Michael stirred and she was quickly brought out of her musings. It was time for them to go and he parted the thick branches for her.
She stepped out and placed her hand to her neck to see to her wound.
“You are hurt.”
He sounded angry as he examined her wound but gently wiped away the blood, his glove-covered finger lingering on her neck. This tenderness was in such contrast to his harshness. A touch barely detectable, a faint whisper across her skin. Gooseflesh raced over her.
She gently pushed his finger away and shook her head, letting him know it was nothing to be concerned with, then pointed to the direction where the men had disappeared.
“We must change our course. We cannot risk meeting those men along the trail. It will delay our arrival time by several hours and the terrain will prove burdensome at times.”
She shrugged; she understood there was little choice.
“Think of the food and soft pallet you will rest upon tonight; it will be the impetus that keeps you going.”
Was that a note of teasing in his harsh voice? She hoped so, for it made him more human.
Several hours later she fought tears and exhaustion. There was no trail to follow. They climbed hills, scaled rocks, descended into valleys and climbed out of them. She barely felt her legs, and her arms ached from pushing away branches and grasping them to help her climb. She had thought she ached before but never like this, never had she felt so compelled to drop to the ground and give up.
“A short distance more.”
He had encouraged her with those words time and time again, but now they only meant more endless walking and climbing. And when she thought things could not get worse, night fell and darkness rushed around them.
The barely visible path was now impossible to see, nor could she see Michael, his black garments blending with the night. He finally stopped and, standing on the edge of a slope, he pointed down into the valley.
She wished she could cry out with joy when she saw the small village, lights glowing from the cottage windows.
He took her hand and helped her descend into the valley. As they got closer she caught the scent of roasting meat and heard laughter and children playing, and she wanted to run and join them, leave her fears behind.
By the time they reached the first cottage her mouth was watering from the delicious scents. She was exhausted in body and mind. They were greeted with enthusiasm, almost as if the villagers were expecting him.
They were ushered into a cottage, the children shooed away while the adults busily saw to getting them food.
Mary grabbed for the pewter tankard offered her, the smell sweet. She relished the pleasure of the brew’s thirst-quenching taste and the way it soothed her sore throat.
A short, stout woman introduced herself as she replenished Mary’s tankard. “I am Glenda and it is pleased we are to have you here.”
Mary quickly drank more of the soothing brew, her eyes turning wide in appreciation.
Glenda patted her shoulder. “We know you cannot speak. Rest your voice and do not worry. You are safe here with us.”
Mary eagerly reached for a thick hunk of dark bread to dip in the pot of stew placed in the center of the table. The delicious aroma made her salivate and she wanted to sigh at the exquisite taste.
“Rabbit stew,” Glenda said. “Enjoy, there is plenty, and when you are finished I will help you wash up if you would like?”
Mary was quick to nod her head. Tired as she was she wanted to rid herself of the dirt and grime and climb into bed clean and refreshed, ready to begin anew.
She looked over to Michael talking with a man in the corner of the cottage. The man looked old and worn though Mary could not say it was from age. His long red hair held not a hint of gray, his body appeared strong but weary. The curve of his shoulders showing he once carried heavy loads. He was worn out and worn down as though stamped on repeatedly until it was impossible for him to stand up.
She looked at Glenda and the other woman helping her, Patricia someone had called her. The two women possessed the same worn looks as the man, as though life had been harsh on them, especially Glenda. Deep lines and wrinkles intruded on a pretty round full face and bright blue eyes; a scar marred the right side of her jawbone. She may have been young in age, but she had been aged by life.
Mary sopped up the stew with piece after piece of bread, Glenda and Patricia encouraging her to eat as much as she wished.
Michael joined her at the narrow table and ate sparingly. He was quick to excuse himself explaining he had matters to attend to. Mary waved her arm to let him know she would be fine. She was enjoying the food and was not ready to stop eating. She looked forward to feeling clean again and a bed, a real bed with a warm blanket— Her thoughts had rushed to a halt. Michael would not be sleeping beside her tonight. She needed his warmth no more, but the safety and comfort of his arms was a different matter.