Dark Warrior (Warrior 2)

His grin prompted her to redefine her question.

“Did you rescue him?”

He shrugged, giving her no definitive response.

“He has a good heart.”

Roarke nodded and his sudden silence warned her he would not be forthcoming. He protected Michael and she could not fault him for that, but she wanted to know about the man she loved and she was certain Roarke could provide insight.

Mary decided that being blunt might make a difference. “I love Michael.”

Roarke misunderstood. “Everyone Michael helps loves him.”

“I am sure they do, but I love him,” she clarified.

Roarke was about to take a bite of a piece of meat but stopped to stare at her.

“I want to know about Michael,” she insisted.

He dropped the piece of meat to his plate and shook his head. “I will not betray Michael’s trust.”

“I do not ask that of you.” She pushed her plate aside, her food barely touched, and leaned her arms on the table. “I want to know the man behind the mask.”

“You are serious.”

“Yes.”

“It cannot be.” Roarke wiped his hands on a cloth. “You and Michael can never be.”

“You repeat his words, but I pray that it can be.”

“He speaks the truth and I am sorry to say you waste your time.”

“Michael loves me,” she said with confidence.

“Then I feel sorry for my friend for he knows the truth of the situation.”

“Is he not allowed to love?” Mary heard her own frustration.

“I would want nothing more than to see Michael happy. But he chose a path to follow, a difficult path, and he knows the price of his decision.”

“He can change his path.”

Roarke sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “He would not do that. He made a vow and he is an honorable man.”

Sadness gripped her heart. Was there not even a small chance for them?

“I wish I could explain, for I see it causes you pain, but it is not for me to tell you,” Roarke said with sympathy. “It is Michael you must speak with.”

“Can you tell me nothing?” She sounded as though she begged like an animal for a small scrap of food, for anything that would feed her need. Her weakness annoyed her but she understood it came from deep inside, where feelings nestled and grew.

Roarke took pity on her and leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table and looking ready to tell her a tale.

She waited with hope in her heart.

“Michael knows the ills of the suffering for he suffered greatly himself.”

“He was tortured?”

“Ask me no questions, Mary. Listen and take what little I can offer you.”

She quickly nodded, impatient for him to continue.

“His own suffering brought with it a vow of vengeance, a vow that would serve the greater good. He committed himself to that vow; it is his life.”

“But what of love? Is he not entitled to love?”

“He surrendered his life when he took that vow.”

“You are telling me that I cannot be selfish and expect him to forsake his vow for our love.”

“Aye,” he admitted. “I want you aware of the pain your love may cause the both of you.”

“But—”

“Wait, let me finish. I have watched Michael endlessly give with no thought to himself. And I, as his friend, know that he cannot go on like this forever. It is a lonely, isolated existence . . .” He paused a moment and, almost in a whisper, as though he were not sure if he should voice his thoughts, said, “I sometimes think he punishes himself over and over—”

“For his sister’s death.”

“And his mother’s.”

“His mother?”

Roarke shook his head. “This is why it is better I say nothing. Once I start talking I do not stop.”

“But he told me of his sister,” she reminded him.

“If he had told you the whole story then he would have told you about his mother. They are the reason he became the Dark One.”

“I want to love him, help him, free him.”

“I wish that were possible,” Roarke said sadly, “but Michael must free himself.”

“Sometimes we need help.”

“Trust me, Mary, there is nothing you can do to help him.”

“I do not believe that.”

“You do not want to believe that,” Roarke said. “And I admire you for your courage, but it will do you little good against the strength of the Dark One.”

“I have survived much suffering myself, and I would not have done so if it were not for my parents. They taught me courage and they taught me strength, and that both could not be gained without love.”

“I know of your father and his beliefs. He was respected and admired by many, and his teachings continue to live on.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Mary said. “And I would not be my father’s daughter if I did not fight for my own beliefs. And I believe that Michael and I will one day share a life and love.”