Mary stood, then laughed softly. “You have much to learn about me, Michael. Lord, it feels good to say your name. Michael. Michael. Michael.” She whirled around, raising her hands to the sky. “I love Michael.”
He remained silent, secretly pleased with hearing her declaration sung to the heavens. He knew she should not love him or that he should not feel the same about her, but for now, for this moment, he would take pleasure in hearing of her love for him.
She stopped and stared at him.
“You wait for what?” he asked after several minutes passed in silence.
She walked up to him and tapped at his chest directly over his heart.
He understood. She waited to hear how he felt about her. Could he deny her? Could he deny himself?
Mary was patient, not moving, remaining silent, waiting: she would have an answer.
Michael finally surrendered; he had no choice, he simply could not deny his love for her. “Lord, help me. Mary, I love you with all my heart and soul.”
She smiled, tilted her head, closed her eyes; she wanted a kiss.
But then so did he.
Their arms wrapped around each other simultaneously and together they surrendered to a breath-catching kiss. Lips touched, a hunger fed, a need filled, and love quenched. They nibbled at each other’s lips unwilling to part, wanting to continue tasting and touching, never wanting to let go. When it was done, silence reigned, for neither of them could speak, but both worried about the day when they would kiss for the last time.
That evening after supper Mary went to the stream to wash their eating utensils. She felt content and at peace. She could speak again, but most importantly he did not deny his love for her. He admitted it freely; of course she asked, but how else was she to know? He intended not only to protect her from Decimus but also from his love, and she would not have that. She trusted him enough to know he would not lie to her; he would speak the truth.
Her smile was wide as she scrubbed the plates with sand from the bottom of the stream. And before long, without realizing it, as she had so often done when she was young, she began to hum a tune that turned quickly into a song.
Michael had followed her to the stream, though kept his distance giving her time alone, time to think and be sensible about their love. But then love was not sensible, as his mother had often warned him.
The soft tune she hummed delighted him, but when she broke into song he was astonished. He had never heard such a beautiful voice in all his years. It was like listening to an angel.
When she finished the song of finding first love he felt a sense of disappointment. He wished for her to continue singing; her voice soothed his soul.
He watched as she stretched her hands up to the heavens. “Thank you. Thank you for the return of my voice and thank you with all my heart for Michael’s love.”
He had thought she could not surprise him any more than she already had, but he was wrong. To hear her give thanks to the heavens for his love tugged at his heart and shivered his soul.
“One day you may regret loving me.”
Startled, she turned—but she wore a smile. “Never.”
He walked over to her. “You give your love to a stranger, that is not wise.”
“You are not a stranger to me. You are my hero; you saved me and delivered me to freedom, and now you protect me.” She walked to him and tapped his chest. “And you love me.”
“You will not let me forget that.”
“Never.” She laughed. “I will remind you until your dying day and then beyond.”
He reached out and slipped his arms around her waist. “I shall never be free of you.”
“That is my plan.” She drifted into his tender embrace and rested her head on his chest. She loved hearing the soft steady rhythm of his heart and feeling the strength of him wrap around her. And though her plan might be nothing more than a dream, she refused to allow her dream to die. She would keep it strong in her heart and mind and pray for a miracle.
A strike of lightning and clap of thunder moved them apart, though they clasped hands, then stared up at the night sky wondering where it had come from. There was no sign of a storm.
Was it an omen?
Mary shivered.
Michael tugged at her hand and led the way back to the castle. She scooped the plates up and hurried along with him. The dark sky suddenly grew darker and heavy clouds raced like avenging warriors across the starless sky.
The first drop of rain fell before they reached the safety of the castle. Once inside, Mary dropped the plates on the wooden table and they ducked beneath the partial roof covering their sleeping pallet.