Her heart was still racing from the way he’d gazed into her eyes.
Her body was flushed with heat from the wicked thoughts that had flown through her mind when she’d asked the handsome rogue what he intended.Thoughts like what his mouth would taste like.How his strong arms would feel around her.What it would be like to have his powerful body pressed to hers.
She’d never felt like this before.Not when—posing as Lady Aillenn—elegant noblemen had flirted with her.Not when—dressed as the milkmaid Maggie Gall—she’d been wooed by stable lads and gardeners.Not even when handsome Sir Hew of Rivenloch had sworn his undying love to her.
What was wrong with her?
She’d always been able to keep her base urges in check.It had annoyed her how much the abbess had impressed upon the convent sisters the need for chastity.The abbess had advised, when earthly desires proved too much of the Devil’s allure, the nuns pray doubly hard for willpower.
But Eve had never been tempted.The men she’d met had never turned her head, warmed the cockles of her heart, or, as the abbess liked to say, kindled the fires of her womanhood.Indeed, she always thought the abbess devoted far too much attention to the issue of carnal temptation.
Now she had to wonder.
It wasn’t that Eve had disavowed pleasure.She wasn’t made of ice.There were plenty of earthly indulgences that excited her.
The soft summer breeze brushing her bare cheek.
The delicious aroma of Sister Eithne’s leek pottage.
The magical music of minstrels echoing in a great hall.
Snow sparkling in winter trees.
But this was different.This feeling was quite unsettling.It threw her off-balance.Confused her thoughts.Destroyed her good intentions, in the same way the bee had destroyed Jenefer of Rivenloch’s aim in the archery contest.
She had to be rid of this man.This giddiness was dangerous, considering the vulnerability of her identity and her very serious purpose.
Without turning, she called out, “I know ye’re followin’ me.”
“I’m not followin’ ye,” he called back.
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.
