Page 32 of A Gypsy in Scotland

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“I’m as baffled as you.”

The Highlander arched a brow. “In my experience, women are often attracted to mystery and, at this moment, you are quite a puzzle. Why not fit together the pieces for me?”

“There is nothing mysterious about me.”

“Nay? I have received word that there are travelers on horseback, three of them, scouring nearby villages and farms, searching for an injured man. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

Lash’s pulse leaped. Every last instinct went on alert.

He studied the Highlander carefully, from the sudden hard set of his gaze down to the tick of his jaw. “I do.”

The man nodded. “Were you part of their band?”

“No.”

“But you are a traveler like them?”

“Honoria did not tell you?” That surprised Lash. Why wouldn’t she inform her brother who he was?

The man cursed beneath his breath. “Honoria knows what you are?”

“I believe she is well aware that I’m aman,” Lash muttered, offended.

One brow jutted upward, that was all the response he got.

Lash shrugged. “I’m a Rom, Highlander. I have never hidden the fact.”

A string of inventive curses filled the chamber. “Adair is going to kill me.” His glowing eyes met Lash’s. “You couldn’t be a normal Scot; you had to be a Gypsy.”

And there it was—the reason Lash preferred solitude. After a time, years and years, the mocking and condemnation had become tedious and ill-tolerated amongst his kind. While not all Rom were trustworthy and good, most were peaceful people going about their lives the best they could.

“We prefer the term Romany.”

The Highlander gave Lash a brooding once over. “This is worse than I thought.”

“And how is that?”

The man shook his head. “You don’t know Honoria . . . Now that she is aware of your culture, she might never let you leave.”

Lash raised both brows. “That sounds. . .”

Fascinating.

“Terrifying? Aye.” The Highlander pushed away from the door. “You are a guest in our home until Honoria kills you with her healing remedies, or you, by some godly miracle, heal and leave of your own accord. In the meantime, why don't you identify the man who stabbed you?”

Lash scowled. He might be at the mercy of the begrudging generosity of thisgadjofor the time, but he was not about to give up any information about those seeking him. It was too dangerous.

“They won’t stop until they have proof of my death.”

Irritation flashed across the Highlander’s face. “Fine, don’t tell me anything. But be forewarned: when my brothers return and you are still here, they will not be easily thwarted off topic. Fortunately for you, and me, the men seemed to have moved on.”

The warmth left Lash’s skin. Danior would not leave. Not this soon. Not without absolute proof. No, they were biding their time, waiting him out.

“As you are our guest, feel free to join us for meals whenever you are up for it,” the Highlander offered. “You do eat food, Rom?”

That elicited a contemptuous snort from Lash.

“At the very least, you will not be confined to this chamber.”