Chapter 25
Henry said nothing, his mouth hung open with horror, his face white as a bandage.
In the four years Mary had known him, he’d said many things. Never had he said nothing.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Mary said, clearing her throat and standing a healthy distance away—from Henry and his potentially loose fist, as well as from the camp.
“But I thought …” She bit her lip. What had she thought?
She’d warned Bjorn, as they’d made their plans to leave together, that Henry might not take well to this.
But Bjorn believed in Henry, and in her. And she knew he was right.
“I just thought I owed it to you,” she continued. “As your friend.” His accusing eyes, after saying she’d abandoned him, still seared.
Henry huffed and rubbed the furrow between his brow. “I’m just supposed to accept that my best friend is a—”
“Complicated person? With reasons for choosing such a difficult path?”
He sucked air through his teeth.
“The same person you’ve known for four years?” she tried.
“You’ve seen me naked! How many times have you seen me dress and bathe and …” He buried his face in his hands and swore. “Who else knows?”
“No one else but Van Acker. And no one else will know. Do you understand?”
Henry rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to rat you out, Mark—er, Mary,” he said, visibly squeamish.
“But don’t forget that it’s you who smashed the basic rules of trust.” He pointed in her face, then shook his head, backing away and kicking a rock.
“You lied to me. You lied to all of us! You’ve violated the basic laws of nature. ”
Mary said nothing. Though not prone to temper herself, she’d seen enough of Henry through the years to know that his fury would take whatever course it needed to take. He’d burn through it like gunpowder, then he’d be back to his jovial self with little memory of the offense.
But she didn’t have a long wick to work with. One afternoon. That was all the time she had to make this right. Bjorn, who’d been honorably discharged due to his injuries, was seeing what he could arrange for her dismissal on similar grounds. Internal wounds, or lunacy if they had to.
If it couldn’t be worked out, they knew what they had to do.
“Women aren’t supposed to bear arms,” Henry said, pouting and kicking more rocks as he spouted off various other points of nonsense. “They aren’t supposed to fight like men—or be half as good at it as you are.”
Mary considered leaving mid-tantrum. But his barbs did little to hurt her.
What could, after a night like the one before?
Bjorn. His lips soft, then rough and urgent against hers.
The cool of night against the heat of her skin.
His fingers through her dark hair, hers trailing his face with a gentle reverence.
Her standing tall, unwrapping the tight cloth that had bound her breasts, night and day, for years.
His asking: “May I?”
Her uncomplicated “yes” as he touched her.
The swell of giving up, of giving in, against the impulse to control.
The sounds of hunger that followed as they kissed—from her, from him. The forest and stars and wilderness the witnesses.
Her: “I love you.”
Him: “Will you marry me?”
Marry?
Mary.
Her name. On his tongue. Even though he didn’t know it yet. Not until he spoke the word aloud and she saw herself, and an entire future that included that full self, did the world burst open. He wouldn’t bed her then—not that she would have allowed it, even if he’d asked.
But tonight, she would have him all. An irrepressible smile crept up her face.
“Are you mocking me?” Henry said.
Mary exhaled, returning to the present and recovering from her embarrassment.
“No, Henry. And I’m sorry—for lying and hurting you.
I’m just …” She laughed, and this seemed to unnerve him all the more.
“I’m also not sorry. Whatever suffering you feel is nothing to what I’ve endured.
I’m happy. I hope you never know the weight of holding in a secret all your life—the heft of that impossible weight.
” She lifted her chin up at the bright sun.
“But how good it feels to be free in this moment.”
“You are truly happy, then?” he said.
When she caught his eye, she noticed a slight shift. Shivery and subtle, but there.
“More than I’ve ever been,” Mary said. “It’ll be a simple service, late tonight at the church in the village. Me and Bjorn.”
“And then?” Henry asked.
She shrugged. “I’ll take the coin I’ve saved, he’ll bring his, and we’ll build a life.”
We’ll find Ma.
Start a family.
Make a home I’ll never have to leave.
Henry nodded with more solemnness than she knew him to be capable of.
“Very well. I can’t say I am glad for this new information, but I am glad to have known you.” He began walking away. “Whoever you are.”
“Henry,” she called after him. Her heart squeezed. Her joy felt so easy, so light. Why could he not hold this with her?
