Suddenly he caught sight of the boar, in a dead run straight toward Mary. He took a deep breath and began to run.
Michael rushed at her, swept her up from around the waist and ran with her to hide behind a large tree.
Within seconds the boar passed, near to where she had been gathering onions.
He heard her sigh and she turned her face to his. His black mask brushed her cheek and she stilled.
“I wish . . .” he whispered.
Her eyes pleaded for him to tell her what he wished and he lowered his face, shifted his hood, and claimed her lips in a gentle kiss.
She seemed uncertain how to respond, and he wondered if this was her first kiss. The thought excited him. He slowly nudged her lips apart and, though at first hesitant, she became eager in her attempts to taste him.
They exchanged soft, tenuous nibbles as if sampling and savoring before tasting fully of each other. Michael did not hesitate to guide her and it was not long before their tongues were mating with the eagerness of newborn lovers.
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.