Author: Ashley Townsend
Category: Nonfiction
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/ashley-townsend/page,58,105060-chasing_shadows.html
She shivered at her train of thought and added, “I admire you for standing up for yourself, even when it went against the tide.”
Eyes downcast, Will smiled. “Thank you.” He slanted her a guarded look. “How are you fairing?”
She knew what he was asking and lowered her gaze. Stepping around a fallen limb, she replied honestly, “I’m learning to deal. I just can’t seem to make up my mind whether to feel betrayed or sad or hurt or angry—at him or myself. It’s all very confusing.” Then she gave him a wry grin. “We girls are very good multi-taskers.”
Will didn’t make light of the situation. His hand fluttered in the air between them, as if to reach out and offer comfort. Then it relaxed against his side. “I’m sorry.”
Dipping her head, she whispered a quick “Thanks.”
He inhaled deeply and let it out in a rush. “Sarah, there is something—” He halted and seemed to be fighting within himself. With a grimace of dissatisfaction, he reached into his cloak and produced a small, crumpled piece of paper.
“What is it?”
Will frowned at the malformed parchment and tried to pull the corners straight. “It was a missive, but I believe I held it a little too tightly.” He met her eyes. “Lisandro asked for me to give it to you.”
Her shoulders drooped in surprise, heart sinking as she slowed to a stop. Will watched her reaction. “I thought about not following through with the cad’s request because I didn’t wish to see that look on your face. But it rightfully belongs to you.”
Cautiously, Sarah took the letter with trembling fingers, staring at it in her hands. “What does it say?” she whispered, voice catching.
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes bore into the thin, wrinkled parchment as though she could decipher the words within. Then she stuffed the letter into the fold of her sleeve.
Will raised a brow. “You aren’t going to read it?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for whatever he had to say,” she answered truthfully, then sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”
He nodded in understanding, and they began moving slowly through the snow again. Sensing her unease, Will said with more cheer than the topic required, “So, Cadius has been revealed to be the mastermind in orchestrating the king’s demise, and every last one of his accomplices has been apprehended. And my parents’ murderer is dead.” He sounded reconciled to the fact, though Sarah knew he would never be pleased with the result. “It’s difficult to believe that it’s truly finished.”
She watched his face, heart softening at the lost look on his handsome, albeit bruised, features. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to prove that Gabriel did it?” She hesitated and then asked softly, “Can you live with not knowing?”
Will’s brow furrowed in contemplation as he searched his heart. Finally, he sighed. “I honestly can’t say. I suppose I must live with it, but I know the desire to prove his guilt and avenge my parents will always be there, just under the surface.”
She nodded in understanding. Just because something came to an end didn’t mean that the result was satisfactory.
Sarah ducked under a low-hanging branch and teasingly poked him in the arm with her elbow, though her tone was serious when she spoke. “So what will the great Will Taylor do with his time now that the Shadow’s vendetta is complete?”
His dark eyes moved from the path ahead and landed on her face. He stopped, and the slow, tender smile lit a spark inside Sarah’s chest, warming her cheeks. She didn’t think she would ever get used to that look from the closed-off Will she’d known.
He touched his fingertips to the back of her stiff hand, a whisper against her skin, and leaned down until he was a breath away. “I have some ideas,” he murmured. Then he brushed his lips against hers, a soft caress that caused Sarah’s toes to tingle.
Will pulled back, his intent gaze darkening as he grinned. “Somehow, I don’t think a little free time will be a bother.”
Laughing breathlessly, Sarah turned and continued on down the path. “We need to get you a better hobby,” she called playfully over her shoulder.
He caught up to her in a few long strides, and she knew without looking that he was still grinning. “I’m rather fond of my hobby.”
She rolled her eyes, though she felt a little spark of pleasure trail up her spine.
They lapsed into comfortable silence, then, the heaviness from earlier lifting after their conversation. Sarah tipped her face to the sky, closing her lids and smiling as the sun washed her face in warmth. She would miss the feel of the sun shining brightly amidst the cool winter wind, the sound of total silence in the woods, the smell of the earth and the evergreens amidst the scent of freshly fallen snow. It would be a change when she returned home to a hot and humid August in Oklahoma, but for now she just wanted to enjoy the feeling of this December moment.
