Her body tingled and when he rolled off her, she turned and rested against him, his arm wrapping around her.
“I never imagined it to be so beautiful,” she said when her breathing calmed.
“Love makes it beautiful.”
“Then I am glad that I could know this moment with you.”
Michael held her tightly and she clung to him as though she feared to let go.
“I will keep you safe,” he said, knowing he reminded her much too often, but needing more so to remind himself, to believe and keep that belief firm in his heart.
“I know.” She fought not to shed the tears that threatened. It was hard holding them back when she hurt so badly. And she should not hurt now, not while she continued to bask in the pleasure of their lovemaking. But she could not help but wonder how she would share such intimacy with a man she hated. Could there be a worse torture?
“Are you all right?” he asked, having felt her tremble.
She would not let him know her thoughts for it would make their time together more difficult for them both.
“I am more than all right; I am wonderfully happy and deliciously content.”
He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “The feeling is mutual.”
“Good, then we shall rest so that we can feel this way again and again and again.”
“I could love you forever, Mary, and never tire of it.”
She sighed. “You say the most beautiful things to me.”
“When love fills one’s heart there can be only words of beauty.”
“Where did you learn of love?” she asked as she felt him drape his shroud over them and she snuggled more comfortably into his embrace.
He hesitated a moment. “My mother was a remarkable woman. She taught me much about the beauty and unselfishness of love.”
“My mother did the same,” she said. “How lucky we are to have had such loving mothers. And have you loved any women before me?”
“Nay,” he answered quickly. “And I shall love no other but you.”
She touched his cheek. “And I shall love you and you alone.”
“Mary—”
She pressed a finger to his lips sensing he would say something that would rob them of this special moment. “Please say nothing more. Let us have this time.”
He remained silent and Mary closed her eyes to dream, falling quickly asleep while clinging tightly to him.
Late afternoon found them sitting by the stream eating blackberries. Michael wore his black robe and she her blouse and skirt, her feet were bare.
They had avoided speaking of tomorrow, clinging tenaciously to today and the little time afforded them.
A thought had been stirring in Mary since he had planted the idea in her mind that perhaps one day he would be able to free her of Decimus. Until then he would be freeing others and she could help him.
“I have an idea,” she said.
“Will this idea find favor with me?”
“I think it is a good idea.”
“That does not answer my question, which is,” he said, “a sure indication the idea is not acceptable. Do you know that your voice sounds like a melody carried on a gentle breeze? It is very soothing to listen to.”
“You attempt to avoid my idea, though I do appreciate the compliment.”
He was firm in his protest. “I do not wish to argue, and your idea will cause an argument.”
She hurriedly told him what she thought before he could stop her. “I will help you in your quest to free those imprisoned by Decimus.”
“You will not.” He sounded as if he held his temper.
She looked at him, his dark mask in place but no longer hiding him from her, not since her freshly acquired memories reminded her of the flesh and blood man that lay beneath.
“Just think of the important information I could supply you with, making it less difficult for you and the prisoners.”
“And how long do you think it would be before Decimus caught you?”
“If I played the dutiful wife he would never suspect me,” she said with excitement. “This could work well for us both.”
“It would not,” he insisted. “It would place you in harm’s way and I will not see that happen.”
“I am intelligent and could well handle the masquerade. Decimus would suspect nothing. He would be too pleased with gaining me as his wife and will pay me no heed.”
“He is not an ignorant man.”
“He most certainly is,” she said. “Any man who treats the lives of others so carelessly is an idiot.”
“Do not make the mistake of misjudging his worth. He is sharp of eye and keen of hearing and there is little he does not know.”
She tapped her chin with her finger, wrinkled her brow, and looked to the sky.
“No more ideas, Mary,” he warned.
“It is not an idea I contemplate. If you tell me that Decimus sees, hears, and knows all, why was he unable to find me these many years?”