liked to see.”
Stephen nodded and continued to watch Lucia, who had now stood to flag down a barmaid. His mind skipped forward to the painful end of that evening, and his face shadowed.
Michael followed Stephen’s gaze to his twin sister. As they looked on, one of the Keilder soldiers staggered over and grabbed her playfully from behind. In a flash Lucia had the knife from her boot and was whirling around, a fierce set to her eyes. Stephen and Michael both had their swords half-drawn with a single hissing motion before Lucia halted mid-attack, suddenly realizing she was in no danger. She made a halfhearted joke to her drunken friend to cover her lapse, and sat down to talk with him. Nobody else in the room seemed to notice the interplay.
Stephen and Michael looked at each other, letting out their held-in breath. They slowly sat back down in their chairs, resheathing their swords. Stephen sighed deeply, then looked over at Michael.
Michael held Stephen’s gaze, his eyes hard. “That is not the Lucia who left us,” he snapped under his breath. “No ambush attack of the Grays did that to her.” He looked back over at Lucia, and held his gaze on her for a while, his eyes softening in tender regard. Then his voice became steely. “I demand to know what happened.”
Stephen shook his head. “Things are breaking up. Let us wait until the remaining people leave. I assure you I had no part of any harm to your sister.”
Michael nodded, his face somber and quiet. The two men drank in silence as the room finished emptying and the remaining people went up to their rooms. Time passed; the logs settled lower as they burnt down, sending forth a shower of sparks. Eventually Lucia came over to the table to say goodnight.
“I am so glad we are together again, Michael,” she sighed quietly, holding him tightly for a moment. Releasing him, she turned to Stephen, her smile revealing her weariness. “Stephen. I feel sometimes that I take you for granted. Thank you for bringing me safely here.” She paused a moment, looking at him. She seemed as if she might say something further, but she dropped her eyes.
Her voice was a whisper. “Good night.”
She headed to the back of the room where Marcie waited quietly for her. The two women headed up the wooden stairs to the sleeping area.
The two men looked after her, then nodded to each other. They picked up their mugs and brought them to the bench by the fire. After making sure the remaining few patrons were fast asleep at their tables, Stephen stood against the mantle and, as evenly as he could, told Michael about the evening of the ball from start to finish. At times Michael would stand up and pace around the room, but he remained quiet during the tale. When Stephen had finished with the main part of the story, he then told Michael about Lucia’s behavior during the trip these past few weeks.
“It is as if she has taken the incident as proof that she must stand completely alone. She is locking herself away from everyone.” Stephen let out a breath. “Everyone including me, when I would do all that I could to help her through this. It wounds me greatly to see this change, and to wonder if it is a passing change after all.”
He paused, uncertain how to continue.
“All of the ... passion ... she used to give to life, she is using to pay more attention to the details of things around her. She watches the road ahead of her feet, and does not look up to see the forest, the hills. What she does see, she sees clinically, but she does not ... feel them.”
His shoulders tensed with frustration. “Above all else, she is completely refusing to see anything inside herself. She refuses to look back - to think at all about what has happened, or how she feels ...”
Michael sat down with a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his thick hair. “I do not know what to do,” he admitted after a while. “I wish we could help, but I cannot see how. Forcing her to think about that night does not seem like a good idea. Neither does forcing her to th
ink about her pain.” He thought for a while, then sighed again. “I think we will just have to let her take this journey herself,” he admitted in resignation. “She has got to come to grips with what happened in her own way, on her own time.” His face became hard. “Though if I ever get my hands on that bastard...”
Stephen nodded grimly. “Ian deserves to be punished,” he agreed with quiet steel in his voice. “It is still very hard for me to accept that my foster brother, who I thought loved me as much as I loved him, could possibly -”
He looked up in surprise as light footsteps came down the stairs. Lucia poked her head around the wall and smiled softly as she saw the two by the fire.
“Am I disturbing something?” she asked quietly, a content look on her face. “I could not sleep.” The two men got to their feet and made room for her in the warmth. She sat on the wood bench and snuggled close to Michael. Stephen saw the pain on Michael’s face as he gingerly held her close to him. Lucia was barefoot - she must have been ready for bed when she headed down - and she looked quite young with her auburn hair streaming loose down over Michael’s lap.
“Sing me a song, Mike,” she asked sleepily. “Something nice.” She snuggled deeper in his arms.
Michael stroked her hair gently and looked across to Stephen. Stephen could hear his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud.
How could someone have wanted to harm her?
Stephen dropped his eyes. It was his fault this had happened to her.
He was responsible.
Michael pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. “I have got just the thing,” he whispered.
Slowly the little bird
flies to his nest,
Tucks feathered noggin
on downy, warm chest,
Gets himself ready for