I could not help looking over at my patient to see that Gideon was watching me with a tortured eye. He opened his mouth to speak but, once again, nothing came out.
“I adore you,” Bartholomew groaned, cradling my head tenderly.
What a kind, good man, and I could not help putting my arms around him as best as I could with my belly in the way, appreciating all the ways Bartholomew had helped me.
“Stay away,” Gideon called out hoarsely.
In astonishment, I broke off the kiss to stare at my husband.
“You can speak!” I cried.
But he lookedinfuriated, and I shrieked in shock to see Gideon throw himself off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor.
He still could not walk, but that did not stop him as he dragged his body along the floor, the muscles standing out in those powerful forearms.
Bartholomew’s eyes widened in alarm to see my husband rise up as if from the dead to pursue us.
“Stop–get back,” he cried.
“No,” Gideon rasped out, his eye burning like a risen corpse, his arms so strong that he had already crossed the room while Bartholomew and I still stood there clasping each other.
The monk aimed a kick at Gideon’s face, but just at the last moment my husband gripped his foot and twisted hard.
I grabbed for Bartholomew but he had already started to fall, and Gideon was there dragging him to the ground with his fingers around the other man’s throat.
“You’re a godsdamn lunatic!” I shrieked, grunting slightly as I bent over to grab my psychotic husband by the back of his robe and twist.
I twisted again, drawing the cloth tighter around his throat, but Gideon didn’t drop his grip on Bartholomew. The monk began to turn a mottled red and purple color.
Allowing Bartholomew to get close to me was dangerous for him, and I should have known that. The longer I taunted myhusband with him, the greater the chance Gideon would end up killing him.
“I will not worry about you again,” Gideon cursed as Bartholomew’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, and I knew I had to make a choice.
“Fine, I won’t touch him again!” I cried. “Just let him go!”
Only then didmy manipulative husband relax his grip.
“Deliverance, it is not safe for you here,” Bartholomew gasped, staggering away to the door. “Do you want me to send a letter to St. Martin’s or any of the other abbeys in neighboring counties? As long as you are here, your husband is going to hunt you.”
“I would hunt her no matter what county she was in,” Gideon rasped out, his voice sounding raw.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I am not afraid of him. But I think it’s best if you go.”
Bartholomew nodded, then clasped my hands for a brief, fervent moment before leaving.
“If things were different,” he said, his eyes full of pain. “If I had not sworn an oath to the church, I would take you away from here and give you the peaceful life you deserve.”
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”
But did I feel the same way?Was that the life I dreamed of?
Or did I dream of something else. . . something unspeakable?
I was looking for something to grab to help hoist my pregnant body up, when a big hand, burned and blackened, came up to my swollen belly.
“Our baby?”
“Doing very well,” I said. “I can feel movement almost every day now.”
