Luc and Aimée found refuge in a small farmhouse on the outskirts of town. By the time they got there, it was almost dark. The weather, if anything, was getting worse. Aimée was exhausted and Luc was little better, the blisters and tears on his palms still bleeding from where the rope had cut into his skin as they made their perilous descent from the roof of the cathedral. He knew they needed shelter, warmth, food and rest and finding the farmhouse was a blessed relief. The farmer’s wife was only too glad to accept a silver coin in exchange for providing them with bed and board.
‘You’re very welcome. We don’t get a lot of pilgrims coming past. The Pilgrims’ Way is a bit south of us, you see. Are you just arriving or just leaving?’
Ruefully, Luc reflected that they qualified on both counts, but he replied cautiously. ‘We’re on our way to Portugal.’
The cheery lady showed them into a fine, large room and busied herself lighting the fire. ‘I’ll get my husband to show you the best way to get there.’ As the fire caught, and the flames began to lick up through the pile of kindling, she replaced the candle on the mantelpiece and withdrew.
‘I’ll have some nice hot food for you just as quickly as I can.’
They stood silently by the fire for some minutes, mentally and physically drained. Finally, wearily, Aimée managed a smile. ‘The warmth of a fire has never felt so good.’
‘Here, give me your cloak.’ He removed her cloak and his and hung them up to dry in front of the fire before turning back towards her. She looked so vulnerable, but so beautiful. He reached out his hand and ran it up the side of her face. She raised her hand and caught his, pressing his fingers tightly against her cheek. He moved closer, unable to stop himself. As the flames flickered and the firewood crackled, he leant towards her and they kissed. As they did so, he lost track of their surroundings. The events of that day might as well never have happened. The Shroud, their mission, everything disappeared from his head. All that counted was the two of them.
After a while he pulled back, looked into her face and saw that she was crying.
‘Aimée, what is it?’ He was suddenly concerned.
‘It’s nothing, Luc. It’s happiness, it’s joy, it’s all those things I thought I would never ever feel again.’ She wiped her tears against his chest. ‘When I was in that cold, lonely abbey, I thought the world had come to an end. Today, in the cathedral, it so nearly did. But now, here in this room, I couldn’t ask for more. Life has meaning again. I love you, Luc.’
He pressed his lips against her forehead and hugged her to his chest. ‘I love you, Aimée, and I’ll never leave you.’
And he never did.