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Like a true Rivenloch, Adam also meant to keep his word to Feiyan about attending the tournament at Darragh, even if she wouldn’t realize he was there.

He could spare a few days away from spying for the king. Fergus had no immediate plans. And it had been too long since Adam had taken account of his clansmen.

He need not worry he’d be recognized. Not only did he look nothing like the long-haired, clean-shaven Adam the clan knew and loved.

There were also so many contestants camped on the hillside, teeming in the courtyard, spilling onto the lists, he could have easily gotten lost in the crowd, even without a disguise.

The one precaution Feiyan had been careful to take was not inviting Fergus. For that, Adam was grateful. He’d lived long enough among the clan as the mercenary Ness MacNeill that he might not be so easily overlooked, even in his current attire.

Just to make very sure he wasn’t recognized, he decided to participate only in the archery.

Today his name, appropriately enough, was John Schott.

His costume was drab and unremarkable. Over a faded saffron leine, he wore a long, thickly padded brown gambeson that added weight to his frame.

Beneath that he wore dark brown hose and brown boots.

He covered his head with a flat linen coif topped by a brown cowl.

His beard was now full enough to hide the contours of his jaw.

The most difficult thing to hide was his excitement at catching a glimpse of his sister holding Adam’s new nephew, Logan. He saw the surge of pride in Dougal’s eyes as he presented their son to the Rivenloch clan.

And then he felt a sharp pang of envy. Envy and loss. This was the kind of family he’d imagined making with Aillenn. One where he gazed at her with utter adoration. She gazed at him with complete devotion. And together they celebrated the bairn they’d made out of the sweetness of their love.

But it was not to be. Perhaps it would never be so for Adam. He had trouble imagining another woman with whom he could feel so honest, so enchanted, so free.

His throat thickened, and his eyes filmed over.

That wouldn’t do. He couldn’t aim a bow with watery eyes. And nothing would attract more unwanted attention than a weeping contestant.

Brusquely wiping his eyes with his thumb, he turned away from the touching sight. He flexed his bow to test its bend and examined the fletching of his arrows to prepare for the archery contest.

He paid little heed to the dozens of lesser contestants. It was rare anyone could best his cousin Jenefer. It was her he most wished to face. He doubted he could win. But he definitely wanted to try.

Many foreign archers were announced. Alfonso de Borja. Otto of Cologne. Abu ibn Yusuf. Falco de Malisio. Adam recognized none of their names. He only glanced up briefly when they were called.

Most of his attention was on the contented couple sitting beneath the canopy in the stands, his smiling sister and her proud husband, who were more interested in their children than the archery contest.

Again, his heart sank.

He wanted that. He wanted their happiness.

Never before had Adam longed for that sort of existence. He’d always assumed it wasn’t meant to be.

His was no kind of life for a wife, much less a child. He knew that.

Adam was too reckless. Too restless. Too invisible. An unpredictable shape-shifter like him could hardly expect to be known, much less loved, by anyone.

And yet Lady Aillenn had made him feel loved.

She’d appreciated his spontaneity. She’d admired his disguises.

With her, he’d almost been able to envision a blissful future.

“John Schott!” came a call in the distance from the archery field.

With her, he could imagine lazy morns… adventurous afternoons…

“John Schott!”

Passionate nights…

“John Schott!”

Adam started.

Shite. That was him.

“Aye!” he confirmed, “Here!”

He began to trot up through the line of archers. But so rattled was he at his wandering mind and his lapse in character, he tripped over his own feet and fell to one knee.

The archers around him snickered as his quiver slipped off his shoulder and the arrows slid out, scattering on the ground.

Bloody hell. The last thing Adam wanted to do was draw attention to himself.

He scooped up the arrows as quickly as he could.

One of the archers took pity on him, dropping down beside him to help.

“My thanks,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” was the reply.

He inhaled sharply. That voice.

He whipped his head around.

It was her.

Aillenn.

To anyone else, she appeared to be an olive-skinned Italian youth in a jaunty feathered cap and parti-colored tunic and trews. She even had a slight foreign accent to her husky voice.

But Adam wasn’t fooled. Not for an instant.

She looked as shocked as he felt. Her eyes widened. Her mouth parted. She froze.

He held his breath, ignoring the rush of joy that filled his veins. He knew one careless glance or word could mean discovery for both of them.

