((The following scene contains adult situations. Please do not read if such content offends you.))

Marin had woken up before midnight tonight, her body anticipating the violent attacks on her doors back and front below. She rolled onto her side, her hand wrapping about the shotgun on her bedside table. Despite knowing she wouldn't be able to fire it, she felt a little better just holding onto the heavy piece of weaponry. Sitting up, she strained her hearing, just waiting for that first rap against wood that would signal two hours of hell, just like the past nights had contained. And then she heard it ....below her open window, the sound of feet against the dry grass. Someone was moving backwards and forwards beneath her window - whoever it was knew she slept in this room!

Terror gripped her again, for the third night in a row, and she felt the beginning of her natural reaction to cry beginning to well up. The shotgun was abandoned in the bed as she slithered hurriedly from between the sheets, not even bothering to snatch up her robe tonight. She didn't want to be in here, not if her tormentor knew where she slept already.

Exhausted and still recovering from the bullet wound in his side, Evan had fallen into a restless, feverish sleep, tangled in his blankets, sweating and yet shivering with cold. It wasn't an infection that was causing the fever, so much as exhaustion and dehydration. As restless as his sleep was, he was oblivious to any trouble outside Marin's window, or despite the fever, he would have been up and prowling about with revolver in hand.

Shivering herself for no other reason but fear, Marin reached Evan's door just as the first bang resounded through the house. A quiet sob escaped her throat, one hand muffling the sound as the other turned the door knob, letting herself into her guest's bedroom and closing the door firmly behind her. Her deep blue eyes turned to the restless shape on the bed, feeling a little calm reassert itself at the tangible knowledge of a capable man in the house, even if he was wracked with fever.

He was mumbling a little in his sleep, incoherently, not making much sense, eyes moving beneath closed lids at the dream that was running like a bad horror film through his brain. On the verge of waking, completely unaware of the women who'd just crept into his room or the intruder outside.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Pressed back against the door, Marin felt herself shake with each impact against the guard she had installed over the back door earlier that day. It wasn't very sturdy, she knew, her imagination offering the terrifying image of the guard being ripped free, the back door buckling inward, and that ....that man below being free to roam her house. The sound of something metal being dragged down over the steel wire of that guard screeched, setting her teeth on edge, and her nerve broke, sending her scurrying barefoot to the bed.

She slid under the covers with him, barely noticing the fact that Evan was still fully dressed again, and pressed her face into his chest, her hand rising to cover her ear as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Go away," she whispered into the darkness, her voice tiny and without force. "Please ....leave me alone ..."

Somewhere in Evan's fevered subconscious those bangs on the door were registering and forcing their way into his already troublesome dream, illiciting another half-mumbled groan from the man as he started to come to. His shirt was only partially buttoned, soaked in sweat, hair plastered to his cheeks and forehead. Thankfully, she had slid into the bed on his uninjured side but even so, that slight movement was enough to jerk him out of a restless sleep. Startled by her unexpected intrusion, he was jerked awake, eyes wide with alarm, instincts kicking in before he realized who she was. He rolled over, reaching for her hands and pinning them over her head, peering into the darkness at her face.

She hadn't expected any kind of reaction from him - he hadn't even woken up last night, she'd had no reason to think he would this time. But despite the surprise, she didn't make a sound as his weight rolled onto hers, the soft weakness of her form pinned easily beneath his as she gasped amid the noise from below. Her eyes opened wide as she stared up at him through the gloom, unwittingly displaying the traitorous heat that his dominant action had stirred in her.

It took a moment or two for the brain fog to lift from his brain, induced by both fever, sleep, and exhaustion, realizing several things at once - that it was Marin who'd invaded his bed, that she was barely dressed, that she appeared either shocked or afraid, and that it sounded like someone or something was trying to get into the house. He let go of her hands but remained where he was, pressing a finger against her lips to indicate that she should keep quiet, while he lifted his head, tilting it to one side to give a closer listen to what was going on outside.

Shocked, afraid, definitely uncertain how she was supposed to react to having a very attractive man lying on top of her, Marin nodded hurriedly in answer to the gentle press of his finger against the full curve of her lips, her breath quick against his skin as she watched him look up.

Below them, the impacts against the door had stopped, but the sound of feet beneath her window two rooms along had not. There was a long pause, and suddenly another shuddering bang as something large and heavy slammed against the shutters protecting the glass of her bedroom window. Marin jumped violently at the unexpectedly close sound, a faint whimper escaping her lips as she squeezed her eyes closed, one hand covering her own mouth as the other curled into the shirt Evan wore.

Evan didn't look afraid, so much as annoyed, angry even. God help whoever it was that was trying to frighten her if he got his hands on them. He looked back at her, gray-green eyes glassy with fever, but in complete control of his wits. The fact that there was a beautiful woman lying beneath him was more than a little distracting, especially to a man who hadn't been with a woman since his wife had died, but there were more pressing matters at hand. He looked back at her, whispering a quiet, "Shhh," as he pulled away from her, slipping out from beneath the blankets to his feet and grabbing his six-shooter from the side table.

