The bread now soggy, the pair ate it with a zeal only found after hard work or exertion, yet Richard’s thoughts easily drifted from their simple fare to how he might broach his apology, every new consideration appearing as lacking as the last.Apparently, he would simply have to begin, and trust the words to come.
“Mary,” he said in a rushed breath, her head turning toward him with questioning eyes. “Mary,” he continued at a far more even pace, “I… I must apologize for what happened earlier. For failing you.”
“Whatever do you mean? You have done nothing to fail me.”
Chest aching at her words, he shook his head, “But I did fail. I promised myself to protect you, yet I did not.”
Her face crinkled in confusion, she tilted her head as she gestured to herself, “Aside from a few bumps and bruises and wishing I were by a warm fire, I am well and as contented as any woman running from murderous villains might be. Indeed, were I in a gothic novel I would have fainted already–several times in fact–and I doubt I would be in such haleness of body… though my hair would be in a far more favourable state.”
Words which typically would have caused him to smile only added to the ache. “I am in full earnest, Mary.”
“How then did you fail me, Richard? For I am well.”
“Ian… in all that you might have been killed.”
“Yet you did not put the knife to my throat, and you threatened him soundly I remind you–which was as much as you might do given the blade. Do you not recall how you rescued me from the first man?”
“The first I do recall, and in that, though you were endangered, I remind myself I thought you elsewhere, and was, as you say, able to intervene. Regarding Ian, however, I have no such illusions. I knew him to be dangerous and ought to have suspected him of some cheap trick; I should have been there to protect you, to disarm him before he could even think to act… I failed you,” he claimed, his voice faltering, “and for that I am more sorry than words can say.”
Laying a hand on his arm, Mary’s eyes focused on his, “Do not blame yourself. Do not! I certainly never could. You did the best you could after having little sleep, little food, and even having to carry me the day prior, in addition to all of our running and swimming and hiding. YOU are one of the bravest, most incredible men I could ever hope to meet. You have given your all to keep us safe, and you have protected me time after time.Indeed, I would offer my apologies to you for all my follies, but whatever you or I could have done in a different or better way does not matter. We are in this together, remember, with all our successes and failures rolled into one. Let me be your strength when required, just as you are mine.”
Her eyes filled with honesty and hope, she made him believe they might do anything. That with her, he somehow fulfilled everything he expected from himself–everything expected of him as a soldier and a gentleman.
A weight lifting from his heart and shoulders, he gently brushed a strand of her wet hair from her cheek. “Then that is already done, for you have been my strength through it all. And I shall try to find the courage to forgive myself; your own pardon of me a true help.”
For her, he could one day come to terms with his failures. For her, he would do most anything.
∞∞∞
A full day arrived and gone, their bones frozen as they continued onward, Richard crested another rise, his body weary, though the weight of their belongings continued to dissipate–their food stores almost empty.
Blinking into the foggy expanse before him, he worked to determine if his eyes deceived him; the appearance of smoke rising upward as if from chimneys causing his hope to flame brighter.
“Mary,” he called behind him, his hand reaching out for hers, “tell me what you see?”
Eyes narrowed, her face bore every sign of concentration, until, in one blessed instance, her eyes widened, and a giddy laugh formed.
Joining her laughter with his own, Richard gripped her hand tighter as they made their way toward the pillars of smoke.They had done it!
Steps quickened as the forms of buildings began to emerge, Richard frowned at the resistance which at once met his arm, his steps stilling as Mary’s did, her lips pulled sideways and eyes uncertain.
“Mary?”
Holding out her torn, muddied dress before pointing to him, she said, “We have no money. No decent clothing. You have grown a full beard and my hair is flowing as a child’s might. What can we expect? People will close their doors to us.”
Nodding, he took a step closer, “Some might. Indeed, most likely will. But not everyone. We must have faith. Here,” he said, drawing her nearer, “let us seek to be as presentable as we can.”
With several minutes spent helping one another arrange hair and clothing, the pair proved as tidy as possible given their situation. Mary would shed the oversized coat until necessary to avoid appearing too unladylike, and, though her arm had healed enough to remove her bandage if desired, that she would keep on–its presence disguising the half-healed wound and hopefully limiting questions.
Moving toward the fog-laden stone houses, their shapes grew crisp as they entered onto a small, dirt lane, the pathway damp from the recent rain.
Ears alert for any sound which might sound trouble, Richard paused their steps as he took in the space.
Quiet and inactive, the village showed little signs of life, save sheets hung out to dry and the continuous plumes of smoke rising from neat chimneys; the village for all its slumber displaying obvious pride. Indeed, every house, every building, had doors laid with fresh paint and smooth walkways of stone coming off the dirt lane and up to those immaculate front doors.
“It is picturesque,” Mary breathed beside him, the silence causing anything louder to feel unkind, yet, as they passed house after house wondering where they ought to begin their knocking, a great cheer rose up ahead. Eyes meeting, Richard wrapped Mary’s arm in his before quickening their pace, each eager to discover what might cause such a stir.
A broad, level field appeared around the corner, with dozens upon dozens of people milling around tables laden with food. Only a few chairs were scattered about for those who were elder or infirmed, though to one end a young man and woman sat side by side, hands enjoined as people came in small groups to speak with them.
