Dark Warrior (7 page)

And he wondered how he would ever let her go.

M
ary woke the next morning to the smell of roasting fish with wild onions and though the delicious scent tempted, she had little appetite. Her foolishness disturbed her. She was behaving like a young lass in love when she barely knew Michael. How ridiculous of her, or how needy?

Was
it love? Or was it the need to be protected? She remembered her father telling her that love would come to her when she least expected it. It would find her, she would not be able to hide from it and she should not worry over it. But then he had been advising a young girl of ten who thought herself wildly in love with a local village boy.

She had not thought herself in love since, her life having been torn apart shortly afterward. With little experience to call on, she was not certain what to make of her feelings.

Perhaps she would just wait on love.

She brushed her hair and tied it in a ribbon before joining Michael at the table.

“I fished early and thought to surprise you with a good meal,” he said.

Was he attempting to appease her for last night?

She nodded and picked sparingly at the fish. She simply had no appetite for food and could not force herself to eat no matter how delicious it tasted.

Michael said not another word until he was finished eating. “I need to make my rounds again to see that the surrounding area has remained free of intruders. It will take me most of the day.”

She nodded and patted her chest, letting him know she would do fine that there was no need for concern, though she would have much preferred to spend time with him than away from him.

With a hint of annoyance he said, “You are brave to a fault.”

Mary stared at him, confused by his statement.

He offered her no explanation, was only adamant in his demand that she remain close by the castle ruins.

She pointed in the direction of the stream, not far away but not noticeable from where they stood either.

He shook his head. “Nay, you will remain here while I am gone.”

She sighed in agitation and with hands flying in all manner of movement, she attempted to tell him that a trip to the stream would not place her in danger.

His laughter is what halted her hand motions, so shocked was she to hear the clear distinct sound and how far from his annoyance only moments before.

“If you talk as much with your mouth as your hands there will be little quiet in these woods.”

She punched him playfully in the arm.

His laughter stopped and he stepped closer to her. “You will need more strength than that to stop a man.”

She shivered suddenly, recalling the strength of the man who had shoved her to the ground and choked her. Her hand went immediately to her throat.

“I did not mean to frighten you, Mary, though I do mean for you to be prepared.”

She made a jabbing motion.

“Do you know how to use a knife?”

She nodded, but knew not how to explain with her hands how the metalsmith in her village had taught her to wield a knife with accuracy. After she had made a pest of herself in wanting to learn about swords and knives, he had finally surrendered and taught her much.

“Until I can be sure you know well how to handle a knife, you will remain near the castle.”

She gave him an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands as though in surrender.

“Good, we agree. I will see you later near the evening meal, which I will have with me when I return.”

She grabbed his arm as he walked passed her. How did she tell him to stay safe and return to her?

He appeared to understand. “I will be fine.”

Her eyes questioned,
what if?

“If I do not return—have faith, Mary—remain here. Someone will come for you and say the words you and Magnus agreed upon.”

She nodded and could not help but place her hand to his chest, over his heart, for a brief moment before he left her side.

She thought she felt him tremble but it was too brief to be sure, for he quickly moved away from her. She watched as he disappeared into the woods.

She busied herself with cleaning off the table and then explored areas of the castle she had yet to see. Much of the space was nothing but rubble, though on occasion she came across an exciting find. She found a tattered tapestry beneath stone and charred wood that would serve well as a blanket, Michael's shroud and the brush was not always sufficient against the chilled night. She was delighted when she found three pewter goblets and four plates. The find of several baskets delighted her. It would make gathering herbs, onions, and roots easier.

She smiled when she found a large brooch minus its jewels. It made her wonder about the lady of the castle. She could not imagine such a life of luxury. She was a peasant, though glad not to have worked in a castle. She had heard stories from those who had serviced a lord; many talked of cruelty and endless days of work.

Nay, she was glad to be free, a peasant but free of the cruelty of an oppressive lord. She continued to search the castle and was enthusiastic over several more finds. When she was done she deposited the items on the table in front of the hearth.

One look at her dirt-covered hands, and the feel of perspiration on her neck and back, and she knew that she needed to wash. But she was not to go to the stream and there was not enough water in the bucket.

She faced a dilemma. She had not actually given Michael her word on not going to the stream, and it was not far from the castle. It was a very warm day for spring and the cool water was enticing.

Should she take the chance or abide by Michael's dictate?

It would be hours before his return and she would not be long at the stream.

A trickle of sweat ran down her back, resolving her debate. She hurried off to the stream to be done with it.

The cool water felt refreshing against her warm skin and before she realized it, Mary had shed her clothes and hurried into the stream for a quick wash. The strong, rapid flow of the water surprised her, and she lowered herself so that she could rinse her entire body of sweat and grime.

The water moved around swiftly and she sensed it was not wise for her to remain in the cold, forceful stream. She shivered as she made her way back to the water's edge. Return footing was a bit more treacherous and she slipped now and again.

She attempted to take each step more carefully, though try as she might her footing remained unsound and she fought to keep herself standing. Land finally was a few feet ahead and she sighed with relief when suddenly her foot slipped on a stone and she lost all balance and tumbled head first into the stream.

The water rushed in, swirling her up and around in circles. She was caught in a whirlpool making it impossible for her to grab onto anything. The water carried her, dipping her, swirling her, filling her with fright. She choked and sputtered each time her head surfaced and fought to gain control of her thrashing ride, finally reaching up to catch hold of anything solid. Her hand snatched a heavy branch hanging over the stream.

