The kiss was all too brief and Mary was disappointed when their lips parted and he moved away from her. She felt as though the earth shivered beneath her feet and her body flooded with a radiant warmth that tingled down to her toes. She wanted no distance between them; she wanted him as close to her as possible. His kiss had stirred her heart and now her heart ached for more.
He turned, his shoulders wide, his chest broad and his head high. “My apologies. That was wrong of me.”
She shook her head frantically, letting him know he was not to blame and that she enjoyed the kiss, but he was adamant.
“I had no right. It can never be between you and me.”
She watched him walk away and felt a sense of loss. It made no sense, but then it made much sense. She had hoped to love one day but was that truly possible? What could she offer a man? She was a hunted woman, hunted by a truly evil man.
And yet she wished, hoped; she closed her eyes against the pain in her heart.
If only.
She opened her eyes, now blurred with unshed tears, and searched the ground for the onions and herbs she had picked. They had flown from her hand when Michael had taken her around the waist into his strong arms, protecting her.
The strength of him, the power of his body, the taste of him; she shook her head. He was complete darkness and yet he shed light on her life. With him she knew safety, she knew protection and she knew . . .
She touched her lips. She knew her first kiss.
A tear fell and she was not certain if it was a tear of joy or sorrow or perhaps it was both. The joy of having known a kiss and the sorrow that perhaps she would never experience it again.
Her heart hurt and she did not know what to do. She understood his reluctance to love; theirs would be an impossible love. Her heart however did not understand and would not stop aching.
Mary wiped away her tear and finished gathering her onions and herbs. She was being foolish to think of love now. It would do her little good. She had no home. No safe place, except with Michael.
Stop, she warned herself. You heard him tell you it cannot be.
She refused to acknowledge the ache in her heart; it would go away if she paid it no heed, at least she hoped it would, after all they had been thrown together and had in a strange way become entangled with each other. It was nothing more than a bond of survival they shared.
Mary prepared the evening meal, Michael returned to the castle when the meal was just about ready to eat. He made no mention of where he had been, he simply offered her help, which she declined.
Michael and Mary shared the evening meal but little was said. Michael commented on the delicious stew and Mary’s culinary talent. She responded with a weak smile and a nod, but offered no more.
A rumble of thunder was heard in the distance though the sky remained clear.
“Rain. We will need cover,” Michael said as Mary saw to cleaning up after the meal.
Michael fashioned a cover from wood and brush over their sleeping pallet and then joined Mary where she sat on the broken stone that once was the sturdy front wall of the castle.
Dusk was setting and lightning flashed in the sky, a bolt striking the ground in the distance.
“The storm will be here soon.”
She nodded and held her face up to feel the wind that had suddenly rushed down into the valley, swirling around the decayed castle. The air was cool and felt refreshing against her flushed cheeks.
The sky darkened fast, though night had yet to settle over the land. The wind caused macabre shadows to dance at the edge of the woods, an owl hooted eerily, and birds anxiously sought the protection of their nests.
The storm continued to brew, thunder rumbled, lightning struck, the wind blew, but no rain fell. It was as if the sky demonstrated its anger.
“Storms do not frighten you?”
Mary shook her head.
Michael leaned down and whispered. “What frightens you, Mary?”
That you may never kiss me again.
She shivered at the disheartening thought.
The sadness that suddenly appeared in her eyes was more powerful than any spoken word. In their blue depths he saw a potent mixture of love and sorrow and it upset him to know that nothing he did could change that. She would know sorrow if he loved her or if he did not love her.
Why then would it matter either way? If they shared a brief interlude, a moment in time loving each other, what difference would it make?
He tore his eyes away, looking past her and feeling the ache in his heart grow and spread across his chest, tightening, squeezing, reminding him of the tortuous pain of losing a loved one. He could not love Mary and let her walk out of his life forever, and he could not love her and let her remain in his life.
“You will know love one day, Mary,” he said, averting his eyes from hers and fighting the pain in his heart.
She made no attempt to argue. She could not adequately express herself and would feel all the more the fool. And perhaps now was not the time nor was this decayed castle the place. She would do well to focus on her immediate situation. Or was she merely attempting to convince herself?
“You will be happy.”
She slowly shook her head, stood, and waved her hands in front of her face. Happiness would forever elude her. Michael reached for her and lightning sparked in the black sky. She jumped away from him, shaking her head and stretching out her hands to keep him at a distance. She hurried off into the castle.
He ached to rush after her but it would do neither of them any good. He was there to protect her and to see to her safety. He would only place her in more danger if he surrendered to his desires.
Michael looked for Mary. He found her by the sleeping pallet unpinning her hair with trembling hands. He had not thought he would care for anyone ever again in his life. He had thought himself cut off from all emotions, and he had intended for it to forever remain so.
