Chasing Shadows

by Ashley Townsend

  Sarah focused on his warmth and tender touch, savoring the love and need she felt coming off him in waves. Was it possible to feel such all-consuming elation even as the poignant chasm of misery grew inside her chest, threatening to swallow her whole? How was it possible to feel so torn?

  Will broke the kiss, pulling back slowly. He let his forehead rest against hers, and Sarah gripped the front of his shirt, terrified to open her eyes and face reality as she tried to hold on to the memory of this moment.

  “Just in case,” he whispered. The breath he exhaled was soft against her face, and Sarah forced herself to open her eyes. She caught his tightly closed lids, so close to her own, as his fingers slid over her throat and under the chain.

  Opening his lids to half-mast, he let his nose brush hers as he pulled back a few inches, dragging the pendant into view. His hands slid down the chain and formed a fist around the necklace, tugging her closer again. “This was a promise,” he whispered, voice hitching. He didn’t expand on his words, but she understood what was left unsaid: He would not abandon her.

  Will’s hand moved from her neck to the side of her face. Brushing his thumb slowly back and forth over her cheekbone, he seemed in no hurry even as the riders drew near. The tender gesture and the warmth in his eyes caused her own to fill, and he gently brushed a lone tear from her cheek.

  “Please,” she whispered shakily.

  “No one can take what isn’t theirs, love. Faith and love can only be stolen if one chooses to let them go.” He pulled back, lips softening. “My life was once my own, but now it belongs only to you. He can’t take that from either of us.”

  Her throat was too full of unshed tears to speak. She wanted to tell him that his life belonged to God, not her—if only there were more time for that conversation. But as it stood, they first needed to survive this situation.

  Sarah’s grip on his shirt tightened. “Then let’s just run. We can hide in the forest and alert the castle later, after they’ve gone.”

  “Here is where I stand,” he said again, his voice softer but somehow more passionate and determined than before. “This is where I fight for you.”

  Sarah blinked at his unyielding resolve. “You really do love me,” she breathed, amazed. He had said the words before, but in the back of her mind, she had thought it somewhat impossible that he could truly love her. But seeing the words written all over his face as he professed his commitment to protect her removed any remaining doubt.

  Will’s eyes stayed locked on hers for another long moment before he turned his gaze to the dark silhouette making its way through the trees. His mouth hardened into a grim line.

  “To the death.”

  ~Chapter 46~

  Will pulled an arrow from his pack and set it in one fluid motion just as Damien’s horse came bounding through the trees. The animal shuffled uneasily, panting hard, each breath nearly a shriek as it fought for air. Damien appeared just as winded, cheeks flushed from the cold and his own rage. He was alone.

  Sarah hurriedly stuffed the crumpled letter into her sleeve for safekeeping before he spotted it.

  Launching himself from his dazed horse, Damien strode toward them and drew his sword. But Will’s bow was up in a flash, fingers gripping the string as he pointed an arrow right at his chest. Damien halted in place, glaring at the man who had him pinned to the spot.

  “Please, take another step,” Will encouraged lowly, drawing the strong chord back until the frame of the bow bent, resembling a diamond-shape. The notion of Damien being shot shouldn’t have felt like such a predicament to Sarah, since she had been tempted to strangle him when she became aware of his true character. He was a murderer, after all, and so he deserved to die.

  Didn’t he?

  It should have been cut and dry, but the idea of taking part in doling out his justice made Sarah’s stomach clench. Even worse was the thought of Will being the one to claim his life.

  She touched her fingers to the back of Will’s hand, the one gripping the handle of the weapon. “No,” she whispered, hoping he would understand her moral dilemma.

  Will looked down at her, perplexed, though she could tell he was watching Damien out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean, no? Even though Dunlivey and Allan got what was coming to them, he still killed your friend. Why are you protecting him?” He looked wary of her answer, dark eyes slightly wounded.

  “I’m not protecting him.” Her words were full of quiet strength, and she knew he comprehended her meaning.

