Page 102 of Laird of Smoke
Her heart thrummed.Her blood warmed.Her nerves sizzled.
Every solemn vow she’d made at the convent—to forget him, to forget his kiss, to forget his love—burned into vapor as readily as silk over a flame.
She had imagined she could close her eyes and ears to love.Ignore affection as one did hunger or thirst until it was tamed.Or pray to forget the earthly feeling and replace it with holy devotion.
It was clear now that none of that was possible.Once tasted, the fruit of temptation could not be put back on the Tree of Knowledge.
But what was she to do with that knowledge?
She didn’t even know his disposition.
Was he angry with her?Disappointed?Hurt?
There was no way to tell.At the moment, they were John and Falco.They couldn’t exactly converse in any meaningful way.
Should she try to meet with him later in secret?
Or would it be best to pretend they’d never seen each other?
It was his turn again at the archery.This was his last shot.And hers.
She looked at him with all the yearning deep in her soul as he eyed up the target.Then he trained his eyes on her, and she caught her breath at the intensity of his gaze.
This time when he shot, he didn’t even glance at the target.He was still staring at her when his arrow went wide of the straw bale and landed in the sod beyond.
There were grumbles from the crowd.
He’d intentionally thrown away his shot.He didn’t want to compete in another round.That meant he either intended to speak with her as soon as possible, or he wanted to flee before she had the chance to catch him.
But two could use that tactic.
She was no longer interested in shooting against Jenefer anyway.That chance was long gone.It didn’t matter how well or badly she did.
She turned sideways to the target.As she drew her bow, not bothering to aim, she briefly met his gaze and let the arrow fly.
It stuck in the ground, shy of the bale.
The crowd growled.Now they were both out of the competition.
They still dared not interact for fear of revealing their identities.But leaving the archery range, Adam passed her, murmuring, “Let us meet down by the sea.”
She gulped.The sea?Did he mean to drown her?Surely he couldn’t be that vexed.By switching satchels with him, he might have been inconvenienced.But she’d left him a fortune in coin.
Besides, she’d always meant to return his things to him.Hemight be a thief.But Eve didn’t want that sin upon her soul.And it was clear God had given her this opportunity to make things right.
If Adam meant to find privacy, the seashorewasa good choice.Everyone else would be within the walls of Darragh, preoccupied with the tournament.
Getting there meant a rugged walk that gradually scaled down the steep cliff behind the keep.The breeze sweeping up the rise lifted her tunic and almost whipped off her feathered cap.She clapped a hand on her head and struggled to manage his satchel as she descended the sandy slope studded with tufts of beach grass.
It was a beautiful morn.The sun twinkled off the firth.Gulls screed and swooped through the currents of wind.The water sighed and foamed along the shore, rolling pebbles and tumbling shells.
This was the site of the great battle where the Rivenlochs had regained Castle Darragh for Laird Dougal and Lady Feiyan.It was hard to believe, looking at the smooth gray expanse, that the landscape had once been littered with the dead and dying, the sand stained with blood.
The beach looked deserted.Adam must have been delayed.
That was fine.She had to settle her thoughts, slow her pulse, calm her nerves.
What would she say to him?Confess her true identity?Tell him that swapping satchels had been an accident?Apologize for leaving him so abruptly?
