Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
He slipped in beside her, and they lay next to each other barely touching, but it did not matter. He was finally there with her and she felt at ease, and so very relieved. She convinced herself that her growing dependence on him was born out of uncertainty and fear and that once her fate was known she would release him into the shadows from where he had come.
She drifted off to sleep and her dream came fast and swift.
She was running on a long stretch of barren road, her breathing labored as if she had run a long distance when suddenly her parents appeared on either side of her.
They looked healthy and strong as they did in life, though younger.
“Keep alert to your senses,” her father said.
“Trust your heart.” Her mother smiled.
“You must fight,” her father said.
“You have the strength,” her mother said.
“Love will be your only weapon,” her father warned as he reached out and grabbed her hand.
Mary woke with a start; Michael had tight hold of her hand.
“I am sorry to wake you, but we must leave at once.”
She shook away what little sleep remained and turned wide eyes on him.
He answered her silent query as he helped her out of bed.
“Decimus has found our trail; he is not far from the village.”
Chapter 7
Mary did not know how long she slept but it mattered not, for she was startled fully awake by the terrifying news. A sack of food and her freshly washed garments were wrapped in a plaid cloth and fashioned into a sack that Michael flung over his shoulder.
With her eyes wet with unshed tears, Glenda draped a brown wool shawl around Mary’s shoulders as she hugged and kissed her cheek and said, “Godspeed.”
Mary nodded and placed her hand on her heart and then to Glenda’s heart offering her appreciation for the woman’s generosity. Then, within a blink of an eye, they were gone from the village, slinking away under the cover of darkness.
Mary feared that the village would suffer for harboring them and attempted to express her concern to Michael. She tugged firmly on his black shroud to get his attention since he refused to heed to a simple nudge.
He finally stopped. “We have no time to spare.”
She frantically motioned her concern, pointing toward the village.
“They will be fine,” Michael assured her. “They are experienced at this sort of thing. But”—his emphasis was meant to get her attention and it did—“if we do not make haste and place distance between us and the village, there will be trouble for all.”
She understood, pointed her chin up, and waved him to follow her, as though he were the one delaying their escape. Before she even realized that she had no idea were they where or where they were going, Michael moved past her to take the lead again. His pace was swift and she kept up with him though visibility was difficult. The moon was new and its faint glow left their path mostly in darkness.
Michael walked the trail with confidence; Mary felt little of her own. The night shadows rushed along the ground, making it appear as if night demons scurried after them. She jumped more then once when large ominous shadows crossed her path.
They continued their journey, dawn near breaking on the horizon, when they came upon a mound of brush, which Michael moved aside to reveal a cave-like dwelling.
“No one will know we are here; we can rest. I doubt anyone has been following us.”
Mary agreed, squatting to enter the small dwelling. No one on horseback could have followed their path, and to track them at night would be impossible. As Michael pulled back the brush to cover the entrance, cutting off the increasing light of dawn, she realized not a soul would know of their secluded nest. They were safe for now.
Michael opened the sack and offered Mary the bread and cheese that Glenda had packed for them. Mary gratefully took the generous pieces and ate, their long walk having fueled her appetite.
She was not surprised when he took a leather drinking pouch from the sack and offered it to her. The moment she tasted the sweet cider she blessed Glenda threefold for her thoughtfulness. But then Glenda had been where she now was, and she had known what it meant to be hungry and thirsty.
Sleep was ready to claim her as soon as she finished her food and drink. She looked at Michael—her heart suddenly ached for him.
She pointed to his mask. He had not removed it since they first met. Her hand signaled that he should remove it. She attempted to convey that his secret was safe with her.
“I cannot,” he said, “for your safety and mine; I cannot.”
She caught disappointment in his voice as though he wished to do as she suggested. Did he wish for her to know him as much as she wished to know him?