“You hid your garments?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You hid them so I would not see them if I should return before you were done.”
She shook her head again.
“Aye, you did,” he said. “You knew I would glance past the tree line and if I did not spot you, I would go no farther. Your actions were born of intelligence and I commend you.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise.
“Though I admonish you for disobeying my orders.”
She sighed and nodded.
Foolish. She had been foolish.
Then she shook her head to let him know she would never disobey him again.
“Promise me, Mary. Promise me you will heed my orders for it may endanger your life as it did today.”
She placed her hand to her heart and nodded.
“It is a warrior’s honor that you give me?”
She stuck her chin up and then gave a firm nod.
“Good, then I will say no more about it.”
They slept well that night wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing time was their enemy. It would end and they would part, both understood the necessity of it, and both prayed for a miracle.
Early the next morning they sat on the bank of the stream fishing for their breakfast. Poles were made of thick willow branches and old frayed rope with rusty hooks fashioned from scrap metal. The fish seemed to ignore the hook, instead feeding on the tiny fish that swam near the surface.
“They taunt us,” Michael said, humor edging his harsh tone.
Mary nodded and motioned that she was not that hungry. She reached for a stick and wrote in the dirt. Speak with me.
“Of what do you wish to speak?”
You when a lad.
That caused a pause and Mary hoped she had not stirred painful memories. Then she heard a soft rumble of laughter as though he had attempted to conceal it but failed.
Tell me, she urged, emphasizing her desire to hear about him with a deep underscore drawn beneath the words.
“Adventure,” he said and she thought she could feel his smile; he sounded happy. “I was forever getting myself lost in the woods or stranded in a boat in the middle of a loch, or stuck in a tree that seemed far taller once I had climbed it. But no one or nothing could stop me from exploring and I was fortunate to have a family who encouraged my exploits.”
Siblings?
A lengthy pause proceeded. “A sister.”
She waited, the hesitancy in his voice making her wonder if he would speak no more about her.
Then as if he opened a door long closed and locked tightly, he began to talk.
“Cathleen was my little sister.”
His voice swelled with emotion and Mary wondered if a tear touched his eye.
“She forever followed me around and I looked after her as an older brother should. I was there whenever she needed me. If she fell down, I picked her up and tended her wounds. If she cried I wiped her tears. It was my duty to see to her care, my father reminded me of that on his deathbed. I was to take care of my mother and sister, but it was no chore for me. I loved them both and would do anything for them.”
It was not difficult to realize that something had happened to his family. Mary waited, hoping he would continue to share his past and his pain with her, hoping perhaps it would help heal him.
“Cathleen loved and trusted everyone. Her constant smile was born of a joyous and generous heart. And she was so very beautiful.”
Was. What had happened to her? Mary wondered if somehow his sister was connected to the reason that he became the Dark One.
“She thirsted for knowledge.”
Mary smiled and tapped her chest to let him know she felt the same.
He grabbed her hand so tightly that she winced, but he did not release it.
“Seeking knowledge can cause you harm.”
She nodded and eased his fingers off her wrist before writing: I know, but knowledge is power.
“What power does it bring peasants? What good does knowledge do them?” He sounded angry.
Mary remained patient, aware that his anger came from a painful memory. It frees us.
“They continue to labor. How does that bring freedom?”
It frees the mind.
“And if peasants speak, they are persecuted.”
No hope in silence. No hope. No life.
“It is dangerous to think that way. The peasant is taught to serve lord and master. That is his lot in life: service.”
Who do you serve?
“Some say the devil.”
She shook her head.
He held out his arms. “Darkness is born from the depths of hell.”
Darkness is born of ignorance.
“Who taught you such dangerous knowledge?”
She stuck her chin up then wrote, My father.
His tone softened. “He must have been a brave man.”
Sadness and sorrow filled her; she missed her father very much. Very brave.
“Then you truly are your father’s daughter.”
She smiled. Thank you.
“He would be proud of you.”
She nodded, recalling how just before her father had been taken away, he had expressed his pride in her bravery. She was barely eleven years old yet was proud of her; it had shined in his eyes and smile whenever he had looked at her. Those memories kept her father alive in her mind.
“He was accused of heresy?” Michael asked reluctantly.
She nodded and asked her own question. Your sister?
“Her innocence caused her to suffer.” His anger returned. “She trusted, she believed in good and gave no thought to evil. She would care for the ill, help the injured animals, and love those others would shun. She had an angelic heart and soul.”
Precious woman.
“To me she was precious.” He shook his head and turned to stare at the stream. “I was as precious to her as she was to me. She loved me, believed in me, and—”
With a vicious toss the fishing pole went flying into the stream. “She loved me, trusted me, and I failed her.”
Mary placed her hand on his arm and he turned his head abruptly to see her shaking her head, denying his admission.
“She loved me and I failed her,” he reiterated adamantly.
Mary shook her head just as adamantly.
“You know not of what you speak. She suffered and I did nothing.” Anger and pain punctuated his words. “She loved me and I failed her. I will not see that happen again.”
Mary understood now why he refused to love, but she refused to allow him his pity. She swallowed hard, recited a silent prayer, squeezed his arm and said aloud, “I love you.”
Chapter 12
Michael was too stunned to speak. He had ached to hear her voice and had never expected these words to be the first to spill from her lips. They tore at his heart; his soul wept with sorrow—for upon hearing her words, her voice, his response was not what he had thought it would be. “You cannot love me.”
She smiled and raised a defiant chin. “Aye, I can.”
He reached out and stroked her neck. “It does not pain you?”
“Nay, I think I have finally healed.”
The beauty of her voice was like a gentle lyric to his senses, and he smiled though she could not see it.
“I will hear your voice much now.”
“Is that a plea I hear or regret?”