by Quinn, Paula
He was silent for a little while and rode his horse closer to hers and gazed at her.
She suddenly wanted to tell him everything, things she’d only told God. “I was given up by my parents to help my uncle. The first time he came to St. Patrice’s, I thought he was coming to take me home, to take me away. I thought they had changed their minds and wanted me back. But I wrong. He left without me, ignoring my cries. I have always felt abandoned.” Why was she confessing this all to him? Why were these emotions she thought she’d put away coming back to the surface? And not to a priest but to a man of war. A man who moved closer—close enough to dip his head beside her and press his lips to hers.
She should have moved away, denied him—but she didn’t.
She began her litany of Hail Marys, but everything faded from her lips but him.
Chapter Seven
Her lips tasted faintly like honey and made Galeren hungry for more of her. Nothing that would strip her of her dignity. He was not raised to be an animal. He wanted to touch her, take her in…
He lifted his hand and slipped his fingers under her chin, along her jaw. His full, lush lips played with hers, swept against her teeth. His legs felt soft, weak. He’d fought dozens of battles, faced great, terrifying opponents on the field, and his legs had never gone weak. He was surprised at the acceleration of his heartbeat, the clarity of his thoughts. He had to let her go. He wanted to go on kissing her for days—years. He wanted to hold her in his arms. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t his. She was God’s.
Galeren was grateful he hadn’t been struck down.
“Fergive me.” Who was he asking?
“Of course,” Silene answered on a quiet, quavering voice and took a step back.
“I didna mean to…”
She looked up at him waiting for more. Her fingers trembled as they reached her lips.
What should he say? The truth was best. “I meant to kiss ye…” Saying it made his gaze dip to her lips, bringing back to mind how soft and yielding they’d been against his. “I—” he looked at the trees around them. “I didna mean to overstep. I know—He—”
“Let us not speak of it,” she pleaded, appearing and sounding as guilty as he.
But he’d kissed her.
Hell. That’s where he was going. She didn’t wish to speak of it. For now, or forever?
They met up with Mac and the others and told them what had happened. The attack, not the kiss. Galeren didn’t want to tell anyone. Mayhap a priest. Mayhap Father Timothy. Until then, he had to be away from her. Being together was deadly for their souls.
They ate and the men laughed and teased serious Morgann.
Once Silene understood that Morgann wasn’t hurt, she enjoyed the banter.
“’Tis easy not to grow angry with them,” the young Highlander told her, leaning in. “Their insults are weak and impotent.”
“Now, Morgann,” Will laughed, “let us not bring up yer bedroom troubles.”
“Why not, Will?” Morgann asked. “Are ye worried the malady might strike ye again if ye speak of it? Remember ’twas ye who suffered with it, not I.”
Will thought about it for a moment then was quiet.
They all laughed.
Galeren did not. Soon, she wouldn’t be with them. He had worried about how she would hold up to his men, but she not only wasn’t bothered by their bickering, she had them all doing their best to please her.
He shook his head, trying to clear her out of it.
He wouldn’t have to concern himself with her anymore. He wouldn’t allow as many stops today. If they stopped so she could pray nine times a day, they would never get to their destination. He had to tell her.
“Sister.”
She frowned, mirroring his expression.
“Come fer a walk with me. I wish to discuss somethin’ with ye.”
“A walk?” she asked, looking worried.
“I vow I willna touch ye.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but only nodded instead.
When they were alone amidst the trees, she turned to him. “What is it, Captain?”
“I’m afraid…”
Her eyes widened. Her gaze filled with concern.
This wasn’t going well. He pulled himself together. “I’m afraid we canna stop so often today.”
She blinked her eyes and he felt as if she’d kicked him in the guts.
“How often may I stop?”
He wanted to look away, but he knew he shouldn’t. He needed to be stern. “We will stop twice.”
Now her wide, sea-foam gaze grew darker—like a storm coming in quickly from the horizon. “You expect me to give up the rest of my prayers?”
He shook his head slightly. “No. Ye can pray on yer horse.”
“I cannot.”
His move. Her gaze on him was steady, almost unblinking. What more could he say? That he wanted to get to Dundonald as soon as possible? To be away from her? He opened his mouth to speak.
“Is that all, Captain?”
No storm, but it left glaciers in its place.
He didn’t want to keep looking at her, but he couldn’t look away. “That is all.”
She kept quiet and waited for him to lead the way.
He felt like hell. He needed to get back to Dundonald, back to his duties that didn’t include her. The less he spoke to her, the less he would miss the sound of her voice.
He hated himself for being held captive by a novice of the church. Thankfully, it wasn’t too late to forget her, resist her. He barely knew her. He didn’t love her. He was taken with her, drawn to her. Nothing more. There was nothing between them.
Nothing but a kiss.
A kiss like nothing Cecilia had ever made him feel. He wiped his brow. How would he tell John that he did not want to wed Miss Birchet? How would he tell the king that he would not wed her? He would go home to Invergarry.
