She continued to stare, waiting to hear more.
“Do not look for answers I cannot give you. It is safer for you to remain ignorant of me. Know that Magnus sent me to see you to safety and that is what I will do.”
She shook her head to let him know his answer would not do. She wanted something more to prove Magnus had sent him.
“I spoke the words Magnus told me to speak to you so that you would know he sent me. Trust that it is so and know that he would have come himself if his bride-to-be Reena was not in danger.”
Excitement and worry gripped her all at once. She was happy that Magnus would marry but was concerned for his future wife. She squeezed Michael’s arm wanting so badly to ask him dozens of questions.
“I understand your concern. Reena, though pint-sized, is courageous; Magnus will allow no harm to befall her.”
Suddenly a hard shiver racked her body. He moved closer and draped his arm over her. She did not tense this time; his warmth was much too welcome and warded off the intense chill.
“I can give you but one day to rest, no more. Decimus searches for all escaped prisoners with a vengeance. He puts the fear of God in his men so that they will obey him without question, which means he will order them to find you no matter how long it takes. I must get you to a temporary place of safety as quickly as possible.”
She shivered with the reminder of Decimus’s relentless thirst for revenge. Stories abounded of his cruelty, some so absurd that Mary could think them nothing more than tall tales. She would, however, only need to see a vision of her parents’ horrible fate to know that Decimus was capable of the unspeakable.
Would there ever be a place of safety for her? She had been lulled into a false sense of security in the last couple of years. She had thought herself safe from the evil that hunted her, and she had begun to think of life without fear of capture. She had wrongly assumed Decimus searched for her no more, or perhaps she had hoped that he had lost interest in her. She had been barely eleven when her parents died. What harm could she have done him? Or had her escape been a wound to his reputation that had festered and putrefied with the years?
She fell into a troubled slumber, Michael’s protective presence a haven from her fears.
Daylight was fading when she woke to find herself alone. She grew anxious over Michael’s absence, then realized how foolish her thought. He would not abandon her; he had entered into an agreement with Magnus to see to her safety. She could rely on him at least for now. Eventually she would have only herself to rely on and she would survive. She could not allow Decimus victory over her, not after all this time and all the heartache he had caused her.
She noticed an old bucket near the pallet that had not been there the night before.
Fresh water.
She scooped up the cool liquid and drank. The chilled water eased the pain in her throat and she sighed with relief. She thought to wash her face, she must certainly look frightful, but if this was their only drinking water she did not wish to waste it. Her face would just have to remain dirty.
“Drink your fill.”
She jumped, startled by Michael’s voice, not having heard him enter.
She nodded her thanks and again took a handful to quench her seemingly relentless thirst. Perhaps it was the awareness that it might be some time before water would again be available.
Michael sat beside her and unfolded a part of his robe that he had bunched together and used like a sack. Berries and edible roots spilled out.
She smiled and patted her stomach.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
Mary nodded and reached for some berries.
“I cannot chance a fire or we would have feasted on meat.”
She scooped up a fat root and grinned wide. This meal is fine. She detected a laugh but was not certain of it. She thought under all that darkness must lie a hint of light.
She pointed to the food and then to him.
“I must confess I ate while I gathered.”
She finished the root and all of the berries, sighed her contentment.
“Your throat,” he said, raising his gloved hand slowly, careful not to frighten her. “Does it continue to pain you?” He gently stroked the bruised area with a lone finger.
She sat very still, hiding her fear of his faint touch, but her startled, wide eyes alerted him to her discomfort.
His removed his hand slowly; they sat quietly for several minutes until he ended the awkward silence.
“We will leave tomorrow night.”
She nodded.
“You should rest. We have much land to cover.”
She wished to know their destination. She pointed to him then herself, then walked her fingers across her palm and shrugged.
“Northwest, to a small village where I have friends who will shelter us,” he answered.
Another matter that needed attention was a quick walk in the woods. She would prefer to go alone but with night having fallen, no voice to cry out for help, and unreliable legs, she knew his company was necessary.
She pointed to the door and once again she walked her fingers across her palm and pointed to herself.
He understood and helped her to stand. “Your legs will hold you?”
She shrugged and nodded simultaneously, indicating she was uncertain but without choice.
