Page 81 of Laird of Smoke
He was fascinated by her quicksilver wit and her undaunted spirit.By the way she danced through life, skipping from identity to identity with the ease and grace of an elusive butterfly.He admired her generous soul and her fierce determination.Her easy laughter and her sensitive heart.He even relished her complexity, knowing with Lady Aillenn he would never be bored.
How then could he have let The One be taken from him?
Clenching his jaw and steeling his gaze, he reined the horse onto the main road.
Which direction?
They’d been headed south toward Glasgow.If someone had marked them for theft, it would have been from the north as they passed by.It made sense that the fox would return to his den.
Making up his mind, Adam turned the horse northward and urged it to a clip.
Hours later, he’d found no sign of her.The travelers he questioned along the way had glimpsed no beautiful noblewoman.Nor had anyone at the alehouse where he stopped midday to rest the horse and fill his belly.
Halfway through devouring mutton pottage by the fire, he suddenly remembered he might not have the wherewithal to pay the alewife.His possessions were gone.
Shite.
He carried his entire life in his satchel.His costumes, his tools, his coin.How would he manage without them?He hadn’t yet sifted through what was in Aillenn’s satchel, but he imagined the contents would be fairly useless.Which meant he’d need to waste more time, paying for his supper with his labor.
With a sigh, he retrieved the satchel slouching beside the hearth and opened the top.
There was a missive scribbled with char on a piece of torn parchment.
Prithee do not follow me ~ Lady Aillenn
His mind reeled as he studied the words.What did they mean?
They meant she hadn’t been abducted at all.
She’d left of her own accord.
The pottage sank to the pit of his stomach like an anvil in mud.
So “Lady Aillenn”wasa common outlaw, after all.She must have played a long game—tempting him, luring him in, getting him to trust her, tocarefor her.In the end, like a Judas in a paramour’s clothing, she’d betrayed him, stolen his satchel and his coin and left him.
How could she do such a thing?
How could he have been such a gullible fool?
His emotions quickly curdled, from worry to hurt to bitterness.He crumpled the missive in his fist.
Then he wrenched open the satchel.
Had she left him anything?A penny?A weapon?Balm for his broken heart?
Shehadleft him something.
Everything.
On top was her scarlet velvet gown.Beneath that were other robes and cloaks, hose and slippers, wigs and caps, a sheathed dagger, a comb and mirror and jewels in a velvet bag, packets and crocks of medicine, her sewing tools, hard cheese, dried herring, oatcakes, and at the very bottom, a purse heavy with coins.A few were lead, but most of them were silver.
He scowled.What didthatmean?
He considered these new circumstances as he counted out payment for his pottage and ale.
She’d obviously left of her own free will.So perhaps the guilt-riddled lass had left him the coin as payment for her betrayal.He hadn’t counted it, but he had to wonder if there were thirty pieces of silver in the purse.
Then she’d writtenDo not follow me?
