Page 69 of Desire's Ransom
Chapter 19
Temair filled her cup with ale for the second time, slugging down half of it at once.
The woodkerns, arriving full of treasure and tales, had had a profitable day. Gathering around the fire, they boasted of their adventures and the fruits of their labor.
But Temair’s day had left her as prickly as a cat in a thunderstorm.
Not only had she felt frustrated by being restricted to the camp while the others were out looting, but her head was still spinning over her situation with Ryland.
First of all, she should never have kissed him again. No matter how tempting and inevitable and right it had felt at the time, she shouldn’t have done it.
It wasn’t right. Not at all. As far as Ryland was aware, he was promised to another. He was practically a married man.
And yet, the bride he was promised to washer.So it wasn’t as if that indiscretion could legitimately be considered cheating.
The fact that Ryland had put a stop to the kiss said much about his honor. She respected him for that.
On the other hand, perhaps he’d only stopped her because he’d found he wasn’t attracted to her, not in the way she was attracted to him. And that hurt her pride.
And now, unsure whether she admired or begrudged him for his actions, she ended up vexed at herself for even caring what he thought.
She wasn’t going to marry him.
She’d already decided that.
So what did it matter whether he was a cheat?
Why should she care if he did or didn’t like her?
What difference did it make if freshly bathed Lady Mor was sitting on the other side of him, fluttering her lashes?
Temair pounded down the rest of her ale.
At the sound of Mor’s giggles, she winced and got up to refill her cup…again.
Friar Brian had just begun to serve up the pea pottage when Conall and young Fergus strode into the camp with two strangers.
Sorcha exchanged a quick glance with Temair. Any other day, entertaining the nobles they’d robbed was commonplace. But with a hostage on the line and Temair’s identity at stake, it was a bold and risky proposition—one that Conall and Fergus probably shouldn’t have undertaken.
She trusted Ryland would say nothing to divulge his identity that might threaten the safe transfer of his ransom. Meanwhile, the woodkerns would have to do nothing to arouse suspicion.
“Welcome to our lovely camp!” Conall announced.
Although the noble visitors looked irritated at being inconvenienced, they were civil enough.
Fergus introduced them. “These are Sir William and Sir Robert.”
Cambeal and Niall introduced themselves and invited the two gentlemen to sit by the fire. The friar prepared to fill bread crusts with pottage for the guests.
As was customary, Sorcha explained. “Sir William, Sir Robert, we may be outlaws, but we never take more than we need. And if ye’re willin’ enough to hand it over without a fuss, we’re glad to give ye sustenance for your journey home.”
Sir William laughed. “Generous outlaws—ha!” He elbowed his companion, who wasn’t quite as jolly.
Sir Robert made a sour face. “The last thing we need is more sustenance.”
“True enough,” William agreed. “We’ve just come from Chieftain O’Keeffe’s table.” With one hand, he patted his broad belly. With the other, he fended off Brian’s offer of pottage. “I doubt I’ll need sustenance for another week.”
Temair dug her fingernail into her wooden cup. They’d just eaten at her father’s table? Had Cormac mentioned her? Had he talked about the ransom?
