I could have lost her.

The thought reverberated through Owen’s head again and again, like a loop without end as he carried Scarlett to a large tree beside the stream and sank down onto his haunches in the shade.

Her limp body felt impossibly fragile in his arms, her bones as delicate as that of a tiny songbird’s as he held her nestled against his chest. He would like to have taken her to a doctor, but he feared the jostling ride would do more harm than good. While she was not bleeding, there was a small bump on the side of her skull from when her head had struck the ground. Aside from the scrapes on her hands it was the only sign of physical injury. And so he waited for her to wake, knowing from his experience on the battlefield it could take anywhere from a few minutes to several hours.

In sleep she looked like the girl he remembered. The girl he had fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love with. Her expression was content. There was only the slightest curve to her mouth as though she were dreaming of something that pleased her. Her cheeks were the warmest shade of pink. Her lashes fanning down like the wings of a butterfly. During the fall her hat had been lost and her curls were tangled around her face in a golden halo of silk. Unable to help himself Owen gently smoothed her hair back, not wanting for her to wake with tendrils in her eyes.

He fancied her short hair. It was bold and brazen and a bit on the cusp which suited her. Even when they were young adults – no more than children, really – she had been a little wild. A little different. A little unique. It was that uniqueness that had drawn him to her. That had helped him look beyond the sheen of a pretty face and fancy clothes to the girl she had been beneath. A girl with a heart as big as the sun and dreams that rivaled his own.

Or so he had thought.

Conflicting feelings warred inside of Owen’s chest as he began to gently stroke Scarlett’s arm, hoping the light pressure would be enough to rouse her.

I could have lost her.

When her lashes began to flutter and a line appeared across the middle of her brow he tensed, unconsciously holding his breath until those smoky gray eyes opened and she looked up at him.

“What… where am I?” Her voice was raspy. Her eyes filled with confusion. But she did not struggle. If anything being held in his arms seemed to soothe her, and with a quiet sigh she turned her head inwards until the side of her face was pressed against his heart. “I thought I was going to die,” she murmured, her words muffled against his shirt. “You saved me.”

Owen’s arms tightened around her slender frame as the instinctive urge to protect what was his surged through him. Except she is not yours, he reminded himself harshly.

She never had been.

“You’re awake. How do you feel?” There was nothing in his brusque tone that implied he had been afraid for her. Nothing to signal he’d held her with tenderness. Nothing to show the hard wall of ice around his heart had just suffered its first tiny crack.

I could have lost her.

Belatedly Owen realized he was still stroking Scarlett’s arm even though she had woken. Annoyed by the unconscious gesture of affection he stopped at once, fingers curling inwards to form a fist.

“Well enough, I suppose.” A grimace contorted her features. “Although my head hurts like the devil.”

“That is to be expected after the fall you took.” Owen wondered if he would ever get the image of her dangling helplessly from the saddle out of his mind. The fear he had felt in that moment… It had been suffocating. Were it not for his military training he doubted he would have been able to remain calm enough to approach Scarlett’s mare without spooking her.

He’d always regretted fighting in France. Taking another human’s life, even in battle, left a black stain on the soul that no amount of time could remove. But he would have gladly fought again on a thousand different battlefields if it meant saving Scarlett’s life.

I could have lost her.

“You were almost killed,” he said, more harshly than he had intended.

She frowned up at him. “You say that as if it were my fault Fancy spooked.”

“If you hadn’t screeched like a banshee she wouldn’t have.”

“I did not screech.” She tried to sit up, but with another pained grimace she collapsed back into his arms and pressed a hand to her temple. “Bloody hell that hurts.”

“Be still,” he growled.

“Maybe I would if you weren’t insulting me!”

“The truth is not an insult.”

“Oh.” She actually bared her teeth at him like a little blonde-haired fox. “You are impossible. Then again you always were. I don’t know why I thought seven years would make a difference.”

Owen barely managed to contain his snort. The truth was that even when he and Scarlett been consumed by the throes of young love they had always fought like cats and dogs. There had been no cruel edge to the banter like there was now, but they’d rarely stumbled across a topic they both agreed upon. It was one of the reasons he’d been so taken with Scarlett. She hadn’t been afraid to speak her mind, or follow her heart. Even when her heart had led her to the poor son of a baker…

“Romanticizing the past is best left to poets and playwrights, Lady Sherwood.”

“And we’re back to Lady Sherwood,” she muttered under her breath. “I do not know why I even bothered. There is no point, is there?”

His eyes narrowed. “No point to what?” He was trying to listen to what she was saying, but it was rather distracting having her more or less sitting in his lap. It had been manageable when she’d been unconscious, but now that she was awake and squirming…

Owen knew he could have stood up and set her down on her own two feet, but he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not because he enjoyed holding her. No. Of course not. What was the saying? Hold thy friends close and thy enemies closer. Yes. That was it.

His grip tightened, settling Scarlett more snugly into the crook of his arm. There was a smear of dirt above her right brow and another beneath her chin. Her hair was snarled and a button was missing from her jacket. She was a mess, in every sense of the word. And he wanted to kiss her so badly he ached.   

“No point to us.” Without any warning her gray eyes flooded with tears.

“Stop that,” Owen demanded gruffly. He knew it was most likely an act, but seeing her misery so blatantly displayed made him feel as though he’d been punched in the gut.

“Stop what? Showing emotion?” Her laugh was bitter, and just a bit sad. “Not all of us hide behind stone walls, Captain Steel. Some of us actually feel things.”

His jaw clenched. Is that what she truly thought? That he was cowering behind a wall made out of stone? If only she knew how much he felt.

Anger. Pain. Resentment.

Yearning. Desire. Lust.

From the second he’d seen her again he had been fighting a war inside of himself. A war he did not know if he wanted to win… or lose.

“I feel more things than you could possibly imagine.”  

“Oh really?” Her eyes sparked with challenge even as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. Each one that fell cut Owen anew, slicing through his armor as though they were made of daggers instead of salt and water.

“What do you feel,” she asked, “besides loathing?”

“This.” Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to hers.