Free His Destiny by Diana Cosby

with needs unfulfilled, Emma struggled to admit what her body desired, what her heart yearned to feel. How did she explain that the shock of an intimate touch ignited flashes of the rape during her youth? And of the endless hours afterward, when she’d lain abandoned, bleeding in the shadows upon the cold, filthy stone.
    At her silence, Patrik nodded. “So be it.” He strode to a shield of rocks, withdrew blankets hidden behind them. In the clearing, he spread them out.
    He was upset, how could he not be? She’d believed herself strong enough to be with a man and was wrong. “I am sorry.”
    Storm-filled eyes met hers. “Do not be. My wanting you does not make the time right.”
    “As if there will ever be a time right for either of us?” The words spilled out before she could stop them. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken.”
    “Why? On the morrow we will part, never again to see each other. I should not have pushed you to choices you are not ready for.” He nodded. “For that I am sorry.”
    He referred to her supposed rape by the English knights. Guilt swept through her.
    Patrik walked over, placed a gentle kiss upon her lips. “Go to sleep, Cristina. If you should want to talk, I have been known to be a good listener.” He walked to the fire and sat before the flames, his back toward her.
    Damn him and his honorable ways! “I want you as well.”
    He tensed.
    “Never has a man kissed me like you.” At his silence, anger trampled over caution. “I want you to make love with me, but I know not if I can.”
    Patrik shoved to his feet. With quiet steps he walked over. Dark eyes assessed her, softened. “Tell me.”
    She wanted to, desperately. Emma wrung her hands and studied the flicker of flames.
    “Look at me.”
    Emma lifted her eyes. The sincerity of his gaze stole her breath. If she told him of the rape during her youth, it would explain her hesitance, yet raise questions about her husband’s touch. But she needed him to understand.
    And offer yet another lie?
    No, in this she would give him truth. “After my husband was murdered—” She struggled for the right words. “—one of the English knights caught me and I was raped.”
    Fury burned his eyes.
    “The man . . .” She stared at the distant rush of water, the years rolling past, seeing the merchant’s greedy hands, feeling the pain of his assault. “I tried to run, to escape. I could not get away.” A sob escaped, then another. Emotions she’d withheld, had never shared with another, broke free. Hands, strong and tender, caught her, drew her against him, held her as if she was something precious.
    “God, lass,” he whispered, “I am so sorry.”
    Her tears fell harder, in part at the memories, in part that even in her horror she invited deception. She shook her head. “I no longer cry.”
    Patrik wiped her cheek. “Tears do not make you weak, but alive.”
    “It hurts to feel.” She sniffed. “I swore never again to care.”
    “’Tis an unreasonable vow,” he said, his words without censure. “Our feelings are not for us to dictate.”
    She fought to give him a smile, failed. “I was doing well until I met you.”
    His mouth opened as if to say more. Instead, he drew her close, the steady beat of his heart reassuring, making her want to stay there forever.
    “You need to rest.” His quiet words held an edge of tension, and of need as well.
    Emma looked up. “But I want you.”
    Instead of heat, tenderness filled his gaze. “As I do you, never doubt that. But with your emotions so raw, you are not ready.”
    “I—”
    He pressed a finger over her mouth. “On this I will not budge.”
    At his thoughtfulness, fresh tears threatened. Though he might never admit it, they both understood that after the events of this moment, the bond between them had changed, had deepened.
    “Come.” He led her to where he’d made a pallet. “We are both tired and need sleep.”
    She nodded, emotions storming her as she walked by