Read Online Thief by Linda Windsor - Free Book Online Page B

seemed to notice. Not even the stranger, who rarely took his gaze away from her. And that distracted her all the more. Leers, she could ignore, but this scrutiny probed as though he were trying to see who she really was behind the facade of song and a comely face. And no one, save Gemma, saw that Sorcha.
    When the tavern keeper at length rang the bell mounted by the door to signal the end of drink service, some of the patrons had already cleared benches to make their beds on the floor. The wealthy merchants had departed for a hostel or one of the haws some maintained year-round. But the Cymri stranger had not moved from his bench, except long enough to relieve himself outside.
    Sorcha put her harp in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. It had been a decent night’s revenue, she thought, taking up the heavy cup Gemma had passed about. But it was filled with coppers mostly, not nearly enough to pay Wada tomorrow … which meant she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of throwing the bag of money that Gemma had told her of back in the stranger’s face. She’d have to take it and be thankful, at least to the Wyrds. It was times like this when her upcoming marriage promised more relief than concern.
    “You’ve the voice of a siren, Milady Sorcha.”
    Sorcha gasped at the nearness of the stranger, for she’d only lost track of him in the time it took to pick up her cloak.
    “And you’ve the footfall of a ghost,” she shot back. Already she could feel her skin warming, when such an approach should make the blood rushing it flee. “And a smart man, as I recall, should run fast as he can from the sirens I’ve heard about.”
    “Hah, a sharp wit and tongue to match.”
    The stinging compliment disconcerted Sorcha all the more. “I’ve no mind to speak long, so say what you must.”
    A momentary scowl grazed his face, but he kept his voice cordial. “Fine then. Your mother, your birth mother, nursed me to health from a near fatal wound. I promised to—”
    Her birth mother … alive? Sorcha wrestled between disbelief and shock. After so long? It had been a contrary solace to think that her parents had never searched for her because they couldn’t … because they were dead.
    Why now?
    Surely it was a lie.
    But how could he know she was adopted?
    “I … I’m sorry.” Sorcha shook the seesaw of her debate to catch up. “You promised to what?”
    “I promised her I’d come to Din Guardi and search for you.”
    “Come to buy me back with that, I suppose?” Sorcha eyed the plump purse tied to the man’s belt.
    That would more than pay off the moneylender.
    Instinctively, the man’s hand went to it. “Nay, lassie. This is mine. ’Tis land your mathair offers … and her love.”
    Bitterness smacked down Sorcha’s rise of hope. “Her love,” she scoffed. “’Tis too late for that. I had a good mother and father, parents who would have hunted for me to the ends of the earth if I’d been taken from them. But nay .” She silently cursed her stinging eyes. “My blood folk left me to the whim of the fates, and thankfully the Wyrds were kinder than they. Wulfram and Aelwyn are the parents who filled a child’s broken heart with love, not this woman who sends you so late with an offer of land. I’ve no more need for it than for her.”
    “The land can save you from marrying an old man and submitting that lovely body of yours to him.”
    So that silver gaze had been feasting on more than Sorcha’s inner self. Which, by Freya’s curse, seemed to ignite on its own at the thought that this Caden knew so much about her.
    “Cynric offers me land and wealth, as well as his love,” she replied. “Old he may be, but he is kind and gentle, a sword-friend of my departed father who has known me all my years here.” She lifted her chin at the man in defiance of the plaintive gaze. As if he needed her to say yes to going with him. Sure, such need reached out and touched her, making her shiver with uncertainty. “So