Chasing Shadows

by Ashley Townsend

  Without another word, Will whipped off his cloak and threw it over her shoulders, and she clutched it with brittle fingers. Picking up the lantern from the ground, he put a hand to her back and ushered her inside. The warmth of the small cabin nearly made her sigh with relief.

  Setting the lantern down, he took her ice-cold hands in his own. He frowned, but when his eyes met hers, they were bright with worry as they searched her face. She waited for the questions and reprimands, but he surprised her by silently leading her to the fire. Sarah sat heavily on the floor, her legs quivering when her weight was off them. Will went to the bed and snagged the heavy knitted quilt, removing the cloak and draping the blanket around her. She wanted to thank him, but the words stuck in her throat.

  He left only long enough to truck in a pail of snow. Then he removed the pot of delicious smelling stew that hung over the flames using the hook suspended beside the fireplace. He hung the snow-filled pail from the rod jetting out over the flames and left it to melt.

  They were both silent as she stared unseeing at the flames, though out of the corner of her eye, she caught the worried glances he sent her way every few seconds. With blood marking her face and hands as she shivered uncontrollably, she must look like a frightened escapee from a mental hospital. But he made no comment.

  Pulling the pail from the fire, Will knelt before her and dipped a cloth in the water. He grasped her chin and gently wiped the smeared blood from her face. Sarah watched him as he worked, the part of her that wasn’t numb slightly awed by the fact that he was taking care of her like this after everything that had passed between them. What would the townsfolk say if they could see the large, quiet blacksmith with calloused hands caring for her with such tenderness? His face was concentrated on his task, but the way the muscle in his cheek twitched made her wonder if he, too, wasn’t totally unaffected by their nearness.

  Will dropped his soft hold on her face and draped the cloth over the side of the pale, and Sarah wondered at the disappointment she felt, which turned to a spark of surprise when he took her small hands in his own, placing them in the warm water. It felt like needles on her freezing skin, and she sucked in a breath as slivers of pain shot through her hands.

  “Shhh,” he murmured, stroking her wrist with his thumb. Her skin adjusted to the temperature, and she began to relax under Will’s surprisingly gentle touch. His work-roughed hands were strong and comforting as he used soft strokes to wipe the crusted blood from her hands and wrists. That same muscle in his cheek spasmed under his skin as he clenched his jaw.

  “I . . . can do it,” Sarah managed in a wavering voice. He didn’t need to take care of her, and his feather-light touch only served to remind her of what she had pushed away.

  He drew one of her hands from the water, examining her palm as if he had never seen a human hand before. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know,” he said softly. A finger traced the cuts she hadn’t realized she’d received in the forest. For a few minutes, her blood had mingled with Edith’s on her hands. The thought saddened her.

  Will’s fingers stilled, inquisitive eyes meeting hers. “What happened? You’re half-frozen and covered in blood. You can hardly expect me to remain ignorant.” His eyes narrowed, darkening to a near-black color she recognized. “Did someone do this to you?”

  Though she had never really doubted that he cared for her, Sarah felt a faint thrill at the fact that he hadn’t written her off. Then reality pressed in.

  Throat tightening, she whispered in a small, shaky voice, “My friend at the castle, Edith, was murdered tonight.”

  His eyes widened with surprise and sadness. “What happened?” He gave her hand a gentle pulse with his own. His tenderness was more than she could handle, especially when she had no right to it.

  She rushed on breathlessly, tears spilling freely over her lids, some of her words choked out by sobs. “We were just there together. I should have listened and gone back. I shouldn’t have followed him! She would be alive if I hadn’t gone after him.” She pulled her hand from his gentle hold and buried her face in her knees, sobbing. She felt like an idiot for acting so hysterical in front of him, but she couldn’t stop the pain from spilling over—there had been so much blood.

  A second later, she heard Will shift positions. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and he pulled her against his side. Sarah tried to shove him away with weak arms, but he held her firmly, seeming to know what she needed before she did. Of course he did; he had experienced this kind of grief when his parents died, and he did not need an inconsolable imp crying on his shoulder.

