Dark Warrior (Warrior 2)

Or was she exhausted and not making an ounce of sense?

“Sleep,” he ordered. “We still have much distance to travel.”

With a raised hand she circled the air around her, tossed her hands in frustration, pointed to her feet, crinkled her face, and shook her head while waving her finger.

To her surprise he laughed, though it was a low rumble, restrained. “You are never going to walk long distances when this is over.”

She nodded, confirming his understanding of her fumbling attempts at sign language. Then with one hand covering her yawn, she tugged with her other hand at his shroud for him to lie down and rest as well.

With little space they had no choice but to snuggle against each other. In an instant Mary was fast asleep, her arms tucked in against his chest, her head to his shoulder, her body pressed firmly against his and his shroud used as a blanket to keep her warm.

Michael however found sleep difficult. His body was tired, but much too aroused to sleep. It had all been so innocent the first night he found her in his arms out of necessity. She needed warmth and he had provided it. But that need for heat from a chilled night was not necessary when they stayed at the cottage.

And still . . .

He sought her bed. Why? He could convince himself it was out of protection that he had remained by her side, though if he were honest he would admit it was his own need that made him seek a tiny bit of intimacy with her. It felt good to lie beside her, to hold her, to feel her warmth. Her tenacious nature, her smile, her endless attempts to speak with her hands, her willingness to trust him when he was nothing more than a shadow, made her a remarkable woman. And she had kissed him, if only with her fingers.

He grew annoyed with himself. She was grateful and dependent on him, nothing more. He had seen countless women to safety who had been just as grateful.

But how many women, fearing his darkness, had kept their distance no matter how grateful?

Mary had accepted his ominous presence from the beginning. She had not shied away in fright or feared being near him. And she appeared to have grown even more comfortable with him as the days continued.

She thought nothing of taking hold of his arm or expressing herself with a touch to his chest. And with each simple touch, he began to respond; it was a brief stirring of emotions at first, growing more evident with each contact until . . .

He took a deep breath and willed his mind to banish the crazy thoughts, but his emotions warred with him. His feelings had been locked away in a prison of his own making and somehow Mary had found a way to pry it open, if only an inch.

It had been too long since he had been touched with kindness and concern. He had forgotten what it felt like and the stirring of emotions it created. It was a brief spark at first, a faint flutter of recognition he could not quite grasp and it faded as swiftly as it had been born.

He had paid it no heed until the spark returned and finally ignited a response. He suddenly realized that he favored her hand on his arm, her head on his shoulder, her body snuggled next to his. He actually waited for her to move nearer to him, and found that his arms instinctively comforted her without thought or concern for his unusual actions.

Lonely.

He had been very lonely these many years, missing his family, remembering his mother’s tender love and the joy and laughter he shared with his younger sister. Mary reminded him of his sister, young and courageous, an angelic smile. Their hearts were peaceful. Sometimes he would think of home and picture his mother and sister waiting eagerly for his return, but there was no home and he knew better than to think he could live a happy life once again. And love? He had no time to spare for love. He had been dedicated to his purpose, his intent to save the innocent. There was no time for love, family, children—and he had seen in Mary’s eyes how she wished for children, wished for a fulfilling life.

He could give her none of that. He would only bring her heartache and sorrow. One day it would be necessary for him to walk away from her never to see her again. The thought stabbed like a knife in his stomach and he moved her closer to him.

He would cherish the brief time that was theirs. He would allow himself to feel and gather memories, but he would keep his distance for her sake as well as his own. When all was done between them, he wanted no heartache for her and no regrets for him.