Part 22 (1/2)
He snorted. ”A bat. Most definitely.”
She smiled and lay her head back down, turning her face away from him. She said nothing for a long time and he thought she'd gone to sleep. He was just thinking about trying to rest again, when she asked, ”Is my arm... ruined?”
”What mean you?”
”You know what I mean. Think you it will corrupt? Will the scar be ugly?”
Alex paused, uncertain how to answer her question. It was not in his nature to be dishonest and yet women were so very vain. He didn't want to deal with a weeping female. But this was Fayth Graham, no ordinary female and not p.r.o.ne to fits of tears.
”You will certainly have a large scar... as for corruption, we can only wait and see. Sometimes it happens right away, sometimes it happens later.”
Her head jerked in a nod. ”And if it does?”
”Well... if it does, surely you know what must occur.”
She gave a thick laugh that sounded choked. ”I guess everyone can call me Armless Hugh, then.”
Alex didn't know what to say. He reached out to touch her, then quickly withdrew his hand, annoyed with himself. He lay on his back, resting his hands behind his head. He inhaled sharply as the movement pulled on his wound, the pain radiating through his chest and shoulder. He stilled until it subsided, staring into the gloom, resisting the urge to say something more, to offer some comfort.
”What does Gealach mean?”
He started at her soft voice, but answered, ”Moon.”
”How odd.”
”I thought so, too, until I saw it one night, from a distance. The stone the tower is built from is pale and seems to absorb the moon's light. It glows, almost as if it were made from moonstone.”
She sighed softly and a whispered word drifted to him, ”Beautiful.”
”There is a story that says the tower was built by an Irish prince in order to find his way back to his love.”
He fell silent, waiting to see if she would ask to hear more. She was quiet and Alex felt a pang of disappointment. He shouldn't be doing this anyway, talking such foolishness with her. He liked her far too much already.
”Yes?” came the hesitant word.
Alex smiled. ”The prince was sailing to Scotland, to visit his uncle, the king of Galloway-”
”The king of Galloway? That must have been a very long time ago, indeed.”
”Aye, indeed. Anyway, the prince's s.h.i.+p was struck by a storm-”
”Did the prince have a name?”
”Huh?” Alex raised his head to look at her, but she still faced away.
”His name? Surely he was the prince of something and had a name, at that.”
”It's just a tale, Fayth.”
”Still, he must have a name.”