She stepped away realizing her actions inappropriate, but he reached out and gently captured her wrist. “You are grateful for my help.”
She nodded vigorously.
“I understand and I am glad to be of service to you.”
Service. She had to remember he worked with Magnus to protect her, nothing more. He rescued her and she was grateful, nothing more. There would be nothing more for her in life than keeping free of Decimus.
“We will rest here for a few days while your final destination is determined.”
She nodded and forced a smile; a yawn followed.
“You will sleep peacefully tonight. There is nothing to fear; you are safe here.”
She reached out to him but stopped before touching him, her hand suspended in air between them, uncertain what to do. Her gesture displayed a need for him. She did need his protection, but she desired his comforting touch. She liked the feel of his arms wrapped around her. She did not feel so alone, so isolated from the world with him beside her.
He took hold of it and drew her slowly into the safety of his dark embrace. They stood for a moment in silence, an odd pair joined together, shadow and light. Then Mary yawned again, her eyes grew heavy and her head drifted down on his shoulder. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He gently laid her on the overstuffed straw mattress then slipped in beside her.
He pulled the blue wool blanket over her as she snuggled against him, closed her eyes and slept.
Chapter 5
Michael sat on a decaying stump in the woods near the village. It was a secluded spot partially encircled by oak, birch, and elm trees. Birds chirped, squirrels raced up and down the trees in play, and rabbits sat feasting on freshly sprouted blades of grass. A new day had dawned, the brilliant sun chasing away the shadows of the night, but he was a shadow not easily chased away.
He removed his black leather gloves, rubbed his hands together and pressed a thumb to each palm, kneading the skin. It was his way of reminding himself he was flesh and blood. A man, not merely a shadow.
The kneading slowed until he stopped completely and touched his fingers to his lips.
A kiss.
He recalled Mary’s fingers on his lips after touching her own. The pressure of her warm flesh had tingled his lips and sent a quiver through his body, undetectable to Mary, for he had displayed no response to her innocent gesture of gratitude.
He quickly dropped his hand from his mouth. He did not need to linger on nonsense. She was appreciative of his help and expressed in action what she could not express in words.
And yet . . .
He stood slipping his gloves on. She was so very beautiful, her long hair the color of honey, her face that of an angel with gentle blue eyes. A man could drown in this shapely body that felt so right in his arms.
He shook his head to chase away his dangerous thoughts. He could not allow himself to think of Mary in such an intimate manner. He was here to help her and see her to safety, yet he felt a compelling need to remain by her side. The thought of walking away from her when all was done caused his stomach to wrench.
He had helped many women, men, and children to safety. Each one was special in their own way, but Mary was different. He knew she would be when he first saw her, covered with dirt and grime and sitting in the shadows of her cell. His heart had reacted then.
He paced, attempting to make sense of his odd reaction. He had empathy for those who suffered the fate of torture. Those who inflicted such cruelty were certainly ignorant, spineless creatures.
But it was not empathy he felt when he first looked upon Mary.
She did not cry or grasp at him; she hesitated uncertainly and then with strength she attempted to step forward, though she was obviously in pain and fearful of him. With courage she accepted him and made her escape. He admired her tenacity, her bravery, and her beauty.
He shook his head. What was wrong with him? What foolish thoughts was he thinking? He could not allow himself to care too much and there definitely was no place in his life for love. He had forgotten what it was like to love, or perhaps he did not want to remember. He had hardened his heart after senselessly losing his mother and sister, the hurt too painful; he had replaced it with a thirst for revenge, and that thirst had turned to a hunger too ravenous to satisfy.
He sat again on the stump. He required focused thoughts to accomplish his mission. He had made a promise to himself and had sworn to allow no one to stand in his way. He had made a vow and would not break it. There was still so very much to be done and time was of the essence.
What would she say once she is able to speak to him?
He stood again, annoyed that his thoughts controlled him. Now was not the time to succumb to foolish musings. His mission needed his full attention. Thoughts of Mary in any way other than needing his help could not be given consideration. He had to make certain all was planned and timed perfectly so that Mary’s escape would be permanent and she need not worry about being hunted ever again.
It would be necessary to confer with Magnus on the final plan. He had been the one to see to her safety after her parents’ death, and he was certain to care for her as long as was necessary. Magnus and Michael’s path had crossed through the years and they had become comrades more than friends. Each had their own pursuits and purpose, and while their lives paralleled each other they had kept their distance, until Mary. And though Magnus was infamous for his legendary exploits and skills, he was by no means a match for Decimus.
There was not a soul who could touch the man. The Church had given Decimus complete rein in tracking down heretics.
Many wondered if the Church Fathers themselves feared the man’s power. He was relentless in his pursuit, and in his punishment and in the deliverance of those who did not abide by God’s laws.
Michael turned at the crunch of twigs, knowing the soft footfalls belonged to Mary.
Her beauty startled him as it had the night before. Dirt and grime had disguised her loveliness in the daylight. He had given little thought to her features as they traveled through the woods toward safety, though he had caught a brief glimpse of her beauty when they stopped at the stream to drink. A quick handful of water to her face had removed some of the dirt and a twist of her blond hair pinned to her head had given him a slight indication that there was more to this woman then he had first noticed.
Now, however, seeing her in the bright sunshine was like seeing her for the first time. Her waist-length blond hair was scrubbed clean and it looked the color of rich golden honey. It was loosely tied near the end with a ribbon; the mass of curls laying over one shoulder. Her round face glowed and her full cheeks were rosy and bright like her full lips. Her blue eyes sparkled like a child eager to start the day.
But her body was all woman.
The village women had generously supplied her with clean garments, and Mary now wore a brown wool skirt and pale yellow linen blouse. The meager attire did not draw the eye, but the full rich curves of her body did. She had full breasts that gave way to a narrow waist that curved out to full hips. She was a woman of substantial form and beauty.
She waved to him and her smile grew.
If it were a different time, a different place, different circumstances perhaps, he could let himself care for her. But he could not and the thought was utter nonsense. It would not be safe for either of them.
He walked toward her, banishing all thoughts but her safety from his mind.