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.”