Page 20 of Laird of Smoke
Thehellhe wasn’t, she thought.Instead she said, “I beg to differ.”
“’Tis a public thoroughfare.”
She bit her lip.She couldn’t argue with him.All she could do was walk faster.
So she did.
So did he.And with his longer legs, he easily made up the distance between them.By the time the trees had begun to thin, and the full moon rose to light the path, he drew level with her.Then, without her permission, he seized her satchel and added it to his already burdened shoulder.
She gasped at his nerve.But she didn’t snatch the satchel back.It was admittedly a relief not to have to carry the heavy thing.
“So which one are ye truly?”he asked.“The Irish noblewoman?The French archer?Or the nun?”
“I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about,” she lied.
To her annoyance, he began to guess anyway.“I doubt ye’re Lady Aillenn Bhallach.I can’t believe an Irish nobleman would let his daughter roam the Scots countryside on her own.”
“My da doesn’t know.”
He pressed on.“I can see ye’re not the young archer lad.”
He let his eyes graze her briefly from head to toe.To her dismay, even that fleeting glance was enough to heat her blood.
“That leaves the nun,” he said.“And though ye do speak o’ redemption for thieves, ye’ve told so many lies, if ye were a nun, ye’d have to spend years in contrition.”
That was true.It was how she planned to fill her days in her old age.
“Perhaps I’m none o’ them,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said, but she could see he didn’t believe that.
“What about ye?”she asked, eager to get the attention off of her identity.“Are ye an emissary o’ the Pope?A French knight?An old lame beggar?Or a hunter o’ thieves?”
“All o’ them,” he said.
“I don’t believe ye’re godly enough to serve the Pope,” she decided.
He scoffed, pretending offense.
“A French knight?”she mused.Then she shook her head.“Nay.I saw ye laid low by a lass.”
He bridled at that.“That lass was… I was distracted.”
She felt a grin tugging at her lips.He was rather satisfying to tease.“And the beggar?Ye may be poor and old,” she considered, “but ye’re not lame.”
“I’m notold,”he said with a frown of outrage, rising to the bait.
“Well,” she said with a smile, “I suppose Adam isn’t old.If that’s who ye are.”
He neither confirmed nor denied it.Instead he gave her a small chuckle.“’Twould seem we’re birds of a feather, ye and me.Masters o’ disguise, aye?”
She supposed there was little point in denying it.At least he still didn’t know which one was her true identity.And she was fairly sure he’d given her a false name as well.She didn’t necessarily believe the maxim about honor among thieves.But there was no reason for either of them to expose the other.
Eve still had her pride.She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“I’m not an outlaw,” she said.
“Neither am I.”
