A Spy For The Redeemer

Twenty-eight

Would he tell Lucie of his temptation? Owen imagined her response. She would be hurt. Angry that he could even think to abandon his children. Doubt he had ever loved her. And how might he ever reassure her? Would his return be the proof? Might he not have returned for other reasons? Merely a sense of guilt? Cowardice? Sweet Jesu, he could not tell her. He was galloping across the countryside, mad with fear for her. But she would not know. She would not believe.

A ford swollen from spring rains required his attention. Owen watched Edmund and Sam cross, saw the spot with the heavy undertow, tried to guide his mount to face into the current. The horse faltered, stumbled, limped to the bank.

Owen dismounted, calmed the horse, examined the hoof on which the beast fell. A shoe was missing.

‘I see smoke ahead,’ Jared called out. ‘We may find a farmer shoes his own horse.’

‘None so rich along this road,’ said the friar. ‘But he will know the nearest smithy.’

‘I shall ride on with the friar on one of your horses,’ Owen told the others, who had returned to see to the matter.

Sam and Tom stayed with the lame horse.

And was it God’s sign Owen must confess all to Lucie? Why else had this happened now, at that moment when he vowed to stay silent? Dear God, help me in the telling. So she understands.