The red curls were up ahead, and he followed them like a cat tracking a mouse. There was something about the woman that he remembered from long ago, and as he politely stepped aside to let a woman and her children pass by, it began to occur to him just where he’d seen that hair.
Gleann Deamhain.
The Vale of Demons.
It was difficult to say why an incident from eight years ago suddenly stood out for him. It had been a fleeting moment as far as moments in time went. But it had stayed with him: the young lass who had practically saved him from a band of bloodthirsty cutthroats. Never mind that they were only children; Lor remembered being as afraid of them as if they’d been the mightiest army of men.
Gòrach, they’d called him.
He’d been stupid once, but he wasn’t going to be stupid again.
This time, he was going to be careful.
Lor continued to follow the lass. She finally came to a stop at a merchant who dealt in hides. As he hid back in the crowd, watching, Lor could see the lass holding up the fine pelts she’d brought, negotiating a price with an old man who seemed to be smiling at her too much. At one point, he reached out and pinched her cheek.
She slapped him.
Lor laughed softly.
But the slap had turned the merchant against her and he waved her away, unwilling to buy her pelts now that she’d rejected his affection. Frustrated and unhappy, the girl backed away from the store with her basket of pelts before finally turning away and slipping into an alleyway between the stalls.
Lor followed.
There were some residences behind the main merchant avenue and several big plots of land where the villagers cultivated their gardens. It smelled of animals and compost back here. Beyond the gardens was a grove of trees, a big one, with paths leading into it because more villagers lived back beyond the trees.
Suspecting that was where she was heading, Lor made his move.
As the woman entered the trees, Lor came up behind her with great stealth and snatched her basket away.
“Where are ye going, gòrach?” he said.
The woman gasped in outrage and perhaps even a little fear. As Lor stood there, his eyes glimmering with mirth, the woman turned on him and balled her fists.
“Give me back my pelts,” she snarled.
Lor couldn’t help the smile on his lips now. It was indeed the lass from the Vale of Demons. She’d grown from a skinny, freckled girl into a lush and beautiful woman. She was quite beautiful, actually. He found himself staring at her pale skin and rosebud mouth, but that was the last thing he remembered before a fist came flying at his face.
Down he went.
The woman reached down and yanked the basket of pelts from his hands as Lor shook off the stars. He put his hand to his nose, noting a small bit of blood as she turned and continued her trek.
He lumbered to his feet.
“Wait,” he said. “I wasna trying tae rob ye. Don’t ye remember me?”
She came to a halt, turning to him warily. She looked him up and down. “Should I?”
He felt embarrassed that she didn’t recognize him as he’d recognized her. “It has been several years,” he said. “I was just a lad when we first met in the Vale of Morning. Ye called me gòrach and tried tae steal my birds’ eggs. Ye know…gòrach? Do ye remember now?”
She stared at him a moment before her eyes widened. “Gòrach,” she repeated slowly. “Birds’ eggs, ye say?”
“Aye. Ye tried tae take them from me but we made an agreement instead.”
Her mouth popped open as the memory came clear. “Ye promised tae bring me more!”
He nodded, grinning as he realized that she did, indeed, remember him. “I did.”
“Ye never brought them back.”
“But I dinna say when I’d bring ye the eggs. There’s still time.”
He’d caught her on a technicality. She eyed him with an appraising expression as she retraced her steps in his direction.
“’Tis true,” she said reluctantly. “So just when did ye intend tae?”
His smile broadened. “Soon,” he said. “But I’ve been very busy.”
“Doing what? Accosting women and stealing their baskets?”
He laughed softly, flashing big, white teeth. “Ye accosted me once,” he said. “I was returning the favor.”
It was clear that she was trying very hard not to smile; he was rather witty and charming. “Gòrach,” she repeated softly when she came to within a foot of him, studying the man who’d grown from