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Or they were outcasts and exiles.

Or they had been raised by thieves and knew no other way.

But Jesus had forgiven a thief, even from the Cross. He’d promised the thief He would see him in Paradise.

Who was Eve to be less forgiving?

Of course, she would have felt safer in her nun’s habit. But it was foolish to assume bad intentions where there were none. She would do nothing unless they accosted her. Still, it seemed they would have made their presence known if they meant to be companionable.

She still hadn’t reached the village of Scone, which was a quarter mile from the convent near Scone Priory, where she intended to stay for the night.

But now she was heading toward the deepest, darkest part of the woods.

The trees blotted out most of what sun remained.

Only narrow spears of light shot down upon the path to show the way.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to confront them in the shadows.

After several yards, her eyes grew more accustomed to the lack of light. She began to breathe easier. Perhaps she’d misjudged her pursuers.

No sooner did she have that thought than they suddenly rushed up behind her.

“Hold there, lassie,” one of them growled.

“Where do ye think ye’re goin’?” the other sneered.

She stopped with a resigned sigh and slowly turned to face them.

The light was too dim to identify them. With their hoods pulled forward over their faces, it was hard to see their features. But one of them was quite stout with a heavy black beard that sat on his chest like an overfed cat. His fellow was as thin and tall as a lance. Both were wielding daggers.

Still, there was no need to panic. All she had to do was channel a wee bit of her convent courtesy.

“Gentlemen,” she said with a welcoming smile, “I’m so glad ye’ve joined me.

I heard ye followin’, and I wondered if ye meant to accompany me.

As I’m sure ye know, the woods are full o’ danger, and I’d be quite grateful for your protection.

I’m Lady Aillenn Bhallach,” she said, holding out a hand, “and ye are?”

The thin one was charmed and befuddled at once. “Tom, m’lady. Tom—”

His companion cuffed him. “Don’t tell her your name. We’re not here to make friends.”

Properly chided, the thin man shrunk back.

Black-beard snarled, “We’re here for somethin’ a wee bit more serious.”

“More serious?” She eyed them with innocent puzzlement. “Oh, are ye…?” She let her voice trail off, then lowered it to a whisper. “Don’t fret. If ye’re poachin’ or gatherin’ wood in the king’s forest, I won’t breathe a word.”

“Gatherin’ wood in the forest?” the black-beard mocked. Then he sobered. “Nay, wench. ’Tis your silver we’re gatherin’.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Well, that’s a shame.” She clucked her tongue in disappointment. “Ye see, the silver I have is bound for Scone Priory.”

“Not anymore,” the thin one scoffed, hoping to get back into his fellow’s good graces.

“We don’t care where ’tis bound,” the black-beard said.

“Right,” said the thin one.

“What I mean to say,” she gently explained, “is the silver isn’t mine to give ye. It belongs to God.”

“What?” the black-beard barked.

The thin one’s shoulders drooped. “God?” He lowered his dagger.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “If ye take this silver, ye’ll be stealin’ from God Himself.”

“That’s shite,” the black-beard muttered.

She shook her head. “’Tis one thing to steal a man’s silver. ’Tis quite another to abscond with wealth intended for the Holy Church.”

The thin one gasped.

“Don’t listen to her,” the black-beard ordered.

“But what if she’s—”

“Silver is silver,” he groused. “It all spends the same. Besides, what use do ye think God has for coin?”

Eve had to admit he had a point. According to Scripture, money was the root of all evil.

“The Prior will do God’s work,” she explained, “and deliver alms to the poor.”

“Or stash it in his own coffers,” the black-beard spat.

“And piss on the poor,” the thin one added.

Eve could see these men had had bad experiences with the clergy. And sadly, she knew their cynicism wasn’t unfounded. There were indeed corrupt and greedy men in the church, like the one she’d shot in effigy. Still, she wondered if she might restore the thieves’ hope and change their path.

“There are some wayward priests, to be sure,” she admitted. “But Prior Isaac is decent enough. If ye abandon your sinful ways and come with me to Scone, I’ll introduce ye to the prior. I’m sure ye’ll find salva—”

Where the third man came from, Eve couldn’t guess. Suddenly a figure sprang out of the trees and bowled over the black-bearded thief. Then, with startling efficiency, he tore the dagger from the man’s hand and threw it, embedding it in the trunk of a pine several yards down the road.

Stunned, the black-beard struggled to his feet. With a whimpered curse, he limped along the path to try to retrieve his dagger, abandoning his partner without a backward glance.

The thin man’s eyes widened. His hand faltered on his weapon as the third man drew closer. Finally, he let out a fearful squeak, dropped the dagger, and lit out after his friend.

As Eve watched them escape, a bolt of disappointment streaked through her.

She felt she’d been making progress with the two thieves.

Offered them redemption. Given them a wee glimpse of hope.

In another moment, she might have convinced them to come along to the priory.

If they had, she might have been able to change their lives. Helped them to mend their wicked ways.

Now they were back on the road to ruin. Worse, this new outlaw didn’t appear to believe in redemption.

“Haven’t ye read the Scripture,” he purred in a Highland brogue, “a leopard cannot change its spots?”

“Jeremiah,” she replied out of habit.

She narrowed her eyes at him. It was too dark to see beneath the floppy cap he wore. But she could feel his mild derision. This thief she’d never persuade with promises of salvation. She’d have to use another tactic.

He bent down to scoop up the discarded dagger.

She had to think fast before he decided to use it.

“Here,” she said, lifting her hands to her hair. “Take my pearls. They’ll be easier for ye to sell.”

She figured he’d do one of three things.

Settle for the pearls and be on his way.

Refuse the pearls and demand the silver.

Or take the pearls and demand the silver.

Instead, using the point of the dagger, he tipped up the front of his cap to study her, revealing a pair of all-too-familiar glittering and puzzled eyes. “God’s blood, m’lady. Who the devil are ye?”