“You’ve been following me,” I say, chin lifted. “Why?”
Something passes behind his expression, vanishing between one breath and the next. “Do you know who I am?” he asks. The man’s voice possesses a timbre I was not expecting. Its smooth, melodious resonance reminds me of birdsong. “No.” I step closer, afraid he’ll bolt like a buck through the brush. “Should I?”
His throat dips. Sadness, or guilt? “I suppose not.”
There’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it. Is it possible I recognize him from the market? Kilkare is Carterhaugh’s largest town, and many travel from their small settlements to acquire goods.
“Have we met before?” I blurt.
He studies me for an uncomfortably long moment. I may as well stand naked before him, cloth and skin stripped away, unable to withstand the intensity of his scrutiny. “You remind me of a woman I once knew.”
My stomach sinks. Then he isn’t the green-eyed man from my journal. The foolishness I feel is nearly as acute as the disappointment, but I am intrigued by him regardless. “What was she like?” Another step nearer. It’s not my business. He is a stranger and I am a woman alone in the woods.
That pretty mouth quirks, and his eyes momentarily catch the light. “Marvelous.”
“How so?”
The man rocks back on his heels. His curling hair shifts with the motion. “Where to begin? She taught me about forgiveness. She taught me to listen when I would rather speak. She understood, perhaps better than anyone, that life is a journey. But mostly, she taught me to open my heart and embrace a depth of love I had not experienced in centuries.”
I blink at the unexpected statement. “Centuries?” A bit of laughter slips out. “Surely you mean years. Unless you are somehow immortal?”
For whatever reason, he appears ridiculously pleased by my question. Then his face alters, and all those bright points dim. “You share the same laugh.”
The man’s voice is nice, I decide. Not too rough or deep. “Is that why you’re following me?” I whisper. “Because I remind you of this woman?”
“I apologize if I frightened you. It was not my intention.”
“You didn’t frighten me.” That he would think so saddens me for reasons I cannot name.
His gaze falls to my empty hands, and he says, “I noticed you carried a pack before. Are you traveling?”
“Moving, actually.”
He blinks in puzzlement. “I do not understand. The abbey is moving elsewhere?”
“Not the abbey. Me.Iam leaving Thornbrook.”
Beneath the dappled light, the man shifts nearer, partial shade muddying his eyes. “Do you turn from your faith?”
The notion seizes me like a physical ailment. “No.” The Father is a permanent fixture in my life. Always will be. But faith is not a moldI must pour myself into. It takes the shape of one’s heart. “I’m interested in exploring what faith looks like beyond the walls of an abbey.” Mother Mabel claims I’m making a small-minded mistake. It turns out she knows little of me and my capabilities.
“Are you frightened?”
Odd, that this stranger would ask me a question so personal, but I respond to him the same way I replied to Harper. “Very much so.”
His expression softens. “It takes courage to walk a new path. Should you continue on this road, I think you will find yourself in a better place.”
His confidence grounds me, oddly enough. I offer him a small smile as silence takes root. I’m not sure what to say. I cannot explain this pull to shift nearer to him.
“Well then,” says the man. “I don’t want to keep you.” Our eyes lock and hold.
My pulse spikes, for I do not want to leave. I know him. I must. For what other reason would I feel this compulsion to remain in his presence? But the truth is I know nothing about him. We are just two people crossing paths, our journeys having briefly converged.
“Right.” I force myself to retreat a step, nearer to the clearing’s edge, though it pains me to do so. “Good luck to you.”
He swallows, appearing as if he might speak, yet eventually nods in farewell. I feel nauseated turning my back on him, but I must return to Thornbrook for my supplies.
“Brielle.”
