It was the kind of place one could imagine inhabited by all sorts of magical woodland creatures—mischievous sprites and enchanted elves. Indeed, Rand almost believed, by the exaggerated accounts of the outlaw he sought, citing the man as nearly invisible, as fast as lightning, as quiet as death, that The Shadow was such a creature.
Rand shook his head. It was little wonder the lords continued to be terrorized by the robber when they endowed him with such impossible talents and such an ominous name. The Shadow indeed. No doubt he was a mere mortal of desperate means who answered to Wat or Hob or some other humble appellation.
Thus far, however, Rand had been unable to find even a trace of his passing in a few hours of hunting. No crumbs or coney carcasses lay discarded by the path. None of the moss on the rocks was flattened by the weight of a robber’s arse. No scent of smoke lingered on the air. No branches had been bent into a shelter. No human dung littered the leaves. Nothing existed to indicate anyone took refuge in the wood at all.
He was examining a broken stick on the path when he felt that telltale prickling on the back of his neck again, the prickling that told him he wasn’t alone.
Carefully, so as not to raise suspicion, he picked up a dead tree limb by the side of the trail and began stripping off the side branches, humming as he did so. When he was finished, he stabbed it into the ground a few times, testing its strength for use as a walking stick. But all the while his senses were highly alert and finely tuned, listening for the slightest breath of sound, looking for the merest flicker of light.
Behind him. He was certain the intruder was behind him.
Whistling softly, he proceeded down the path at a jaunty pace, letting his purse dangle and bounce from his belt, sending up a merry clank of coins sure to tempt any robber.
He knew the thief must be following him, though he was making too much noise himself to hear any pursuit. Rounding a spot where the path curved and disappeared momentarily, he let a piece of silver drop to the ground and moved on, as if oblivious to his loss.
But instead of continuing down the trail, he ducked behind a screen of bushes and hefted up the walking stick, waiting to waylay the unwitting outlaw.
The instant he saw the flash of blue cloth, he sprang forward. But to his horror, the scoundrel he collided with was neither Wat nor Hob. It was Lady Miriel.
What happened next, he wasn’t sure. In one moment, he was lunging toward her, trying in vain to slow his momentum. In the next, he seemed propelled forward with even greater force, past her and into the holly bushes opposite, as if the walking stick had taken on a life of its own and catapulted him there.
“Oh! Rand!”
After a moment of stunned disbelief, he managed to disentangle himself from the shrubbery, wincing as the sharp leaves scraped his cheek. What the bloody hell had just happened?
Miriel stood before him, her trembling hands clasped at her breast, all innocence, except for the edge of the silver coin visible between her fingers. “Are you all right?”
Chapter 5
Miriel didn’t know why she’d bent down to pick up that dropped coin. Perhaps it was simply instinct bred from long years of watching every farthing of the household accounts. But now she suspected it had been a trap. Rand, sensing someone was following him, had dropped the coin intentionally, meaning to waylay whoever retrieved it.
The fool was fortunate he’d lost no more than his balance. Startling her like that, he might have suffered far worse than just a few holly scratches. If she hadn’t caught herself at the last instant, she might have broken his arm or sent him into temporary oblivion with a sharp blow to the chin.
Not that he didn’t deserve it. Her instincts had proved correct. The varlet was up to something.
She’d been following him for a while now. Solving the troubles at the castle hadn’t taken long. She’d sent a lad to another monastery for more wine. She’d employed tears to convince the spice merchant to lower his price. And she’d suggested the master of the kennel launder the soiled linens himself.
Then she’d crept out to spy upon Rand. Sure enough, he was searching the forest with all the thoroughness of a hunter tracking boar.
What the devil was he after?
“Rand?” she asked in feigned concern.
“I’m fine.” His brow creased in perplexity. “Are you?”
She nodded.
“What…?” he wondered, scrutinizing the trail to see what he’d fallen over.
