The Lass Who Kissed a Frog by Lee, Caroline (bookreader txt) 📕

it. Now, I will help ye plan and pack, sister, but ye must be the one to find a traveling companion.”

Smiling, Vanessa gave a happy little twirl, knowing she was making the right choice. “I will.”

* * *

When the rear door of the inn opened into the little garden, Roland found himself sinking back into the shadows, which felt strange to him. But he didn’t want to be caught out here by anyone other than—

Ah!

Vanessa practically skipped down the steps, wearing a blue dress which complemented her eyes so beautifully. Eagerly—and just why the hell was he so eager to see her? He’d have to examine that later—Roland stepped forward.

“Oh!” She stopped short when she saw him and held up a finger. “I was wondering if I’d see ye today!” On that cryptic remark, she spun back around and ducked into the kitchen, emerging a moment later carrying a plate. “Here ye are. It isnae much, but I had Mrs. Oliphant put aside some buns from this morning, just in case. Did Annie bring out some food yesterday as I asked?”

Dear Lord, she was like a little ray of sunshine, wasn’t she?

Roland had to swallow twice to make his throat work. “Aye, milady,” he croaked, although, truthfully, he’d already gone before any food may or may not have been delivered. “Thank ye.”

He hobbled forward—pleased with himself for remembering to do so—and took the plate from her hands. When he did, his fingers brushed against hers, and that spark traveled up his arm and settled into his chest.

He smiled.

Easy lad. Ye dinnae like her, remember?

Nay, it was getting harder and harder to recall, when she smiled and acted completely opposite of how he thought she should.

But now she was studying him, her hands on her hip and her head cocked to one side. “Ye took my suggestion and bathed, I see.”

Roland, figuring he’d be a fool to pass up one of Mrs. Oliphant’s buns, even if he had only eaten breakfast not two hours before, already had the pastry in his mouth, and hummed in question. When she gestured at his face, he felt himself blushing.

Blushing! Like a lad in leading strings!

Ye’re wearing a kilt, ye idiot.

Aye, kilts were likely worse than leading strings, weren’t they?

He managed to swallow and tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Nae use being dirtier than ye have to be, aye, milady?”

“I dinnae ken. I dinnae have to be dirty at all.”

Ah, there was the haughtiness he’d been expecting. But she was smiling when she said it, which seemed to take the sting out of her words.

Before he could decide if he should be offended by her words, she’d nodded politely and slipped past him.

“Enjoy yer buns,” she called over her shoulder, “then please leave. I dinnae have time to banter with ye today, and as I’ll soon be leaving as well, I cannae be in charge of feeding ye each day.”

The last was almost hard to hear, as she was hurrying away so quickly, obviously intent on her mission. Roland glanced down at the plate of buns beside him and rubbed at his jaw for a moment.

The beard felt strange, but he assumed it did a good enough job masking his true appearance, along with the eyepatch he wore over his right eye. She hadn’t seemed to guess who he really was, and he hadn’t had to rub dirt and horse shite all over himself.

Although the kilt was still quite drafty.

Well, he hadn’t worn the damn thing to just sit around her garden and eat buns, had he?

Making up his mind, he tugged his tam down and hurried after her.

“Wait, milady!” he called.

When she slowed and turned an exasperated look on him, he remembered to limp pitifully.

“Aye, Sir Interloper? Mr. Trespasser? The buns werenae enough?”

“How could they be, milady, when all I was hungry for was the opportunity to bask in yer presence?”

To his surprise, she rolled her eyes, apparently not appreciating the compliment. “No’ ye too?” she muttered, as she turned back on her path and picked up her pace.

Roland hobbled after her. “Where are ye going in such a hurry, milady?”

“To the vicar’s cottage. I must speak to his sister, Willa. I’m going to ask her to accompany me on my journey and— Why am I telling ye this?”

Knowing he was safe as long as she wasn’t looking at him, Roland’s smile flashed. “Because I’m easy to talk to?”

They’d reached the village square, and suddenly there were a dozen new distractions, but Vanessa didn’t slow. Instead, she hurried on, and Roland slammed into a horse.

Well, not a full horse, just the horse’s flank. But still, it was deuced embarrassing.

“Damned depth perception!” he muttered, as he rebounded and bumped into a merchant of some sort. “Och! Terribly sorry, sir.” He doffed his cap as he managed to stay upright, but then a dog—they just allow dogs to wander around the square, shiteing as they went, these days? What were they, barbarians?—brushed up against his knee, and Roland spun around to catch himself once more.

And then she was there.

Vanessa clamped her hand around his elbow and gently tugged him out of the path of traffic. “There. Are ye alright?”

It was the concern in her eyes that was nearly his undoing. He wanted to tear off the tam and the eyepatch and declare himself, just so she’d stop looking at him with so much pity. But he reminded himself he wanted her to think he was pitiful, so he ducked his head and mumbled, “Aye, milady. My thanks.”

“Market day can be overwhelming if ye’re no’ used to it,” she said gently. “Especially if ye’re blind on one side. And—”

When she bit off whatever she was going to say, he was curious enough to glance up at her. She was looking at him strangely.

“Wasn’t yer eyepatch on the left eye yesterday?”

Was it?

Damnation, it was.

“Nay,” he blurted, then ducked his head once more. “Nay, ye’re mistaken. milady.”

He saw her shrug, then she released his arm.

And damn him