She had agreed to forfeit the plot, yet how was she to begin searching anew? It had taken her two whole weeks to discover that soil—only to give it up to that rude man who had almost kill—
"Ah!" She halted abruptly. "I forgot to tell Lord Naman that he nearly ended my life!"
He was fortunate she had been flustered, she thought. Had she been her usual self, she would have disarmed him in a blink and had his back pressed on the hard ground before he could so much as breathe.
Lord Naman had promised to find her a new land but she could not just sit around and wait.
Resolved to locate a new place, she pressed on. Two hours into her search, she had already named the gardener every vile thing she could think of.
"Ahhhh!" she screamed into the woods, causing the birds on the trees to scurry around in fear. "That damned scoundrel! That knave! That witless ruffian who has more hair upon his head than sense! That—that vile churl! Ruffian! Urgh!"
She kicked against the earth in frustration.
"It truly is a wonder—" A voice said calmly, cutting through the forest air, "—how that foul mouth of yours has yet to get you in trouble."
She stiffened.
It was a voice she rarely heard, yet had come to recognize. Calm, controlled, with an irritating sense of authority edged into every word.
She spun around.
There he stood, that all-too familiar gaze fixed upon her.
His hands clasped behind his back, tall and broad, his frame effortlessly blending with the forest like he were a natural part of it. Like one of the sturdy trees, unshakable, immovable.
Only one thing set him apart.
He moved.
With his hair gently swaying like the drooping leaves of an old willow tree somewhere deep in the woods, he took closer steps.
Closer.
Closer still.
Until only two feet separated them.
"Or could it be," he continued, his gaze heavily upon her like he could see through her very soul. "—that your wagging tongue is reserved for me alone?"
Looking at him then—truly looking—Damaris had this sudden realization that this man, gardener he might be, he was a dangerous one.
It was a spontaneous thought, still, she could not shake it off.
Whatever foolish plan she had—to best him, to draw a love confession from h8m—dissolved at once. It would be wiser to avoid him.
So she turned and without looking back, she fled.
Why was she running?
Whether it was because he had nearly ended her life that morning, or because he just appeared out of nowhere.
Perhaps, because being alone with him now, the thought that she could best him in a fight suddenly seemed laughable.
Whatever it was, she just felt the need to escape.
So she ran.
Deeper into the forest her feet carried her, her racing heart threatened to burst out of her chest should she refuse to slow down—when suddenly, her ears caught a sound.
It was the sound of feet striking the earth heavily.
They were not her own.
So she dared cast a glance over her shoulder—and behold, there was a wild beast in human form pursuing her.
"Why does he pursue me!" she cried, her legs—though weary—moved faster than before.
She was barely breathing yet she could not stop as a stream of thoughts surged through her head.
No matter how strong a woman is, there will always be a stronger man. Milcah's words suddenly came to mind.
Is this how I die? Over a petty land!
So this was his plan, she thought. Ending her life deep in the woods where no soul would ever find her.
She moved, yet it seemed the faster she ran, the nearer he drew. She could feel him bearing down upon her.
No—stay away.
Her heart cried out.
Do not come any closer, she pleaded.
Yet, deep within her, she felt it.
And when something cold caught her wrist, wrenching her around until she was pressed against his chest, she knew…
She was finished.
"Let me go!" But she would not be Damaris if she yielded without a fight.
"The entire village shall have your neck if you so much as pull a hair from my head," she warned.
"They will skin you alive!"
With all her might, she tried to wriggle out of his hold but like an ancient tree, he was utterly immovable!
Other than her, the only things that stirred were the dried leaves beneath her feet.
"Do you think you will go free, were you to kill me now?" she dared question.
"A day perhaps, but surely they shall notice my absence!" Each word that left her lips came out more desperate than the last.
"They will come looking for me."
"Surely they will find my corpse!"
"And I promise you—one way or another—you shall be exposed, and you will hang!"
"Verily I say, they shall—" Her voice was sucked back into her lungs as his palm slid over her mouth and his face drew dangerously close to hers.
Her breath trembled with fresh terror.
Gone was the fearless Damaris. What remained was a whimpering lamb, frightened before the lightning that flashed within those gray eyes, and the impending sound of thunder that was his voice.
"Surely you must have been told," his voice came at last and Damaris' eyes were filled with tears. "You talk far too much for a lady."
"Sometimes… be silent, and you might even hear what your adversary is thinking."
Her adversary?
What, then, was he thinking?
Why had he pursued her with such ferocity?
She was silent, yet the questions in her head were loud, and her racing heart thundered louder still—so she could not discern his thoughts—
"Come tomorrow, I shall relinquish the land behind the cottage."
But the words he spoke… those she heard clearly.
Standing crushed in his arms, her eyes filled with nothing but him, Damaris could only wonder—truly wonder now—
What, in truth, was he thinking?