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?
He’d be damned if he’d heed that advice.He’d absolutely pursue her.There were irreplaceable things in his satchel.The costume he’d used for King Malcolm.Holy vestments.Hairpieces.Weapons.A notebook of cures.Keys to manors all across Scotland.A pick for those places for which he didn’t have keys.His spare braies.Most importantly, it held his Rivenloch medallion.
He dared not lose that.It was his identity.If it fell into the wrong hands…
She probably wouldn’t believe it was real.At least that was his hope.Indeed, he hoped she’d be disappointed with the cache she’d stolen.It contained little of worth to the average person.
But it was of immense value to him.
Oh aye, he’d follow her.
He wouldn’t let her get away with this crime.
He’d insist on justice.Demand the return of his satchel.
And he’d hope, where his chest felt empty and silent, for the return of his heart.
Fueled by pottage and the thirst for retribution, he set out with renewed determination.This time he’d ride south as had been their original plan.
She’d gone on foot.She couldn’t get far.
By nightfall, he arrived at the village of Cumbernauld.
Adam had no way of knowing how Aillenn was dressed or what identity she’d taken.She might be visiting a castle as an Empress from the East or sleeping in a stable as Joan the milkmaid.
He found lodging at the local inn as Sir Robert, a nobleman who’d fallen on hard times.He softened the wealth of his lordly garb by covering himself with a ragged cloak from her satchel.
As he sipped ale by the door of the common room, he peered closely at its inhabitants.A beggar hunkered by the fire.An aged crone slurped at her pottage.A mercenary all in black stared at the floor.None of them were Aillenn.
