Reckless Protector: Isaacson Trilogy Book Three

19

Was that disappointment he heard in her voice? He was almost tempted to glance her way but focused on what used to be the simple act of walking. Crossing the blasted wood floor took all his concentration until he stood before the door.

Only then did he answer with a firm, "No."

That was good. Wasn't it? It was clear and to the point, in no way alluding to the possibility she might convince him to remain in the room with her if she but said the word.

Escape was moments away from being his; all Ulric had to do was grab the doorknob and walk out. It was such a simple action, yet his arm refused to lift, his hand refused to grasp, and worst of all, his feet seemed rooted in place.

Damn. He didn't want to leave her because he didn't want to sleep anywhere except next to her as he had the last few nights. However, leaving was the safest course of action and the only sure way to get even an hour of rest.

A peaceful night's slumber would be impossible if he stayed and camped on the floor. The bed squeaked again when she scooted off and stood, diverting his thoughts. He tensed, unsure of what to do now that he'd temporarily, at least he hoped it was temporary, lost the ability to move.

She took two halting steps toward him and then held still. Her breath caught in her throat.

Ulric straightened, straining his ears to pick up every little sound she made. What was she going to say? Would Ingrid plead with him to stay the night? If she did, would he be able to deny her—did he even want to try?

She took another shuffling step closer. "Do you want to take a-a pillow...or a blanket with you?"

It was the worst thing she could have said. Well, technically, it was not the worst, but it was pretty awful at the moment.

Ulric closed his eyes, his shoulders drooping as he fought against an overwhelming surge of disappointment. She was practically booting him out the door. Did he want a pillow? He ground his teeth and bit back a curse. He'd been a fool to hope a few tender glances meant that her feelings toward him had changed.

"Goodnight," Ulric gritted out between clenched teeth, gripping the doorknob so hard that the metal gave a screeching groan in protest. "Lock the door when I leave, and don't open it for anyone except me." Without a backward glance, he left.

But the door didn't close behind him as it should have. He had only taken four steps away when he turned to see why and found Ingrid to be the reason. She stood in the doorway, gazing at him with such a stricken expression that his resolve to make a hasty retreat floundered, and he found himself walking toward her.

He stopped in his tracks, needing as much space between them as possible if he was going to remain clear-headed, and asked, "What's wrong?"

She glanced down the hall, wringing her hands and licking her lips before looking at him. Her voice was no more than a whisper when she spoke, although her words were straight and to the point. "You're angry with me."

He shook his head and settled his hands on his hips. Blowing out a breath, he stared down at the floor. "We'll talk in the morning."

Ingrid took a small step into the hall and kept her voice low, "Where will you sleep?"

Ulric slowly raised his eyes to meet her gaze. "Does it matter?"

She stared at him in mute silence and gave a sad nod.

Clenching his jaw, he stared at a crack in the plaster wall behind her left shoulder and gave his reluctant answer, "The stables."

Ingrid took another step toward him. "Why?"