Here's the second half of Kel and Wyldon's conversation (LK pg. 66-67 in my copy) from Wyldon's POV.

Italic lines are dialogue directly from Lady Knight, property of Tamora Pierce.

19. Safety

"He also trained me for battle."

Her words were sharp, unexpected. Wyldon realized that he had grown to expect Kel's stoic acceptance of his decisions, fair or unfair; the stony-faced gaze that had gotten her through eight years of hell and hard work to stand before him now as a knight. It was easy to forget her inner passion, that she was as stubborn and insistent as Sir Nealan when it came to defending what she felt was right, that she had Prince Roald's belief in righting injustice and the same streak of idealism that he hadn't yet been able to beat out of his ever-optimistic squire. It seemed as if Kel was about to apologize, but she held her tongue; Wyldon knew it was because she meant her words, every one of them.

The words were strongly felt and it was Kel's fiery devotion to her cause that reassured Wyldon he had made the right decision. If he could only convince her to take the command, to give her word that she would protect the ragtag group of refugees and convict soldiers that would be her soldiers and her people. Once Kel made that promise, she would keep it. She would argue for more supplies with the same determined insistence that had her questioning his orders a moment before; she would settle disputes over sleeping arrangements and positions in the mess line with the same insistence on fairness and equal treatment that had her arguing for a more dangerous assignment. Lady Knight Keladry wasn't a fool; she knew the cost of war and the danger in what he was asking. But she also wanted the same chance to prove herself as the other young knights, even if it meant being left in an shallow unmarked grave or left to burn on a bloodstained frozen field. She was willing to fight him on this, despite her devotion to manners, her insistence on accepting what she was told to do without question or complaint. And it was that hidden fire which ensured that she wouldn't win this argument. Wyldon knew he was a talented commander; he knew that he had a gift, like Lord Raoul, or Commander Buri if he was forced to admit it, for seeing the hidden strengths in others and allowing them the proper opportunity to shine. And he knew that he had made the right decision, the only correct decision, in giving Kel this command. She could fight him all she wanted; but he was stubborn too, and his mind was made up.

Wyldon had been unconsciously rubbing his injured arm as these thoughts ran through his head—the angry raised scars that would forever mar his flesh always served to remind him of the cost of duty, the price of what he was asking Kel to give up in the service of a war she might or might not believe in, for people that she might or might not grow to care about. She had seen more war than your average squire, but she was still green, still unfamiliar with the true horror that he knew the summer would bring.

"There is no safe zone within a hundred miles of the border. You'll see combat. I guarantee that," he told her sternly. The words were meant as a warning but she seemed to take them as a compromise, a small concession thrown at her to keep her satisfied and safe.

She thought he was keeping her safe; that was the biggest mystery to Wyldon. If he had the power to keep anyone safe, there would be no knights at these crude Northern camps, fighting to preserve borders that had hardly even existed in the first place. There would be no war, no killing devices, no enemy mages. Every knight he trained would be in Corus, killing time and competing in silly tournaments, having feasts and attending balls and starting families. Each and every death forced him to look back over the years of his life, questioning every decision, every lesson; maybe if he had just taught his pages a little bit more, pushed them a little bit harder, they would still be alive. Every death felt like his fault, his responsibility; they had been his boys, his students, and even now, when they were no longer pages but grown men, he couldn't fully let them go. It was a heavy burden to carry, one that he knew would only get heavier as the summer progressed and the death tolls rose.

Kel said to him, "I still feel like you're trying to keep me safe."

Wyldon wished with all his heart that he could. That he could keep her safe, that he could keep them all safe. He wished that he could ask her to stay safe, to stay out of the war, not because she couldn't handle it—he had no doubt in her abilities anymore, not after she'd proved him wrong so many times—but because he couldn't; not another death, not Keladry.

He wanted to say, "Promise me, Lady Knight. Promise me you'll stay safe." Instead he just said, "Come with me".