Nor did she move.
Wrapped in cowled robes and swirling mist, she followed his every move throughout the fight, a world of pride in her shadowed eyes.
A wealth of love to keep him safe.
And if her own heart bore a trace of sadness, she didn’t let it show.
He glanced her way once, and for a moment almost saw her, so she lifted her hand and forced a little smile. A reassuring one to let him know, this night, too, would pass. And though her time here was gone, he had many years yet before him.
Bright days and bliss-filled nights.
Her smile fading, she stared across the silence at him, lending him her comfort as best she could, marveling at his valor and strength.
As she always had.
After endless-seeming hours, the fury of the battle finally lessened, the outcome clear. With a deep sigh torn from all her yesterdays, she sent one last smile his way, then slipped into the shadows of her world once more.
One with the mist and darkness.
Until he needed her again.
Chapter 35
“So you do believe in the Laird’s Stone?”
At Rhona’s amused voice behind her, Caterine shrieked and slammed down the lid of the iron-bound strongbox at the foot of her bed.
“Gah!” She whirled around, clapped a hand to her breast. “Since when do you roam about in the middle of the night, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“Perhaps since you’re so interested in old stones?”
“One stone, thanks be.” Caterine brushed at her skirts. “And I wasn’t peeking at it.”
Rhona folded her arms. “Then why aren’t you abed?”
“Because I’m not,” Caterine said, annoyed.
Because it will be soon be cockcrow and our men have yet to return.
Because I fear for him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she owned, stating the truth, if not the reason.
“None of us can.” Rhona glanced into the darkness of the ante-room where, ignoring the comfort of his own bed, Leo lay curled atop Sir Marmaduke’s rough pallet.
Caterine followed her friend’s gaze, and sighed.
Until a short while ago, Leo, too, had roamed the bedchamber. He’d gone round and round, his short legs carrying him between the ante-room, the window embrasure, and, always, the closed door where he’d turn pleading eyes on its oaken panels.
Waiting for a champion.
As the long, empty hours of the night had consigned her to do as well.
“My lady…” Rhona peered at her, one finger tapping lightly against her chin. “Can it be you could not sleep for the same reason I, too, am restless?”
Caterine drew her bed-robe more securely about her shoulders. Frosty morning air slipped through the shutter slats, the cold making her shiver. “There are often nights when sleep eludes me.”
“I know you,” Rhona persisted. “You fear for the Sassunach.”