He wanted to laugh at being so vexed over the novice. The solution was simple. Be truthful with King David, John, and with Cecilia, and then leave Dundonald for a while, mayhap longer.
He’d suggest Mac take his place. His friend would make a good captain. He could take Silene back to St. Patrice’s.
They returned to the camp and helped clean up before setting out again.
As it had so many times since he met her, his gaze wandered back to her as she rode her horse. He creased his brows. What was she doing? She held her reins in her raised palms. Was she praying?
He continued watching her with her eyes closed, honeyed lips moving in silent, secret prayer. She wasn’t paying mind to her horse or where it was going.
Instinctively, he moved closer, his muscles anticipating.
“Lass?”
She didn’t answer him.
He didn’t like this.
“Lass!” he said with more command.
She opened her eyes and, for an instant, looked completely confused about where she was. She lost her balance.
He rushed to her and caught her in his arms. He didn’t pause to torture himself further but set her down in his saddle, between his thighs.
Fool! He was a fool. He should have had Mac or Morgann do this. But having her unveiled head beneath his chin, her hips wedged between his, was the punishment he deserved.
She went directly back to her prayers, unfazed by him—having no trouble at all being so close to him.
He held her with one arm coiled loosely around her waist. He held the reins in his other hand.
“I dinna think—”
“Shh! We will speak later.”
He could do that. Waiting would give him time to think about what he should say when she was ready to speak.
A moment later, she lifted one of her arms in the air.
He moved his head to see the road.
He heard her sniff and looked at her over her shoulder. He was horrified to see her face wet with tears. He wanted to know what it was that had made her cry. But he kept silent—for whatever it was, she
chose not to share it with him.
When she finished and opened her eyes, they rose to his. “I am well—better.”
“Aye?” he asked with concern in his eyes.
She sighed. “There is a feeling of coming gloom…” she paused to consider her words. “Someplace. I do not know. ’Tis a feeling of danger.”
Danger? His grandsire’s words haunted him. “D’ye think ’tis the Lord tellin’ ye not to go to Dundonald?”
“But I must go. This is the reason I was sent to St. Patrice’s from the beginning. My uncle never made any pretense about why I was put into a priory. I must see to this or he will cease caring for my parents.”
“Perhaps at the cost of yer life?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You of all people should understand duty. Is not escorting me to my uncle your duty? A duty of which you clearly grow weary?”
He wanted to say a thousand words, to deny her charge mostly. But he would admit that he was behaving as if she were burdensome. No matter how he felt, he should not have made her feel like a burden. “Fergive me.”
She looked surprised by his apology.
“I am troubled by how I feel aboot ye.”
Her eyes opened wider. A wash of claret swept across her face. She swallowed. “How…how do you feel?”
He couldn’t tell her that he was beginning to care for her more than he should. He couldn’t stop it. She was different than the lasses at the castle, different than Cecilia. She was honest and raw. She was not under the rampant delusion that the world was here to serve her, but that she was here to serve others. He couldn’t tell her about Cecilia. Not now with her here in his arms, held secure on his horse.
“I’m fond of ye, lass.”
She stared at him.
Could she feel his heart beating through his plaid? She was close.
“I am fond of you, as well,” she whispered and closed her eyes, shielding herself from him, from the truth of her reply.
He understood. He wanted to be away from her. If he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want to torture himself being with her. If they did not stop for her prayers, they would save many hours and arrive at Dundonald faster—but she would have to pray in his arms. If they stopped, they would be together longer.
He winced at the thought, as if a dagger had just gone through him at either prospect.
“I think the faster we arrive at my uncle’s castle, the better.”
“Aye,” he nearly groaned. He agreed, so why did hearing her say it make his blood run cold? Did she care for him as well? What would happen to them for having these thoughts?
“I will do what I can to hurry us along,” she promised.
He felt gutted. He didn’t want to think about why.
“Thank ye,” he muttered.
The rest of the day passed in much the same fashion, with them finally having to stop for the last two prayers of the day. Galeren couldn’t be so close to her all day.
By the time they settled down for the night in a small clearing, he made certain for her sake that the clearing was well lit while they settled in.
“Are ye anxious aboot arrivin’ at the castle tomorrow, Sister?” Morgann asked her from his pallet.
“Aye, I am anxious,” she answered in the flickering light from hers. “I do not know what anything will be like.”
Galeren was listening close by.
“What d’ye want to know?” Will asked. “Everyone shytes the same way.”
Lying near his brother, Padrig swiped his large fist into a part of Will that made the small man grunt in pain.
“Watch yer tongue,” Padrig warned.
“Are ye vexed at meetin’ the high steward and his kin, or the church?” Morgann asked her.
A smile danced across her lips that none of them saw, but Galeren heard in her voice. “I have met my uncle and his family before. Four years ago. I had only stayed at Dundonald for four days, but I remember Alexander and Margaret. Is Alex still shy?” she asked.
“Aye,” answered Padrig.
“He preferred to play alone,” Silene recalled.
“Alex is quiet but verra much aware,” Galeren finally chimed in.