She pushed to sit up as he slipped from the bed, her shoulders hunched, arms wrapped tight about herself. Blue eyes watched him as he took up his gun, and despite the common sense that was trying to prevail, she, too, slid out from under the blankets to press close against his uninjured side. "Don't leave me," she whispered, gripping at his shirt as another resounding thump of what must have been a brick against the wooden shutter two rooms along hammered through the house.

He started toward the window, slowly so as not to make a sound, not even the creak of a floorboard. Glancing back when he heard her plea and felt her grip his shirt, he realized how truly terrified she was, which only fuelled his desire - his need - to protect her and keep her safe, something he believed he'd failed to do for something he'd loved once before. He made no reply except for a sharp nod of his head, laying a finger against his own lips to silently remind her to keep quiet.

She nodded again, the motion jerky and almost too quick to make sense of, her fingers flexing in and out of the cloth at his back as she pressed her face to his shoulder-blade, only just tall enough that her curls tumbled forward from her temple to hang over his shoulder. Below them, the sinister laugh that had so terrified her during her first encounter with this nocturnal tormentor echoed up to the cracked window, fading as footsteps moved away.

Evan clenched his jaw when Marin refused to leave, preferring her to stay out of harm's way, but he had to admit, she had gumption and two guns were better than one, so long as she hit the right target. Evan's finger remained steady on the trigger, though he was almost itching to pull it. Just give me a reason, he thought to himself, giving no visible reaction when the man called him by name and hinted at knowledge of his past. All that did was solidify Evan's suspicions that Rogier was behind all this. He was, after all, the only one besides Marin who knew him by name. "Shame if she got spooked and pulled the trigger. Don't rightly feel like digging a grave tonight, but I will if I have to."

The unnamed stranger snorted with laughter, supremely unmoved by the threat of bullets fired in his direction, even by Evan himself. "I'm going to say it again," he warned them both. "I end up dead, your girl there's got explaining to do. Folks have already died on this farm, or didn't she tell you?"

Evan wasn't as easily frightened or intimidated as some would be in such a situation. He'd seen worse than this and survived and fairly recently, as evidenced from the wound in his side. "I suggest you hightail it outta here, if'n you wanna see the daylight." He thought about stepping forward, but instead stood his ground, not budging an inch. "I ain't telling you again."

"I'm going." Their unwelcome visitor stepped backward at a leisurely pace out onto the porch, his hands spread wide from his hips. He nodded to Marin. "Evening, Mrs Lassiter. Apologies for the inconvenience." Dark eyes turned back to Evan with a cruel smirk. "Mr Lassiter. Be seeing you."

With confidence that was almost as terrifying as his successful attempt to get into the house, he turned his back to the shotgun levelled at him and walked calmly down the porch steps, mounting a patiently waiting horse whose hooves had been gloved.

Evan followed the man's retreat out onto the porch, the shotgun held steadily in his arms, no reply to the man's barely veiled threat. He waited until he was on his horse and getting ready to leave before firing a single warning shot, purposely missing the man's head, the shot whistling dangerously past, close enough that the man would probably feel it.

The man jumped, his hand going straight for the gun holstered at his hip. His clear intention to shoot back, however, was foiled by the panicked rear of his horse, the dark stallion pawing at the air violently enough that he had to clutch at the reins before the creature thundered into a gallop. A bullet whistled back as the horse bore his rider out of range, slamming into one of the porch columns closest to Evan.

He barely flinched when the bullet hit the porch, watching as the man made his retreat, only lowering the shotgun when he deemed it finally safe. His face was shrouded in darkness, his expression grim. He wasn't looking for trouble, but it seemed that somehow trouble had found him. He exhaled a slow, weary sigh, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. He was only one man, against who knew how many' All of this was reminding him of what had happened to Ellie, a fate he didn't want Marin to share.

There was a long moment of tense silence that hung over the house like a thick, stifling blanket, broken by the tentative tone of Marin's voice, sounding far too close. "Is he gone?" she asked in a shaking tone, stepping into the moonlight from inside the doorway, the gun held loose at her side. "Evan?"

It seemed that suddenly a million thoughts were running through his head. Questions without answers. He heard her voice, tearing him away from those thoughts, and he felt his heart sink. It was all happening all over again. "He's gone," he replied, not turning to face her, looking off into the distance toward the figure that was no longer visible in the darkness. "Reckon you oughta tell me what?s going on." He knew what she'd already told him, but he wondered if there was anything she'd left out.

The sound that left her wasn't a moan of relief. It wasn't even a sigh. It was a rushing breath that signalled the loss of all that tension as she sagged back against the doorframe, her free hand pressing to her mouth as she stifled the urge to tears once again. It took another moment or two for her to be able to answer him. "I did," she said in a tiny voice, barely noticing the coolness of the breeze that ruffled her thin chemise in the moonlight. "I just didn't tell you about the man trying to get in at night, that's all. I didn't think he'd come back, not once they knew that I wasn't alone here anymore."

"They," he repeated, turning to her finally, eyes moving over her and realizing she must be freezing in that....whatever it was she was wearing which left far too little to the imagination. "You mean Rogier and his men." He only realized just then that he was shivering with cold and took a long-legged step back toward her and the front door, shotgun in one hand, reaching for the revolver with the other.