She dug her wet hands into the tree bark and looked around her. She could not tell how far she had traveled. The stream had widened and deepened as it had carried her off, but she had never gone farther than the castle, so she did not know if she was merely around a bend or a good distance away.

She felt foolish and fearful. She was naked and knew not where she was, and she did not know what she would do. For the moment she thought it best to pull herself to the water's edge and sit in the shadows of the large tree that had rescued her.

When her mind calmed she gave her plight rational thought. If she followed the stream she was bound to return to where she had entered. Her clothes would mark the spot.

She would need to be very careful and extremely alert. She shivered at the thought of walking along the edge of the stream naked, but what choice did she have? She could not remain where she was.

She gathered all her courage and set a quick pace alongside the stream, keeping a keen eye and ear to her surroundings. Her pace was steady and she prayed that she was close to the castle.

She stopped suddenly, listening, sure she had heard something.

Voices and the snort of a horse
.

She hurried reluctantly into the stream to hide in the water, her head concealed by the drooping branches of a large willow tree. She kept a firm hand on a thick branch so that the swift water would not carry her away. She heard the voices again. They drew closer and she shivered not from the cold water but from the sound of men.

Then one voice, far different from the others, spoke. He commanded like a man confident of being obeyed. His threats were subtle and meant to instill fear and he certainly succeeded, for the other men's voices quivered when they spoke. She imagined they cowered at his side like the dominions of the devil doing his bidding out of fear.

It could only be one man.

Decimus
.

“You will travel where I order, do you understand?”

“Aye, sir.” The voices responded in unison.

“I
will
snare my prey, no thanks to the likes of any one of you. You are a useless lot with not a brain among you.”

Decimus continued to belittle his men and Mary closed her eyes and prayed they would not find her, though she opened them fast enough when a reference was made to her.

“You allow a mere woman to avoid capture. You were not even able to prevent her escape. She is more a warrior than any of you.”

How odd to hear Decimus praise her.

“Find her or suffer the consequences,” he said sharply. “Now, be on your way.”

She remained perfectly still. They would be gone soon, very soon she told herself. Mary listened as rider after rider rode off. She waited patiently, taking extra care that all the men had left the area and just as she was about to pull herself out of the water, she heard a horse draw nearer to the stream.

“Idiots all of them.”

Fear shot through Mary like an icy arrow. It was Decimus's voice and he was inching his horse closer to where she hid. She froze and urged her body not to tremble, but her fright was great and shivers raced through her.

She heard him dismount and walk to the water's edge. She bit her trembling lip and dug her fingers into the branch. She warned herself not to panic, to remain still and he would not find her.

The sight of his hand dipping into the stream suddenly made her angry. It was the hand of the man who robbed her of her family and her life. She took notice of his lean fingers and a sapphire ring he wore, and the urge to see more of her enemy tormented her. If she inched over just a bit she might be able to have a look at him.

He stood abruptly and she stilled.

Had he heard or spotted her? She waited for her fate to fall.

In seconds he mounted his horse and rode off and she remained in the cold water, shivering in relief. She would not dare leave its safety until she was sure Decimus was far away.

She waited and waited, then finally pulled herself out, her body trembling. She walked as softly and soundlessly as possible, hugging the water's edge. Every now and again she thought she heard voices and she quickly sought the protection of the stream or within the dense branches of a willow until she was certain no one was near.

Was Michael safe? Did he know Decimus was near? The thought haunted her, but she had no time to worry over him; she had to make her way back to the castle, and then she had to warn Michael that Decimus was nearby.

Relief sent a final shiver to rack her body as she spied her clothes on the ground by the tree. It was near to nightfall. She had stopped many times and waited endlessly to make certain no one was near. She hurried into her skirt and blouse and slipped into her boots.

She shivered, feeling cold to her bones from the constant dunking in the cold stream and her close brush with the devil himself, Decimus.

She was almost to the castle when Michael stepped out of the shadows and she jumped.

“Where have you been?” His voice was harsh and filled with concern.

Mary was so relieved that she had survived her ordeal and that Michael was safe that she wanted to throw herself into his strong arms, but she knew that it was imperative that he be made aware of Decimus.

“Your hair is wet.” He grabbed hold of her hand. “Your skin wrinkled. You have been in the water.”

She nodded, her eyes round with fright.

He grabbed her by both arms. “What happened?”

He did not wait for an answer. He hurried her along to the castle with a firm hold of her arm. He gently shoved her down to sit on the bench in front of the hearth.

She quickly sought the fire's heat, rubbing her hands together in front of the blazing flames. The warmth tickled her cold flesh and she shivered hard; it took several minutes before the flames' heat began to penetrate her cold flesh and set to warming her.

He handed her a branch. “Tell me.”

Her hand shook as she wrote and he moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her and pressing his body next to hers to share his heat.

Briefly she described her fall into the stream.

“You were naked in the water?”

She stared at him for she had purposely omitted that fact.

“Your garments are dry,” he said, explaining how he knew.

Foolish,
she wrote.

“Very.”

His blunt, terse response told her he was angry.

“I told you to stay away from the stream.”

Foolish
, she wrote again.

“More than foolish.”

She did not want to hear any more about that. It was imperative he know the rest.

Decimus. Men. Close by
.

“You came across Decimus and his men?”

She nodded vigorously and explained as best she could what had happened.

“Decimus travels north, thinking we have gone to seek safety from Magnus.”