  But Sarah collapsed into his embrace, anyway, sobbing into the safety of his shoulder. Sorrow came out of her in waves, and when she thought she had no more tears to cry, she glanced down at her torn hem, which reminded her of what she had been running from. Then the tears started afresh. Eventually, the sobbing lessened, and she was left shivering and silent in his embrace.

  Will pressed his lips to her hair, and she imagined that his eyes were closed tightly in remembrance of his own pain. “It does get easier,” he murmured

  She nodded mechanically. Tears spent, her head returned to her, and her face heated when she thought of how she had thrown herself into his arms. “Sorry,” she whispered, pulling back, too ashamed of her actions to meet his gaze.

  He released her, albeit reluctantly. “You have nothing to feel sorry about.” His voice was low and soothing.

  Guilty sorrow tightened her chest. She looked up at him. He was watching her closely, eyes searching her face. “But it’s my fault,” she whispered brokenly.

  His expression softened with empathy. “How could it be your fault?”

  Biting her lip, she whispered, “Because the arrow was meant for me.”

  Sarah knew she wasn’t making sense, but she felt too shell-shocked to make much sense of anything, especially when she herself was still trying to piece together what had happened.

  A large hand came up to cup her cheek, gently turning her head to face him. Will’s eyes were bright with the fire that burned just below the surface. Jaw tight, he said, “Who tried to harm you?”

  She hesitated, knowing her next words would come as a blow to him. “It was the Shadow. He tried to shoot me.”

  He pulled back as if she had slapped him. Disbelief etched his features. “What?”

  Swallowing, she hurried on. “Edith and I heard one of the servants screaming downstairs, and I saw the Shadow”—she stumbled over the name—“running up the stairs. Edith called out for me to stop.” She pulled the quilt tighter about her, staring at the ground in shame. “I thought it was you and followed, and then he turned on me with his bow and I knew it was someone else. I chased him for a while, but I lost him. Then your friend, Terrance, found me and brought me back to Edith.” Her voice had dropped as the story went on, and it was barely audible when she whispered, “I’d avoided the arrow, but it hit her instead.”

  When she looked up, Will’s expression was mostly blank. The only things that gave him away were the twitching muscle in his cheek and the way his chest rose and fell rapidly. “So this man impersonated me and tried to kill you, but shot your friend instead?” Now he looked torn between hugging her to his chest and ramming his tightened fist into the unknown man’s nose.

  “I don’t think he meant to hurt me, though,” Sarah amended, then immediately questioned why she was defending the man who had murdered Edith.

  Maybe because he had appeared as frightened and surprised as she.

  Will looked disbelieving in her theory, but it seemed clearer to her now.

  She scooted closer to him, as if her nearness might convince him. “No, honestly. I couldn’t see his face, but he was shaking so badly that I think he was startled into releasing the arrow. He didn’t intend to harm anyone.”

  Will rose abruptly and strode to the fireplace, flexing his hand as though to exorcise the desire to use it. He picked up two flat bowls from the hearth and ladled the thick st
ew into them. He sat down again, so close that their shoulders touched. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Intentional or not, the fool should never have done something so stupid” and handed her one of the bowls. “It’s still warm, and you need to eat something.”

  With her emotions raging like a confused three-ring circus, Sarah hadn’t the least bit of appetite until the stew was before her. Her stomach tightened in hunger at the homey smells that reached her tear-clogged nose, and she gladly accepted the bowl. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing too extravagant—just some venison stew.”

  “Did you hunt it yourself?” The way Will’s gaze flickered to her feet in avoidance told her he had. Impressive, she thought. Sarah took another appreciative sniff before savoring a spoonful of deer meat, potatoes, and turnips. She nearly sighed as she swallowed, the tangy warmth heating her insides. She cocked her head curiously to the side. “I didn’t know you were a closet gourmet. What else can you make?”

