Page 7 of Forgotten Secrets (Secrets of the Heart 4)

He couldn’t answer this, and neither did he want to.

“Is yer castle in Gaunt? How big is it? How many men are under yer command?”

The girl was persistent with her questions and also very nosey. He didn’t want to back himself into a corner so he decided to change the conversation.

“If you’ll excuse me, Lady Maira,” he said purposely using the wrong name so she’d forget her questions and pout about that instead. “I need to pitch my tent before nightfall.”

“I think ye ken my real name and are just callin’ me Maira to anger me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared a hole through him. She was a sharp one, even though one wouldn’t know it by just looking at her. “Ye are tryin’ to change the conversation as well.”

“Me?” he asked, feigning amusement. His hand went to the hilt of his sword – a nervous reaction he always used when he felt cornered. “If I may say so, Lady Morag, you have very beautiful brown eyes. And your hair glows with a golden aura, almost like an angel.”

“I dinna believe ye,” she said, not buying his compliments at all. “And where is yer squire? I’ve never heard of a knight pitchin’ his own tent.”

“I only say what I mean, my lady. And my squire is . . . away on an errand at the moment.” Bedivere cringed inwardly. Why had he just said that? He didn’t have a squire and now Morag would constantly be looking for one. He had to be more careful with his words. What was the matter with him?

He reached out and took her hand in his. True, he had made it a habit to flatter women when they started breaking down the walls he’d built around him to protect his secrets. Just like the way he did to Morag’s cousin, Willow. He’d actually even tried to marry the girl! Now, he didn’t know what he had been thinking. What had started as a game ended way too quickly, but he was thankful. Willow turning down his proposal of marriage was a good thing. Bedivere didn’t want to marry. He was a loner, and would stay that way until the day he died. No more would he be controlled like a poppet because of his ties to his family. Besides, if a woman ever knew his secret, she would never want to be his wife and he couldn’t blame her. His life was ruined now, and there was no way to regain that part of his soul that died the day he’d started being an assassin.

“What are ye doin’?” she asked when he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand.

“It is proper of a knight to greet a lady in this manner.”

“An English lady, mayhap. But in case ye didna notice, I am a Scot.”

He noticed all right. How could he miss her thick Scottish burr or her bright strawberry-blond tresses that hung down to her waist? She also wore the plaid of a Scot instead of an Englishwoman’s gown. A long-sleeved white tunic was covered by her short bodice that laced down the front. Her skirt was made of a dark green woolen plaid, and she had a sporran, or small bag, tied to her waist.

“Aye, and so you are a Scottish lady and a very beautiful one at that,” he complimented her, finding it natural to say these words to get him what he needed.

“Ye are callin’ me bonnie?” Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe him.

“Aye, you are beautiful,” he told her, scanning the courtyard as he spoke, trying to find his contact.

“Ye are no’ even lookin’ at me,” spat Morag.

His eyes darted back to hers. “I find myself so mesmerized by your beauty that I have to look away.”

“Am I bonnier than my cousins, Willow and Maira?” she asked, surprising him by her bold question. Normally by now, he’d have a woman eating out of his hand and blushing from his words. “And how about my sister, Fia? Am I bonnier than her as well?” Morag continued.

“My lady?” he asked, not knowing how to answer. He never expected her to say this.

“Tell me, Sir Bedivere. Do ye say this to every lassie ye meet? Because if it is naught but a line that ye are feedin’ me, then ye dinna need to waste yer breath. I, Sir Knight, canna be fooled by the likes of ye.”

Shocked at the way Morag was hammering him with her accusations, Bedivere dropped her hand and stood upright. He had to remedy this awkward situation before it got further out of hand.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he asked, just to roil her.

“Are ye one?” she boldly answered in return. Then she stepped forward and pushed her face closer to his. Her lush lips were set firm and all he could do was stare at them since they looked so inviting. His eyes traveled upward, from the cute little dimple in her chin to the high cheekbones and the graceful but mysterious curve of her brows. His gaze stopped when he met her big, beautiful, brown eyes. For the first time, he actually studied her face and realized that while the words sprang from his mouth in a rehearsed reaction, he hadn’t taken the time to drink in her true beauty.

“You think I’m a liar?” he asked, reaching out and lifting her chin with two fingers. Her bottom lip called to him in a seductive pout. Without meaning to, he cupped her cheek in a gentle caress, reveling in the feel of her soft skin. Aye, she truly was beautiful, and he was a fool for never noticing this before now. “Mayhap this will prove that I only say what I mean.” He leaned forward and boldly placed his lips against hers. Having had a weak moment, he only meant to shake her up so she’d stop asking personal questions. But before he knew it, he was going back for a second helping. The girl’s lips were soft and supple but she stood there like a dead fish, not knowing what to do. Still, he found her interesting and he liked it. The wench desperately needed to be kissed by a man and, by God, that was exactly what he wanted to do to her, over and over again.

The only thing that kept him from going back a third time was the sting of Morag’s palm slapping him across the cheek.

“My lady,” he said in surprise, stepping away from her holding his hand to his face. She had one hell of an arm. “I – I’m sorry. I got carried away proving to you that I meant what I said. I beg your forgiveness.” Women didn’t usually react this way to his advances. He should have known she’d be different since her cousin, Willow, had acted in much the same manner.

“Humph,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest again in a silent gesture of pushing him out of her personal space. “I suppose I forgive ye, but dinna let it happen again or I’ll have to tell my da.” Her face lowered and she hugged herself tighter.

“Nay, don’t do that,” he said with a chuckle. “I have enough problems of my own and don’t need a Legendary Bastard of the Crown hunting me down.” The late King Edward’s bastard triplets were to be feared. They were a force to be reckoned with and, at one time, were known as the Demon Thief, directing three different armies to raid their own father. Nay, he never wanted them coming after him, that’s for sure. “I’ll be on my way now,” he said, trying to get away from Morag. If he stayed a minute longer, he’d want to kiss her again and that would only bring about trouble. What was the matter with him? He normally wasn’t infatuated with the ladies. Then again, none of them he’d ever known were like Morag. She seemed to be a loner and wild at heart, curious and afraid of nothing. In a way, she reminded him of himself.

He turned and started away, but stopped abruptly when she called out to him.

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