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“Hmmm,” he murmured, taking a deep sip. “Perhaps not all. My brother—” Again he stopped. “Sir Reynard would have done the same.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “There are, it seems, some honorable men in this world.”

“And women too,” he said.

Maisie laughed. “And women too. I hope I am one of them.”

“Hope? You control your own character, do you not?”

“Aye. But I’ve not had the opportunity to prove it. I’ll never be asked to go to battle or give my life for my clan, or defend an innkeeper, to prove as much.”

Kieran leaned forward, as if he were to tell her a secret. “You do not have to risk your life to prove you are honorable, Maisie.”

It was the first time he said her name. She rather liked it.

“Nay?”

“Nay,” he said. “Honor is simply doing what is right, even when ‘tis difficult.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Something easily said but not always easily done.”

“Well spoken, my lady.” He lifted his mug. “To honor.”

“To honor,” she said, lifting her own. “And to new friends.”

“A worthy toast.”

She quite agreed.

6

Chapter

He didn’t expect to see her in the hall so early.

After finding his bed last eve, Kieran had used the fresh water and cloth left for him and promptly fell asleep after a long day. He woke up thinking of her, as he’d been dreaming of pulling Maisie onto his lap, his hand moving slowly up her thigh as he kissed first her neck and then her lips. In his dream she was soft, welcoming. His hand inched higher and higher toward his ultimate goal . . .

Dammit.

It was nothing more than a dream. One he’d do well to forget. Trouble was, even after dressing and remembering why he woke in a wee bed at the Red Stag Inn and not his own back home, Kieran still had difficulty putting her from his mind. Which was the exact reason he should not walk up to her and say the one thing likely to deepen a relationship that could prove problematic.

Kieran was no fool.

He’d been with women. Knew his mind. And also knew . . . there was something special about this one. Maisie made him feel things he had no inclination to feel given the events of these past days. Given the position, or lack of one, he found himself in.

“Good morn to you, my lady.”

Or perhaps he was a fool after all.

There were just three others in the hall—one patron, Maisie, and the girl who’d served him the day before.

Maisie spun around to face him. “Good morn . . .” She paused.

“Kieran,” he offered.

“Aye, I know your name.”

She wore a simple kirtle this morn, but even so could not possibly appear any lovelier.