She pushed the revolver into his outstretched hand without needing to be told, hating the fact that she'd even aimed the thing, much less had been almost ready to fire it. "I didn't know it was him until this morning," she said in a voice that bordered on frantic. "Why are you angry with me?" Trembling, she pushed from the doorframe and inside, not wanting to be under that censuring gaze of his any longer.

He uncocked the revolver one handed, like it was something he was accustomed to and could almost do in his sleep. He arched a brow at her outburst, wondering where that had come from. He wasn't angry at her; he was only angry at the situation and at the men who were trying to hurt her. "I ain't..." he started, looking confused, but then she had turned her back on him and was heading inside. He sighed again, feeling caught in a no-win situation. Someone was going to get killed, and he didn't want it to be her.

There was a yelp from inside, accompanied by the thump of Marin's bare toes impacting with the leg of one of the couches. She whimpered, obviously hopping as she gripped her sore foot in one hand, falling to perch on the arm of the couch that had attacked her in the darkness. Even the sharpness of physical pain wasn't enough to completely wipe away the sting of Evan's anger away from the upset of the evening thus far, and a small, heart-breakingly frightened sob broke the quiet to reach his ears out on the porch.

He frowned when her heard her crying. Despite the yelp, he blamed himself for her tears, believing that his being there had only made things worse for her, harder. He shoved the sixgun into his pants and followed her inside, setting the shotgun near the front door and closing the door. He'd have a better look at it in the morning and make sure it was secure.

"Marin..." he ventured quietly as he approached her on the couch, his heart lurching at the sight of her, only partly due to her tears. He'd only been there a few days, and he knew he was already starting to care for her. Instead of waiting for her to reply, he went to her, lifting her chin to face him, brushing the tears from her face. "You should leave here. Go to town. Some place safe."

A child. Marin felt her hope drain away at that, the instinctive response to urge him into returning home to his little girl rising before she clamped down hard on it. She could understand why he hadn't said anything before, of course she could. But quiet common sense reasserted itself before she could give up entirely. Her hand snuck over to slide her fingers over his palm delicately, inserting themselves between his digits. "Is there some reason why ....why she couldn't come to live here?"

He wished he had his hat so he could fidget with the brim, but his hands were disturbingly empty, until he found her fingers sliding between his own. He wasn't the type who cried often, but he felt a strange burning at the back of his eyes at the thought of his young daughter, and he closed his eyes against that pain. He hadn't cried since Ellie had died, and he wasn't going to start now.

"It ain't safe here, Marin." He turned his head to face her. "It ain't safe anywhere." He clenched his jaw against the wave of pain that accompanied that thought. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. Back home he was a wanted man, and here he had Rogier and his men to worry about.

She bit her lower lip, unconsciously shifting closer until her thigh pressed to his, her other hand moving to cover his. "We can make it safe," she told him firmly. "This isn't Earth, Evan. We have access to magic, and technology ....there are so many things we can do to make the Brambles somewhere safe for her. But ..." Her voice tightened, forcing her to swallow before she went on, pushing away her selfish desire to have him there with her no matter what. "If you can't stay, then ....I understand. I'll think of something else. Your daughter needs you."

She wasn't hearing him or maybe she just wasn't understanding. Now that he was here, he couldn't go back there. They'd hang him if he did. His daughter was there and he was here, separated by Fate. Maybe it was better that way. Safer, at least for her.

"You..." He let his eyes drift over her form finally, taking in all of that womanliness - the more than ample curves, the softness of her, the blue of her eyes, the red of her hair. Suddenly, he longed for something he hadn't had in a very long time. Suddenly, he longed for an end to the loneliness.

A question entered his mind, one he was afraid to ask, but needed to know, if only to understand what was happening between them, to know it wasn't just concern for herself and her homestead that was spurring her on. "Are you falling in love with me, ma'am?"

A soft smile touched her lips, her gaze lowering to their joined hands as her skin pinked delicately at his question. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but ..." Those warm, tender blue eyes rose to find his, holding his gaze with hopeful sincerity. "Yes," she breathed quietly. "Yes, I think I am."

A thought occurred to her, something that might be giving him problems with his answer to her tentative suggestion of their marrying. "You wouldn't have to go back, to bring your little girl here," she said softly, squeezing his hands between her own. "Mr Hayes might be able to think of some way to bring her here without putting you in any more danger."

For some reason, though they'd only just met, the thought of her caring for him stirred something inside him - feelings he thought he'd never know again and a strange sense of hope. Perhaps to build a new life here with her. A second chance to make things right. He looked into her eyes, searching for sincerity, that she wasn't just using him for her own means. What it was she saw in him, he didn't know.

"Why me?" he asked impulsively, a million questions rattling around in his fevered brain again. He didn't know who Mr. Hayes was or how he'd be able to bring Maggie there, but first things first.

Marin's gaze was almst wet, but oh so tender, as she gazed into his eyes, needing him to trust and understand her as she answered him. It was such a simple reply, but one she couldn't put any other way. "You need me," she told him gently. "And the more I'm around you ....the more I realise that, that I need you. I want you in my life, Evan, more than I've ever wanted anything."

