Page 14 of Laird of Smoke
“Well, ye’ve done your duty,” she decided.“Ye may return to the king and tell him I arrived safely.”
She was sending him away.Which was a pity.Despite her having him at a disadvantage by uncovering his disguise, he would have liked to get to know her better.
She was not only beautiful.She was bright.She was also bold, tugging on a stranger’s beard like that.
He rubbed his chin.For that offense, the least she could do was tell him her name.Then he wouldn’t make the same mistake again and confuse her with another.
“From whom shall I send word to the king?”he inquired.
She straightened proudly.“Lady Aillenn Bhallach.”It was a good Irish name.He was rolling it around in his mind when she added, “And ye are?”
He took a breath to reply.Then, to his alarm, he hesitated.Who was he?Was he William the beggar?Le Goupilof Paris?“Adam…”
Ballocks!He’d given her his real name.Why had he done that?He never gave strangers his real name.It was like handing a dagger to a thief.
“Adam…?”
“Greenwood.Adam Greenwood,” he improvised.
“Farewell then, Adam Greenwood,” she cooed.Then she gave him a nod, picked up her satchel, and swept past him back to the main road.
“Farewell, Lady Aillenn.”
He watched her depart, admiring the subtle sway of her scarlet skirts and the gentle bounce of her chestnut locks.Then he glanced at the large satchel she carried.
He scowled.
A piece of cloth protruded from the top and flapped against the satchel with each step.A woolen hood of dark green.Just like the one the archer had been wearing.
Eve felt his eyes on her all the way back to the main road.
She thanked God for her ability to look at ease in the face of danger.She walked with a practiced nonchalance, though inside she was shaking like a fall leaf clinging to a winter branch.Half from fright.Half from anger.
Adam Greenwood, her arse.He was no more Adam Greenwood than he was the Pope’s emissary or a knight from Paris.Nor did she believe he’d followed her on the orders of the king.
Outrage and disquiet warred within her as she strode onto the street.
She was vexed with him for perpetrating such deception.And vexed at herself for nearly exposing her own.
For the moment, she wouldn’t think about the hypocrisy of one pretender harboring such resentment against another.She needed to focus on her survival.
First, before she ventured on to the silversmith’s shop, she had to settle her nerves.
Lady Aillenn would never show up to an appointment with flushed cheeks and darting eyes.Lady Aillenn was calm.Cool.Elegant.A wealthy Irish noblewoman with a discriminating eye for craftsmanship and design.
If Eve wanted excellent service, she’d have to look like a person who deserved it.
She saw what seemed to be a reputable inn, The Grey Goose.Perhaps a pint would help restore her sense of tranquility.
As usual, Eve earned abundant stares.Lady Aillenn was the opposite of invisible.One didn’t often see a lady going into an inn by herself.But she’d dealt with that before.The key was to exude confidence.To walk in as if she owned the place.
She strode directly to the hearth.A man sitting on a wooden stool immediately vacated it for her.She seated herself with an entitled nod and set her satchel down beside her.Then she summoned the innkeeper with a lift of her finger, indicating she wished to be served.
A serving lass rushed over.“What may I fetch ye, m’lady?”
“A pint o’ your best.”
In the end, it tooktwopints to calm her rattled nerves.But by then, she’d lingered long enough to be sure Adam Greenwood—or whatever his name was—had left for good.
