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.