  Will’s eyes softened, lips tipping wryly. “You fear too much for a soul that cannot be saved.”

  She shook her head and found her thoughts resting on Damien for the barest of seconds before settling on the man before her. “Every soul can be saved. All I want is to live long enough to convince you of that fact.”

  Will’s grip seemed to tighten on the string. “That is what I’m trying to do: keep us alive.”

  “Would you like to speak up?” Damien called out in agitation, taking a step forward.

  Will raised the bow at the movement, drawing his brows together in an expression that said he was not to be messed with. “One more step. Please,” he growled.

  But Damien didn’t heed the sarcastic warning and did take another step, closing the gap. “Why keep up the heroic charade? She doesn’t want you to kill me, so you won’t.”

  “Do not tempt me, Spaniard,” Will muttered.

  Damien grinned arrogantly, toying with him as he edged closer. “Does it concern you that she wants me unharmed, that she cares for me? Because it should.”

  An arrow sailed past Damien’s head and thunked into the tree over his shoulder, burrowing into the bark before Sarah even realized the string had been released. It vibrated inches from Will’s poised fingers before settling into place. “Care to test me again?”

  Sarah could only gape at his incredible talent. She had never actually seen Will fire his bow before and was breathless over his speed and accuracy with the weapon. He’d hardly moved when he released the string, almost as if it melded through his fingers and snapped forward on its own. Awed, Sarah stared at the arrow protruding from the bark of the tree well over twenty yards away and marveled at Will’s ability to come so close to his target. Then she shifted her gaze and realized he hadn’t missed.

  Stunned, Damien touched his fingers to his face and pulled them back, stained with blood dribbling from the small slice across his cheekbone. He glowered at Will. “You will pay for that.”

  Will loaded the bow again, though he held it relaxed in front of him. “You’re hardly in a position to make idle threats.” The words seemed like they should be accompanied by the cocky grin of one with the upper hand, yet Will’s face was all seriousness, his tone low and threatening.

  Damien looked to her, and his spiteful expression softened. It was like night and day from when he had stared Will down. Eyes searching her face, he said quietly, entreatingly, “I never wanted it to end this way. You showed me what freedom truly is, and I know it’s hardly fair to ask you to sacrifice yours. But I can’t let you turn me in; I’ve worked too hard to get where I am.”

  Sarah thought about telling him that she would go with him, wondering if it might buy some time. But then what? And he knew her too well to buy into the falsehood. It would never work.

  Sighing, she said, “Please, just let us go.”

  “And if I do, you won’t say a word?” He sounded almost bitter, and she didn’t bother to answer. His sarcasm faded, replaced by a deep sadness etched into his features. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Everything is a choice,” she whispered, but he was close enough now that he heard. Placing her hand over Will’s, touching rather than restraining him, she hoped the message was clear. “And I’ve made mine.”

  Will seemed to stand a little taller, chest swelling as he sucked in a breath. She snuck a glance up at him and caught the faint curve of his lips before looking back at Damien. Her eyes softened with pity at the
torment she saw in his gaze as he stared at their joined hands. And there he stood, alone in the cold. Her heart ached for him.

  Lowering her voice in sympathy, Sarah said, “But you’re making the wrong choice, Damien. It won’t solve anything.”

  “I never had you, did I?” he asked suddenly, as though she hadn’t spoken. He looked up to meet her gaze, his mouth drawn in an aggrieved line.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Sarah shook her head and whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry.” After all he’d done, she still cared for him, and those dejected, puppy dog eyes broke her heart. She knew she’d never see the gold flecks dance with joy in his gaze ever again. Some part of her badly wanted to give him a head start before she turned the guards onto his scent, but then she would be letting a murderer run free. Closing her eyes, she released a shuddering breath.

  Oftentimes, the right choice was the most difficult one to make.

  “If I could take it all back,” Damien whispered. She looked up to see him advancing, watching her intently. Will’s hand tightened on his weapon, though he didn’t raise it. Damien spoke to her as though it were just the two of them. “If I could turn back time, I would change my past. The future could be different for us.”