How, then, did this woman who could speak not a word penetrate his protective shield? How had she been able to touch his heart? Why was it that the simple thought of never seeing her again tore at his heart until he thought it had been ripped in two?
He watched from a distance as Mary lowered herself onto the pallet. He would soon join her there and keep her warm, just as he had done from the time that he rescued her. They had not slept apart since, and he favored snuggling with her at night, cuddling as lovers would. She felt so good wrapped within his embrace, warm and soft.
When she slept, it was deeply, from exhaustion. And she lightly snored. He enjoyed the sound, enjoyed feeling the beat of her heart against him, found joy in both her gentleness and strength.
She cannot be yours.
His own strong voice warned and he nodded, knowing there was no choice in this matter.
The first drop of rain fell and rolled off his shroud. How he wished to feel the rain against his skin and how he wish to feel Mary’s warmth next to his.
Drop after raindrop pelted his shroud until he finally went directly to Mary. The pallet was thick and deep with brush and tree limbs, a blanket against the rain. He looked down to see her sleeping, curled on her side, her arms pressed firmly to her chest and her legs tucked up near to the end of her elbows.
Michael lay down behind her and pressed himself up against her to let her know of his presence if she should need him. She made no move to respond and Michael made no move away from her.
They lay there quietly, with not a sound or movement except those of the other occupants of the castle, the small forest animals and the birds. Finally when night settled heavy over the land, Mary turned and Michael wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly to him.
And he wondered how he would ever let her go.
Chapter 10
Mary woke the next morning to the smell of roasting fish with wild onions and though the delicious scent tempted, she had little appetite. Her foolishness disturbed her. She was behaving like a young lass in love when she barely knew Mich
ael. How ridiculous of her, or how needy?
Was it love? Or was it the need to be protected? She remembered her father telling her that love would come to her when she least expected it. It would find her, she would not be able to hide from it and she should not worry over it. But then he had been advising a young girl of ten who thought herself wildly in love with a local village boy.
She had not thought herself in love since, her life having been torn apart shortly afterward. With little experience to call on, she was not certain what to make of her feelings.
Perhaps she would just wait on love.
She brushed her hair and tied it in a ribbon before joining Michael at the table.
“I fished early and thought to surprise you with a good meal,” he said.
Was he attempting to appease her for last night?
She nodded and picked sparingly at the fish. She simply had no appetite for food and could not force herself to eat no matter how delicious it tasted.
Michael said not another word until he was finished eating. “I need to make my rounds again to see that the surrounding area has remained free of intruders. It will take me most of the day.”
She nodded and patted her chest, letting him know she would do fine that there was no need for concern, though she would have much preferred to spend time with him than away from him.
With a hint of annoyance he said, “You are brave to a fault.”
Mary stared at him, confused by his statement.
He offered her no explanation, was only adamant in his demand that she remain close by the castle ruins.
She pointed in the direction of the stream, not far away but not noticeable from where they stood either.
He shook his head. “Nay, you will remain here while I am gone.”
She sighed in agitation and with hands flying in all manner of movement, she attempted to tell him that a trip to the stream would not place her in danger.
His laughter is what halted her hand motions, so shocked was she to hear the clear distinct sound and how far from his annoyance only moments before.
“If you talk as much with your mouth as your hands there will be little quiet in these woods.”
She punched him playfully in the arm.
His laughter stopped and he stepped closer to her. “You will need more strength than that to stop a man.”
She shivered suddenly, recalling the strength of the man who had shoved her to the ground and choked her. Her hand went immediately to her throat.
“I did not mean to frighten you, Mary, though I do mean for you to be prepared.”
She made a jabbing motion.
“Do you know how to use a knife?”
She nodded, but knew not how to explain with her hands how the metalsmith in her village had taught her to wield a knife with accuracy. After she had made a pest of herself in wanting to learn about swords and knives, he had finally surrendered and taught her much.
“Until I can be sure you know well how to handle a knife, you will remain near the castle.”
She gave him an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands as though in surrender.
“Good, we agree. I will see you later near the evening meal, which I will have with me when I return.”
She grabbed his arm as he walked passed her. How did she tell him to stay safe and return to her?
He appeared to understand. “I will be fine.”
Her eyes questioned, what if?
“If I do not return—have faith, Mary—remain here. Someone will come for you and say the words you and Magnus agreed upon.”
She nodded and could not help but place her hand to his chest, over his heart, for a brief moment before he left her side.
She thought she felt him tremble but it was too brief to be sure, for he quickly moved away from her. She watched as he disappeared into the woods.
She busied herself with cleaning off the table and then explored areas of the castle she had yet to see. Much of the space was nothing but rubble, though on occasion she came across an exciting find. She found a tattered tapestry beneath stone and charred wood that would serve well as a blanket, Michael’s shroud and the brush was not always sufficient against the chilled night. She was delighted when she found three pewter goblets and four plates. The find of several baskets delighted her. It would make gathering herbs, onions, and roots easier.
