“It is the least you owe me.” Lady Gelis was looking at him, her eyes intent. “If you have a lady love and were perchance setting off to be with her, then I would understand much.”
“A lady love?” Ronan almost laughed.
She nodded.
“Nae, for truth, lass, you err.”
“A woman is behind most things a man does.” Her tonedared him to deny it. “A woman or land gain and wealth.”
This time he did laugh.
If such a rusty-sounding grunt could pass for laughter.
“Ah, well,” he owned, “you might just have the right of it. A woman was behind my travel plans, though no’ for the reason you suspect.”
One red-gold brow lifted, her amber eyes all attention. “Oh?”
“Aye.” He spoke true. “Leastways in that the death of my second wife spurred my decision. It was after her passing that I began to consider making the journey to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, shrine of Saint James. I’d finally decided to go the day Valdar told me about you.”
“You wanted to go on a pilgrimage?”
“To kneel at the shrine and collect my scallop badge, aye.”
“I have seen such men. My mother is known for welcoming them. She offers a fresh pallet for the night and a warm meal to those who pass through Kintail. But you . . .” The words tailed away on a tinge of skepticism. “You do not have the look of such a man.”
“Be that as it may, I was committed to going.” He started toward the door.
She followed. “Why?”
Ronan hesitated, ran a hand through his hair. “I thought — hoped — that if —”
“Ahhh, now I understand.” Something that sounded like pity shaded her voice. “You believed such a pilgrimage would ease your grief.” Her eyes went all soft again. “How you must have loved your wife to suffer her loss so deeply. An arduous journey to the ends of the world . . .”
Ronan stiffened, the words piercing him.
He did not deserve her sympathy.
“There are few things a man will not do when his heart makes the demand.”
“I am sorry. I wish —”
He raised a hand, staying her when she moved to step closer. “You have had a tedious journey yourself. Rest now and we shall talk on the morrow.”
Just not about the late Lady Cecilia.
Looking as if she meant to do exactly that, Lady Gelis drew a breath to speak, but Ronan turned and left the bedchamber before she could.
He closed the door behind him, striding no more than six paces down the dimly lit passage before pausing beneath a high-set arrow slit. Chill night air streamed through the narrow opening and he leaned his back against the wall, lifting his face to the welcoming draught.
Feeling worn and empty, he flattened his hands against the cold damp of the tower stones, seeking strength from their solidity.
Lady Gelis’s words still rang in his ears.
His head throbbed with the way she’d looked at him, her unwanted compassion echoing even here in the shadows of the corridor.
For a maid so gifted as ataibhsear, her perception had failed her sorely where his late wife was concerned.
He hadn’t loved Lady Cecilia.