They walked a short distance into the dense woods, his firm arm around her waist. He released her gently and made certain she remained steady on her feet before bending down to snatch something off the ground. He handed her two stones.
“I will leave you to your privacy and be only a short distance away. If you should need me, throw the one stone and I will come to you. When you are finished toss one stone then the other and I will come to you.”
She acknowledged with a nod then saw to her needs. Her legs pained under her full weight. When she finished she did as he had said, she tossed the first stone then the second. He appeared before her like a phantom materializing out of the night, giving her a start.
His arm quickly circled her waist. “I startled you; I am sorry.”
She shook her head and, with hand motions she hoped made sense, attempted to let him know that in time she would adjust to his strange manner.
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.
Michael seemed intent on keeping their arduous pace; he showed no signs of fatigue. She wondered how his black garb did not become burdensome when the sun pierced the heavy foliage and grew more potent with the day.
She wished she could call out to him to let him know she needed water and food. A sprinkle of perspiration marked her forehead. If she could pin up her long hair, pull it off her back and neck, it would be a welcoming relief. And rest—oh, how she wished she could rest if only for a moment.
He stopped suddenly and Mary almost collided with him. He stood still and listened, and she did the same, hoping to hear what had caught his attention, praying it was not footsteps.
It took a moment but she heard the familiar sound and smiled. It was faint but distinct—a brook or stream. She wanted to run fast, cup handful after handful of water to drink and splash on her face. She eagerly turned, ready to find the stream.
Michael took hold of her arm. “We must be careful. Any who travel will look for water to refresh themselves and we must not be seen.”
They made their way cautiously toward the sounds and, after Michael made certain they were alone, walked to the stream.
Mary immediately dropped down, cupped some water and did not stop drinking until her thirst was quenched. Then she proceeded to wash her face. The water felt refreshingly cool against her warm skin.
From the corner of her eye she saw Michael scoop water into his ungloved hand and drink. This was the first time she caught a hint of flesh. She was surprised to see that his skin was warm in color, not pale as one would expect, as he spent his days completely shrouded from the sun.
He finished quickly, reached for the glove beside him on the ground, and stood. “I will find food.”
She nodded eagerly and returned to rinsing her face with the cool water. When she finished she combed her tangled hair with her fingers as best she could. Mary then looked for a twig; picking one off the ground, she twisted her hair up onto her hea
d and threaded the sturdy stick through the knot. She retrieved from the loose hem her stones, then fashioned a pouch with the corner of her tunic, knotting it to keep the them in place. She tucked one stone in her belt, ready and handy to use when necessary. She felt refreshed.
Michael was standing beside a tall tree. He stood perfectly still and seemed as focused on her, or perhaps his attention was on something in the distance, beyond Mary.
She turned but saw nothing, and when she glanced back to Michael she jumped; he stood beside her. She held her palm out, walked her fingers across it then pointed to her ears and shook her head.
“Silent steps are necessary for me.” He held out his cupped hands filled with berries.
Mary took a handful and savored their sweet juice.
“We will rest for only a few moments; we have a distance to go and cannot waste time.”
Mary nodded, walked to the water’s edge to sit and give her weary legs rest. Michael joined her, offering the remaining berries. A tender smile showed her appreciation and she reached out, gently brushing the berries from his hand into hers. She stared at his glove-covered hand realizing that strength and tenderness rested there. He could pick delicate berries without crushing them, and yet the same hand could snap a man’s neck. He was a contrast of shadow and light and she could not help but wonder what had created him.
She wished she could speak, ask him questions. A sudden thought struck her and she looked around excitedly, reached for a stick nearby. Then she wrote in the dirt in front of them.
Why?
She pointed at him, her finger going up and down the length of him.
“Why do I conceal my identity?”
She nodded.
“If people could look upon the Dark One, he would be dark no more. And he could help no one.”
Why help?
He did not answer immediately. He turned his head away and answered harshly. “I have no choice.” He stood and held his hand out to her. “We must go.”
She dropped the stick and took his hand. She had touched on a subject he did not wish to discuss, did not wish to reveal. Strange, they were so much alike. They both hid. She from Decimus, but who did he hide from?
Dark Warrior Page 2
