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“But you do not?”

“I see it in some places. But I also see evil. Greed. Like you, I do not wish to relinquish control of my fate to others.”

Lina looked down at her hands, which were folded atop her lap. When she looked up, ’twas not judgment he saw there but sadness.

Sadness for him.

“I doubt you were judged as harshly for something that occurred when you were a boy as you’ve judged yourself. Surely as a warrior you’ve ended men’s lives?”

’Twas an abrupt change of topic.

“Indeed.”

“Yet you mourn more for the healer’s injury than for the wife or children of the men you’ve slain?”

“The two are very different. Warriors enter battle knowing they may not survive. They accept the consequences of their choice.”

“Do men truly choose to become warriors or are they forced to do so to defend their family and clan?”

“’Tis both, I suppose.”

“Whether the cause be just or unjust? Which makes me think of the healer.”

He thought about that question for a time. At least, Niall attempted to concentrate on it. He found Lina’s beauty, the soft lilting of her voice, quite distracting.

“Men may fight for a cause they find unjust, but their chief, or king, decrees otherwise. Though I do not understand how your question relates to the healer.”

Lina blinked. “It does not, really. ’Twas simply a thought that occurred to me as we spoke.”

Niall could not contain the bubble of laughter that formed in his stomach. He’d thought she was leading to some grand conclusion, but instead, Lina simply went round and round without necessarily returning to the beginning.

“You are a unique woman, Lina,” he said. “I thought for certain you were looking for a way to assuage me from my guilt.”

“If you’ve not been able to do it yourself after so many years, ’tis doubtful that would be a successful endeavor for me.”

“Indeed,” he agreed.

“So what, then, do you hope to accomplish with your questions?” Niall asked, curious.

“Just to get to know the man sitting across from me better.”

“Because?” Niall allowed his vanity to ask the question.

Lina frowned, a rare sight for her. This time, it was she who was reluctant to speak.

“Why do you wish to get to know me better, Lina?” he asked again.

Sitting up a bit straighter, her chin rising, she looked him straight in the eye. “Because,” she said, “I have decided there is a likelihood we will marry, and I would know my future husband before I commit to such a state.”

Nothing, precisely nothing, could have prepared Niall for her decree.

Or for his body’s reaction to the implication of her words.

Chapter Sixteen

Surely, he misheard her.

“A likelihood,” Niall repeated.