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Authors: Madeline Baker
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week. Did she find him desirable, or was she merely curious about a man who had traveled so far through the mists of time?
Desire surged through him as his eyes met hers, and he wished he dared touch her. When he had thought her a spirit only, he had not given any thought to the beauty of her face, the color of her skin, the shape of her mouth. But now he knew she was flesh and it was all he could do to keep from reaching out to stroke her cheek, to bury his face in the wealth of her hair and breathe in the sweet scent of woman.
Abruptly, he stood up. “We will start again tomorrow.”
“All right.”
Still, he did not move. His gaze lingered on her face and he wondered again why she had summoned him to this place.
Maggie felt her cheeks grow warm under his prolonged gaze. What was he thinking? Why was he looking at her like that?
“Good night, Mag-gie,” he said quietly, and his voice washed over her like dark honey, warm and soft and sweet.
“Good night,” she murmured, and wished she could think of some plausible reason to make him stay.
Shadow Hawk left the kitchen, reluctant to leave her, yet knowing he needed to get away from her before it was too late, before he did something that would shame her and prove he was not the warrior he claimed to be.
He walked down the narrow hall that led to the living room, pausing for a moment to look at the painting over the fireplace, and then he went outside.
Standing on the porch, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of earth and grass, the fragrance of the tall pines, the faint odor of a skunk.
He heard the quiet swoosh of an owl’s wings, the soft snort of one of the horses, the distant melancholy cry of a wolf. The sounds of home.
Opening his eyes, he gazed at the Hills, feeling their nearness, their power.
He thought of Heart-of-the-Wolf. He thought of his mother and prayed that she still lived, but always his thoughts returned to Maggie. It pained him that she could not walk, that he could not take her hand and run with her through the prairie grass. She was a woman of beauty and sensitivity. She should not be bound to a cold chair with wheels. She should not be living in a square house with only an old woman and a young boy for company. He had seen the sadness in her eyes and knew she longed for the things every woman longed for, a man to love her, a mate to give her children, a companion to walk beside her until life was done.
Standing there, staring into the darkness, he wished that he could be that man.
Returning to the house, he walked quietly down the hallway toward his room. He paused outside Maggie’s room, imagining her asleep inside, her hair spread like a dark cloud on the pillow.
He was about to go on down the hall when he heard her crying softly. Impulsively, he opened the door and stepped into the room.
“Mag-gie? Are you all right?”
“Yes. Go away.”
“Why do you weep?”
Why, indeed, she thought bitterly. “Please, Hawk, just go away.”
He listened to her words telling him to leave, but in his heart he knew she did not want to be alone. Crossing the room, he sat on the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms.
“Let me go!” she shrieked, a sudden irrational fear rising up within her as his arms closed around her.
“Mag-gie, do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”
His voice, that beautiful deep voice, reached through the darkness, soothing her. She felt his hand stroke her hair and she laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had held her. She could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, feel the heat of his body against hers.
“Mag-gie, why do you weep?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t. I hardly know you.”
His hand continued to stroke her hair, comforting her. “You can tell me,” he urged softly.
She shook her head, not wanting to put her fears into words. It wasn’t just that she
Desire surged through him as his eyes met hers, and he wished he dared touch her. When he had thought her a spirit only, he had not given any thought to the beauty of her face, the color of her skin, the shape of her mouth. But now he knew she was flesh and it was all he could do to keep from reaching out to stroke her cheek, to bury his face in the wealth of her hair and breathe in the sweet scent of woman.
Abruptly, he stood up. “We will start again tomorrow.”
“All right.”
Still, he did not move. His gaze lingered on her face and he wondered again why she had summoned him to this place.
Maggie felt her cheeks grow warm under his prolonged gaze. What was he thinking? Why was he looking at her like that?
“Good night, Mag-gie,” he said quietly, and his voice washed over her like dark honey, warm and soft and sweet.
“Good night,” she murmured, and wished she could think of some plausible reason to make him stay.
Shadow Hawk left the kitchen, reluctant to leave her, yet knowing he needed to get away from her before it was too late, before he did something that would shame her and prove he was not the warrior he claimed to be.
He walked down the narrow hall that led to the living room, pausing for a moment to look at the painting over the fireplace, and then he went outside.
Standing on the porch, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of earth and grass, the fragrance of the tall pines, the faint odor of a skunk.
He heard the quiet swoosh of an owl’s wings, the soft snort of one of the horses, the distant melancholy cry of a wolf. The sounds of home.
Opening his eyes, he gazed at the Hills, feeling their nearness, their power.
He thought of Heart-of-the-Wolf. He thought of his mother and prayed that she still lived, but always his thoughts returned to Maggie. It pained him that she could not walk, that he could not take her hand and run with her through the prairie grass. She was a woman of beauty and sensitivity. She should not be bound to a cold chair with wheels. She should not be living in a square house with only an old woman and a young boy for company. He had seen the sadness in her eyes and knew she longed for the things every woman longed for, a man to love her, a mate to give her children, a companion to walk beside her until life was done.
Standing there, staring into the darkness, he wished that he could be that man.
Returning to the house, he walked quietly down the hallway toward his room. He paused outside Maggie’s room, imagining her asleep inside, her hair spread like a dark cloud on the pillow.
He was about to go on down the hall when he heard her crying softly. Impulsively, he opened the door and stepped into the room.
“Mag-gie? Are you all right?”
“Yes. Go away.”
“Why do you weep?”
Why, indeed, she thought bitterly. “Please, Hawk, just go away.”
He listened to her words telling him to leave, but in his heart he knew she did not want to be alone. Crossing the room, he sat on the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms.
“Let me go!” she shrieked, a sudden irrational fear rising up within her as his arms closed around her.
“Mag-gie, do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”
His voice, that beautiful deep voice, reached through the darkness, soothing her. She felt his hand stroke her hair and she laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had held her. She could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, feel the heat of his body against hers.
“Mag-gie, why do you weep?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t. I hardly know you.”
His hand continued to stroke her hair, comforting her. “You can tell me,” he urged softly.
She shook her head, not wanting to put her fears into words. It wasn’t just that she
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