Dark Warrior (Warrior 2)

“Something tells me that when you reclaim your voice you will never stop talking.”

She heard the teasing in his voice and Mary suspected it was closer to his own true tongue than the harshness she often heard.

Love to talk and sing.

“I heard you have a lovely voice.”

Who told you that?

He hesitated then quickly said, “Magnus.” Then even more quickly added, “I hope to hear you sing.”

Will there be time?

“I do not know.”

Decimus is relentless.

“That he is. He lets nothing stop him from finding and persecuting those who believe differently, and the Church has given him the power to do whatever is necessary to bring heretics to justice.”

Her hand touched his arm and he turned his head.

Decimus hates.

“In more ways than anyone understands,” he said.

Even Decimus himself?

He pondered her question.

Decimus hates for he cannot love.

“Why say you that?”

Hate and love, a fine balance. She shook her head and wrote. A balance he has not found.

Michael made no comment.

I pity him.

“You pity the man who hunts you?”

She nodded. Prisoner of his own hate, she wrote. How very sad to torture yourself.

Michael remained silent.

I am free. He never will be.

“You are free?” he asked, confused.

She tapped her head and wrote. Free in thought, he will never imprison my mind.

She tossed the stick aside, ending their discussion, tapped her chest, patted her stomach, then pointed to Michael.

“Aye, I am hungry too, which is why I snared two rabbits.”

Her smile was broad and she scrambled to stand. Once on her feet she motioned for him to clean the animals. She reached down and grabbed the stick she had tossed aside, then wrote on the ground in front of them hunt onions.

“Do not go far into the woods,” he cautioned.

She nodded and wrote in the dirt. Edge of woods.

“Good, I can see you while I clean the rabbits.”

She tossed the stick aside and hurried off, eager to find wild onions and hopefully an herb or two to flavor the rabbit stew.

Michael watched her go as he walked slowly to the castle. She was graceful in her haste, her body swaying as if in rhythm with a melody, a soft, subtle melody. He watched her dip down and swing up, a smile of delight on her face and a plucked onion in her hand. She repeated the movement several times and he could not take his eyes from her.

She mystified him, this woman of strength and tears, of pity for the least deserving, of injured voice yet eloquent words.

Mary waved to him with a handful of onions, he smiled and waved back.

He had forgotten the simple pleasures of life.

A woman’s smile. A woman’s wave. A woman’s love.

“Damn,” he swore beneath his breath.

He thought all feeling had died. Died along with those he loved.

But damned, if she had not sparked life in his cold heart.

He stomped off to clean the rabbits when suddenly he sensed something. He froze, barely breathing so that he could hear, sense, feel another’s presence.

In a second he felt it, a presence, strong and powerful and knew it to be a wild boar.

His glance shot to Mary. She was bent down, her interest caught by something on the ground. He tried to signal her but she did not take notice.

Suddenly he caught sight of the boar, in a dead run straight toward Mary. He took a deep breath and began to run.

Michael rushed at her, swept her up from around the waist and ran with her to hide behind a large tree.

Within seconds the boar passed, near to where she had been gathering onions.

He heard her sigh and she turned her face to his. His black mask brushed her cheek and she stilled.

“I wish . . .” he whispered.

Her eyes pleaded for him to tell her what he wished and he lowered his face, shifted his hood, and claimed her lips in a gentle kiss.

She seemed uncertain how to respond, and he wondered if this was her first kiss. The thought excited him. He slowly nudged her lips apart and, though at first hesitant, she became eager in her attempts to taste him.

They exchanged soft, tenuous nibbles as if sampling and savoring before tasting fully of each other. Michael did not hesitate to guide her and it was not long before their tongues were mating with the eagerness of newborn lovers.

The kiss was all too brief and Mary was disappointed when their lips parted and he moved away from her. She felt as though the earth shivered beneath her feet and her body flooded with a radiant warmth that tingled down to her toes. She wanted no distance between them; she wanted him as close to her as possible. His kiss had stirred her heart and now her heart ached for more.

He turned, his shoulders wide, his chest broad and his head high. “My apologies. That was wrong of me.”