"You had no choice," she said softly.
He held her gaze for a moment longer before dropping it to the hand that rested on his arm.
Immediately she became conscious of the intimacy of the warm, hard skin flexing beneath her palm, and she hastily snatched it away. But it didn't stop the urge to curl up against him and rest her cheek on that broad shield.
He resumed his task in removing the bloodstains from the small, interlocking pieces of steel.
She sat beside him on a lower rock, watching him for a few minutes in silence.
"Why are you here, Anna?"
"I wanted to thank you for what you did today."
He gave a short shrug, not lifting his gaze from his task. "I was only doing my job. It's why I'm here."
She bit her lip, recalling her anger at his interference and skepticism at his motives. "It seems you were right," she admitted. "I'm grateful for your presence on our journey. We all are." Her mouth thinned with annoyance. "Though some of the men might have an odd way of showing it."
His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. "What are they saying?"
"That you sensed the riders coming before it was possible to do so."
He cocked a brow, amused by her attempt to soften the blow. "I'm sure that's not all they said."
Her cheeks burned, ashamed for the superstitions of her clansmen. "It's true, isn't it? It's like what happened with the wolves, and when I stumbled off the cliff. You know things before they are going to happen."
She pleaded with her eyes for him not to lie to her. Not again. He was quiet for so long, she thought he wasn't going to answer.
"It's not like that," he said finally. "It's more a feeling. My senses are sharper than normal, that's all."
"Sharper?" she repeated. "They're extraordinary." Her praise only seemed to make him more uncomfortable. "I don't understand why the men don't see it. You saved us all."
He gazed up at her sharply. "Leave it be, Anna. It means nothing."
The fact that he actually seemed to mean it made it that much worse. "How can you say that? Doesn't it bother you? They should be thanking you for what you've done and praising your extraordinary abilities, not acting like children afeared of goblins under the bed or ghosts in the ambry."
Her outrage on his behalf didn't seem to be appreciated. Once again she sensed that the conversation made him uncomfortable. He gave her a hard look. "It doesn't bother me, and I don't need you making things more difficult by championing my cause. I don't want you saying anything about whatever it is they thought they saw. Let it go and it will die a natural death. Prolong it and you will only make it worse."
He spoke from experience.
Anna pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to argue. It wasn't right, and the injustice of it raised every protective bone in her body.
It bothered him. It had to, no matter how nonchalant he seemed. The fact that he'd grown so accustomed to people's subtle cruelty--that he expected it--only made it worse.
Her heart squeezed. How many times had he been rejected or shunned to become so callous and indifferent?
Was that why he pushed people away?
Suddenly, his remoteness and separateness seemed more a cloak to loneliness. He'd been doing it so long, he'd actually convinced himself he liked to be alone.
Her heart went out to him. She was so lucky to have her family; she hated to think of anyone alone.
"Anna?" he said, his gaze leveling on her in the moonlight. Had he guessed the direction of her thoughts? "Promise me you won't say anything."
She scowled, but nodded.
He stood up. After dropping the slinky mail over his head, he donned a clean tabard and started to strap on his numerous weapons. Though there was something intimate about watching him dress, she didn't feel embarrassed. Rather, it felt natural. As if she could watch him ready himself for war forever.
The thought should have horrified her. Instead it filled her with a strong sense of yearning, of longing for something hovering just beyond her reach. His quiet solidness called to her. It made her think of a future. That maybe he wasn't wrong, but exactly right.
