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“But I wasn’t beggin’,” he pointed out. “What about ye? Ye took that silver medallion at the tourney.”

Her eyes widened. “I earned that silver medallion.” Too late, she realized he’d trapped her into confessing she was the archer.

He grinned. “Fair enough.”

Then she realized he was teasing her as well. That amused her. The man might well be an outlaw. He might be a spy. He might be an exile. A mercenary. Or an agent of the Devil. But he had a ready wit and a good sense of humor.

“So,” he asked, clearly digging for information again, “where did ye learn to shoot like that?”

She wasn’t going to fall for his tactics. “Where did ye learn to wield a sword?”

His low laughter resonated in her ears like the soft, soothing bells of Mass.

A contented smile tugged at the corners of her lips as they continued down the road.

As long as she could keep from losing herself in his enthralling eyes, the “master of disguise” was proving to be good company.

He was carrying her satchel, for one thing.

He was also bright. Entertaining. And friendly.

With a streak of mischief. She was still fairly certain he was an outlaw of some kind.

But she almost believed he had followed her to offer his protection. Almost.

“Ye’re quite good, ye know,” he told her. “Ye have a talent for disguises. O’ course, ye couldn’t fool me. I’d recognize ye anywhere.”

Taken aback, she frowned. “Ye would?”

“Och aye. Who could not?”

She stopped in her tracks. “Everyone. No one sees me. I’m practically invisible.”

“Invisible?” he exclaimed. “Surely ye jest. I mean, your costumes are well-crafted. But the maid behind the mask? Unforgettable.”

Her heart fluttered. Against her better judgment, she searched his eyes. She realized he was telling the truth. “Ye saw me,” she said in wonder. “No one’s e’er seen me before.”

His gaze softened in the moonlight, warming her to her toes. “I find that hard to believe.”

“’Tis true.” Her words came out on a breathless whisper.

Then she got that dizzy sensation again. That dangerous feeling. As if she’d drunk too much ale and her knees might collapse beneath her.

She gulped and tore her gaze away, vowing not to look at him again. Then she continued down the road.

As he walked beside her, he asked, “The real question is, how did ye recognize me?”

Despite averting her gaze, visions of his features flashed through her mind’s eye.

Where could she begin? Because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen?

Striking? Magnificent? Breathtaking? Because he had a smile that was charming and disarming?

Because he had deep, penetrating, soul-searing eyes?

She wasn’t going to tell him that. She’d only get herself into trouble.

“Your features are…” What was a neutral word? “Distinctive. Unique. Memorable.”

“Memorable?” Adam echoed.

No one had ever told him he was memorable. Indeed, the reason he’d embarked upon a life of subterfuge was because he was so un memorable. Now, for the first time in years, he felt… What word had she used? Seen.

“Oh aye,” she assured him. “Ye see, when ye’re like me—ordinary, pale, brown-haired, brown-eyed, plain o’ face—’tis far easier to slip through a crowd unseen and—”

He rounded on her, incredulous. “Plain o’ face?”

Surely she was jesting with him. Or maybe fishing for praise.

But when he looked into her lovely face—at her tempting lips, the delightful sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the tendrils of her lush hair curling upon her cheek, the dark, inviting pools of her eyes—he saw only sincerity.

“How can ye think ye’re plain o’ face?” he asked.

She lowered her gaze, obviously embarrassed. “Prithee, sir, do not mock me.”

“Mock ye?”

“I’m all too well aware o’ my flaws.”

He blinked. Flaws? As far as he could tell, she had none.

“So ye’re missin’ a toe, are ye?” he asked with a smirk.

“Nay.”

“Ye’ve got a tail?”

“A tail!” she exclaimed.

“Perhaps your knees are on backwards?”

He wasn’t prepared for the chiding punch she gave his shoulder.

Apparently, neither was she. Caught up in the moment, she’d reacted instinctively. And scared herself.

“Oh dear,” she said. “I apologize.”

He laughed. “I deserved that.” He rubbed his offended shoulder. “But the strength o’ that wallop proves ye were that archer.”

She only shook her head.

Through the stand of trees, he glimpsed a double row of thatch-roofed cottages with pale golden light flickering through their horn windows.

It was the last tiny village before Scone Priory.

To his surprise, his heart sank. He was enjoying the wayward lass’s company. He wanted their journey to go on longer.

He knew once he saw her to her destination, his responsibilities would end. She’d be safe from the thieves. He should bid her farewell. It was the gentlemanly thing to do.

