“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“What you said– about becoming quite smitten with a pretty lass with dimples.”
He grinned, lopsided. “Possibly.”
“Then you do not know for certain?”
“I know for certain. But I will not speak on such things.”
She came to a stop and faced him. “Please,” she begged softly. “My lord, I am condemned to marry a man I do not know. My time as an unwed woman is limited and I may never again hear a man tell me that he could become quite smitten with me. Won’t you tell me what you meant?”
He looked at her, a petite woman that came to his sternum when they stood next to each other. “I think what I meant is obvious,” he said quietly. “But I will say no more than that.”
“Please? If you tell me, I shall reciprocate.”
He cocked his head curiously. “With what?” he asked. Then, he quickly put up a hand. “Do not tell me. This must not go any further. When I first met you, I did not know who you were, but now that I know, to tell you of my thoughts would be inappropriate at best.”
The eagerness and interest that had been alight in her eyes abruptly faded and Kress felt bad, as if he had just stomped on the woman’s hopes. He watched her expression tighten as she lowered her gaze.
“I apologize,” she murmured. “I did not mean to coerce you into doing something dishonorable. That was never my intention. I simply wanted to know what it is you were thinking when we first met.”
Kress looked at that pretty face. In fact, he couldn’t really stop looking at her. She was such a pale, angelic creature, but when she turned those big, dark eyes on him, he had a difficult time holding a thought. She looked so fragile with her blonde hair and creamy skin, but the woman was anything but fragile. Padraig had been correct; there was something about her that commanded respect. She had a presence like nothing he’d ever seen before with a woman. It was truly astonishing.
“I told you,” he said after a moment. “I thought you were a pretty lass with dimples and I am sure your intended will think the same thing.”
She looked at him, then. “Do you know my intended?”
He shook his head. “Not personally,” he said. “Tatius de Shera comes from an excellent family, with roots that go back centuries. Much like yours do.”
“What kind of man is he?” she asked. “Padraig would not tell me and that makes me suspicious. He is usually not a man to hold back information; he talks freely about everything and everyone, except in this instance he did not. What do you know of Tatius de Shera, Knight?”
Kress couldn’t help but notice she wouldn’t use his name. It was “knight” to her. In his opinion, that was a good thing. It kept an invisible barrier between them to prevent him from crossing that line and becoming too familiar with her. God only knew, it would be very easy to become familiar with her.
Tooeasy.
“I do not know the man,” he said honestly. “Therefore, I cannot tell you much about him.”
“But you have heard.”
He lifted a blond eyebrow. “I have been a fighting man for many years, my lady, and I have heard about nearly every notable nobleman in England, Scotland, and even in Wales. But that does not mean that I personally know them.”
Those dark eyes were on him, watching him, calculating. He could almost see the thoughts whirling in her mind and, in truth, it made him a little nervous. As he was to find out, he had good reason to feel that way.
“If you tell me what you know of de Shera,” she said slowly, “I will tell you of the business I had with the priest.”
Kress fell right into that one. She was clever, this lovely woman, so very clever. But he was cleverer. Like a chess match, they were playing a game with each other at this point and it was his move next.
He made the correct one.
“You first.”
To her credit, she didn’t become angry. In fact, a smile tugged at her lips as she conceded the match. “Very well,” she said. “But only if you swear to tell me everything you know. Do you swear this upon your oath?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“And you will swear to not repeat anything I tell you?”