  He appeared thoughtful. “Well, I can make stew . . . and stew.” She smiled faintly at his attempt at humor, and they lapsed into silence as they ate.

  Sarah put her empty bowl aside. “More?” he asked, still working on his own supper.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I haven’t eaten anything that amazing in a while, though.” She thought she detected a faint flush creep over his neck, but he ducked his head before she could be sure.

  She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by watching him eat, and her mind wandered back to the troubling scene with Edith when she had nothing to focus on, so she let her eyes rove over his one-room home. It was sparsely decorated but neatly kept, and the homey sights and smells eased some of the tension from her body. The comforting presence at her side made it easy to let her guard down, and she realized that she had always felt that way around him.

  Thinking back to her encounter with the false Shadow, she swallowed hard, debating whether or not to come clean. Nothing may ever come of it, she reasoned, then immediately felt awful for thinking of putting her own feelings before his safety. “Will?”

  He glanced up, his expression open.

  She swallowed again. It was his life on the line, not hers. “I told you that I thought the Shadow was you at first?” He nodded, brows pulling together, as though sensing where this was headed. Sarah hunched her shoulders, wanting to stop her incessant shivering. “I used your name when I called out to him.”

  Will’s expression was frozen on his face, but his eyes shifted as he thought it over. After a solid minute of silence, he angled his body toward hers. He didn’t look upset, just cautious. “Was he the only one who heard you?”

  She nodded. “I think so. But I should have thought it through. I’m so sorry. You trusted me with your secret, and I might have blown it for you.”

  Dark hair fell over his forehead as he shook his head. “No, you were startled. I don’t blame you for that in the least. If he even heard you, I doubt it would implicate me in any way—there are at least two other Williams in town, and one who lives in seclusion at the forest’s edge. The hermit would most likely be the first they would consider for questioning.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “Consider for ques—Will, that sounds serious. Why are you not mad?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I am, but at myself. You should never have been in that position—you never would have followed him if you hadn’t thought it was me.” He shook his head in consternation—at himself, she realized. “I should never have burdened you with my secret.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up from her middle and escaped her lips. He looked startled, and she wiped her eyes. Her nerves and emotions were completely shot, and she wasn’t quite sure what the tears were for. “That’s funny that you should feel like a burden, since you just took care of a girl who looked like she’d been hunting for weeks in the forest.” She nodded, rubbing her dry and swollen eyes with the corner of the blanket as she yawned. Granny used to say that if a guy saw her at her worst and didn’t run, then he was a keeper. Well, she was officially at her worst, and he didn’t appear eager to lace-up his sneakers.

  Noticing her fatigue, Will’s said, “You should sleep.”

  The thought of going back to the castle and walking past the spot where Edith’s blood had stained the floor was highly unappealing. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

  He appeared aghast, and she wondered what she had said wrong. “I would never let you walk back in the cold at this hour.” He shook his head at the absurd idea and then nodded in the direction of his bed. “No, you can sleep here.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. “. . . But where will you sleep?”

  He pulled at the loose collar of his shirt, appearing entirely uncomfortable. Sarah would have laughed if she hadn’t felt that same awkward awareness she saw in his face. “The floor, by the fire,” he answered simply. Then he met her gaze, eyes a little wider than before. “I never would have asked you—I mean, I realize that it might seem—” He stopped, completely at a loss for words.

  Sarah, too tired to argue or tell him that it was his discomfort that brought on her own, rose on unsteady legs and shuffled to the bed. She heard him jump to his feet behind her and watched, amused, as he threw the bedcovers aside so quickly that he nearly ripped the neat tuck-job from the wall.

  Murmuring her thanks, she set the quilt on the chest in the corner and slipped gratefully into the bed. It wasn’t downy-soft like her bed at the castle, but it was heaven to her exhausted limbs. Will tucked the covers up to her chin, hand hesitating near her face.

  Looking up at him, she couldn’t form the words, nor did she know just what she was trying to say—apologize, thank him?

