Highlander - Donna Lettow [95]
He reached out and gently pushed her away. “Not now, Maral, please.”
She looked at him a moment, a little stung, wishing she could figure out what was going on in that lovely head of his. “Okay,” she said, “help me understand this. You don’t want to eat. You don’t want to drink. You don’t want to talk, and you don’t want to play. May I ask why you are here, Duncan? You could just as easily be not doing all these things on your barge. Why come to me?”
Why? That was a good question. Because… “I just wanted to be near you. Not to make love or fool around, but … just to have you close.” He smiled a wan little smile. “Sorry I’m not better company tonight.”
Her heart melted at this peek beneath the white knight’s armor, a glimpse of the vulnerability locked inside. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to hold him, to banish his demons and comfort him. Settling back into the couch and pulling her legs up beneath her, she put her arm around him once again and gently guided his head against her shoulder. “Close enough?”
She smelled of sandalwood and fresh rainwater, and he nestled against her. “This is nice.” The satin of her pajama top was cool where it brushed his skin, and her thick jet hair cushioned his head like no downy pillow ever had. Gradually he could feel the tension and anger start to seep from his body.
“Why don’t I tell you my good news?” she said, allowing her other hand to softly stroke his temple. “I think we finally have an agreement.”
“That’s fantastic.” He tried to sit up, but she wouldn’t let him.
“You can listen just fine where you are,” she scolded playfully, starting to massage his temples in soothing circular motions. “It is only a preliminary step, all about timetables and troop redeployment, but still, it’s a start. We meet again tomorrow morning before the sabbath recess to make sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s crossed and all the alefs and sifirs are in the right places. If all goes well, Arafat and the Israeli Prime Minister arrive on Monday to sign the agreement.”
“And what will the people think?” He closed his eyes, listening to the low timbre of her voice, feeling her healing touch.
“Those who want the killing and the fear to stop will embrace it as a necessary step toward peace. The self-righteous, the extremists, the ultraconservative on all sides will despise it, because we all must make some painful concessions. This agreement won’t bring peace. In the short term, it will probably make things worse, until people have a chance to get used to it. But it lays the foundation for a lasting peace.” She moved her hands to his shoulders, her fingers digging deep into the muscles, releasing the tension, smoothing it away. “My grandfather says that a lasting peace is like a good marriage. Sacrifice and compromise are constantly required of both the bride and the groom, and the minute you take the relationship for granted, it’s gone.”
“Wise man, your grandfather.”
“Sometimes I think he was blessed with a very old soul.” If he’d thought he could, he would have turned around to see what exactly she meant by that, but his spine was quickly turning to jelly under her care. “He lost his land, he lost his wife, he lost one son to alcohol and the other to an Israeli bullet, yet he never became bitter. He kept his faith in Allah, but he didn’t use that faith to condone vengeance against those who wronged him as so many have. I have a lot of respect for him.”
“You’re a lot like him, I think.”
“I just wish I had his faith.”
MacLeod reached up and touched her hand with his own. “You have faith in your fellowman, which is sometimes more difficult to keep.”
She laughed. “I’m naive, you mean?” She worked on his shoulders