Dark Warrior by Donna Fletcher Page B

labor. How does that bring freedom?”
    It frees the mind .
    â€œAnd if peasants speak, they are persecuted.”
    No hope in silence. No hope. No life .
    â€œIt is dangerous to think that way. The peasant is taught to serve lord and master. That is his lot in life: service.”
    Who do you serve?
    â€œSome say the devil.”
    She shook her head.
    He held out his arms. “Darkness is born from the depths of hell.”
    Darkness is born of ignorance .
    â€œWho taught you such dangerous knowledge?”
    She stuck her chin up then wrote, My father .
    His tone softened. “He must have been a brave man.”
    Sadness and sorrow filled her; she missed her father very much. Very brave .
    â€œThen you truly are your father’s daughter.”
    She smiled. Thank you .
    â€œHe would be proud of you.”
    She nodded, recalling how just before her father had been taken away, he had expressed his pride in her bravery. She was barely eleven years old yet was proud of her; it had shined in his eyes and smile whenever he had looked at her. Those memories kept her father alive in her mind.
    â€œHe was accused of heresy?” Michael asked reluctantly.
    She nodded and asked her own question. Your sister?
    â€œHer innocence caused her to suffer.” His anger returned. “She trusted, she believed in good and gave no thought to evil. She would care for the ill, help the injured animals, and love those others would shun. She had an angelic heart and soul.”
    Precious woman .
    â€œTo me she was precious.” He shook his head and turned to stare at the stream. “I was as precious to her as she was to me. She loved me, believed in me, and—”
    With a vicious toss the fishing pole went flying into the stream. “She loved me, trusted me, and I failed her.”
    Mary placed her hand on his arm and he turned his head abruptly to see her shaking her head, denying his admission.
    â€œShe loved me and I failed her,” he reiterated adamantly.
    Mary shook her head just as adamantly.
    â€œYou know not of what you speak. She suffered and I did nothing.” Anger and pain punctuated his words. “She loved me and I failed her. I will not see that happen again.”
    Mary understood now why he refused to love, but she refused to allow him his pity. She swallowed hard, recited a silent prayer, squeezed his arm and said aloud, “I love you.”

Chapter 12
    M ichael was too stunned to speak. He had ached to hear her voice and had never expected these words to be the first to spill from her lips. They tore at his heart; his soul wept with sorrow—for upon hearing her words, her voice, his response was not what he had thought it would be. “You cannot love me.”
    She smiled and raised a defiant chin. “Aye, I can.”
    He reached out and stroked her neck. “It does not pain you?”
    â€œNay, I think I have finally healed.”
    The beauty of her voice was like a gentle lyric to his senses, and he smiled though she could not see it.
    â€œI will hear your voice much now.”
    â€œIs that a plea I hear or regret?”
    Peels of gentle laughter poured from her, and he favored the sound that seemed to rain down around him.
    â€œI have yet to decide.”
    â€œI knew I detected humor in you,” she said and coughed, clearing her throat of a sudden tickle.
    He gently massaged her throat. “I know how much you must want to talk but be careful. Your voice probably still mends.”
    â€œWise advice, which undoubtedly I will have difficulty following.”
    â€œThere is nothing that important that needs immediate discussion.”
    She reached up to touch his face. “Aye, there is. I love you and I think you love me.”
    He stood abruptly and paced in front of her, the hem of his robe growing wet from the water’s edge.
    â€œLove is not possible for us.”
    â€œWhy?”
    A simple enough question requiring a much