What was it about this delicate creature that so touched his heart' In a way, she reminded him of Ellie, though Ellie'd had hair the color of wheat, eyes the color of a clear, summer sky. So different and yet so much alike. Her words touched his heart, stirring up old feelings he'd thought he'd never feel again and yet, they had only just met. "We hardly know each other," he pointed out, his thumbs rubbing the backs of her hands, almost without realizing it.

"Do we need to?" She shivered lightly under the gentle caress of his thumbs over her skin, reacting more strongly than she had thought she would to his touch in such a context. Her breath deepened, quickening just a little as her gaze warmed, staring into his beautiful eyes in quiet amazement. If he was surprised by his stirring toward her, she was no less surprised by her own desire for him - not just physically, but in every other way. "Some people say that ....that love happens instantly, no matter how little you know about the one you want."

He had kissed her once, briefly, too brief really to have judged anything by it. They'd pulled away from each other, perhaps both of them afraid of whatever it was they were feeling, but two days or two years, there was only one way to know if what they were feeling was real.

Gently, he tugged one hand from her grasp, rough yet gentle fingers grazing her cheek, searching the sapphire depths that looked back at him, gaze drifting to the lush lips that begged to be kissed. He paused a moment as if debating, and then he leaned toward her, capturing her lips with his own, taking his time, as he did with most things, the heat radiating from him to her only partly due to fever.

He had nothing to offer really. No money, no land, only a horse and a sixgun to his name, nothing of any real substance but himself. Was this what she really wanted" A man who had nothing but himself to offer"

She stilled, frightened to react in case this was some dream, in case he might disappear if she dared to lean in and take more of the tenderness he offered. But slowly, as the heat from him eased through her, caressing deep inside at the longing she'd been denying since he'd first opened his eyes and looked into hers, Marin felt a soft moan well up from her throat, her hand rising to curl against the roughness of his unkempt beard as she nestled closer, her lips parting to ask tentatively for more.

He sensed the longing in her, unable to miss the cues and clues she was giving him. The vibration of her moan against his lips was like a ripple effect, sending a shudder up his spine, his whole body tensing as he felt desire welling up inside him, like a fire burning inside him and spiraling outwards. He pushed his hand back through her hair, lips parting to deepen the kiss, tongue searching and exploring, tasting the sweetness that her mouth had to offer. Though not skilled with women, he'd loved someone once, and it was the memory of the time spent with her that served him well now in showering another woman with his affection and attention.

A slow intake of her breath filled her with the scent of him, that unique musk that underpinned the smell of blood and sweat and dirt that still clung to him and made her nose wrinkle in unconscious reaction. Her other hand left his fingers to join the other in cradling his jaw, the memory of his injury and the pain he must be in softening the kiss for a moment as she twisted to lean over him. She'd had lovers in the past, of course; but none of them had made her want so much so quickly, and yet still have the restraint to break her lips from his with a tender smile. "Does that answer your question?"

His eyes roamed over her again, as she turned to face him, admiring the soft, womanly curves - the swell of her breasts, the tiny waistline, ample hips - the kind of body any red-blooded man would desire. Was it any wonder Evan was willing to kill for her" Was it any wonder Rogier wanted her so badly' Evan was unconvinced it was just about her land. It wasn't just her land Rogier wanted, but the woman, as well, and Evan seemed to be the only thing that stood between them.

Well, hell with Rogier. What he wanted to take, Marin seemed more than willing to give, but to a man of her own choosing. "You won't disappoint me. You could never disappoint me," he reassured her gently as he stepped toward her, sliding his fingers against a bare shoulder, taking the strap of her nightgown with him.

Her giggles suddenly stilled, silenced by the surge of desire that rose with the closeness of him. Yes, he was a little whiffy, but she could happily ignore that for now, shivering with unsurpressed arousal as his fingers slid over her shoulder - such an innocent touch, but promising of so much more as it took the first strap of her chemise down with it. Her own hands rose to his chest, her head falling back to caress his gaze with her own lustful longing as her fingers slowly undid the rest of his shirt buttons. "You're so big," she heard herself murmur, unable to keep herself from pondering just how proportional he was.

"I ain't been with a woman in..." He trailed off, unsure when the last time was exactly. It had doubtless been a long time. Maybe too long. He wasn't sure what it was he'd been waiting for, maybe for his heart to mend a little or to meet someone who could mend that heart. There was a small twitch of a smile at her observation, wondering exactly how she'd meant that to come out. He was pretty evenly proportioned, as she'd soon find out. "I'm a mess," he admitted, sourly, feeling suddenly like he should clean up before he soiled her.

She blushed a little darker as his lips twitched, aware that her observation hadn't exactly come out as the cleanest comment of all time. And speaking of clean ....She bounced up onto her toes, managing to touch her lips to his with a sweet smile. "Just give me a few minutes," she told him, whirling to scurry from the bedroom. A moment later, it became clear why as the sound of water filling the ceramic bath in the family bathroom filtered through the house. There was also the snap of a match striking, and the gentle flicker of lamp light illuminated the hallway. "Evan?"