He heard Silene turn on her pallet to face him rather than the stars. “Does he have a friend in you, Captain?”
“All three of the steward’s bairns have a friend in me, lass.”
“Three? John and Matilda have had more then.”
He liked the sound of her. He wanted to hear more of her.
Damn him.
“Aye. Wee Lizzie is three summers.”
“Captain?” she asked in a hushed voice after a few moments of silence.
“Aye?”
“Is there nothing you can tell me about my cousins that will help me make them like me more?”
“Bein’ yerself is part of what makes ye so—” he stopped and choked on his breath. “What I mean is…dinna try to be someone ye are not.”
What would he have said? Irresistible? Charming? He had to keep watch over his mouth. “I’m certain the children will love ye, lass.”
“I hope you are correct, Captain. I admit I have grown spoiled by you and the men at my back whenever I faced something new and alarming. I think about what I shall say to the church when I have to stand before them. I cannot sleep!”
He wanted to ease her fears and he thought hearing news of the steward’s bairns would help. “Ye remember Margaret, aye? She was three when ye were at the castle.”
“Aye. I remember her and her glossy chestnut curls, and how inquisitive she was.”
“She is the jealous one.”
“Oh?” It worked! She giggled softly, like music to his ears. “Who is she jealous of?”
“Me.”
“That is sweet.”
“No. ’Tis not,” he corrected. “She will rant and rave and then not speak to anyone for days.”
“Captain,” she said, sounding more serious. “She needs to be spoken to. It needs to be explained—”
“We have tried. Nothin’ has worked.”
“I see. But, Captain?”
“Aye?”
“Why would she be jealous of me?”
He closed his eyes. No! He couldn’t have been so damned dull-witted! “She would be jealous of any lass with me.”
“With you?”
He stopped talking for a moment. He wished he could stop for good. “Good dreams, Silene.”
“Captain?”
“Aye, lass?”
“I will miss you.”
His heart took on a whole new rhythm and made his tongue betray him. “I willna be leavin’ yer side, lass.”
Chapter Eight
Silene rode her horse against the defensive barbican and gatehouse into the great outer court and stared, gaping at the huge castle before her. When she was here the first time, it was under the darkness of night and she had been in the back of a vegetable cart. She hadn’t stayed long, four days, just long enough to meet her uncle and his family, and Mother Superior.
Now, she followed the captain and his men over the long pathway to the inner courtyard.
On the way, they passed the stable, a large gatehouse, a chapel, and a moat surrounding the inner wall and court.
Passing through the gatehouse, they dismounted, and their horses were taken.
Silene would have been relieved to be here, if not for the heaviness on her shoulders.
Riding in the captain’s lap all day was pure torture. At first, she had been angry while she prayed. That changed as she became aware of one of his arms around her waist and the other hand holding the reins. Looking down at his long, tanned fingers and scarred hands distracted her. Moving around on his hard, well-muscled thighs with nothing to hold on to but his forearms had begun to make her perspire.
She was glad to be between her noon and late afternoon prayers. She wondered if the captain had planned for them to arrive at the castle at this time, giving her some time to settle in.
Her h
eart warmed thinking about how he’d done everything in his power to make her trip as pleasant as it could be.
“How are ye feelin’?” he asked, slowing his pace and waiting for her.
“I do not know,” she answered honestly with a quirk of her mouth.
She couldn’t tell him the truth about her indecision. She couldn’t wait to be out of his arms and away from him, and yet she missed him already and he was still here! She wished she was in his arms again. She should laugh. She was mad.
“Ye are smilin’. That is a promisin’ sign,” he said with humor flashing across his eyes.
“I smile,” she told him, “because I think I have gone mad.
He glanced down at her. “I dinna think one knows they are goin’ mad if they truly are.” His voice, along with his gaze, deepened.
She couldn’t tell him that he made her melt all over and think of things she should not be thinking of. He made her smile, and laugh, and more miserable than she’d ever felt in her life.
Her prayers were more frantic and unfocused.
“Do you think I can have confession? Is there a priest in the chapel?”
“Of course,” he promised. “I will bring him to ye after—”
“Now.”
He looked around at the men, then sent Morgann to alert the high steward that his niece had arrived safe and sound and wished to stop in the chapel before being presented.
“Aye.” Morgann frowned, obviously not wanting to leave her. But he obeyed his orders and took off through the inner gate.
“Come, we will find ye a priest.” The captain forced himself to smile and then led the way to the chapel.
This was what she needed, to tell someone who would not tell anyone else. Someone who could absolve her, perhaps advise her what to do.
He’d told her he wouldn’t leave her. But she didn’t want to see him everywhere she looked. How would she ever resist him? How would she make him stop haunting her?
She quickened her pace and entered the chapel first, pushing open the doors.
There was a priest standing off to the right of the altar. He looked up, his stern, weathered face set toward her. “Who is there? Who comes barging into the House of the Lord?”
Silene slowed her pace. She touched her hooded head and wished she’d worn her bloodstained wimple and veil.