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)
Patricia spoke softly, but Mary heard. “Clean hair feels so very good.”
Mary nodded vigorously just before both women set to work.
It took a bit of time to wash away the dirt and grime then comb the tangles out, but Glenda and Patricia were patient and by the time they were done Glenda exclaimed, “My lord, you have beautiful blond hair.”
“I have never seen such a stunning color,” Patricia said and touched the long strands. “It is an angel’s color for sure, pure and light.”
The door opened slowly and Michael walked in.
Glenda, with Patricia’s help, hastily rid the cottage of any mess, turned back the soft blue wool blanket on the straw mattress, and after a quick blessing for a good night’s sleep, the two women closed the door behind them.
Michael made no move; he remained near the closed door staring at her.
The silence grew uncomfortable, Mary wondering if there was a problem. Exhausted and fearing it might be necessary to continue their journey without rest, she turned wide, questioning eyes on him.
He walked over to her. “Nothing is wrong. It is just that you are so very beautiful.”
She never felt comfortable when someone commented on her beauty. She did not think herself any different than other women, but since she could remember people, men and women alike, commented on her beauty. It was a neverending litany she attempted to ignore, feeling her looks common enough.
Strangely this time she felt different with the compliment coming from Michael. It pleased her.
She wished she could thank him for the compliment and tell him that she thought him a brave and unselfish man. Instead she displayed her deep gratitude with a significant gesture, she pressed her fingers to her lips then pressed them to his lips, the black shroud feeling coarse against her fingertips.
They both stood rigid when the implications of her actions settled in. She had actually expressed her feelings with a kiss and the thought startled her.
She stepped away realizing her actions inappropriate, but he reached out and gently captured her wrist. “You are grateful for my help.”
She nodded vigorously.
“I understand and I am glad to be of service to you.”
Service. She had to remember he worked with Magnus to protect her, nothing more. He rescued her and she was grateful, nothing more. There would be nothing more for her in life than keeping free of Decimus.
“We will rest here for a few days while your final destination is determined.”
She nodded and forced a smile; a yawn followed.
“You will sleep peacefully tonight. There is nothing to fear; you are safe here.”
She reached out to him but stopped before touching him, her hand suspended in air between them, uncertain what to do. Her gesture displayed a need for him. She did need his protection, but she desired his comforting touch. She liked the feel of his arms wrapped around her. She did not feel so alone, so isolated from the world with him beside her.
He took hold of it and drew her slowly into the safety of his dark embrace. They stood for a moment in silence, an odd pair joined together, shadow and light. Then Mary yawned again, her eyes grew heavy and her head drifted down on his shoulder. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He gently laid her on the overstuffed straw mattress then slipped in beside her.
He pulled the blue wool blanket over her as she snuggled against him, closed her eyes and slept.
Chapter 5
Michael sat on a decaying stump in the woods near the village. It was a secluded spot partially encircled by oak, birch, and elm trees. Birds chirped, squirrels raced up and down the trees in play, and rabbits sat feasting on freshly sprouted blades of grass. A new day had dawned, the brilliant sun chasing away the shadows of the night, but he was a shadow not easily chased away.
He removed his black leather gloves, rubbed his hands together and pressed a thumb to each palm, kneading the skin. It was his way of reminding himself he was flesh and blood. A man, not merely a shadow.
The kneading slowed until he stopped completely and touched his fingers to his lips.
A kiss.
He recalled Mary’s fingers on his lips after touching her own. The pressure of her warm flesh had tingled his lips and sent a quiver through his body, undetectable to Mary, for he had displayed no response to her innocent gesture of gratitude.
He quickly dropped his hand from his mouth. He did not need to linger on nonsense. She was appreciative of his help and expressed in action what she could not express in words.
And yet . . .
He stood slipping his gloves on. She was so very beautiful, her long hair the color of honey, her face that of an angel with gentle blue eyes. A man could drown in this shapely body that felt so right in his arms.