“Lionell lost hisarm in battle last year,” Braya told Silene and waited for more warm milk. “He does not know how to live his life anymore. My poor husband has tried everything to help him. Bors has also tried.”
Silene looked at Father Timothy. What did he think Lionell needed?
He gave her an understanding smile. “Ye can add yer prayers to mine.”
She nodded and smiled at him.
A loud clang resounded in the dining hall.
“What was that?” Silene began to rise.
“’Tis just them fightin’.” Mac took her wrist until she sat again. “That is why he gave ye the kitty to hold.”
They tried to carry on conversations between the thunderous noises coming from down the hall.
No one was doing anything about it.
Silene thought a one-armed man would not be a very good fighter. What was Galeren doing to him? “Perhaps we should—”
“No,” Galeren’s father shook his head. “Mayhap this is what Lionell needs.”
After a few more startling bangs that nearly brought down the walls, it finally grew quiet.
“Highlanders fight, lass,” Father Timothy advised her with a wink.
Highlanders fought. Aye, it seemed they did. Galeren’s mother and his aunts and uncles had all fought to stay alive or keep what was theirs.
“I understand,” she told the priest.
A few moments later, Galeren entered the hall. His luminescent, golden locks were more disheveled around his face. His léine was torn at the arm and the left side of his jaw was turning purple.
He returned to his place at the table and smiled at his father. “His right hook is still efficient.” They laughed and Galeren turned back to her as if nothing had happened. “Lionell will be here shortly.”
“Are you hurt?” Silene asked him as Daffodil jumped back into his arms.
“No, but I’m goin’ to teach him to hurt me.”
“Why?”
“Because he needs to be able to fight. From as young as we can remember, we are taught to protect our lives and the lives of those we love. ’Twas pushed into our heads over and over until we put away fear of dyin’ in battle—because battle is a way of life fer a Scot. Lionell lost his ability to fight. He is losin’ his ability to live because of such a loss. I’m goin’ to help him.”
She swallowed and held back the tears she would shed. “And I will pray for him with Father Timothy.”
She wanted to kiss his beautiful lips, breathe his breath. She would kiss his dimpled cheek, his bruised jaw. But there were too many people watching.
She had no idea how much longer she could resist falling into his arms, his bed.
She thought of being naked and intimate with him and it didn’t frighten or embarrass her as much as she thought it would.
It excited her and made her long for him in ways she was not familiar.
She didn’t tell Father Timothy about her sexual desires. Perhaps she should tell Galeren. He was the levelheaded one. He would know what to do.
But in the meantime, his closeness at the table, whispering things in her ear—well, it was positively thrilling. Every time his thigh touched hers, she felt a lick of fire up her spine. If she gazed at his masculine profile, she found herself wanting to crawl into his lap and kiss him senseless.
Everyone grew quiet. Silene turned to see why and saw a man standing at the entrance to the dining hall.
He was starkly handsome with russet hair shot through with broad strokes of gold that fell past his shoulders. His mouth was full and sulky and cut in two places. One cut was beginning to swell.