He spoke as they walked. “You will grow accustomed to me.”
She nodded vigorously, pleased he understood.
“I think it wise if you carry a few stones with you. They may prove helpful if we are ever separated and you need me.”
Need him.
She did not want to need him. Need brought dependency and possible harm to the person she needed. The couple who had taken her in, and cared for her like their only child, would have been in jeopardy had she not taken flight as soon as she had discovered that men who hunted her were nearby. She could not cause another harm; it was a belief she had been taught and one she intended to live by.
She took a few steps and stopped abruptly in front of the doorway. Mary stuck her chin up and, with rapid hand motions, did her best to convey her confidence in taking care of herself.
He stepped closer, until their bodies almost touched. “You may think you are capable of seeing to your own safety, but you are wrong if you think you can defend yourself against Decimus. That is what I am here to do, keep you safe from him, and I will do that. No matter what it takes, I will keep you safe.”
His forceful words impressed her. She realized then why Magnus had chosen him for the task. He had no intentions of failing. He would see to her safety even if it meant his life. And she wondered if perhaps he hated Decimus as much as she did.
“We both need rest for our journey.” He took hold of her arm and guided her gently into the shed, walked her to the pallet. “Sleep.”
She lay on her back. The aches and pains tormented her and the cool night air had begun to creep under her meager garments, sending a chill through her. Would he join her again tonight and keep her warm? She hoped he would; she was cold and needed his warmth. Though he was a stranger, he had proven that he knew Magnus and would protect her.
Soon he lowered himself down beside her. “Cold?”
She nodded, eager for the warmth of his body.
He moved up against her, his arm wrapping around her. He draped his robe over her legs and she shifted closer to him.
“At the moment we have only each other.”
He was right and, to let him know she agreed, placed a gentle hand over his. They fell asleep and soon were wrapped together like lovers.
“Wake up, Mary,” a harsh voice whispered in her ear. “Wake up now.”
She thought she was dreaming, feeling snug in her warm cocoon and not wanting to leave it. She bristled as the arm around her squeezed tighter.
Something is wrong.
Her eyes opened wide, daylight had just broken, the night inching back into the shadows.
“Someone approaches.”
She listened but heard nothing.
“I need to see who it is. You must remain here and not make a sound.”
She squeezed his arm in response. As he left their shelter, she quietly moved closer to the door so that she could see if the intruders approached. She could not leave her safety completely in his hands. What if something happened to him? She had to be ready to defend herself and to flee if necessary.
The sun continued to rise, chasing the night away along with the shadows that so often haunted the woods. She wondered about Michael’s safety. The night was his friend, the daylight his enemy. Where would he hide?
She thought she heard a rustle of leaves and saw a movement in the thick brush. She remained still and listened then heard it again.
Someone is out there.
Her heart beat wildly, fright sent gooseflesh racing over her body. She feared being returned to Decimus. His insidious reputation as an inquisitor caused dread among the innocent and guilty alike, his power coming from on high—the Church.
She did not fear death, her father’s beliefs having taught her it was a beginning not an end. It was the senseless suffering that Decimus inflicted on his victims that frightened her.
The rustle of bushes and sudden appearance of a man had her catch her breath and hastily place a hand to her pounding heart. She recognized him, tall and hefty, with a face that would win no hearts; he was the man who had caught her in the woods and choked her.
He approached the shed quietly and apprehensively, casting cautious glances around him. He kept his hand firm on the hilt of his knife in the sheath secured to his belt.
Mary kept a steady watch on him, wondering where Michael had gone. She grew nervous as the man inched closer to the shed, not certain of what to do should he attempt to enter. She could not cry out but remained helpless. She looked around for a weapon when a movement outside caught her eye.
Michael appeared without warning, had the man down on his knees and his hands around his neck. Where he had come from she could not say. It was as if he appeared magically from out of nowhere. The thought made her shudder.
The two men exchanged words and then suddenly the captured man reached out and, with one swift blow to the leg, took Michael to the ground.
Mary watched horrified as the two men rolled and punched and fought like vicious animals ready to kill. One minute Michael seemed the victor, the next minute the other man would have the upper hand, and so it continued until Mary thought it would never end. Then in one instant the man reached for Michael’s mask and tore it aside.
Mary could see only the man’s reaction, as Michael’s back faced her. The man grew pale, his eyes widened in horrible fright, and his mouth dropped open as though he was ready to scream for mercy, but then, as though he gave it second thought, he lunged for Michael.
With swift hands Michael deflected his attack, grabbed him around the neck and with a quick jerk broke it.
Chapter 3
Mary was stunned silent. She had seen death through illness, but never had she seen one man take another man’s life. And never had she seen a man kill to protect her. She shuddered, her stomach quivered, and she closed her eyes, offering a quick prayer for both men.
With her eyes open again, the shock and horror on the man’s face when he looked upon Michael played before her eyes. She could not imagine what caused this terrifying reaction, and the thought that she was dependent on a stranger who brought such fear made her shiver. Had she placed her safety in a savior or the devil’s hands?
Michael rushed through the open door. “We need to leave now.”
He reached down to where Mary crouched on the floor, grabbed her arm, yanked her to her feet and out into the bright sunlight. Mary saw no signs of the man’s body as Michael hurried her into the woods, but then he would not be foolish enough to leave the dead man in plain sight.
A few feet into the woods, Michael stopped and snatched up several stones.
“Keep these with you in case we are separated.” He shoved them into her hand. “We must move quickly and put as much distance as possible between Decimus’s men and us.”
She nodded vigorously to let him know she understood, placed the stones in the hem of her sleeve. They would need to keep a steady pace and probably continue on into the night. She had to remain strong whether she had the stamina or not.
He stepped in front of her to lead the way, hesitated a moment and turned his shroud-covered head to her. “Your legs, are they strong enough?”
She responded with a faint smile; she was not at all certain if her weak legs would hold her.
“No harm will come to you.” His voice was harsh and confident.
He turned and walked ahead, his strides powerful yet silent. As Mary followed behind him, ignoring the pain in her legs and back, she realized he moved like a shadow, weightless and fearless of his surroundings, avoiding the bright sunlight as much as possible, choosing instead the dense part of the woods where sunlight fought to penetrate the thick, leafy canopy. He was at home here, the shadows welcoming friends who embraced and protected.