“The ground is very slick,” she improvised. “Between the moss and the mud, ’tis a wonder one can walk at all.”
“Hm.” He used the walking stick to lever himself to his feet, then cast it aside, shaking his head hard to clear it of cobwebs and restore his decorum. “What are you doing here, my lady? ’Tisn’t safe to walk in the woods alone.”
“I was…looking for you,” she hedged. “I feared you might have gotten lost.”
He raised a brow in amusement. “Lost?”
“Oh.” As if suddenly remembering, she held out the coin. “And I think you may have dropped this.”
“Indeed?” He patted his purse, checking to see if there was a hole in it. “Nay, I don’t think ’tis mine.”
Her eyes flattened. He was lying. It had to be his. Silver coins didn’t simply spring up like mushrooms on the woodland path. “Who else could it belong to?”
He reached out, but instead of taking the silver, he enfolded her hand in his, closing her fingers around the coin and giving her a wink. “If you found it, ’tis yours, my lady.”
“I won’t take silver that doesn’t belong to me.”
“Ah. A woman of high moral value.”
It had nothing to do with moral value. It had to do with the compulsion she had for balance, a compulsion fostered by her training in Chinese warfare. “’Tis only that I can’t abide unbalanced accounts.”
“You must be quite good at managing a household then.”
She tried not to be flattered. To succumb to flattery made one weak. Still, it was gratifying to be recognized for talents no one else seemed to notice. She lowered her gaze to hide the secret pleasure in her eyes.
“Wait,” he said.
She glanced up again.
His brows came together as he opened her hand, then lifted it up to study the silver more closely. “Hm.” He angled her hand this way and that. “Mm.” He flipped the coin over in her palm, examining both sides. “Mm-hm.”
“What?”
He stared soberly into her eyes and confided, “I think this is no ordinary coin.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “’Tis not like any I’ve seen before.”
She frowned and studied the coin herself. It looked perfectly ordinary to her. “But—”
“Indeed, I don’t think ’tis a coin of this realm at all.” He closed her fingers around the silver once more, glanced about to insure there were no ears to hear, then whispered solemnly, “’Tis faerie silver.”
For a moment, he looked as serious as the grave.
A hundred thoughts rushed through her mind. The man was crazed. Or addled. They were alone out here. And he kept shackles in his pack.
Then a gleam of mischief slowly crept into his eyes, and she realized the varlet was jesting with her.
She shouldn’t respond to him. Such trickery was childish. And manipulative. And wicked. But despite her best efforts, a glimmer of amusement gradually found its way into her own gaze.
“Indeed? Faerie silver?” she echoed.
“Oh, aye,” he assured her, his expression quite stern. “They must have left it on the path…to help guide you to me.”
Miriel stifled a smile. He was a gifted teller of tales, this knave, almost as gifted as she was. “Indeed?”
“Mm.” Though he furrowed his brow, there were crinkles of restrained delight at the corners of his eyes. “Pity, though, you found me so soon,” he said on a sigh. “Otherwise, they might have left a whole trail of silver.”
<
br /> She arched a brow. “That much?”
“Oh, aye.”
“Well, we can’t leave the faeries’ accounts unbalanced.” With a wicked gleam in her eyes, she snapped up the coin in her fist and prepared to toss it into the bushes.
“Nay!” He seized her arm.
She smirked. No man liked to part with silver.
Rather than abandon his pretense, he quickly improvised. “’Twas coin spent…for a service.” Then he faced her with a brilliant smile of victory. “Very well spent if it led you to me.” He raised her hand, giving the back of it a chivalrous kiss.
Lord, he was good. His banter was almost as charming as it was suspicious.
Tucking the coin into her purse, she wove her fingers companionably through Rand’s.
“So,” she asked as casually as possible, swinging their clasped hands leisurely back and forth as they ambled along the path, “what have you been up to?”
