Page 1 of Do Not Awaken Love (The Moroccan Empire #3)

Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness?

W e pass by the apple orchard, still there after all this time.

I rein in my horse for a moment. On the breeze, the faint scent of the pink and white blossom comes to me.

I wonder if Alberte’s body was ever found amongst these trees.

I make the sign of the cross, blessing him in his gentle goodness, his affinity with all God’s creatures.

I think that if it were harvest time I would dismount and pluck a fruit, bite into its sweetness, the taste that set me out on a journey I never asked for. But it is a different season now.

Imari watches me for a few moments. “Do you wish to stop here?” he asks at last when I do not move on.

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I was only thinking.”

He does not enquire further. Imari was never a man to question the thoughts of others.

We ride slowly, staying each night in a convent or monastery where we receive warm welcomes.

They believe us pilgrims, returning home.

I am not in a hurry. I know that once I enter the convent again, I will never leave and so this is the last time I will see the world.

And the world is a beautiful place. I am glad to have seen it, to have known what it is to walk its ways before bidding it a final farewell.

It is mid-morning when I see, far away, the tall cream walls of the Convent of the Sacred Way.

I glance at Imari, riding by my side. He catches the movement and nods to me, confirming that we are almost at our destination.

I find my conversation has died away, preparing me for the silent life to which I am about to return.

The fields and woods pass us by as the hours move on and when a farmer bids us a good day, I cannot find my tongue, only nod and smile.

The great door towers over me and I pause for a long moment. I think it must be time for the mid-afternoon prayer, None . By the time Vespers comes, I will kneel among my sisters again after two decades of absence.

“Do you wish me to knock?” asks Imari behind me.

I shake my head. I lift my wrinkled hand, take the great knocker, then let it fall.

The deep sound reverberates around us. I look back over my shoulder.

In the bright light of spring, I see Imari on horseback, a dark shadow in the sun’s rays, fulfilling his last duty to a master who is now dead and gone.

When this door opens, we shall both be set free, returned to our former lives.

Before I was taken.