He arched a brow as she slipped away from him, wondering what she was up to, the brief touch of lips to his telling him without saying it, not to go anywhere. His hearing prickled at the sound of water running....Indoors" Yet another wonder of modern technology. His attention was drawn toward the flicker of light and he headed that way when she called him, poking his head into the bathroom to see what she was up to.

The bathroom wasn't exactly the marvel of modern technology it might have been, but to Evan's eyes, it must have been a strange space. Dominated by a large bath which was filling with steaming water from the indoor plumbing, it held a sink and cabinet, too. And it was from this cabinet that Marin was drawing a small pair of scissors, a comb, and a bottle of liquid soap that hopefully wouldn't smell too feminine. She looked up at him as he poked his head inside. "Would you care to bathe, Mr Lassiter?"

His jaw dropped open a little at the sight of the steaming tub within the confines of the house, not outdoors or tucked away in a cellar, and not one he'd have to drag buckets of heated water to or pump from a cistern or well. The tub of hot water looked like heaven to the man, sore, aching, and feverish, not to mention ripe with odors not exactly conducive to romantic moments.

"Bathe....with you?" he repeated, his gaze flickering back to her, noticing the items she was pulling out of the cabinet. "Are you planning on grooming me, Miss Marin?" he asked, an almost teasing tone in his voice. Okay, so he did actually have a sense of humor hidden somewhere in all that angst.

She misread his expression, her smile turning a little shy as she set the items on the edge of the bath. "Well, I ....I don't have to get in with you," she adjusted the offer a little, dipping her fingers into the water and bending over to add a little more cold to the mix. Looking back over her shoulder to him, her smile resumed its playful aspect at his almost teasing tone. "Only if you want me to."

"Reckon I need a trim," he admitted, that being an understatement. He turned to the reflection of himself in the mirror as he stepped further into the room, frowning at the face that looked back at him and rubbing his fingers over his bearded cheeks and chin. "Ain't had a proper bath in a while."

Turning the faucet off, Marin stood, moving to rejoin Evan by the mirror. It had been set at the right height for her father to shave, which meant that she could see her nose and above in that reflection, while Evan had a good view of his own face. Her fingers curled into the shirt he wore, moving to gently slide it from his shoulders. "I won't be sleeping again tonight," she predicted softly. "I don't see why I shouldn't ....take advantage of you a little."

"Need to fix that door," he muttered, making a to-do list of chores for himself in his head, still examining his own countenance, which troubled him somewhat, distracted a moment to shrug the shirt from his shoulders as he glanced to the now stitched up wound at his side. "Did a good job, Marin. You would've made a fine nurse."

"I'd rather be a useful wife," she countered without thinking, dropping the soiled shirt into basket set by the sink. Standing behind him, she brushed her lips between his shoulderblades, one hand gently stroking down his injured side to test the heat of the now closed wound. "The stitches will dissolve when they're not needed to hold you together anymore."

He arched a brow, ticking a glance to her at the word wife, but he made no comment on it just yet, choosing to let it go for now, though he did file it away in his brain for later contemplation. "Dissolve" You mean you won't have to take them out?" he asked, a little incredulously, a small intake of breath as her hands moved over him. His skin still felt hot, slightly feverish, but not dangerously so. A bath would do him a world of good.

Rising onto her toes, she managed to get her eyes above the line of his shoulder to meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, the clear blue sparkling with amusement at his incredulity. "Would you rather I said it was all magic, or technology?" she teased lightly, smoothing her arms around him from behind to undo the button on the fly of his jeans.

"I ain't never been much for believing in magic." Though the more time he spent on Rhydin, the more that might change. He remained where he was, standing his ground, watching them both in the mirror. He couldn't see all of what she was doing, but he feel her hands on him, about to reveal that most private of places. He felt a sudden swell of excitement, along with a good dose of nervousness, his body visibly tensing.

"Shhh ..." Feeling the tension sweep through him, her lips touched against his shoulderblade once again, open-mouthed and tender with caressing kisses, trying to distract him from the gentle tug of the zipper as she drew it down. "I can leave you to it, if you would rather."

"It's all right. I'm just..." In a word, nervous, though he wasn't sure why. He'd only ever been with one woman in all his life, and he was worried she'd disappoint him, hence he echoed her previous worry. "Don't wanna disappoint you."

Her gaze found his in the mirror, sincere and tender. "You won't." There was such confidence in her voice, such certainty that there was no conceivable way he could disappoint her. Lowering back to her heels, she ducked around to slip between him and the sink, tipping her head back to look up at him. "Kiss me?"

As the water in which he sat grew murky with dirt, Marin inched closer, a little too engaged in watching the smoothing of her cloth over his skin. With each layer of grime washed away, she felt him relaxing, leaning far over to be as thorough as she could, plunging her arm to the elbow into the water to make sure he was completely clean. When it came to his chest and legs, however, her bold nerve failed a little. The warmth of her fingers stroked against the back of his neck as she leaned close, easing the cloth into his hand. "Your turn," she murmured into his ear, leaning away to set the taps running in the sink. She was going to need clean water to wash his hair.

