Most of the night had passed. I woke in a sweat, realising what I must have done.
'Pleasant nap?' She was still there anyway.
'You told me to relax: I'm awake now,' I said, trying to make it sound meaningful.
Helena merely laughed at me, and snuggled against my shoulder. 'Sometimes when I'm trying to make friends with you, I feel like Sisyphus pushing his rock up the mountain.'
I laughed too. 'Just when he's shoved the thing up farther than ever before, he gets a terrible itch on the shoulder that he's compelled to scratch: I know.'
'Not you,' she disagreed. 'You'd find some clever way to poke a wedge under the rock.'
I loved her eccentric faith in me.
I rolled over suddenly, seizing her in a domineering hold. Then, as she stiffened, expecting something fierce, I kissed her so gently she was overcome. 'Sweetheart, you are the one person who will never need to worry about making friends with me.'
I smiled into her eyes. She closed them. Sometimes she hated me to see how deeply she felt. I kissed her once more, making a deliberately thorough job of it.
When she looked at me again her eyes were richly brown, and full of love. 'Why did you run away from the dinner table, Marcus?'
'I hate stories where dangerous bandits are grabbing women I care about as hostages.'
'Ah, the bandit was a sweetie!' she teased softly.
'I bet you handled him.'
'I have some practice with curmudgeons who think they know all about women!' she mocked, but she was stretching beneath my weight so invitingly I could hardly concentrate. Helena grew still. 'Do you care about me?'
'I do.'
'Did you miss me?'
'Yes, my darling:'
As I set about the pleasant task of showing her how much, she murmured restively, 'It's starting to get light, Marcus. I ought to go.'
'I don't think I can allow that:'
For a moment longer I could tell she was unhappy. I pressed on, letting her know it would have to be all her decision if she wanted us to stop. Then she forgot about the proprieties of living in her brother's house, and was all mine again.