Dark Warrior by Donna Fletcher Page B

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.
    â€œThey 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.
    â€œNo 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.
    â€œI 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?
    Or was she exhausted and not making an ounce of sense?
    â€œSleep,” he ordered. “We still have much distance to travel.”
    With a raised hand she circled the air around her, tossed her hands in frustration, pointed to her feet, crinkled her face, and shook her head while waving her finger.
    To her surprise he laughed, though it was a low rumble, restrained. “You are never going to walk long distances when this is over.”
    She nodded, confirming his understanding of her fumbling attempts at sign language. Then with one hand covering her yawn, she tugged with her other hand at his shroud for him to lie down and rest as well.
    With little space they had no choice but to snuggle against each other. In an instant Mary was fast asleep, her arms tucked in against his chest, her head to his shoulder, her body pressed firmly against his and his shroud used as a blanket to keep her warm.
    Michael however found sleep difficult. His body was tired, but much too aroused to sleep. It had all been so innocent the first night he found her in his arms out of necessity. She needed warmth and he had provided it. But that need for heat from a chilled night was not necessary when they stayed at the