"And I never will," Mary replied. "What about ye? What reasons dae ye have for bein' here, for puttin' so much of yer heart and soul intae it?"
What reason indeed? He could tell her the full truth, but he'd hidden it from almost everyone for so long that he didn't even know where to start. He could tell her about how he couldn't bear to live in his country and passively allow the False King to rule over them all, choking the life from the land he loved so much, but that wasn't the whole story either.
Instead, he said, "They're me family. The rebels, I mean. Kier, Senan, Ewan, Hamish… they're like fathers tae me, all four of them. Darren and Fergus are like me brothers, Ferda me sister."
"Ye're a big name in the camp. It seems everyone has somethin' good tae say about ye. The healers and scouts, the stablemaster, that young cook Ben… they all seem tae think ye're the best of us," Mary told him. "Ye're a man who likes tae save people."
Cailean shook his head. "Ye've the wrong impression of me if ye think that. I'm just a man doin' what any other man would do for the people who need him."
Mary tilted her head. "Ye really believe that, eh?" She smiled. "Well, fine, let's change the subject, if it pleases ye. What would ye like tae talk about?"
He laughed. "Dinnae ye ken that that's the worst way tae start a conversation? The moment ye ask people what they want tae talk about, every conversation topic flees their mind."
Grinning, Mary said, "Well, perhaps I should have brought someone else for a meal then. Maybe I need a better conversation partner."
Cailean enjoyed her light teasing more than he wanted to admit, and he was eager to engage in the banter. "Oh aye? Who would ye bring with ye? I see the way that young Dirk looks at ye these days."
"Dirk! No, ye're wrong. He sees me as an older sister if anythin', surely," Mary replied, sounding scandalized. "And what of the way Ferda glances at ye?"
Snorting, Cailean said, "Ye're well off the mark there. Ferda's nae interested in any man, least of all me. I told ye just moments ago, she truly is like a sister tae me."
"Hmph," Mary replied. "Ye're right, I suppose. I was just teasin'. But surely there aresomeentanglements in a huge camp like that."
"Oh, of course," Cailean told her. He leaned forward conspiratorially and said, "Ye wouldnae believe the romantic drama that unfolds on a daily basis. The cooks in love with the scouts. The healers in love with the villagers. The couplin's and the trysts and the dramatic endin's. Occasionally, we see love blossom, but the drama is more common. Like one of the Bard's plays."
Laughing now, Mary asked, "And who's the worst for the drama? There must be someone who causes more of it than anyone else."
"Darren, of course," Cailean said without even stopping to think about it. "He's got a new lass on the go with every full moon. Swears he's in love with each of them, but it always ends in disaster. He treats them well every time, but the lad is a fool with a big heart and a mouth that never stops talkin'."
"I can see that." Mary tapped her lips. "He seems a flirt."
"What about ye? Have ye been taken in by his charms?" Cailean tried to keep his tone light, but part of him suddenly really longed to hear the answer.
"Aha! No, not me."
Cailean didn't want to admit how happy that made him feel. He didn't even really understand why — well, no, he had an inkling, but he wasn't ready to explore that yet.
"And what about ye?" Mary continued. She looked at him intently. "Haveyeany romances in the camp? Any woman who's caught yer eye?"
There was a small pause when their eyes met, and a strange intensity passed between them. Cailean slowly shook his head. "Naebody," he said, though his heart thudded in his chest as he said it.
Maeve seemed to brighten, but she quickly looked away before he could see more of her expression. "Sensible man," she said. "Let me go get us more ale."
As she hurried off to the bar, Cailean watched her go. And while he'd been reluctant to come here, he knew one thing: if she asked him to sit here for the rest of the night, he'd say yes. He'd honestly be happy to never leave again.
13
Chapter Thirteen
Maeve hummed to herself as she made her way to the bar, her good mood shining around her in a way that she thought must be obvious to anyone who looked toward her. She hadn't expected her time with Cailean to go so well, nor the time she spent with him to feel so natural, nor the conversation to be so easy. She wondered how much time she could spend here with him today.
Why was she so happy? She wasn't quite ready to explore the new part of her that was drawn to him physically, wasn't ready to put words around the way her body reacted when she saw his muscles ripple in the sun or the depths of his gray eyes. So he was handsome — so what? Lots of people were handsome, and Maeve refused to let herself think there was any more to it than that, even though she knew she was lying to herself.
But she couldn't deny that there was a pull between them, one that made her feel good every time they were together, and one that only seemed to be growing stronger as the days passed. Talking to him was so easy, and he was kind in a way she'd never really experienced before. She liked the way he treated not only her but everyone else at the camp; she adored hearing the people in the rebellion and some of the village folk talk about the things he'd done for them without asking for anything in return.
Maeve respected Cailean, she concluded. That was all it was, really. It was all it could be, and she was more than all right with that.
"Two more ales, please," she asked the woman behind the bar, but before there could be an answer, the door to the tavern slammed open and someone hurried inside. All eyes turned toward the newcomer.
