Warrior's Heart

Chapter Eighteen

Thorin woke well before the dawn, his shoulder and thigh throbbing, but thankfully, his fever remained gone. He stretched slightly, then froze as Arielle sighed in her sleep. Her head remained tucked into the curve where his shoulder met his chest, and the last thing he wished to do was disturb her. She still looked so exhausted, so worn out. Dreams didn't plague her sleep as they did his.

He could hear her when he was first brought to the Healing Room, could hear her whispering to him, the sobs in her throat, the pain in her voice. He wanted to reassure her, to touch her and promise her all would be well, but he couldn't make the words emerge. He couldn't lift his hand to brush her cheek, or even curl his fingers about hers when she caught his hand.

All he remembered was pain. And fire. And the mocking voice of a sniveling elf who sorely underestimated the woman he thought he could conquer.

Thorin smiled down at Arielle. Only a fool would want to conquer her, to try to change her, to force her into being something she wasn't. He couldn't imagine his Arielle as anything other than the woman she was, full of fire and optimism, sin and sensuality, strength and vulnerability. Everything in one perfect package.

And he'd made damn certain Elwin knew exactly how badly he'd erred. When Arielle helped him over to the elf, he leaned over and whispered, "She is every bit as beautiful as you imagine her to be, every bit as sinful, and every bit as sweet. And you will never know, whilst I will carry her off to my bed every evening until tomorrow ceases to be and love her from head to toe, as she should be loved."

That lady now stirred softly against him, lifting her head to peer up at him through sleep-slitted eyes. "Is everything all right, Thorin?"

"It's fine, princess," he assured her, smiling in the graying light of dawn. "I merely woke up. Go back to sleep."

She shook her head. "I've no desire to dream any more this night."

"What were you dreaming?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Everything is going to be fine now." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I promise you, it will. The Healer has said the infections are clearing and I'll have full use of both my arm and my leg. And when I regain full function, you, princess, are in trouble."

She managed a sleepy smile. "Thorin..."

"What? I promised your jilted fiancé I would be the one to take you to bed every evening and love you from head to toe until all of the tomorrows draw to a close."

"You did not."

"Oh, but I did." He winked at her. "And I meant every word. I can only hope that every time you scratch your fingernails along my back, he feels it as a reminder of what he's lost."

"Thorin!"

"What? I do. Because as much I love that feeling, he would hate it."

"You love being scratched?"

"Princess, if you're digging your nails into me because of something I'm doing that I am doing right? Oh, absolutely I love it." He gave her another squeeze. "Surely you've noticed I am not one to shy away from making certain you find your pleasure, haven't you?"

Even in the low light, the flush in her cheeks was visible. He chuckled softly as she buried her face against his chest and said, "I didn't say you did, now, did I?"

Her arm tightened about his waist, her fingers light as they danced along his ribs. He bit back a sigh. No matter how she touched him, it fired his blood to a certain extent. He knew exactly how fortunate he was, to win her hand, her heart, to be the one she loved.