broken bones by the time she reached Ayrshire.
All the men were virile and handsome, even with scars and smirks, and too much hair. But, oh, the captain…he was almost too beautiful to look at for too long.
She didn’t want to ride with him. She didn’t want to leave her home. But this meeting with the church was the reason her uncle had convinced her parents to send her to St. Patrice’s in the first place. They’d always told her how important it was for a man hoping to gain a high place in the church’s council to have family in the church.
She was that connection. She didn’t dare break it and cause her uncle to stop his aid to her family.
When she reached the captain, he was already in his saddle.
Without a thought, he reached down and plucked her from the ground. She was facing the crowd and felt her face go up in flames as she sailed into the air and landed in his lap with a soft thump. When she thought it couldn’t get any worse, his arms came around her as he reached for the reins.
Silene looked at the prioress as they rode away and made the sign of the cross.
Chapter Three
Galeren did all he could to ignore the scent of her. It was slightly floral, herbal, a hint of a woodsy scent. It was oddly soothing and like nothing he had ever smelled before. He looked at the white veil on her head—like a bride.
He could deny himself the pleasure of gazing at her. He closed his eyes behind her. When he’d seen her this morning, he thought he had come upon some kind of ethereal, heavenly creature. He’d never seen a lass with hair as short as hers, or eyes that rivaled the summer sky and verdant fields.
He and the men had slept in the forest the night before. He’d awoken first and wandered out to the cliffs, drawn by the sound of the waves crashing below. And a soft cry.
He thought she might be ready to jump to her death when she sobbed as if in pain. He shouldn’t have frightened her. He should not have pulled her against him, but any other way and she would have fallen. Her face was carved and molded by the Master’s hand. Her hair was short in the back. In the front, her mop of bright, russet waves fell over her forehead, over eyes as big and vast as oceans. Eyes that were filled with dreams and paralyzed him with wonder. Freckles sprayed across the bridge of her nose. Her lips were perfect, like soft, plump coral in a colorful sea.
He knew who she was after she’d run away. John’s niece, and her life was dedicated to God.
“Captain Galeren?”
He smiled behind her despite trying not to. “Aye?”
“I normally have prayers at this hour. May we stop somewhere soon so that I might say them?”
They had just started out. “Aye,” he answered without hesitation. Hadn’t she been praying all morning? If they stopped every hour, it would take a month to get to John. “Of course, we can stop.” How could he refuse a soon-to-be nun asking to pray?
They trotted along with Galeren looking for a place to stop. The men were quiet, for which Galeren was thankful.
“So, what are we to call ye, Sister?”
Galeren smiled at Mac. But hell, he knew the silence couldn’t last.
“I have not said my vows yet, so…Silene will do,” she answered softly. So softly, the men didn’t hear her.
He recalled Morgann’s reaction to her name. Her name made her more familiar. It made her less of a novice and more human. The men didn’t need to see her as anything but holy. “Sister!” Galeren called out. “Ye are to call her Sister.”
He didn’t look at her when she turned to give him a curious stare. Instead, he thought about his talk with the prioress before they’d left the priory.
“She has been raised here,” the prioress had told him. “She knows little of the world apart from Bamburgh and St. Patrice’s. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” he had answered, keeping his impatience out of his tone. “But I dinna know why ye are tellin’ this to me.”
Her eyes sparked like lightning in stormy blue skies. “I’m telling you so that you will keep your hands off her. She does not understand the wiles of men like you—”
He’d had enough of her a thousand breaths ago. “Men like me?” he wanted to know, though he had