Mac stopped him. “She is English.”
“Aye, I know.”
“And promised to God,” Morgann added.
“And what aboot Cecilia?” from Will.
“Aye, what will ye do aboot that?” Mac put to him.
“I…” What was he going to do about what? “I will do nothin’ because there is nothin’ to do anythin’ aboot.” He laughed finally at how far this had gone and so quickly. Padrig joined him. “This is a ridiculous conversation.”
“Captain?”
“Aye, Will?” Galeren’s laughter faded and he sighed inwardly.
“What aboot her distracts ye? There isna one thing feminine aboot her.”
Galeren wasn’t sure if Will’s sight was failing him. He took offense on her behalf and thought about glaring at his friend, but that would have piqued their interest even more, so he untied one of the sacks tied to his horse and smiled. “Who wants a peach? I think we are goin’ to be here fer a while.”
“Ye do know that there are seven sacred offices of worship and reading, d’ye not?” Morgann asked him with a grave stare. “She has four more lefttoday. The first three are before dawn.”
They all stared at Morgann in surprise. “Morgann,” Galeren said slowly. “What else d’ye know aboot nuns and how did ye learn it?”
Morgann lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I asked one of them back at the priory and she told me.”
Galeren stared at him. “We agreed not to go near the sisters while we were there.”
“Captain, I didna go near her. Sister Marjorie Anne came to me in the cloister. We spoke a little. They have a verra peaceful life.”
Galeren nodded, understanding what Silene needed to be happy. Peace.
He turned to the edge and saw her kneeling in the grass, hands clasped beneath her chin.
She was even more delicate than he’d imaged. He looked over his shoulder at his men. How would she do with them for two days? How would she do with her uncle? He’d protect her from their ribaldry and raucous banter as best he could. Once he delivered her to John, she would no longer be his problem. He was mad for thinking of her in any other way but a holy one. Not only would God strike him down, but John would never trust him again. She was bonny. So what? Perhaps, seeing her in the breaking dawn with her hair ablaze and sadness in her gaze made him suffer foolish notions about her.
But looking at her now with everything covered but her face, her eyes closed in prayer…she was just as beautiful to him.
Dammit.
He regrettably realized, staring at her, that part of what made her so bonny was the sense of complete and utter calm and peace around her, coming from within her. Even now, when she was being taken away by dangerous-looking men to Scotland and the church.
He sat away from her in the grass and opened the pouch of water that had been tied to his waist. He took a drink and watched her. The men thankfully remained quiet—for the most part. He loved the men, but he didn’t want to interrupt or distract her from her prayers. So far, all was quiet, and she continued.
He wondered what she asked God for. To be away from the savages as quickly as she could, no doubt. He smiled thinking about how much Father Timothy would like her.
He waited while she continued for a little over an hour, seemingly not distracted in the slightest when the men finally broke into their normal banter.
When she opened her eyes, she wiped them. Was she weeping? If she was, there was no sobbing or crying out. He wanted to get up and go to her, but his duty was to watch over her, which he was doing, not to be tempted to comfort her.
She turned to her right and saw him sitting there in the grass, leaning his elbows on his bent knees. His head was angled toward her.
He watched her skirts cascade down to her feet when she rose. He stood and offered her the pouch of water. She refused it.
“Why were you watching me pray? she asked shyly.
“’Tis my duty to keep my eyes on ye.”
“Oh. Thank you for doing your duty, then.”