He remembered sharing quiet moments like this with Ellie once upon a time. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Another world, another life. Was he really here" Was he really safe" Was she real" Or was this some fever-induced dream he was having while he laid in an empty field somewhere dying" His eyelids slowly opened when she spoke, turning his head to look at her. He watched while she turned away from him to draw clean water, his gaze moving over her and admiring her from yet another angle. "Are you real?" he asked finally, his voice sounding almost distant to his own ears.

She looked back at him, her surprise softened by the quiet air of intimacy that hung over and around them in the warm bathroom. "Only if you are," was her reply, her fingers shaking excess water away before bent to pick up a jug that lived beneath the tub. At the bottom of that bend, her lips brushed to his shoulder, her eyes never leaving his. "You still think I'm some kind of angel?"

"That or a dream," he answered, eyes following her as she moved back to him and brushed a kiss against his shoulder. But if he was really dying, wouldn't he be dreaming of someone else, not this sweet flower of a woman' "Wonder if I'm dying somewhere and this is all a dream," a slow lazy Texan drawl of each word. He held the wet cloth in one hand, but made no move to finish the job of bathing just yet, too distracted by her presence to continue.

Marin couldn't help a quiet laugh. "If this is all a dream, why do you have a hole in your side, and why has your mind created me?" she asked him, gentle amusement dripping from her voice. She'd never met anyone like him before - not simply the way he was, the skills and certainties he made no secret of, but how comfortable she felt in his presence. Tall men usually made her feel unsafe; with Evan, nothing could be further from the truth. She tucked the jug under the flow of water in the sink, filling it before lifting it over him. Her quiet voice offered him one warning as she tipped the clear stream over his head."Close your eyes."

"I dunno." He frowned a little, trying to sort it out himself. He had been shot, so it made sense to him that that detail might be part of a fevered dream, but he wasn't too sure why his mind had created her. "Maybe you're the woman of my dreams," he ventured quietly, though he really wasn't sure. His gaze tracked her as she filled the jug and returned to his side. Realizing what she intended, he did as he was told, tensing a little and preparing for the eventual rush of water over his head as he closed his eyes.

She wasn't exactly gentle when it came to washing his hair, more than a little fastidious when it came to personal grooming. Despite having ignored his lack of cleanliness for the past couple of days, Marin finally had him in a bath, and now Evan was going to reap the full impact of her fussy little habits. She emptied two jugs of water over his head before even reaching for the soap, taking her time working the lather into his unkempt hair and even over the hair that decorated his jaw before pouring yet more clean water over his head, her fingers stroking through to be sure all the soap was rinsed away.

He didn't mind her roughness. She was, in fact, gentler than he'd anticipated, given the fact the he needed a good scrubbing. He'd have done it himself, but she seemed adamant on doing it, and he wasn't about to argue or complain. The truth was she was doing a far better job at it than he would have. Not that he was lazy, but he just wasn't that vain or concerned about his appearance. Even though Ellie had told him time and time again that he was good looking, he didn't really believe it. He stilled at her administrations, waiting patiently for her to finish scrubbing away all the sweat and grime. He was shivering a little from the fever, but it felt good to be clean again. It made him feel a little less like a fugitive and a little more human.

Marin frowned as she felt his shivering, wiping the water from his forehead as she tested the heat of his head. "Okay, you need to get out and warmed up again," she told him firmly. "Haircuts and beard whatevers can wait until tomorrow ....later today." The jug went down, and she rose to her feet, gathering up a thick towel from where it lay over a rail. She hesitated, remembering again the gentlemanly modesty that had colored his getting into the bath in the first place. "I'll leave you to dry yourself," she said finally, offering him a way out of showing himself off to her again. "I'll, um, I'll grab some pyjamas for you."

He pushed his sodden and overgrown hair away from his forehead once she was finished, the cloth still clutched in his hand. He didn't think much of the gooseflesh that had broken out on his arms or the shivering. He'd felt far worse than this on many occasions, but she seemed concerned for some reason. "I won't break, Marin," he remarked, reminding her that he wasn't made of glass and calling her by her first name without even realizing he was doing it.

Her expression turned ever so slightly stern at his dismissive remark, stepping forward and bending at the waist until her face was on a level with his, her nose barely an inch from his own as she looked into his eyes. "I only just found you, I'm not risking you at all if I can help it," she informed him, her tone warm and uncompromising. "Don't make me pull the plug and leave you totally naked."

He knew her stern expression and tone of voice was meant to impress him and encourage him to obey, but he couldn't help but smirk a little beneath that overgrown beard at her. If the water wasn't so dirty, he might have been tempted to pull her in with him, but he wasn't feeling quite that comfortable with their relationship just yet. She was, however, so close that he was having trouble keeping his eyes from wandering away from her face to her more feminine attributes. "I reckon there ain't much point in hiding what you seen once already."

Her eyes narrowed even as she flushed, realising belatedly just what was distracting him. The towel was brought up to her chest, too late to do much good but at least she'd thought of it. "So maybe I should make you wait a couple of months to see what you haven't seen already?" she suggested, trying a different tack to get him to look after his own health.

Evan's mouth twitched at the question, that almost ever-present frown lurking once again on his face. Whatever flirtation that had just taken place between them forgotten in the wake of that question. He finished drying off, damp hair stubbornly sticking up this way and that and clinging to a forehead that was lined with worry. He wrapped the towel around his waist in a decorum of modesty, tucking it in to keep it secure, eyes studying her face as he considered a reply.

