he couldn’t help but be amazed by the thought that a group of women—noble ladies, no less—had found him worthy of discussion.
And what should that matter to him? Despite the fact that he had several noble relatives, he himself sat far lower in rank. He was a landless knight, nothing more. Clearly some misunderstanding had occurred, for in the ordinary way of things, he’d hardly have a slew of ladies in pursuit of him.
No matter how “mysterious” they found him to be, he thought with a rueful smile.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what Alys—Lady Alys, he reminded himself lest he get too full of himself—what had she thought? What, if anything, had she added to the discussion?
Rafe stopped; Padrig did as well, noting that while they’d been involved in their most peculiar discussion, they’d made it to the shelter. Rafe had paused just outside the makeshift hut.
In the eerie glow of the candle, Rafe’s knowing expression shone all too clear. He moved closer. “Wouldn’t you like to know what Lady Alys—”
“Nay,” Padrig cut him off, ignoring the intense desire to hear what Rafe was obviously eager to share.
“Sir Padrig—” he goaded, “—I did hear her, you know.”
“No,” Padrig said flatly.
Rafe turned away from the shelter and faced Padrig, his manner more serious. “I’ve seen how you look at her, milord… Jesu, if you could only see how you look at her now.”
When had Rafe turned into the devil, to taunt and test a man nigh beyond endurance?
He’d not give in, no matter how strong the temptation.
“Enough,” he growled. Turning from the other man, he tucked Alys more firmly against his chest and ducked to enter the hut.
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