Page 28 of Desire's Ransom
What had her fellow called her? Gray?
“Gray!” he called out.
She glanced up.
“I wouldn’t have done it, you know,” he told her. “No English knight worth his spurs would hurt a helpless woman.”
She made no reply. Nonetheless, he was glad he’d made the confession.
With a final nod, he picked up and sheathed his sword. Then he turned to follow his men back to their horses.
He’d gone two paces when something whizzed past his nose and landed with a thunk in the tree beside him. An arrow. The shaft was still quivering when he whipped his head around and saw the woman on the far bank. Her bow was aloft, and her guilty hand was raised beside her cheek.
“Then ye’re a bigger fool than I took ye for,” she called back.
His men came to his defense at once, growling like riled hounds. Warin wrenched the arrow out of the trunk, angry enough that he would have fired it back at her with his bare hand.
But Ryland pried the arrow from him and broke it in half between his fists, dropping the shaft to the ground. Then he calmed his men with a motion of his hand.
“If you’re going to be so brazen,” he warned the woman, “you’d better shoot to kill.”
She slung her bow back over her shoulder. “If I’d wanted ye dead, ye’d be dead.” Then she gave him a sly smirk. “But no Irish outlaw worth her bow would hurt a helpless man.”
Ryland couldn’t help but chuckle. Leave it to the clever sweet-and-sharp-tongued woman to throw his own words back at him.
His men, however, did not find her so amusing.
“Helpless!” Laurence spat in disgust. “I’ll show her helpless.”
Warin bit out an oath, barely able to suppress his rage.
“Are you going to let her get away with that?” Godwin asked in outrage.
“I am,” Ryland said. His pride might be wounded, but it would heal. “They’re only words, after all. I don’t think we need to be starting a war when we’ve only just arrived.” He continued along the stream. “Never fear. Once I’m chieftain over these lands, I’ll put the outlaws in their place.” Including, he thought, rather relishing the idea, that spirited wench with the wide gray eyes and the delicious mouth.
All the way back to the woodkern camp, Temair felt as out of sorts as a wind-bristled cat. Why, she didn’t know.
After all, she’d gotten the last word. She’d even driven home her point…literally…just missing the English knight with her arrow.
But she was unsatisfied. She felt as if there was unfinished business between them.
For one magical moment, standing in the stream, in the arms of the charming knight with the wide smile and sparkling eyes, she’d experienced a curious sort of joy. Her heart had raced. Her head had spun. Every nerve in her body had come to life.
Then bumbling Conall had ruined everything.
If only the woodkerns hadn’t arrived when they did…
If only they hadn’t chosen those particular knights as targets…
If only they hadn’t interrupted the two of them…
What? she asked herself. What would have happened?
She scuffed at the leafy path.
It was foolish to imagine things might have ended differently. The man was obviously on some knightly quest. She was going to return home with the woodkerns. They wouldn’t be crossing paths again.
So why did that irritate her?