“Goodbye, Read.” He waved without looking back. “I’ll tell no one what you told me. I owe that much to the good man I used to know.”
Mary dismounted Merlin and faced the simple stone church.
The night was soft and gentle, though she worried something bad awaited—for how could something this good be happening to her?
To her as she truly was, as Mary Read? It was far easier to anticipate pain than to clean up the dust of crushing disappointment.
After tying Merlin to a post and patting his shoulder, she glanced at her clothes in the darkness: breeches, muddied boots, and what was left of her father’s shirt. She’d left her blue uniform coat behind, folded and hidden under the cot.
This attire was fine enough when she was Mark Read four days earlier, before the sky’s possibilities erupted like a summer rainstorm, watering tendrils of her heart she hadn’t dared acknowledge before.
Would the priest object and refuse to proceed with the wedding if she wore men’s clothing? Her clothing?
She ached to feel beautiful. Mary fussed with her straight black hair, then thought better of it.
What was the use? Taking a deep inhale to steady her shaky nerves, she entered the church where she knew Bjorn would be waiting.
In case of encountering any difficulty, they’d left separately.
He’d needed the extra time to make all the arrangements and see to their discharges while Mary packed up the remainder of their possessions for the journey.
Mary insisted he let her do it all, given his condition, but he assured her he’d rest only after they were well on their way, together.
Closing the heavy door behind her, Mary inhaled incense and glanced through the dark nave. Candles flickered at the front where a robed priest stood next to not one, but two men. Her heart stopped.
The three men turned when they heard her enter.
“Henry?” She didn’t know whether she should run toward him or away from him. Her pulse thumped as she looked from Henry to Bjorn behind him. Bjorn watched with a radiant expression of adoration that threatened to undo her. He seemed lit from within.
Henry answered for her, meeting her halfway. “I’m sorry for my yipping. But I’ve got two objections.”
Mary pulled back as if stung.
“First, you didn’t invite me,” he said.
“I told you—”
“As I was saying, you did not formally invite me. My second objection: that foul piece of inappropriate clothing.”
Mary frowned. Not this rigidness again.
Bjorn stepped forward, his injured leg stiff but sturdy. He held out a box with a grin. “This is for you,” he said.
Mary opened the lid. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw the folded fabric.
She hesitated a heartbeat, then another.
She touched the white linen and removed it, letting the skirt of the dress unfurl to the ground.
It was simple. Clearly used. But it was perfect—everything she’d always wanted and wished she could wear.
It was hers.
“How did you …?” Mary asked Bjorn, her voice so soft she wondered if anyone heard.
“Don’t thank me, thank him,” he said with a nod to Henry.
Mary whirled on Henry, the dress pressed to her chest.
“A gift, even though I never got a lousy invitation or much time to secure one.” His gaze was soft with emotion despite the armor of his humor.
“Thank you,” she said, throwing both arms around him with all her strength. His being here, for accepting her, was even better than the dress.
“You didn’t think I’d miss my best friend’s wedding?” he said, squeezing her back. He sniffed the top of her head and cursed. “Even if you do smell like a damn horse.”
The priest cleared his throat at the front of the church.
“You paid him for discretion?” Mary whispered, reiterating the plan.
“I did,” Bjorn said. “But there was no need, in the end. You’ve been formally discharged.”
Mary searched Bjorn’s face. “On what grounds?”
He grazed a thumb over her cheek. “Later,” he said, firm but gentle. “We also paid for speed. We can’t linger.”
Mary beamed at Bjorn, then Henry, before finding a place to change into the dress.
And with that gesture, she would no longer be a secret-keeper living in the shadows.
She would be a wife, with a companion at her side.
This was the utmost wish of her heart. She would find her mother.
Make a future with someone rather than wait for an elusive tomorrow while the sand trickled out of her schemes.
She would not need to be on constant guard.
She could choose her life for herself, whatever that meant after a lifetime of hiding.
The children would come. And life would be easier, so much easier as a woman. How could it not be?
Standing before the old priest, stating her true name and her consent to be the wife of Bjorn Van Acker until death did them part—his luminous smile, his kind eyes below that crown of gold hair, his marked strength despite his wounds—all in the presence of God and her dearest friend, Mary imagined nothing else.