Page 57 of Laird of Smoke
Whatever the reason, it also gave her a wee thrill to know her flirtations with another—even if they were feigned—bothered him.It meant that he might have feelings for her.
It was a foolish hope, she knew.Utterly ridiculous.Completely inappropriate.What good were such feelings when she was a nun?
While she mused in silence, wiping away the dust of the road, she heard the crackle of peat as Adam stirred the fire behind her.
“I’ll take the floor here,” he murmured.
“What?”She whirled to face him.
“The floor.I’ll sleep beside the fire.”
“Absolutely not,” she decided.“The lodgin’ wasyourdiscovery.Ye should take the bed.”
“Don’t be absurd.I’m not goin’ to sleep on a goose-down pallet while an Irish princess beds down on the floor.”
His offer was kind.But it offended her nun’s sense of charity, humility, and fairness.
“I can’t possibly accept your offer,” she said.“Ye protected me from outlaws.Managed to procure us horses and lodgin’ for the night.Sacrificed yourself so I wouldn’t fall into the burn.”She shook her head.“A soft, warm bed to sleep in is the least I can give ye to show my gratitude.”
What she really wanted to give him was a soft, warm bed withherin it.But that was only her wayward thoughts racing astray like a runaway steed.Besides, she noted he’d carefully omitted the option of sharing the bed.To a man who claimed his chief duty was protection, she supposed such an arrangement was unthinkable.
He grunted in dissatisfaction over her decree and gave the flickering peat on the hearth one last prod before coming to his feet.
“Ye’re a stubborn lass, aren’t ye?”
“Me?”She didn’t think she was stubborn.She merely stood her ground when she knew she was right.
An amused smile blossomed on his face, taking her breath away.“I’ve heard there’s nothin’ more stubborn than an Irish lass.”
That might be.But she was no Irish lass.“I’ve heard the same said o’ Scotsmen.”
“Then I suppose we’ll find out who’s the—”
There was a knock on the door.“M’lady, m’lord,” a maid called out, “I’m here to take ye to supper.”
Eve gasped and whispered, “Already?”They were hardly prepared to play husband and wife.
“Good, I’m starvin’,” Adam murmured.To the maid he said, “We’ll be right out.”
He grabbed the wet rag she’d used, rubbing it quickly over his face.
But Eve’s heart raced.“There’s no time to get our new story straight.”
He shrugged and gave his hands a quick scrub as well.“We’ll have to make one up as we go.”
That was easy for him to say.He seemed to thrive on living dangerously.Making last-minute decisions.Taking risks without batting an eye.
Eve preferred to think things out carefully.To plan.To pay attention to detail.To create a seamless character with a complete history and live in their skin for a while.
It wasn’t that she never had to improvise.Sometimes she had to rely on her wits to correct course if she got into trouble.
That worked when you were steering the steed on your own.When another person didn’t have to follow your lead and remember the route.But Adam had a mind of his own.He might well seize the reins and steer her in a direction she didn’t want to go.Like calling himself her husband when he was supposed to be her brother.
“M’lady,” Adam said, offering his arm.
Like that.Already he was doing it.Taking the lead.
With a sigh, she looped her arm through his, donned her most charming smile, and let him lead her to supper.
