She shook her head and returned to the village to find Glenda. She needed to think on something other than Michael and her foolish thoughts.
Michael, behind a large oak tree, watched her walk away, annoyed that he hid from her. Or was he hiding from his own feelings? He had thought his emotions died with those he loved many years ago. Or had he buried them thinking them dead? Had Mary found a way to resurrect his feelings?
He turned away when Mary was no longer in sight, braced his back against the tree and slowly slid down to sit on the hard ground. He took his gloves off and rubbed his chin.
It was not only his heart he had buried; he had buried himself. The moment he slipped on the black shroud he had lost his identity. He was no more and it took a touch to his own skin to remind him that he was real.
Mary, however, had made him feel more than real; her simple touch also reminded him he was a man. She made him feel alive. She brought out feelings that he had thought dead and long buried.
He again rubbed his cheeks, then his neck before rubbing his hands together.
Mary was a woman of substance in many ways. Even though he sensed her full of fear, he saw she refused to surrender to it; she remained courageous and did what was necessary even when difficult. She was a remarkable woman who had withstood hardship and had grown in strength, character, and conviction.
And he found himself admiring her more each day.
He slipped his gloves on quickly and stood.
Admire.
He would do well to remember that he admired her and no more. He marched off into the woods muttering several oaths beneath his breath.
Michael did not return for supper, still Mary shared an enjoyable meal with Glenda, Terence, and Patricia. She listened as the three exchanged stories of their childhoods and talked of the future with a certainty that brought a smile to Mary’s face.
It was a pleasant evening that reminded her of her own dreams of the future with family and friends, so that when the evening came to an end she felt a sudden sadness.
She climbed into bed alone and, though a fire heated the cottage, she felt chilled huddled under the covers warding off not only the cold but loneliness.
She had no one, her family was gone, the loving couple that had cared for her was lost to her forever, and Magnus would find somewhere safe for her but keep his distance as before, for her protection. Where did that leave her but alone? She shivered against her forced isolation.
Even sleep refused to befriend her, and she did not know how long she lay there. It seemed like an eternity, and whenever a shadow drifted into the room she thought Michael had returned. When she realized he had not, she felt disappointment. As the night went on she concluded that Michael would not join her. Was he busy tending to matters? Or had he simply chosen not to share the bed with her any longer? Both thoughts concerned her; after all, he was all she had at the moment and she missed him beside her.
She attempted to remind herself that self-pity did little good and perhaps it was better this way. She feared becoming dependent on him or perhaps she feared she might grow to care for him. It was so easy with him always around, making certain she was safe and secure. Perhaps she could get used to his presence, dark and ominous as he was, find a light inside him. She could, if they had more time together.
“Mary.”
Michael startled her and she jumped, then she smiled.
He slipped in beside her, and they lay next to each other barely touching, but it did not matter. He was finally there with her and she felt at ease, and so very relieved. She convinced herself that her growing dependence on him was born out of uncertainty and fear and that once her fate was known she would release him into the shadows from where he had come.
She drifted off to sleep and her dream came fast and swift.
She was running on a long stretch of barren road, her breathing labored as if she had run a long distance when suddenly her parents appeared on either side of her.
They looked healthy and strong as they did in life, though younger.
“Keep alert to your senses,” her father said.
“Trust your heart.” Her mother smiled.
“You must fight,” her father said.
“You have the strength,” her mother said.
“Love will be your only weapon,” her father warned as he reached out and grabbed her hand.
Mary woke with a start; Michael had tight hold of her hand.
“I am sorry to wake you, but we must leave at once.”
She shook away what little sleep remained and turned wide eyes on him.
He answered her silent query as he helped her out of bed.
“Decimus has found our trail; he is not far from the village.”
Chapter 7
Mary did not know how long she slept but it mattered not, for she was startled fully awake by the terrifying news. A sack of food and her freshly washed garments were wrapped in a plaid cloth and fashioned into a sack that Michael flung over his shoulder.
With her eyes wet with unshed tears, Glenda draped a brown wool shawl around Mary’s shoulders as she hugged and kissed her cheek and said, “Godspeed.”
Mary nodded and placed her hand on her heart and then to Glenda’s heart offering her appreciation for the woman’s generosity. Then, within a blink of an eye, they were gone from the village, slinking away under the cover of darkness.
Mary feared that the village would suffer for harboring them and attempted to express her concern to Michael. She tugged firmly on his black shroud to get his attention since he refused to heed to a simple nudge.
He finally stopped. “We have no time to spare.”
She frantically motioned her concern, pointing toward the village.
“They will be fine,” Michael assured her. “They are experienced at this sort of thing. But”—his emphasis was meant to get her attention and it did—“if we do not make haste and place distance between us and the village, there will be trouble for all.”
She understood, pointed her chin up, and waved him to follow her, as though he were the one delaying their escape. Before she even realized that she had no idea were they where or where they were going, Michael moved past her to take the lead again. His pace was swift and she kept up with him though visibility was difficult. The moon was new and its faint glow left their path mostly in darkness.
Michael walked the trail with confidence; Mary felt little of her own. The night shadows rushed along the ground, making it appear as if night demons scurried after them. She jumped more then once when large ominous shadows crossed her path.
They continued their journey, dawn near breaking on the horizon, when they came upon a mound of brush, which Michael moved aside to reveal a cave-like dwelling.
“No one will know we are here; we can rest. I doubt anyone has been following us.”
Mary agreed, squatting to enter the small dwelling. No one on horseback could have followed their path, and to track them at night would be impossible. As Michael pulled back the brush to cover the entrance, cutting off the increasing light of dawn, she realized not a soul would know of their secluded nest. They were safe for now.
Michael opened the sack and offered Mary the bread and cheese that Glenda had packed for them. Mary gratefully took the generous pieces and ate, their long walk having fueled her appetite.
She was not surprised when he took a leather drinking pouch from the sack and offered it to her. The moment she tasted the sweet cider she blessed Glenda threefold for her thoughtfulness. But then Glenda had been where she now was, and she had known what it meant to be hungry and thirsty.