  Sarah’s head tilted sadly to the side as she studied him, a lost man clinging to the one thing that gave him hope. But he was looking in the wrong place. Her voice was soft. “Turning back time wouldn’t help—trust me. You’re only hurting yourself. Please, just go.” Her voice hitched with pleading.

  His steps faltered, and he winced as if she had slapped him. “Sarah—”

  Will raised his weapon. “She said to shove off, Spaniard.”

  Damien’s eyes flared, but Sarah’s gaze was drawn to the east as the sound of barks and sharp whistles became suddenly distinct. She nearly groaned. The search was back on.

  Will broke eye contact with his target for one millisecond as his ears picked up the sound, but it was enough.

  Charging, sword at the ready, Damien’s legs ate up the distance between them as he aimed for Will, taking advantage of their momentary attention shift. Sarah’s reflexes were too slow.

  “Down!” Will cried, shoving her away from him. She stumbled, falling to her knees in the snow. He may have just saved her life, but the action cost Will valuable time.

  Even with lightning speed as he righted the arrow, Will was too slow in raising the bow to get off a proper shot. The arrow discharged, hitting the ground at Damien’s feet as he advanced, slicing his sword toward his adversary’s chest.

  “No!” Sarah shrieked, eyes wide.

  Will’s quick reflexes brought his weapon up to deflect the blow, and the gleaming metal blade connected with the thick, sturdy band protecting the wood. The weapons clanged as they connected, both men grunting. Will kicked Damien in the stomach to put some distance between them, and Sarah realized with sickening alarm that an unarmed bow was hardly a match for a sword.

  Oh, God, protect him. She breathed the prayer in her head, and it became like a chant in the back of her mind as she watched the fight with breathless apprehension.

  Will’s kick had been strong, giving him enough time to throw an arrow into place and launch it in Damien’s direction as he stumbled to right himself. Damien immediately dropped into a roll, and the arrow shot over his head, landing somewhere in the snow.

  Damien lurched to his feet, eyes shining with purpose and focus. The feral, hotheaded way he had first attacked had quickly been replaced by his training. Now, he was focused and confident, no longer controlled by his emotions or impulsive ideas. The calculated way they studied each other, circling, as if sorting out their opponent’s weaknesses, was almost more unnerving that the actual fight, stretching Sarah’s nerves taut until she had to bite her knuckles to keep from crying out. She couldn’t stop either of them at this point.

  Will shifted positions and backed up a step, drawing the fight away from Sarah. Then the men came at each other in the same instant, metal clashing against metal. Will held his hands wide on the bow to keep them from the path of the blade, grunting as each man fought for an advantage.

  In a flash, Damien slipped his sword down the wood, slicing Will’s knuckles and catching him off-guard as he used the momentum of his weapon as leverage to wrench the bow from Will’s grasp. The carved instrument flew through the air several feet before landing quietly in the snow. Sarah considered retrieving it, but didn’t know how without running directly through the melee.

  With one swift stroke, Damien flicked his sword in the air, stopping Sarah’s heart. Will lurched back in time to avoid the devastating blow that would have caught him across the side. But unarmed and unable to deflect the attack, the tip of the blade ripped a long seam in his shirt. Sarah thought it had only caught his clothing, but a thin trail of blood began to ooze from the long gash stretching across the length of his chest. Red quickly stained the white fabric of his torn shirt, saturating the frayed edges until droplets of blood escaped, splattering on the ground and marring the perfect white at their feet.

  Grimacing, Will took a step back toward a copse of trees, but the keen look in his eyes belied the retreat. Damien’s next blow was cocky and wide, though just as fierce as the others. Ducking, Will rolled to the side, and the sword connected with the thick tree. In a fluid motion, he rolled into a crouch, retrieving the knife concealed in his boot and holding it at the ready as he waited for the attack.

