“That’s nae necessary.”
“It is, actually,” he said, only just remembering that he’d left the sword by the water, too, as well as the dagger he’d retrieved from Loxton’s body before they’d buried him. But that wasn’t the only reason he would go with her. He recalled one thing with absolute clarity from his studies of Ancient Medieval History: the times he was now in were savage ones. Do or die. Kill or be killed. And today had proven it. He had to discard his billionaire business mindset and adopt the mentality of a warrior. He needed to protect Maggie.
“Why?” she demanded, setting her hands on her hips and scowling at him.
“I left the sword that I took from the guard there, too,” he explained, amazed at how feisty she was with him, how obstinate and argumentative. He should be annoyed, given he was trying to help her, but it was so novel to have a woman he was not working with speak her mind and disagree with him. The women he’d dated always seemed to cater to him, his moods, his decisions. Even when he told them not to, asked them to speak their minds, they didn’t. Not even Jenny had done so until the end, when she’d given the marriage ultimatum. It had not turned out well for Jenny getting what she wanted, and he realized with tremendous guilt that the women had probably known that would happen. They had probably never felt free to be themselves.
But Maggie did.
Her response was another snort, but she didn’t tell him not to follow her, which was good because no force on Earth could have stopped him. The relative darkness made it slow going back to the stream. There were more times than he could count that he wanted to offer to lead, but he didn’t think Maggie would welcome it. She was in a state, if her muttering under her breath was any indication. So he followed, his mind occupied with the history he knew, his mom, his family, and every now and then, a hot flash of pain from his still-healing stomach.
Once they got to the stream, they quickly found the sword, dagger, and her gown, and he watched in silence as she dressed, trying not to stare but finding it impossible. His gaze was riveted upon her as if she were the only light to guide his way. She was a full moon in nothing but blackness.
She grunted and mumbled to herself, then said, “I’m done.” She shoved past him, plucking the dagger from his left hand as she went. Not ten feet later, she tripped, crying out as she flew forward.
He was crouched before her in less than a second, pulling her up and running his hands over her cold skin to check for cuts, breaks, he didn’t know. He wasn’t a doctor. But he wanted to ensure she was okay.
She pushed his hands away just as his fingers glided over her lovely rounded hip. “What are ye doing?” she demanded.
“Checking to see if you’re injured.”
“Ye might have asked!”
He might have, if his brain had been working, but something about Maggie turned his intellect off and his base instincts on. “Sorry,” was all he could think to say.
“Apology taken,” she grumbled, then stood and yelped. She reached for him at the same time he reached for her. Their hands found each other in the dark, as if their bodies were drawn together like magnets. “My ankle,” she moaned, leaning on him.
He didn’t think; he simply reacted. Again.
He secured the sword and scooped his hands under her legs to lift her off her feet and cradle her to his chest.
She gasped. “Ye do nae need to carry me!”
“You can’t walk on an injured ankle. You could make it worse.”
“But…but what about yer injuries?” she inquired.
“I’m fine. They aren’t bothering me at all,” he lied. If she wasn’t protesting his carrying her, her ankle must really hurt.
“Ye are certain?”
He could hear the hesitancy and the exhaustion in her tone. “Positive,” he replied, knowing she’d never let him carry her otherwise, and she needed to be carried and cared for, just as she had done for him.
With a weary sigh, she leaned her head against his chest and murmured, “Thank you.”
For a moment, he thought about trying to talk to her about where he was from, but it was late and she was clearly tired, so he stayed quiet. He maneuvered them along the path back to the spot where they had set up camp, which was buffeted fairly well from the wind by the trees, and her body relaxed against his, her breathing growing deep and even. When he glanced down, he could see her eyelashes resting against her cheek.
“Maggie?” he whispered softly so he wouldn’t wake her if she was asleep.
No answer came, and he smiled knowing she felt safe enough with him to fall asleep. When he reached their camp, he considered laying her gently on the ground, but it was cold and he didn’t want to wake her to do that or start a fire. Not yet anyway. If it got cold enough, he’d have no choice. After a bit of effort, he managed to slide his back along a tree trunk to a sitting position without her waking, and he situated her in his lap. She sighed again and curled up as if she were trying to burrow into his warmth. He put his arms around her to offer her more protection from the cold.
His thoughts drifted as he sat there, alternating between looking at the star-filled, moonlit sky and staring at Maggie’s face. Both took his breath away. In this century, there was no smog, no lights from buildings or streetlights or cars. It was absent of all the noise that he dealt with on a daily basis. A deep peace came over him, and the tension that always knotted his shoulders, that he had come to accept as part of his life, loosened.
Despite the cold, despite the pain of his wounds, despite being separated from everything he had ever known, contentment settled over him, followed by a drowsy warmth. He sat there, struggling to stay awake as he began to lose the fight against his own exhaustion. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.
He felt—happy. Then thoughts of his mother, brothers, and father hit him, and the happiness disappeared as worry for them consumed it, and left him to sit and stare into the darkness.
Chapter Nine
