“You’re a poor liar, is what you are.” With the hand not holding the knife she suddenly pulled back the horse blanket that was covering him and gave him a quick once over, neck to toes and everything in between.
Edward was too shocked to protest.
“Just checking to make sure you didn’t have a sword under there,” she said with a smirk. “But I don’t see anything particularly dangerous.” She removed the knife from his neck and sat back. “Poor wee thing. You’re a bit of a mess, aren’t you?”
Edward grabbed the blanket back from her and pulled it to his chest. He wasn’t sure what she could be referring to as a poor wee thing. Certainly no part of him. His face was hot as a branding iron. “I was set upon by thieves, as I told you,” he stammered finally. “They took everything.”
“Oh, wearing fine silks, were you? Poppycock. Who are you, really?” She grabbed his hand and turned it over in hers. “Because you don’t have the hands of a blacksmith, that’s sure.”
He jerked his hand away and rose unsteadily to his feet, still clutching the unwieldy blanket around him. The girl stood up, too, and brushed hay off her trousers. She was wearing trousers, he realized. Black trousers and a white tunic and a black cloak, with black boots that came nearly to her knees. He’d never seen a woman in trousers before. It was improper. And unnerving. And surprisingly attractive.
“Who are you?” he fired back. “Because I don’t think you’re the farmer’s daughter.”
The green eyes flashed, but she smiled again. “Do you know what I think?”
He couldn’t begin to guess.
“I think you’re an E∂ian on the run,” she said. “And when it started raining you ran in here for shelter, in your animal form, of course, so now you’re stuck here without a stitch of clothes.” She tsked her tongue sympathetically. “So what animal form do you take?”
“It’s raining now?” he said, and then he became aware of the pounding of water against the roof. Because, again, this was the kind of night he was having.
“Are you part of the Pack?” she asked. “You seem a bit green for that.”
He was about to say something like he didn’t know what she was talking about with the Pack, and of course he wasn’t an E∂ian. But before he could get this out, the girl’s head cocked slightly to one side, listening, and then she snuffed the lantern. The hayloft was plunged into inky blackness.
“Wha—” he started, but she stepped close and put a finger to his lips to quiet him, and he lost his train of thought.
Below them, the barn door opened. A man bearing a lantern shuffled in. He spent a few minutes feeding the animals, all the while grumbling about the rain. The entire time Edward and the girl stood frozen in the hayloft, a breath away from each other, her finger still against his lips.
Even in the dark, her eyes were green. Like the emeralds in the crown jewels.
He was holding his breath. He wanted to kiss her, he realized, which was ludicrous. She’d been holding a knife at his throat moments ago. She was a stranger. She was a woman who wore pants. She couldn’t be trusted.
Still, there she was, her finger against his lips, making him think of putting his lips on her lips. And when his gaze dropped, from her eyes to her lips, a girlish flush spread over her cheeks. Which made him want to kiss her even more.
The farmer went out.
The girl stepped back, the humor gone out of her expression. She cleared her throat and fingered the knife in her belt nervously.
“I should go,” she said.
For some reason, this was the last thing he expected—for her to leave now, after she’d woken him and threatened him and questioned him so relentlessly. Now she was leaving? And he didn’t want her to go.
“But it’s raining.” This sounded lame even to him. “And you haven’t found out who I am yet.”
She shrugged. “Sadly, I don’t care that much.”
She moved toward the ladder that would take her down to the barn floor. In another minute she’d be gone, and he’d be here in the same situation he’d started in—no clothes, no money, no plan. Alone.
“Wait,” he called.
She started down the ladder. She’d just reached the bottom when the barn door swung open, and there was the farmer again, this time holding a rusted