  But Damien was still fighting with the sword, trying to dislodge it from the unrelenting trunk of the tree. Will came at him then, and the Spaniard abandoned his weapon, diving to the side to avoid the slice of Will’s short blade.

  The sound of the approaching search was entirely clear now, and Sarah realized with a surge of fright that they were nearly upon them. “This is madness!” she yelled, trying to get their attention.

  Damien had a knife of his own in hand suddenly, and he stared Will down. A dog howled loudly, as though it had caught a fresh scent, and the keening sound raised the hairs on Sarah’s arms.

  Damien looked at her then, breaking concentration to shoot her a penetrating, searching look before he shot off into the forest opposite the approaching party. Will looked like he was tempted to follow, fists clenching and unclenching as his bloodied chest heaved. The bleeding had slowed, but his heart was pumping too rapidly directly beneath the wound for it to stop altogether, even in the cold. Could he run? At this point, she wasn’t sure if it would matter.

  A sharp whistle cut through the woods, a shrill musical note followed by a succession of unclear companions. Will’s whole body stiffened as he listened intently to the call as it was repeated.

  His face cleared, and he speared Sarah with a promising glance. “I have to end this,” he said hurriedly. Then he dashed off the same way Damien had gone, snatching his bow from the snow as he ran.

  Sarah gasped in shock. “Will, don’t!”

  “He knows too much,” he called over his shoulder.

  She gaped after him as the shouts and thrashing in the woods behind her grew louder. She spun around to face the unknown as Will disappeared into the forest, leaving her there to face-off alone as the guards descended on her.

  —

  Breathing hard from the fight and the loss of blood, Will scrambled through the forest, dodging trees and leaping over the brush. Lisandro had gotten a head start, but Will knew these woods better than any spoiled lord. Besides, he had his knife and bow for a long-distance shot, so he needn’t be too close.

  His thoughts momentarily steered him back to Sarah, and he hoped she would forgive him for pursuing Lisandro. But he couldn’t allow him to live.

  Movement in his peripheral vision caused him to jerk his head to the right in time to deflect the knife as a body rammed into him from the side. Will grunted, the movement jarring his chest, and he lost his grip on the bow as it went flying into the woods. He felt the ground beneath him for second before he leapt to his feet. Never let your adversary catch you
unawares, Uncle Thomas said when they’d trained.

  Will grimaced. Driven by wounded pride, he had been too hotheaded to pay attention to his surroundings, or he might have seen the foreign little cheat lying in wait. The man watched him with those beady, murky brown eyes.

  Flipping the knife, Will caught the handle so that his elbow pointed out with the blade. Let them strike first, but then strike fast and smart. The words echoed in his mind. Thomas had cautioned him, especially when he would fight with more passion or avidity than proficiency, to wait out his opponent and sift out his greatest weakness.

  Unfortunately, the Spaniard appeared to be assessing him in the same deliberate manner. But Will planned to prod him into taking the first lunge.

  Pulling the soiled fabric away from his chest in a pointed manner, Will grinned tauntingly. “I assumed you would have better aim. My mistake.”

  Lisandro shot him a cocky smile of his own, as if he knew something Will did not. The expression was unnerving, though Will didn’t show it. “I might have attacked out of rage at first, but do you believe killing you in front of the lady would endear her to me?” Damien clicked his tongue in consternation. “Of course not. That’s why I was hoping you would follow.” He held his dagger before him, blade out. “Shall we?”

  How had he not seen that the Spaniard was luring him away? Shaking his head over being outplayed, Will narrowed his eyes. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  The Spaniard took the invitation and lunged forward, knife flashing in a half-hearted movement. He was just testing Will and his ability, and he let him. Even with Will’s added height and strength, the Spaniard’s agility made them evenly matched.

  With this in mind, Will used his whit rather than brute strength. He allowed some close calls, pretending he was weakening as he barely ducked to avoid the blade lashing out over his head. He toyed with Lisandro, playing the fool while he waited for the man’s confidence to grow into arrogance before letting him have it.