A hand slid into hers, and she blinked, looking over at Will. He smiled knowingly, eyes tender. Her own lips curved upward. She sensed it meant a lot to him that she loved and connected to this land like he did.
Will gave her fingers a gentle pulse. “It makes you feel special, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” For reasons he couldn’t understand. She had been marveling at God’s amazing creation, but she wasn’t sure if he would attribute the sights surrounding them to a God he didn’t call his own.
He lifted her hand as they strolled and stared at her palm, as if in great contemplation.
“What?” she asked.
Will shook his head and said softly, “I was just marveling at how small your hands are.” At her quizzical look, he smiled and lowered their clasped hands. “Just something I was told.”
They had been wandering for over an hour by the time they decided to head back to the Joneses’.
“This is nice,” Will said as they lazily walked along the snowy path, gently swinging their hands between them. Sarah nodded in agreement, though for her it wasn’t enough time. She sighed quietly. Never enough time. And she had put it off for long enough.
“I’m going home soon.” She cringed at how cavalier she sounded. No segue.
Will looked down at her sharply. “Oh.” He swallowed. “Of course. Umm, when were you planning to leave?”
“Tonight,” she whispered.
His lips parted ever so slightly in an expression of discontent, but his face remained passive. “So soon,” he whispered. Then he nodded slowly as if he understood, and it was obvious to Sarah that he was trying to be accepting. For her.
She dragged in a breath of the crisp air, though it didn’t smell quite as perfect as it had before. Maybe she was already losing her connection to this place. The thought saddened her. “I’ve been gone for awhile and need to head back, but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye this time.”
Will halted and used his free hand to finger a strand of her hair, staring at it intently as though it could unlock the key to their separation. “I’m glad you told me.” He met her eyes and asked hopefully, “When will you come back?”
That was the difficult part. She swallowed. As if on cue, she caught the faint, joyous shouts drifting on the breeze toward them—Seth and Karen must have shared the big news.
Taking a breath, Sarah hedged, “Well, I’ll be coming back for the wedding.”
Will looked vaguely amused as he caught wind of the celebration. “Yes, Seth told me—” The lock of hair slipped from his numb fingers. “He said they were considering spring.”
Sarah nodded grimly.
“Four or five months,” Will whispered, looking pained.
“It’s not so bad. We’ve done it before.” Well, he had done it before. She had only made it two weeks. Sarah frowned. She hadn’t exactly calculated the time difference into her plan, but she hoped it would only be mere weeks before Karen showed up on her doorstep again.
Will’s chest shuddered as he inhaled deeply. “All right. If you must leave for now, then I can’t stop you.” He shook his head with m
ore fervor than she had expected. “But do not think I am letting go. Perhaps I can travel back with you someday to meet your family.”
She smiled at his hopeful words, though it faded quickly as she remembered how impossible that was. “You know, when I come back . . .” Her voice drifted off, eyes searching his face in shy uncertainty. “Where will we stand? We’ve never really defined”—she motioned between the two of them—“this.”
He stopped, looking liked the thought had never crossed his mind. Then he smiled softly. “I assumed it was obvious that I have a long-term goal in mind.” Stepping closer, he said lowly, “Sarah Matthews—Lady Fair—I have some very long-term goals in mind for us.”
It warmed her insides to know he had given this some thought—a lot of thought—and she felt a grin of surprise twitch at the corner of her mouth before she remembered that it wasn’t that easy. “We’re just so different. Do you really think we can make this work?” Why was she trying to dissuade him?
Because you’re too weak to walk away yourself. Sarah winced at her answering thought, knowing it was true. She didn’t have the resolve to end things.
Will looked so sure that she held her breath, forgetting all her doubts. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I do.”
“But how?” she whispered, needing to know his answer.
“Because if you want something enough, you’ll fight for it. And our differences are hardly an issue.” He grinned. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I am entirely adaptable.”
Sarah felt the weight on her chest lighten, though it did not disappear altogether. Like Will’s past, the uncertainty would always be there, hiding just under the surface. But for now, she chose to hope. “So this isn’t the end for us?”