Ellie's death had been terrifying, the single most terrifying day of his life, and for a man who'd seen death and war, that was saying something. The memory of it flashed through his mind, like snapshots of horrifying scene after scene. The flames that quickly engulfed the house, so hot that no one could get close, not even him, though he'd tried. Dragged away against his will by those who loved him, screaming her name until his throat was raw, followed by the emptiness and despair in knowing she was gone. All of it had happened so quickly, too quickly, her life snuffed out like a spent candle.

"Fire," he said finally, a one-word response, unsure if he could recount any more than that without losing his composure.

The pause was so long, Marin thought that perhaps she had gone too far in asking such a question. He so clearly felt such pain every time he so much as thought of his beloved first wife, she was already berating herself for probing deeper when he gave her that single worded response. Deep blue eyes snapped open, shocked and horrified on his behalf for such a dreadful death, and without thinking, she pressed forward, curling her arms about his waist to offer the comfort of an embrace. "I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have asked."

The pain of Ellie's death lingered, like a weight against his chest, but though he'd always miss her, always love her, he knew nothing would bring her back. He had thought killing the men who'd done that to her would ease the pain and make him feel better, but it hadn't. All it had done was make him a wanted man, and in retrospect, he wondered if what he'd done made him any better than they were. Despite the heavy weight of guilt and grief, he found Marin's embrace comforting, and he wondered now if it was time to put the past behind him and try to start over. He didn't bother to reply to her apology; instead, he only returned her embrace, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close against him, his heart beating slow and steady within his chest.

The steady thump against her ear held Marin in thrall for several long moments, counting, measuring the even pump of his heart in his chest as her fingers stroked soothingly against the now clean and smooth muscles of his back. She was a tender-hearted little thing, who found it all too easy to empathise with the people she loved, and for a moment, she grieved with him for the loss of his wife.

When, finally, she noticed again the shiver in his limbs, she lifted her head, gently untangling her arms from about him. "You should get some more sleep," she murmured quietly. "There are nightclothes in the dresser of the room you've been sleeping in. I'll tidy up in here."

"Not sleepy," he murmured, though that wasn't quite true. It was still the middle of the night, and he was feverish and exhausted, but feeling the restless after the encounter with the intruder, despite the warm bath. She pulled away from him, but he wasn't yet ready to let her go, reaching for her hand to stop her from escaping him so easily. "I ain't gonna let no one hurt you, Marin. I promise." Not like they hurt Ellie. Never again. He brushed the fingers of a calloused hand against her cheek, longing to taste her lips one more time, to feel her soft body close to his.

Caught by his hand in hers, she stilled her retreat, letting her body sway toward his once again as her gaze settled with his, green to blue, in quiet acceptance of his denial of his weariness. She seemed to hear what it was he wasn't saying, as much as understanding what it was he did say, the tender cast of her expression softening in intimate acknowledgement of his promise. She couldn't help the way her cheek turned into the stroke of his fingers, the way her own hand crept upward to lay palm flat over his heart.

"I know," she whispered back with a faint quirk of a smile. And she did know; his word was his bond, and he had given her his word so many times now that she felt certain in the promise he so often repeated.

He searched her eyes, not wanting to let go of her. It was the middle of the night. No one would know or care what transpired between them, no one but them. Two hearts searching for something or someone to fill the emptiness, maybe searching for each other. He wasn't usually the spontaneous type. He was slow to make decisions, taking his time in weighing all the possibilities, but there were times when it was better not to think, to just trust what you were feeling and Evan guessed this was one of those times.

He said nothing, no warning, no tender words of affection, quietly letting his actions speak for him instead, as was his way. One hand found her hip while the other grazed her cheek, tilting his head forward to find her lips once again, to see if what he was feeling was real or just wishful thinking.

She read his studying of her perfectly, feeling herself step into time and tune with him to the point where as he leant down, she rose onto her toes, her lips meeting his halfway in tender confirmation of what she was feeling. The soft, small frame that was so dwarfed by his tall hardness took that last step forward, pressing close as a tiny moan, an unmistakeable sound of encouragement and pleasure, buzzed into his mouth from her own.

For a moment, her lips parted from his, her eyes searching his for something known only to herself, before she pressed forward once again, truly giving into the longing he roused in her for the first time. Her arm snaked about his uninjured side to press her hand to his back, holding herself tightly to him as she released another soft sound to paint her desire for him on the air, her other hand sliding higher to delve her fingertips into the shaggy dampness of the hair at his nape, her lips gently teasing his to open and let her taste him properly.

It seemed he was reading her signs as well as she was reading his, or so he hoped. Hell, he'd been reading her signs nearly from the start. She seemed drawn to him for some inexplicable reason and he to her. He wasn't sure why, but his resolve to resist was quickly wearing down, and it wasn't just the fever this time that was muddling his brain. His lips parted to deepen the kiss, relaxing enough to pull her tightly against him, despite the wound in his side, nearly giving over to the hunger that was burning inside him, the need to claim not only her mouth, but all of her.