He shrugged. “Walking, exploring, soaking up the beauty of Rivenloch.” The way his gaze drifted over her face, there was little doubt of what beauty he spoke.
She looked away and ran an idle finger along a moss-covered oak branch. “You’d been absent so long, I thought maybe you’d gone trout fishing or cattle raiding or hunting…for something.” Her gaze slid sideways, gauging his reaction.
He studied her for a moment before answering, as if he wondered how much she’d seen. “Indeed, I have been hunting.”
She blinked, stopping on the path, admittedly startled by his candor. “Indeed?”
“Aye.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve been hunting for flowers.” He lowered his gaze and dug a toe into the dirt. “I’d hoped to offer you some small token of my love. But alas, I found not a blossom.”
Miriel raised her brows. Flowers?
He took her fingers in his and ruefully shook his head. “Yet here I am, gone so long I’ve made you fret.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips in apology. “Forced you to search for me…” He kissed her knuckles. “All alone in the wood…” He kissed the back of her hand. “Where all manner of dangerous creatures roam.”
She smirked and withdrew her hand. She’d wandered this forest from the time she was a wee lass. Dangerous creatures indeed.
“Savage beasts,” he confided, his eyes twinkling darkly, “that might spring out to devour you.” He inclined his head so that he whispered into her hair, and his breath blew warm upon her brow. “Ravage your tender body. Feast upon your sweet flesh.” He growled.
The knave was insufferable. Miriel rolled her eyes and slapped him away. But he seemed undaunted. And the way he was looking at her now, his dark eyes smoky and sparkling, like stars peeking through clouds, made her fickle heart flutter.
Still, she refused to be charmed. “I’m not afraid of beasts.”
“Ah, but you should be, my lady,” he warned her in dramatic tones. “They’re wild and unpredictable. You never know when one will…attack.” Before she could brace herself, he lunged forward all at once to nip playfully at the side of her neck.
She sucked in her breath and pulled away, but not before a shiver of unwelcome lust coursed through her. She countered breathlessly, “Then beasts should beware, for a lady has teeth as well.”
His grin turned wolfish. “That may be. But unlike the beast’s,” he said, lowering his eyes to her mouth, “your teeth, my lady, are sheathed in the softest of lips.”
She didn’t mean to become distracted. But the sultry warmth of his gaze, the gentle rasp of his voice, and the sensual memory of his kiss sent a disturbing ripple through the still pond of her thoughts. Suddenly, solving the mystery of his clandestine activities seemed not so urgent.
Her gaze drifted to his mouth. Would it be so wicked to taste his lips again? They’d be sweet and supple and moist. His arms would drift around her, pulling her close, and she’d feel his broad chest pressed intimately against her breasts. His hands would roam over her back, stirring her flesh and perhaps wandering up to tangle in the cloud of her hair. It wouldn’t be an unpleasant thing.
Besides, she reasoned, didn’t she have to keep up a pretense of courting him? What would be more convincing than allowing him to kiss her now and then?
He cupped her cheek and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. Then he lowered his head to murmur against her hair. “Indeed, my lady, one kiss from you would tame the wildest of beasts.” Tilting her head back, he leaned forward to place a single, featherlight kiss upon her mouth.
It was as if an angel touched her. Or a spirit. Or maybe one of Rand’s wee faeries. Indeed, if her eyes hadn’t been open a peep, she might have believed she’d imagined the kiss, so insubstantial was it.
It wasn’t at all what she remembered. She remembered the heart-racing, blood-searing, breath-stealing sensation he’d elicited in her before.
He started to back away, and she leaned forward. He withdrew his hand, and she snagged her fingers in the front of his tabard. And when his lips parted in surprise, she advanced to claim them.
“My la—”
She cut off his words with her kiss, and this time there was no question that he was a man of substance. His mouth felt firm and real beneath hers. His skin was vibrant, almost as if lightning flowed through his body. When she let her fingers rove, climbing up the wide expanse of his chest to settle upon the warm flesh of his neck, she felt his pulse beating strong and true.
