He tore her scapular and part of her chemise underneath.
“Nay!” She clawed at his eyes, ready to gouge them out—and then he was gone, lifted off her by an exquisite warrior angel with death in his eyes.
She watched for a moment while Galeren pulled the man to his feet. He looked surprised and then pleased at the condition of the man’s eyes. And then he delivered a savage swipe of his bloody blade to the man’s neck.
Silene squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to scream. She’d never seen death before. She never wanted to see it again. She heard two things hit the floor, one much smaller than the other. She felt ill thinking about what they were. Her body shook. She was afraid to open her eyes.
Something soft like a blanket fell on her—it smelled like woodsmoke and the forest and rain. Like Galeren.
She opened her eyes to find him swooping down on her and wrapping her in his plaid. He slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her, cradling her to his chest.
“Fergive me. Fergive me.” His deep voice played like a haunting melody across her ears. “Are ye hurt?”
Why did his asking for forgiveness make her tremble harder and want to weep in his arms?
She thought of the violence against her, and of what the man had planned to do to her. She thanked God for sending Galeren.
“Yer head is bleedin’!”
“It hit a rock. I think.” She looked up at him, trying to hold back her tears. “Thank you.”
“I should have been watchin’ ye, lass,” he said, sounding heavily burdened.
“Captain Galeren,” A flash of her imagining what it would be like to touch him forged through her, making her feel warm and…guilty. “I forgive you. You saved me.”
He lifted his gaze and smiled at her as they entered the camp. She almost smiled back and then looked around on the ground and gaped at what she saw. Nine men lay dead in the fallen leaves, bloody and in pieces. She cried out and buried her face in the captain’s léine.
“We need to move oot of here now,” the captain ordered, his chest rumbling beneath her ear. “Morgann take my horse. Padrig take the sister’s.”
Both men hurried off. Mac quickened his pace toward them. “Is she hurt?” he asked when he reached them.
“Aye,” the captain let him know, motioning to her head. “We need to get her oot of here and take a look at her wound.”
Mac leaned forward and had a look at the blood on her wimple and veil. “Dinna worry, Sister. We will fix ye up. Why is she covered in yer plaid?”
“Because the man I killed tore away her habit and ripped her chemise.”
Mac’s face transformed from his perpetual angry expression to one of raw fury. He ran both of his palms down his face and then tugged on his hair. “Captain, she is a nun! A nun!”
His shouting made her seep deeper into the captain’s warmth and safety.
“Mac,” she heard him say quietly. “Think of her right now, aye? The men are all dead. She needs help.”
“Aye,” Mac agreed, seeming to calm himself. “There is a small clearin’ on the other side of those bushes.”
“Lead us to it.”
Mac showed them the way. The captain came to the other side and knelt on the ground. He set her on the grass and took a look at her. It was the kind of look that left Silene worried she was going to begin caring for him.
“I will mend ye, lass,” he said so that only she could hear.
She wept softly at his tenderness, at all she had been through and seen in one day. He wiped a tear from her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Ye are safe now,” he whispered. “I willna let ye oot of my sight again.”
She smiled and nodded.
He began to remove her headdress. She was afraid of what he would find. How serious was her head wound?
When he finally freed her from the covering, his gaze fell over her, perusing her in the way a man might if he had never seen a woman before. But this man had seen many, she was certain. She felt naked before him. She looked away at first, but his gaze went softer when their eyes met again.