Her Warrior King by Willingham Michelle

Author:Willingham, Michelle [Willingham, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Fiction, Historical, General
ISBN: 9780373294824
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2008-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

P atrick returned to his chamber late at night when he knew she was sleeping. The sight of her curled up on his bed made him ache with wanting her. Her soft, golden hair was braided, and she still wore the loathsome brown léine. Her body was half-tangled in the coverlet, while a long bare leg lay exposed to him. He wanted to touch her skin, to feel those long legs wrapping around his waist.

Lug, he didn’t need this. He’d thought it would be so easy to keep her confined upon Ennisleigh. She would lead her life and he, his own.

Instead, she had fought for them. He’d ordered her to remain behind, but she had taken up a bow and shot the Ó Phelan chieftain like a female warrior of old. He hadn’t guessed she possessed such skill. But now, as he studied her upper arms, he saw the moulded strength from practice. She had clearly aimed to wound the chieftain, not to kill him. And she had enough confidence to shoot in the midst of a fight, knowing she would not hit one of them.

Rarely had anyone surprised him. Not only had she given them the victory, she had spoken Irish. He’d never thought to hear his own language coming from her lips.

He moved to sit upon the bed. Her body heat allured him, making him want to remove his clothes and pull her close. He didn’t dare sleep beside her. Already she was stealing away his logic, making him consider bedding her.

He wouldn’t break the vow. No matter how much he desired her, he couldn’t risk a child.

Patrick sank down upon a chair. His arm stung from the earlier cut, and he’d wrapped linen around it. Moonlight pooled over his wife’s face. In sleep, she appeared pensive, trusting. But by God, she was beautiful. He supposed he deserved this penance, to be driven mad with wanting and to be unable to possess her. If Liam had lived, he’d never have set eyes upon Isabel de Godred.

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the chair. Even now he could not dwell here without remembering his older brother’s presence. As he unbuckled the sword from his waist, he wondered if he would ever be a true king.

He bowed his head, praying for strength and the wisdom he lacked. Then he lifted his gaze to Isabel, and prayed for the steadfast resolve to leave her untouched.

For one day soon, he’d have to let her go.

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