“Of course not, love.” he touched her cheek and leaned down, his lips a breath away when he whispered, “I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”
~Epilogue~
Damien shuffled slowly down the hall, careful not to overstep the small strides allowed by the chains around his ankles. Armed guards flanked him on either side, and, should he fall behind, he knew they would not hesitate to deliver a few blows to “motivate” him to move faster. So he was careful to watch his steps as they guided him through a low doorway and into the open air.
Pain shot through his throbbing skull at the natural light, and he lifted his fettered hands to shield his eyes from the glaring sunrays. After months spent locked away in the dark dungeons far below the castle, having been moved there from the tower a few days after his imprisonment, the muted sunlight streaming through the cloud cover was blindingly painful.
Someone prodded him from behind when he hesitated, and he moved tentatively down the rough stone steps. His progress was slow and awkward as the short chain barely allowed him to place one foot on the edge of the step and his other foot on the one below. A guard shoved him forward when he moved too slowly, and Damien stumbled, barely maintaining his balance. He turned around to glare at the guard, who stared straight ahead, ignoring him.
Damien turned his eyes back to the ground to watch the last step, a prisoner shuffling behind his captors. The long chain tying together the manacles that bound his hands and ankles dragged across the cobblestone at his feet as he shuffled awkwardly toward the waiting caravan. It looked ominous and final with dark, peeling wood and a small barred window at the back. The old, weathered driver hunched atop it watched their approach, glaring at Damien and gripping the reins a little tighter when they made eye contact.
Damien swallowed hard, keeping his head high while still being mindful of his steps. Never let your adversaries see you cowed—his father had taught him that much.
A stony-faced guard broke away from the group to open the back of the caravan, holding the small door open for the prisoner.
Damien flinched at the darkness within. He was in no hurry to enter the vehicle that would transport him out of the city and to a prison where he would live out the remainder of his dismal future in solitary confinement.
But he moved toward the open door mechanically: There was no point in delaying his fate.
The two men at his side grabbed him at the same time to help him into the back of the caravan, since he was unable to lift his feet onto the high step. The ceiling was low, and Damien had to crouch as he turned around, trying not to register surprise as he stared in recognition at the guard who had gripped his hands to help him adjust.
He could feel the outline of cold steel between his palms. The man caught his eyes briefly, and Damien thought he saw a faint nod just before the guard motioned for the door to be closed.
Damien heard the click of the latch being secured from the outside in the quiet of the caravan, but he felt no despair over what should have been a sound of finality, marking an end to his free life. He sat down on the short bench seat and didn’t bother to glance at the object in his hand. He already knew what it was.
His ticket to freedom.
Sarah and the blacksmith had thought that by imprisoning him, they had put an end to the madness he had found himself caught in the midst of. But they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into. This was bigger than either of them could imagine, and it would not stop because he was behind bars.
In essence, Cadius was the mastermind behind the entire plot—a puppeteer controlling every piece in his debauched puzzle—but they were wrong in assuming everything set in motion years before would suddenly cease once Cadius saw the gallows. Everyone seemed to have overlooked the most vital piece, the person at the center of it all, and the wheels of this plan would continue to turn without Cadius setting them in motion.
Damien knew he was one of an elite few who were aware that everything was already in motion. The cart bumped through town. Through the bars, he caught a few curious stairs from the townsfolk, as well as some fearful glances. They were all ignorant.
His shoulders slumped in exhaustion, but not yet defeat. It would be impossible to stop what was currently happening before their very eyes, even if they didn’t yet recognize it. He knew that it was only just beginning, and if Sarah tried to stop it, she would find herself caught in the crossfire.
He stared through the bars at the hazy sky beyond, imagining that she was out there, somewhere. Had they already found her? Had his months of infuriating seclusion made him too late?
He ground his teeth in vexation, fetters jangling as he rubbed the mark over his heart—a ghastly T. The symbol had been burned into his skin the second night of his imprisonment. Months had passed and still the mark ached, recalling to mind the feel of the hot iron as it branded him as the traitor he knew himself to be.
He tightened his grip on the key, feeling the rough steel bite into his palm, feeling anger course through him. No, it was far from over.