Most convincing, when he at last succumbed, sighing into her mouth and hauling her up against him, she felt the unmistakable manifestation of lust pressing against her belly.
Rand was more than willing to oblige the wanton lass. After all, he’d claimed to come with courtship in mind.
If she wanted adoring glances, he’d melt her with his gaze.
If she yearned for honeyed words, he’d seduce her with flowery verses.
If she hungered for sweet kisses, he’d let her feast upon him until she was sated.
Of course, he could go no further, not yet. If he succumbed to her will too soon, she might tire of him before his work was done.
But, God, he wanted her.
Why she summoned forth such powerful desire in him, he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t bedded his share of damsels, some of them certainly as willing and as fair as this Scots maid. It hadn’t even been that many days since he’d engaged a woman in his bed. A mercenary with silver in his purse never suffered long for want of an agreeable companion.
But something about this lass in particular both delighted him and drove him mad with lust.
Perhaps their lies had pushed them into intimacy far quicker than was natural. Or maybe they were cubs of the same litter. Whatever the reason, their fellowship of deception was rapidly taking on a life of its own. One mere kiss from her left him trembling like an untried lad.
When her hand wandered mischievously from his neck, down his chest, to the back of his waist, then descended his hip to squeeze his buttock, he finally woke to his own perilous lack of control, to the awareness that he was becoming distracted from his mission.
He broke away with unaccustomed violence, holding her at arm’s length, scarcely able to catch his breath, trying to force his lust to subside.
Her expression was so bewildered, so bereft, so ravaged with need, that he almost drew her back into his arms again.
But that would be a mistake. It was too soon for more than kisses.
“My love,” he gasped, “you sorely tax my restraint.”
“Must you restrain?” she breathed, her eyes glazed with desire.
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“Oh, lady,” he said, half-groaning, half-chuckling, “if you have to ask, then I must not be the man I think I am.”
Her gaze lowered then, taking in the blatant evidence of his need. “Oh.” Her cheeks flamed at once, and she retreated another step.
“Fear not, my lady,” he bid her. “I’m not quite so wild a beast as that.” He blew out a hard
breath. “Yet.”
He had made his point. The fire in her eyes cooled, and she began looking anywhere but at him, crossing her arms defensively over her bosom.
“Maybe we should return to the keep,” he suggested, adjusting his braies, “before that vigilant maid of yours comes to see if I’ve ravaged you.”
Miriel nodded in agreement, looking flustered and quite eager to quit the forest. She brushed past him, then paused, fishing in her purse for the silver coin. She turned and pressed it into his palm.
He favored her with a one-sided grin. “Sweetheart, my kisses are not for purchase.” He clasped her hand and turned it over, leaving the coin in her palm.
A troubled wrinkle creased her brow.
He stifled a chuckle. He rather liked leaving Lady Miriel out of balance. She was delightful, this naughty little spy who could match him in a battle of wits, set him aflame with her kisses, and keep an entire household in order, down to the penny.
Indeed, he found himself almost wishing he could extend his stay at Rivenloch, to better acquaint himself with the intriguing lass.
Their discourse was suddenly interrupted by the heavy footfalls of an intruder tromping through the forest toward them. Miriel quickly tucked the coin back into her purse.
“Miriel? Miriel!” It was her meddlesome maid, thankfully late to arrive. “Miriel!”
How such a small woman could make so much noise, Rand didn’t know.
“I’m here, Sung Li!” A note of slight irritation colored Miriel’s voice.
When the old crone came shuffling angrily through the leaves, she narrowed her already narrow eyes at Rand in accusation, then elbowed her way past him to address her charge.
“You should not be wandering about,” she said, planting her fists on her hips, then adding pointedly, “where there are wild beasts.”
“That’s what I told her,” Rand chimed in, giving Miriel a sly wink.
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