Again, the sweetness of her voice rose to fill his mouth with the taste of her moaning breath, a woman who did not hold herself back when she finally let passion rule her. No matter how long this embrace, this coming together, lasted, Evan could be sure that he was experiencing everything Marin had to offer, with nothing held back or hidden.

He was on the verge himself of letting go, of giving in to the needful desire that was raging inside him. There was little between them but towel and chemise, so easily removed, yet as much as he wanted her in that moment, he didn't want to take advantage, he didn't want her to regret this moment. He pulled gently away, just enough to question her with his eyes, no words spoken between them. If she didn't know his thoughts by now, if she didn't read what he was feeling, so obviously there to see in the way he looked at her, the longing in his eyes, the trembling of his limbs, she never would.

Oh, she saw it. She saw it, and felt it, and echoed every frustration, every desire, her own need to be with him however he would allow her to be shining from her own eyes. A little breathless, a little flushed, she rose onto her toes once again, this time pressing just the briefest of kisses to his lips as her hands slid down over his arms, entwining her fingers with his own. Squeezing gently, she stepped back with a tentative, inviting smile, leading him - if he would be led - from the bathroom and across the hall, into her own bedroom, lit by moonlight.

If he needed that guidance, she was more than happy to give it. Marin rose onto her knees as their fingers touched, drawing him down onto the bed beside her. Her hands lifted to cradle his jaw as she touched a softer kiss to his lips, no less passionate than before but more reassuring that this was what she wanted. That he was all she wanted, not just in this moment but from now on. Her confidence grew with each sign of the trust and certainty he showed in her, urging the usually demure woman into action she would normally have waited to be guided into herself. With gentle kisses peppering his lips, she laid him back against the bed, lying over him as her hands returned to their roaming, curious exploration.

He followed her lead, lowering himself onto her bed to lie beside her, a calloused hand grazing her cheek with a soft brush of fingertips, past her cheek and into her hair, drawing her toward him to partake once again of her soft, sweet lips. His breath hitched, pulse quickening with anticipation, as her hands moved over him, arching his back as she explored and enticed, moaning low in his throat, his eyes drifting closed. It had been years since he'd laid with a woman, since he'd felt anything so exquisite as a woman's touch, since he'd tasted lips as sweet and enticing as hers. He was veryslowly coming completely undone.

There are few things so deeply moving as the moment when physical intimacy spills over into something more than a sharing of touch and tenderness. With Evan, Marin was seeking that moment, not wanting merely the satiation of her arousal from him. She rolled over him, careful of his healing wound, their coming together slow and shattering as bodies fit almost perfectly and breath mingled in the sharing of moaning delight. Bright copper curls spilled over her shoulder to decorated his skin in a heavy tumble as she leaned over him, languid in her enticing rise to pleasure, drawing out that promise of ecstasy until it might almost have been considered the best kind of torture.

As for his part, he was not a passive lover, hands and lips exploring those soft womanly curves, awed by the splendor of her beauty, though so tensely wound with emotion and longing, he could barely hold himself back long enough to explore her completely. No matter, there would be time for that later, plenty of time. Time to learn her, to memorize every inch of her, to know what gave her pleasure. For now, they simply moved together as if one one, the passion between them catching fire, burning deeply, the most exquisite torment, until it broke and exploded, taking his breath away as pulled her tight against him, shuddering with pleasure.

And now they trembled together, pressed close as the delicate sheen of sweat-slicked bodies met and slid, red and brown hair darkened where it stuck to tingling skin. Shaken to the core by the sheer power of that first, wonderful joining, Marin buried her face against Evan's throat, showering his skin with loving kisses even as she gasped for control over her staggered breath and hammering heart, glorying in the stunning strength and control of the man who had taken her further and faster than any other could claim.

He buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply to memorize the scent of her, strong arms circling her waist, the wound at his side throbbing painfully, distantly, forgotten for now, amidst the wonder of what they'd just shared. He wasn't even sure if his Ellie had elicited such a strong response from him, but he knew better to compare them. Ellie was gone, part of his past. He'd always love her and never forget her, but it was time to let her go, time to move on, and he couldn't ignore the feelings that were on the cusp of burgeoning for this other woman, this fiery redhead who was on the verge of stealing his heart.

"Mare," he whispered, a muscle twitching in jaw as he tried to slow the hammering of his heart, fingers sliding across her cheek, searching her eyes in the moonlight, in sheer wonder of all that was her.

Even here, lying in one another's arms, their faces level, she was tiny in comparison to him, nuzzling close in tender fascination with the wonder in his face and voice, not understanding still what it was he saw in her to elicit such a feeling.

"Evan," she breathed his name in an echo of her own from his lips, teasing her fingertips to the hollow of his throat as she gazed into his eyes.

As the hours ticked by, they came together in a conflagration of promises and assurances, of tenderness and passion, of soft words and unspoken affection, of touches and kisses and shared breaths that lasted an eternity in an instant. And when, finally, they were spent, curled close to one another in the tangled sheets, they found the sleep that had eluded them before, untroubled by nightmares in the newness of their unexpected connection.

((Huge thanks to Evan Lassiter's player!))