  He hesitantly moved the hand that had seemed frozen on the blanket up to her cheek, gently stroking away the errant tear that tumbled over her lower lid. Her throat constricted at the tender gesture.

  Sarah squeezed her eyes closed, wanting to be strong, to not be a burden, but she felt weak and scared. She opened her eyes. “Will?”

  “Hmm?” He murmured, tearing his eyes away from the idle strokes of his thumb to meet her bleary gaze. The change in his expression let her know that he already sensed what she was going to ask, and he dropped his hand.

  “Will you stay with me?” She couldn’t believe the words had actually escaped her lips and felt ridiculous for asking, like some kind of fragile girl who was trying to pull a fast one. But at that moment she did feel fragile, and she kept picturing Edith lying there on that bloodstained rug. She wasn’t sure she could ever sleep again, no matter how heavy her lids felt.

  Will released a breath, looking reluctant. “I’m not sure that’s—”

  “Please? Just until I fall asleep.” If I can.

  He searched her face, seeming to sense the brokenness in her gaze. Then he nodded, the smallest of acknowledgements, and grabbed the quilt before crawling hesitantly onto the bed. Sarah turned onto her side to face away from him as the bed shifted under his weight. He sat against the wall at the head of the bed, close enough that his arm grazed her back in the small space. She felt awkward knowing how close he was and wondered if she should have just asked him to sit on the floor and hold her hand—her parents would blow a gasket if they saw her now—but despite her discomfort, Sarah already felt more reassured by his nearness.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, eyes closing as he settled in beside her, the evening’s events weighing heavily upon her. She was almost asleep when she realized he was no longer touching her. She stirred anxiously, too tired to raise her lids. “Will?”

  “I’m here,” he assured her.

  She sighed, relaxing once more. She was practically incoherent by the time she murmured, “That’s all I needed to know.”

  ~Chapter 27~

  Will watched the steady rise and fall of her back as she drifted off, knowing the exact moment when her breathing evened in sleep. She didn’t stir, and he knew he should make his bed on the floo
r. But he was unable—or unwilling—to move. So he sat there, forearms resting on his raised knees, watching her profile for any indication that she was troubled in her sleep.

  Although their relationship had experienced its share of ups and downs, it had given him a spark of hope when she had come—she still trusted him!—making Will think that perhaps he hadn’t burned every bridge with his stubbornness. And it had felt so natural to take care of and comfort her, the ease of which had frightened him some. He was not used to successful relationships, and if he were being truthful, he wasn’t familiar with relationships period. The fact that he felt so comfortable around her still amazed him, but it was also a tad disturbing.

  It was knew and at times tenuous, and he still wasn’t sure how to handle it, exactly. But for the first time in his life, Will was determined to make it work—this delicate relationship was too precious to let it go without a fight.

  Knowing he was breaking every law of convention by remaining there, he shifted forward to leave, and his movements caused Sarah to stir uneasily in her sleep. He froze, not wanting to wake her from the momentary respite she had found in unconsciousness. Restless, she muttered a few unintelligible syllables and moved her face into the folded blanket he used as a pillow. He winced at the soft sigh she released. It was a sorrowful sound, of which he was sadly familiar.

  He had recognized in her wide, panicked eyes the fear and sadness he had experienced after his parents’ murders. When he had watched her curl into herself as she wept, Will had felt as though he were gazing upon the wounded lad he once was, recalling the way he put everyone at arm’s length so that he might vent his grief in solitude. He knew now that doing so had only made the burden of grief heavier upon his shoulders with no one to suffer it with him, and he had pulled Sarah into his arms when he could no longer stand the thought of her suffering that same sorrow alone.

  After a moment of warring within himself, her whimpers became too much for him to bear, and Will quietly slipped down behind her. He pulled the spare quilt over his waist and mirrored the curve of her body beneath the blanket, maintaining a fair two-inches of space between them, though he wanted to touch her shoulder to take the burden he knew rested there and carry it for her. Unlike his self-imposed solitude, she would not have to be alone in her suffering.