But he wasn’t feeling like a gentleman. Not in the attire of outlaw-thwarting Adam Greenwood. And he didn’t want to bid her farewell.

Not only because he was beginning to feel a kinship for her.

Not only because he knew a woman living a life of deception would never truly be safe.

But because, for the first time in his life, he’d met someone who considered him worthy of remembering.

Eve spotted the signs of civilization through the pines. She was equally relieved and disheartened.

She didn’t want to part ways with the attractive, brilliant, charming stranger.

It was rare to find a person with whom she could exchange lively conversation.

Her sister nuns, bless their hearts, were mostly dull and predictable.

Speaking with Adam had been as refreshing as taking a bracing dip in a cold loch.

Perhaps it was because it was the first time she’d been able to reveal her secret.

Of course, she hadn’t truly revealed much. He still didn’t know who she was. But he knew what she was. And he approved.

More than approved. He didn’t think she was plain. Or invisible. He thought she was talented.

The abbess’s dire warnings suddenly tolled like bells in her head. Now, as her heart melted and her veins filled with molten need, she understood the irresistible temptation.

But it wasn’t just the call of lust. It was more.

An attraction as powerful as iron to a lodestone.

A profound longing for human connection.

A connection she would never be allowed to forge.

This easy camaraderie could lead nowhere.

She was a nun.

Living in a convent had always been her destiny.

As the fifth daughter of a wealthy merchant, she had no other choice. Her father had no sons, just an apprentice. Her sisters had all married well. It was up to Eve as the least useful daughter to secure her clan’s place in heaven by devoting herself to God.

She’d never questioned that duty. Indeed, she found life at the nunnery rather freeing. Her father’s generous donations to the convent ensured she could come and go as she pleased.

She didn’t mind the small sacrifices. The boring sermons. The long days. The manual labor. Waking up at all hours to pray. She was making her father and her clan proud. She was on her way to achieving a Greater Purpose.

But now she was beginning to have doubts. This encounter was testing her faith.

“Where were ye plannin’ to stay tonight?” he asked, jarring her from her thoughts.

She opened her mouth, preparing to say “the convent.” Then she remembered she’d had no opportunity to change into her habit. Rich Lady Aillenn certainly wouldn’t seek lodging at a convent.

And for some reason, she suddenly didn’t want to admit to him she was only a nun. She wanted to keep pretending she was an entitled Irish noblewoman. She wanted to wear her scarlet gown and gold jewels and pearls in her hair.

“I…haven’t decided,” she said.

“There’s a decent place just up ahead. Anne Campbell’s. ’Tis where I plan to stay. ’Tis a simple inn. But I can show ye the way.”

Her breath caught.

Did she dare stay at the same inn? Wasn’t that inviting Satan to work his wiles?

What if there was only a common room for sleeping?

Or what if there was a chamber, but the two of them were forced to share it?

And what if that chamber had only one bed?

She was grateful for the dark of night. Her face reddened with such shame at the direction of her thoughts, it felt like flame upon her cheeks.

Adam supposed it was too much to hope there was just one room left at Anne Campbell’s. That they’d be obliged to share it. And there would be but one bed. Still, he couldn’t help wishing it.

He’d never felt so drawn to a woman before. So enchanted. So fascinated, not just by her beguiling beauty, but by her nimble mind and her saucy tongue.

He’d had sweethearts before. Fleeting and frivolous affairs with giggling maids and sighing lasses. They had been entertaining. Delightful. Thrilling.

But in Aillenn, he felt as if he’d met his match. A woman with whom he could exchange jests. Have adventures. Share experiences. A woman who understood him. Who appreciated the challenges of a vagabond life and enjoyed, as he did, the freedom of anonymity.

The fact that she was also lovely enough to rouse the beast in his trews only made her more irresistible.

When they arrived at Anne Campbell’s, however, their circumstances were made all too clear.

As soon as the humble proprietor beheld the lady in scarlet step into her inn, dripping with valuable gold and pearls, she fussed over Aillenn as if she were a queen. And when Aillenn pressed a silver coin into her palm, Anne became her loyal servant.

He couldn’t blame Anne. Lady Aillenn did look regal. She held her head high, and her mouth bore a vague suggestion of a well-bred smile.

Indeed, he began to wonder if she was telling the truth about being the daughter of Irish nobility, perhaps even royalty.

Maybe she’d run away to Scotland out of boredom.

Or fleeing the law. Was her father looking for her?

It was hard to tell when the lass flitted so seamlessly from lies to truth and from identity to identity.