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Every solemn vow she’d made at the convent—to forget him, to forget his kiss, to forget his love—burned into vapor as readily as silk over a flame.

She had imagined she could close her eyes and ears to love. Ignore affection as one did hunger or thirst until it was tamed. Or pray to forget the earthly feeling and replace it with holy devotion.

It was clear now that none of that was possible. Once tasted, the fruit of temptation could not be put back on the Tree of Knowledge.

But what was she to do with that knowledge?

She didn’t even know his disposition.

Was he angry with her? Disappointed? Hurt?

There was no way to tell. At the moment, they were John and Falco. They couldn’t exactly converse in any meaningful way.

Should she try to meet with him later in secret?

Or would it be best to pretend they’d never seen each other?

It was his turn again at the archery. This was his last shot. And hers.

She looked at him with all the yearning deep in her soul as he eyed up the target. Then he trained his eyes on her, and she caught her breath at the intensity of his gaze.

This time when he shot, he didn’t even glance at the target. He was still staring at her when his arrow went wide of the straw bale and landed in the sod beyond.

There were grumbles from the crowd.

He’d intentionally thrown away his shot. He didn’t want to compete in another round. That meant he either intended to speak with her as soon as possible, or he wanted to flee before she had the chance to catch him.

But two could use that tactic.

She was no longer interested in shooting against Jenefer anyway. That chance was long gone. It didn’t matter how well or badly she did.

She turned sideways to the target. As she drew her bow, not bothering to aim, she briefly met his gaze and let the arrow fly.

It stuck in the ground, shy of the bale.

The crowd growled. Now they were both out of the competition.

They still dared not interact for fear of revealing their identities. But leaving the archery range, Adam passed her, murmuring, “Let us meet down by the sea.”

She gulped. The sea? Did he mean to drown her? Surely he couldn’t be that vexed. By switching satchels with him, he might have been inconvenienced. But she’d left him a fortune in coin.

Besides, she’d always meant to return his things to him. He might be a thief. But Eve didn’t want that sin upon her soul. And it was clear God had given her this opportunity to make things right.

If Adam meant to find privacy, the seashore was a good choice. Everyone else would be within the walls of Darragh, preoccupied with the tournament.

Getting there meant a rugged walk that gradually scaled down the steep cliff behind the keep.

The breeze sweeping up the rise lifted her tunic and almost whipped off her feathered cap.

She clapped a hand on her head and struggled to manage his satchel as she descended the sandy slope studded with tufts of beach grass.

It was a beautiful morn. The sun twinkled off the firth. Gulls screed and swooped through the currents of wind. The water sighed and foamed along the shore, rolling pebbles and tumbling shells.

This was the site of the great battle where the Rivenlochs had regained Castle Darragh for Laird Dougal and Lady Feiyan. It was hard to believe, looking at the smooth gray expanse, that the landscape had once been littered with the dead and dying, the sand stained with blood.

The beach looked deserted. Adam must have been delayed.

That was fine. She had to settle her thoughts, slow her pulse, calm her nerves.

What would she say to him? Confess her true identity? Tell him that swapping satchels had been an accident? Apologize for leaving him so abruptly?

Or should she go on the offensive and question him? Ask him how her satchel had ended up in the hands of Lady Feiyan? Charge him to explain why he possessed a Rivenloch medallion? Demand to know what he was doing at the Darragh tournament?

The aggressive approach was frankly more appealing. Eve had done nothing wrong, after all. She didn’t need to share her secrets. It was Adam who had much to answer for.

Empowered by renewed confidence, she strode across the shore, close to the cliff’s base, heading toward the towering rock that supported the castle.

There was a secret entrance carved into the foot of the cliff.

The Rivenlochs had used it to infiltrate the castle on the day of that infamous battle, climbing up the stone steps that led to the keep.

It had once been used as a gaol of sorts, the entrance covered by a locked iron gate set into the rock.

Eve had never seen the place. But it was the stuff of legends now.

She skirted the wall, alternately looking for the bars of the gate, casting her gaze out over the sparkling firth, and glancing back the way she’d come to see if she was being followed.

“Aillenn,” came a sound so faint, she almost thought it was only the hissing of the sea.

When she turned, Adam was just ahead. His dusky clothing had made him almost invisible until he pushed off of the dun-colored cliff wall.

At the tournament, she’d only stolen glances at him. Now her eyes could feast. On his broad shoulders. His dark hair. His piercing eyes. She’d forgotten how alluring he was. She suddenly felt like a starving beggar seated at the king’s table.

“Adam.” Her voice came out on a sigh.

She didn’t mean it to. She meant to harden her heart against him.

She dared not let him melt her resolve. No matter how her will wavered, she must follow God’s path, return to the convent, be a nun.

And Adam must return to his life of crime.

She couldn’t fool herself into thinking it could be otherwise.

But now that they were face to face, now that she saw him—not as a faded memory, but a living, breathing, tempting human being—all her best intentions threatened to vanish as quickly as sea foam on the shore.

“Ye look…” she said. Handsome? Magnificent? Breathtaking? “Different.”

He quirked up a corner of his mouth. “Not different enough, apparently.”

A smile tugged at her lips. They’d always been able to see through each others’ disguises.

“Ye look…” he quipped with a frown, running his gaze down the length of her, “the same.”

She gave him a chiding scoff. She absolutely did not look the same. Not in this ludicrous attire with the silly feathered cap and walnut-darkened skin.

