The Witch and The Thief

13

"You best be praying to the fates and all that the poor lass won't suffer any lasting effects because of your pea-brained actions." He shook his head, mumbling, "Leaping trogg-jaw, the lad's gone and lost all reason."

Lachlan clenched his jaw tight and frowned. "You needn't rebuke me; I've done a fair job of it myself."

Rhys studied him for a moment, then relaxed his position and let out a sigh. A look of enlightenment settled upon his face, as though he'd somehow discovered an elusive answer to the universe Lachlan would never be privy to. "Am I to believe you truly care for the lass or was that kiss I witnessed your way of making amends for the bracers?"

The questions, or more importantly the way they made Lachlan feel, startled him to stillness. Did he care for Maera more than he'd been willing to admit up till now, or were his actions an unconscious effort to gain forgiveness for binding her powers?

Perhaps they were naught more than a strange mixture of the two? Was that what had prompted him to help her escape?

"I be thinking 'tis both," Rhys whispered with a devilish wink, "no man kisses a lass the way you did unless there be deeper feelings involved."

Lachlan scowled. "Be you speaking from experience, then?"

"Indeed," Rhys pressed a hand to his chest and lifted his chin, "when it comes to kissing a bonny lass, my knowledge on the matter be as vast as the oceans are deep."

Of that Lachlan had no doubt, but he decided to keep his opinion to himself and said the first thing that came to mind that would hopefully direct their conversation away from him and his complicated feelings for Maera.

"How much of what you said about your return should I believe?"

"Struck a nerve then, have I, Lackyboy?" Rhys softly chuckled.

He tossed another log on the fire and resumed his relaxed position on the floor before saying in a grim tone, "It all be true, sad though it be to admit. Though I neglected to mention Darragh and Finley managed to track down the buxom lass afore we left and recouped what she hadn't yet spent."

Lachlan studied Rhys with narrowed eyes. His tone and lack of information revealed far more than his statement at first divulged. He looked to Darragh and Finley's sleeping forms, his skin crawling with the thought of what the two men might have done to the woman foolish enough to steal from them.

Rhys nodded, "Aye, you've the right of it. T'would be prudent to see your lass keeps a safe distance from the two bardus until we depart on the morrow."

"Where will you be heading?"

"On a grand adventure."

Lachlan scoffed. "And what treasure awaits you?"

"Now that's the question to be asking," Rhys whispered with a conspiratorial wink. "What do you think it be?"

"I'm in no mood for games, Rhys."

"Shall I offer a hint?"

Lachlan shook his head, even as he opened his mouth and said in exasperation, "Is it made of wood?"

Rhys's excitement evaporated, replaced by a heavy scowl, "Have you been speaking with the boys, then?"

"What are you talking about now?"

"Gone and ruined the moment you have." Rhys licked the pad of his right thumb and rubbed at a smudge on the toe of his left boot, irritation plain in his voice.

Lachlan scoffed, then bit back a laugh. It was moments like these, where they may as well still be teenage orphans with only each other to depend on, that he had missed the most during Rhys's absence. "So, 'tis made of wood?"