Chapter 17 #2
"DELIVERANCE!" My husband called out, his voice echoing through the trees. "You will not escape me!"
Had he truly seen me?
I felt horribly exposed between the bare branches, but I did not, could not stop. And I left the compass and started up the hill.
"Deliverance!" Gideon snarled, and suddenly he was upon me, his horse foam-flecked and slick with sweat.
As I froze in horror, my husband grabbed the back of my cloak and hoisted me aloft.
"How dare you!" he snarled. "I should chain you to the bed for this!"
Raw pulse-pounding panic shot through me, and my fingers fumbled madly for the clasps on my cloak, ripping desperately until they tore and I was able to wriggle free.
Gideon was forced to pull his horse's head to the side to keep the stamping hooves away, but even then one massive iron-shod foot stomped hard on my dress, coming perilously close to my back and ripping the delicate fabric to shreds.
I dug my hands into the dirt and slush and pulled myself up the hill.
But where was my compass? What if I was hopelessly lost?
And just then, I saw it. The Rock.
Eagerly, I stumbled over and ran my hands across the slick, gray granite.
But what had Bartholomew meant? What was here to save me?
There was nothing. Nothing at all! In desperation, I felt all over the stone, searched the ground. But I saw nothing.
Had there ever been anything here for me in the first place?
"Stop!" Gideon roared, but just then the heavy fog parted, and I could see a little barn in the shadow of the outcropping. If nothing else, I could hide in here and hope desperately that my husband would ride on by?
But inside the barn was–a donkey. And a little cart. And a little, very old monk sitting in a chair and napping.
Was this how Bartholomew intended to help me? And what if I didn’t know how to put the donkey and cart together?
“Please–I beg–” was all I could get out, but just then the man popped up, cozy as could be, as the barn was well-made and there was a little fire in the corner.
Without another word, he hitched the cart to the donkey and helped me up.
“Godspeed, my child,” he said in a kindly voice.
“But, I don’t know which way–” I whispered in agony. My boots were crusty and slimy with moor-bogs, my nose like a frozen icicle.
“Daisy knows the way home,” he said, slapping the donkey’s rump.
With a little jolt, we were off.
At first I was filled with the darkest terror that Daisy would drive me off a crag, or into a precipice, but she seemed to know exactly where to go.
The heavy fog worked for me now, hiding my direction from Gideon, although I could hear him behind me, and then to the right of me, angrily calling my name.
I merely held the reins loosely and urged my Daisy onward.
Miraculously, after half an hour of steady riding, I began to see the farthest farms and fields of St. Mary’s.
It was getting dark now, and the fog at last began to thin, to let me look between the gray tendrils to see my last obstacle: the steep hill up to the monastery.
I did not dare take my little cart up this steep path.
When Gideon and I had visited, we had gone the long way around, but I did not have time for that.
Reluctantly, I pulled Daisy to a halt and got off carefully, kissing her hairy ear with grateful praise. “Good girl. Now head to your warm home, for you have earned your rest tonight!”
And then I was alone, with not another soul in sight. At this time of the evening, and in this kind of weather, most St. Mary’s villagers would be inside next to a fire.
Eagerly, I started to scramble up the incline as I fixed my eyes on the spire of St. Mary's.
"Save me," I breathed, but who was I asking? I didn’t know.
Just that I must—move! Or my husband would catch me.
Faster! Faster! I scrambled up to the gardens in front of the church, forcing my wet boots through the slushy slick snow.
I wanted to call out, beg for help, but I did not have the breath to.
Twilight was falling across the church lawns, covering the buildings in gray, dark shadow.
Gideon was coming up hard behind me, the reverberations of the horse's hooves pounding through my body, echoing in my skull.
I felt weak and exhausted and wrung out, but I forced myself on, the cruel wind whipping at my torn garments.
But as I ran I saw something that filled me with leaden horror.
The gate to the church grounds was locked! It was made of heavy iron, the bars thick, and the gap between them narrow. There was no way I could get in—no way to even squeeze between the bars.
All my exertions would be for naught! I felt bleak despair grip me.
"Help!" I gasped out, my voice reedy and thin, barely noticeable, winter chill carrying the sound away on the stiff uncaring breeze.
My soul seemed to leave my body as Gideon crested the summit behind me. I heard him hit the monastery gardens, his horse crushing the delicate pathways as he gave chase.
His triumph felt dark and rancid on my tongue. He would be able to herd me against the gate and trap me there, force me to come back to Grayspires Manor with him.
Tears flowed down my cheeks, burning me with a chill icy heat.
So close and still so far! To fail with safety so close was a bitter defeat and I staggered under it, almost falling down in the weight of my despair.
The thud of the hooves shook the ground, made my swollen breasts ache.
The earth seemed to pull with the seduction of giving up and at last resting, beg me to lie down in defeat.
No! I would fight to the last.
And just then I saw a shadow move behind the gates of the church.
A slim shadow, nothing more. But then it moved closer.
"Help!" I tried again, although my lungs burned and speaking felt like being stabbed with dozens of knives.
A flash of hair appeared in the last glow of the setting sun.
Bartholomew!
Oh, but even if he could make it to the gate in time, he could not get it open before Gideon was upon us!
"Stay back!" my wicked husband roared threateningly behind me, and I felt the waves of angry power rolling off him. "I forbid you to interfere!"
Would Bartholomew obey? The Nightshade lord was dark, dangerous, wealthy.
But the holy man did not stop.
I raced on, wondering if some supernatural force was lending wings to my feet.
Close now. . . almost there. . .
But the horse’s breath rustled my hair as I sped toward the slim hope of safety.
I felt Gideon veer sideways, my skin prickling as he reached out for me, the feel of his leather grip, so close to snatching me up and bearing me back to cruelty and fear and degradation. . .
But just as my husband stretched out his hand I heard the clunk of a key in a lock and miraculously it turned on the first try, the heavy iron gates opening just enough. . . . just enough for Brother Bartholomew to reach out for my desperate, straining hands and pull me through the gap.
I tumbled unceremoniously onto the ground and the gate slammed shut behind us.
Gasping for breath, I whirled around as Gideon hit the door, the iron clanging as he slammed his massive boot against the bars.
"Open up!" he snarled, his face twisted in fury. "I demand you open this door!"
Bartholomew helped me to my feet carefully, wrapping his own cloak around my shaking arms.
"Sanctuary," I gasped, clutching him desperately. "Please. I beg for sanctuary in this holy place!"