She smiled when she found a large brooch minus its jewels. It made her wonder about the lady of the castle. She could not imagine such a life of luxury. She was a peasant, though glad not to have worked in a castle. She had heard stories from those who had serviced a lord; many talked of cruelty and endless days of work.
Nay, she was glad to be free, a peasant but free of the cruelty of an oppressive lord. She continued to search the castle and was enthusiastic over several more finds. When she was done she deposited the items on the table in front of the hearth.
One look at her dirt-covered hands, and the feel of perspiration on her neck and back, and she knew that she needed to wash. But she was not to go to the stream and there was not enough water in the bucket.
She faced a dilemma. She had not actually given Michael her word on not going to the stream, and it was not far from the castle. It was a very warm day for spring and the cool water was enticing.
Should she take the chance or abide by Michael’s dictate?
It would be hours before his return and she would not be long at the stream.
A trickle of sweat ran down her back, resolving her debate. She hurried off to the stream to be done with it.
The cool water felt refreshing against her warm skin and before she realized it, Mary had shed her clothes and hurried into the stream for a quick wash. The strong, rapid flow of the water surprised her, and she lowered herself so that she could rinse her entire body of sweat and grime.
The water moved around swiftly and she sensed it was not wise for her to remain in the cold, forceful stream. She shivered as she made her way back to the water’s edge. Return footing was a bit more treacherous and she slipped now and again.
She attempted to take each step more carefully, though try as she might her footing remained unsound and she fought to keep herself standing. Land finally was a few feet ahead and she sighed with relief when suddenly her foot slipped on a stone and she lost all balance and tumbled head first into the stream.
The water rushed in, swirling her up and around in circles. She was caught in a whirlpool making it impossible for her to grab onto anything. The water carried her, dipping her, swirling her, filling her with fright. She choked and sputtered each time her head surfaced and fought to gain control of her thrashing ride, finally reaching up to catch hold of anything solid. Her hand snatched a heavy branch hanging over the stream.
She dug her wet hands into the tree bark and looked around her. She could not tell how far she had traveled. The stream had widened and deepened as it had carried her off, but she had never gone farther than the castle, so she did not know if she was merely around a bend or a good distance away.
She felt foolish and fearful. She was naked and knew not where she was, and she did not know what she would do. For the moment she thought it best to pull herself to the water’s edge and sit in the shadows of the large tree that had rescued her.
When her mind calmed she gave her plight rational thought. If she followed the stream she was bound to return to where she had entered. Her clothes would mark the spot.
She would need to be very careful and extremely alert. She shivered at the thought of walking along the edge of the stream naked, but what choice did she have? She could not remain where she was.
She gathered all her courage and set a quick pace alongside the stream, keeping a keen eye and ear to her surroundings. Her pace was steady and she prayed that she was close to the castle.
She stopped suddenly, listening, sure she had heard something.
Voices and the snort of a horse.
She hurried reluctantly into the stream t
o hide in the water, her head concealed by the drooping branches of a large willow tree. She kept a firm hand on a thick branch so that the swift water would not carry her away. She heard the voices again. They drew closer and she shivered not from the cold water but from the sound of men.
Then one voice, far different from the others, spoke. He commanded like a man confident of being obeyed. His threats were subtle and meant to instill fear and he certainly succeeded, for the other men’s voices quivered when they spoke. She imagined they cowered at his side like the dominions of the devil doing his bidding out of fear.
It could only be one man.
Decimus.
“You will travel where I order, do you understand?”
“Aye, sir.” The voices responded in unison.
“I will snare my prey, no thanks to the likes of any one of you. You are a useless lot with not a brain among you.”
Decimus continued to belittle his men and Mary closed her eyes and prayed they would not find her, though she opened them fast enough when a reference was made to her.
“You allow a mere woman to avoid capture. You were not even able to prevent her escape. She is more a warrior than any of you.”
How odd to hear Decimus praise her.
“Find her or suffer the consequences,” he said sharply. “Now, be on your way.”
She remained perfectly still. They would be gone soon, very soon she told herself. Mary listened as rider after rider rode off. She waited patiently, taking extra care that all the men had left the area and just as she was about to pull herself out of the water, she heard a horse draw nearer to the stream.
“Idiots all of them.”
Fear shot through Mary like an icy arrow. It was Decimus’s voice and he was inching his horse closer to where she hid. She froze and urged her body not to tremble, but her fright was great and shivers raced through her.
She heard him dismount and walk to the water’s edge. She bit her trembling lip and dug her fingers into the branch. She warned herself not to panic, to remain still and he would not find her.
Dark Warrior Page 7