She seemed to understand as well. She gave him the last arrow and looked immediately away, leaving without another word.

But now he was a wreck.

What was she doing here?

Was it coincidence, or had his sister Feiyan invited her?

Did Aillenn know he’d be here? How could she? He’d told no one.

And how the devil had she recognized him when his own clan didn’t?

Part of him was still vexed with Aillenn. After all, she’d left without a word. And she still had possession of his satchel. His armor. His medallion. His heart.

But he couldn’t stop the waves of ridiculous cheer coursing through his brain.

He thought he’d never see her again. Yet here she was, looking more beautiful in a cap and trews than any woman he’d ever seen in his life.

He approached the shooting line. His breathing was ragged as he pulled an arrow from his quiver. Nocking it into the bow, he belatedly realized he’d forgotten to don his bracer to protect his forearm.

He let out a snort of annoyance.

It didn’t matter. He was going to shoot badly. He couldn’t concentrate on anything now. Not with the woman who’d broken his heart looking on.

He loosed the arrow. The string scraped his forearm. The shaft wobbled and landed in the outermost ring of the target.

He growled and turned away.

“Falco de Malisio!” called the herald.

Adam watched Aillenn approach the line. He rubbed at his jaw in disbelief. How anyone was fooled, he couldn’t fathom. Especially when she’d chosen a gaudy, eye-catching costume of bright blue and yellow.

But fooled they were.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin Jenefer watching her. Surely Jenefer would recall young Jehan of Rouen, the archer she’d shot against before. Surely she’d recognize that Falco de Malisio was the same person, despite the darkened skin.

But she didn’t. For one thing, Falco didn’t shoot nearly as well as Jehan. Falco’s first arrow hit just outside the target. It seemed Adam wasn’t the only one suffering from agitation.

Eight others shot. Their skills were impressive. But Jenefer was the only one to hit dead center.

Adam planted himself on the line for his second attempt. He had to do better this time. He’d fastened on his bracer. He licked a finger, and tested the wind.

Then he made the mistake of glancing at Aillenn.

By the Saints, he wanted her, even in that garish outfit. He could imagine slitting the laces of her tunic and baring her lovely breasts. Sliding the trews down her silky thighs and burying his head between her…

He gave his head a shake to clear it and squinted down the course.

But when he raised his bow, all he could see was how much the target with its rosy bullseye looked like a breast.

His shot went wide. This time it landed in the straw outside the target.

Adam bit out a curse under his breath. A few disgruntled onlookers booed.

He was likely out of the competition now. That damned lass had utterly distracted him.

But two could play at that game.

She shot next. Standing close by, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her.

Unless part of Falco’s character was that he was a terrible archer, Aillenn seemed just as rattled by Adam’s presence. Before she could even aim, her fingers slipped on the bowstring, and the arrow fluttered to the ground at her feet.

She was allowed to try again. But she might as well as have skipped her turn. The arrow landed in the outer ring. The crowd muttered in disappointment.

He supposed the other archers shot well. He paid little heed to them. All he could think about was Aillenn. Here at Darragh. His sister’s keep. Standing less than five yards away.

Now that they’d been reunited, would she try to explain herself?

Was she only a clever outlaw? Or had she had a good reason for abandoning him?

Did she feel guilty for leaving without a word?

Or would she avoid him and steal away as she had before?

He had to make sure that didn’t happen. She owed him his medallion. And an explanation.

Eve’s hopes of winning an archery prize at the tournament were dashed.

But that was the least of her worries.

What was Adam doing here? Had he managed to follow her after all? Had he been waiting all this time to confront her in the most public place possible?

Her heart told her nay. When they first locked eyes, he had looked just as astounded as she felt.

But what were the odds, in all of Scotland, that they should turn up at the same place at the same time?

The way her heart had flipped over when she recognized him—despite his cropped hair and his full beard—had shaken her to her core.

She thought she’d exorcised him from her brain. Tucked him into a dim corner of her mind as a distant memory. Relegated him to the past as one would a fond old friend.

But seeing him in the flesh, with his dark and piercing eyes, his flaring nostrils, his firm yet supple mouth, had left her breathless.

Like a beast waiting in the shadows to leap, her feelings for him came roaring back to life.

Her heart thrummed. Her blood warmed. Her nerves sizzled.