King's Warrior (Renegade Lords)

She smiled as it fell into her hands. “Thank-you,” she said softly, but it was not meant for Edwin.

Tadhg stepped to her side, put his fingertips on her back, and whisked her out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

THEY MOVED OUT INTO THE TRAFFIC of town, people here and there, shopping, bustling in and out of the town square for the small market there. Tadhg kept his hand on Maggie’s back, not because it was necessary—Maggie was heading directly for the gates—but because he found his hand would not release her. It was as if his fingertips had been affixed by otherworldly means to anything he could touch of her, in this case, her worn wool cloak, and he could not let go.

“That was clever of you,” he said as they headed for the gates.

She nodded. “Yes, I am very clever.”

Tadhg smiled as he surveyed the crowds with unending visual sweeps. “I thank you for settling your debt on my behalf.”

She gave a small little shrug, very Gallic. “I could not wait to be done with you.”

“Aye?”

“Aye,” she said, bending her sweetly French mouth around his Irish phrase. It made him smile again. “I am breathless for you to be gone from my life.”

“Breathless, is it?” he repeatedly slowly. “Then why did you ask for two writs? To every town?”

She stilled, then cleared her throat. “Obviously this was done in case you were clumsy one afternoon, in a river or upon a windy hilltop, and lost one of them.”

His smile faded, but he couldn’t look away from her face. He tugged her to the side of the road, under the eaves of a building. “You do not want to come with me, Maggie. Trust me.”

She looked at him fiercely, her eyes telling him everything her mouth was denying. “Who said I ever would want such a thing? Pah, to be with an outlaw, running always to new lands, every day with the unexpected or unforeseen, who would want such a thing? The coin you left on my mantle was worth many times the amount of these little forged papers Master Edwin has given us—you—and far exceeds what I was due for the hosen. That is why I did it. Nothing more.”

He felt the cut of pain through his chest, like a burning sword. He reached out, hooked a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up, so he could look directly into her complicated, beautiful eyes.

“You are owed more than I can ever repay, lady,” he said softly.

Her eyes grew exceedingly bright. He could almost see himself reflected in their unshed tears.

“Then leave me to my simple life, outlaw,” she whispered.

“I vow it,” he promised, but his body turned traitor again, and although his mind was pushing her away, his head was bending, his mouth lowering, and he was kissing her.

Her lips met his, pressed back, then with a soft cry, she broke away, turned her head, for a moment allowing it to rest against his chest.

“Maggie,” he said hoarsely, meaning to kiss her again, but her hands splayed across his chest, stopping him. Her body stiffened.

“Sherwood,” she whispered.

He ripped his head up and saw the first of Sherwood’s men at the end of the street. Sherwood stood behind him. Their heads were turned the other way, and the baron was pointing.

Whirling, he looked up the other end of the street. Two more soldiers appeared there.

He looked down at Maggie.

“Alley,” she whispered even as he was reaching for her hand to tug her into the little angular pathway, more gutter than street, that ran behind the well-kept wine tavern and other shops, and connected two larger, bustling streets.

He pushed her in, turned his back to the opening and gripped her elbows. “Maggie, heed me: circle around, go back inside your merchant’s shop. He will keep you safe, and get you home again.” He could see the shadow of soldiers now, barely a dozen feet away now, at the end of the alley, turning to peer down its length. “For God’s sake, run.”

“I am not running.”

He reached for his sword. “Maggie—”

“Kiss me.”