Then he grew serious and nodded at the satchel. “I believe that’s mine?”

“Oh. Aye.” She held it up like a shield between them. “Foolish me. I must have picked up the wrong one when—”

“And ’tis all there?”

She blinked. “Aye. O’ course.” Did he honestly think she would steal his things?

Apparently he did. He took the satchel from her, set it on the sand, and then hunkered down to rummage through the contents.

“’Tis all there,” she said. “I swear.”

He grunted.

She supposed she couldn’t blame him for having doubts. For a while, he’d believed she was an outlaw like him.

“’Twas a mistake,” she reiterated. “’Twas dark when… when I…”

“When ye what?” His darting glance pierced her like an arrow. “When ye abandoned me?”

She swallowed hard. He made it sound so harsh. So cruel. So personal. “’Tisn’t what ye think.”

“And what do I think?”

“That I ran away.”

“Ye did run away.”

“Not from ye,” she told him.

He barked out a grim laugh. “Aye, ye did. Ye even left me a note. Ye told me not to follow.”

“But not because…” she said. “Not because…”

She couldn’t find the right words for her reasons or the memories that swept through her head. Memories of his soul-searing kiss. His eyes glazed with passion. His limbs entwined with hers. His groans of ecstasy shivering in her ear as his flesh rubbed in delicious bliss against hers.

“Not because o’ ye,” she said. It was only half a lie.

“Shite,” he said under his breath. He stopped rummaging through the satchel.

His shoulders dropped as he stared at the ground, shaking his head.

“See, that’s just it. I keep askin’ myself, ‘Why? Why did ye leave?’” His voice was roughened by the weeks of torment she’d caused him.

“Was it because ye wanted the spoils all to yourself?”

“Nay,” she said, horrified at the thought.

“Nay,” he agreed. “After all, ye left your coin behind. So then I thought maybe ye were after this.” He held up the Rivenloch medallion.

“Nay.”

“Nay,” he echoed, “because I see ye’ve returned it.” He tossed it back in the satchel.

“As should ye,” she murmured as an aside. “’Tis a dangerous piece to be carryin’ around. Ye don’t want to tangle with that clan.”

He gave her a brief, bleak smile as he slowly rose to his feet. Then his eyes grew shadowed and full of hurt. “So all I can think is ye left because ye don’t care for me. Ye regret what we did. And ye ne’er want to see me again.”

“Nay.” The word came out like a sob. “I mean… Aye. I mean…” Never want to see him again? That wasn’t true at all. She wanted to see him every day for the rest of her life. And the last thing she wanted to do was to wound him. “Ye don’t understand. Ye can’t understand.”

“I understand,” he said sadly. “I thought we were kindred spirits. I thought ye cared for me.”

“I do care for ye.”

“I thought I was more to ye than a tryst on a goose-down pallet.”

“Ye are. Ye are, Adam. And that’s just the problem. Can’t ye see?” The damning words were out of her before she could stop them. “I love ye. I love ye.”

Adam couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d been knocked in the head by a club.

Apparently, she’d caught herself by surprise as well. She clapped her hands over her mouth as if her words had accidentally escaped.

Now what?

Adam had met her here with one purpose in mind. To secure the return of his medallion.

If, in the course of retrieving it, he happened to confront her with the cruelty of her abandoning him, that closure would be honey on his oatcake.

But then he’d made the mistake of admitting she’d wounded him. He’d bared his damaged soul to her. Given her every opportunity to gloat over the wreckage she’d left of his heart.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she’d reply with a confession of love.

He frowned, deciding, “That makes no sense.”

“That I love ye? Perhaps not. But I do.”

“Nay. It makes no sense that if ye love me, ye would leave me.”

“I… I…” Her face crumpled into an expression that appeared to be either longing or dismay.

He could only stand there and wait for her to decide which it was.

She lowered her gaze then to stare at her twisting fingers. “I’m not who ye think I am.”

He couldn’t help but snort at that. “I’m not certain either of us know who we are anymore.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “I lied to ye. I’m not Lady Aillenn. I’m not e’en from Ireland.”

He considered that and then nodded. She’d been convincing. But he’d always had his doubts.

“Ye’re not surprised?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Should I be? I’m not the Pope’s emissary from Rome either.”

“But ye’re not disappointed?”

“That ye’re not an Irish noblewoman?” He shook his head. “Nay.”

“But I deceived ye,” she said.

“We both did a bit o’ deceivin’.” Hell, he was still deceiving her. “But ’tisn’t the Irish noblewoman I fell in love with.”

His words made her blink. “Ye’re…in love with me?”

He was a halfwit to admit it. To hand her his broken heart, giving her the opportunity to break it again.

Still, as she stood before him with hope in her wide eyes, he knew he was helpless to resist her.

“Fool that I am,” he murmured, “aye, I’m in love with ye.”

Her brow creased. “But ye can’t be. If ye knew…”

“Knew what? Who ye are?” He shook his head. “The heart feels what it feels, whether ye’re a queen or a milkmaid…”

“But I’m not—”

“An archer from Rouen or Malisio…”

“But—”

“Or the most notorious outlaw in all o’ Scotland.”

He lowered his gaze to her half-open mouth. He could resist her no more. Those were the lips he’d been dreaming of for weeks.

And when he closed the distance, she didn’t resist. Instead, she lifted her face and closed her eyes in anticipation.