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her to her feet, and she started to turn away and yelped, “ Owwwww .” Her hand went immediately to her head, and she discovered her hair had caught in a link of his mail shirt. She yanked it loose, almost scalping herself in the process, for the mail was as rough as a Brillo pad. She wondered how it felt on bare skin, but then she remembered the thick, linen shirt knights always wore beneath the hauberk.
    Rubbing her head, she looked around the clearing and heard the bubble of a burn nearby. She stretched, trying to get her mind off what had passed between them and wishing for more. Chastising herself, she decided she needed a diversion—like getting the kinks out of her mind and body. She wished she had a pair of shorts and tennis shoes so she could jog along behind him and his horse for a few miles. She wondered if she would ever be able to run again, for the terrain here was rough and the shoes quite the most cumbersome clodhoppers imaginable. She almost smiled when she thought about what he would do if she started doing a few exercises. He would probably think she was having some kind of seizure, especially in the garb of the long dress she wore, or perhaps he would think she was conjuring up some kind of charm or spell.
    He stood a foot or so away, content to remain stoically silent and observant, as if he was intentionally trying to make her uncomfortable. If he was, it was working. She looked around. The sun had disappeared, and the evening was beginning to settle in, accompanied by the sounds of night creatures buzzing about. It was a dose of reality, and the howl of a wolf in the distance filled her with loneliness. She knew that would not do, so she asked, “Do you know how far it is to Soutra Aisle from here?”
    His head tilted to one side and his brows went up, but he did not answer straightaway. She was about to ask the question again, when he said, “I will have ye there on the morrow.”
    He said nothing more, and a lull stretched between them like an empty hammock, so she made another attempt at conversation. “Thank you for helping me. I hope I haven’t put you to a great deal of trouble or taken you too far out of your way. Where were you going?”
    â€œDoes it matter to ye?”
    â€œNo, of course not. Why would I care where you go? I was only making conversation and I realize the effort was wasted, so forget what I said and I will keep my big, fat mouth shut.”
    â€œI am on my way to Elcho Priory,” he said, his voice flat and toneless.
    She laughed and saw the way his face hardened just before he asked, “Ye find something humorous aboot a priory?”
    â€œNo, of course not! I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, but at our situation. I am going to Soutra Aisle, where there are only friars. You are going to Elcho Priory, which is a priory of nuns. It seems it should be the other way around. I have told you why I am going to Soutra Aisle. Can you tell me why you are going to the priory?”
    That guarded mask of secrecy slipped back into place, and he asked, “Is my business there important to ye?”
    â€œOh, for Pete’s sake!” She threw up her hands. “Never mind! I don’t want to know, and if you try to tell me, I swear I will stuff my fingers in my ears. I’m too tired to try and humor an ogre. I wasn’t trying to pry into your personal affairs. I was trying to be polite and engage you in a civilized conversation between two educated human beings, but I can tell by your ignorance of it that civilized conversation is something that has not yet reached the part of the world you live in. So, I’m going to go wash some of the dirt from my face and hands, with hopes that you enjoy your time free of me.”
    By the time she returned, he had his horse unsaddled and kindling gathered for a fire. He handed her two oatcakes and a strip of what she hopefully assumed was dried beef, for she could use a