Sarie's smirk faded, the mere mention of Hugh's name sobering the group. "No, miss. Of course, I wouldn't care to bother Mr. Hugh."
"Tell the truth, then, or it will go badly with you. Is this the man you saw?" She felt as if she were teetering on a blade, the woman's answer likely to shove her into an abyss.
"He had black hair like 'im," Sarie said, examining Ciaran through her shrewd eyes. "An' he was handsome enough. But if he'd looked fine as this specimen here, I would've forgot my soldier an' followed him, naked as he was."
At that moment, Vanessa Fyfe returned, a pair of breeches in her hand—breeches far too small to fit Ciaran's powerful frame.
"There, Norton!" she shrilled. "Is that proof enough for you?"
Fallon wasn't aware of the man's reply. She only heard Ciaran's sigh of relief, felt the uncoiling of her own tangled nerves as she turned toward him, rejoicing. But words of triumph died in her throat as she glimpsed something just beyond Sarie's shoulders—a smear of red uniform, blonde hair, piercing eyes.
Redmayne.
He leaned negligently in the shadows, like Lucifer watching souls stumbling toward the gates of hell, alert to any vulnerability.
Fallon's heart stopped. Merciful heaven, what if she was wrong? What if Ciaran was the lord of smugglers Redmayne had been seeking? Was it possible the captain already recognized his quarry?
Redmayne's face was unreadable. Only his eyes glittered with faint mockery. For an instant, she wanted to dive in front of Ciaran, block him from Redmayne's view, but she might as well have attempted to conceal the Grenadiers Inn behind her chipped-straw bonnet. The captain sauntered toward them with his lazy, tiger-like stride.
"Miss Delaney, imagine meeting you again. I seem to encounter you in the most intriguing places."
She could feel heat rushing into her face, and feared that she must look like a rabbit the instant before a wolf's jaws closed on its throat. Fast as she could, she shuttered her emotions away, but it was too late. She could see by the smirk at the corner of Redmayne's lips that she'd betrayed herself.
As if he sensed her unease, Ciaran moved until he stood between her and the captain. But the instant those sea-green eyes locked upon Redmayne, Fallon could feel a rush of animosity sizzle between the two men, so hot, so sudden, so unexpected it drove the breath from her lungs. Did they know each other somehow? No, it wasn't recognition. It was something far more visceral. Could it be that legendary gift Ciaran of the Mist possessed for sensing evil?
Ciaran turned to her, his voice low, rough. "Let's go, Fallon. We've found out what we needed to know." One arm curved beneath hers, and she was certain he could feel her hand trembling. She wanted to run, bolt like a startled deer toward her horse. Wanted to leave the gaping townspeople, the crooked street, and Captain Redmayne behind.
Instead, she started to move with all the dignity she could muster.
"Perhaps you've found out what you need to know, sir," Redmayne charged. "But I have not."
"We have no business with you," Ciaran said, and Fallon could sense how much it cost him to keep his tone level.
"That's where you're mistaken. There has been an unfortunate amount of unrest in the area since the rebellion four years ago and I have been instructed to quell it. So you see, any stranger in this part of the countryside is my affair."
The captain fingered the glistening hilt of the saber at his waist. "Tell me, sir. Exactly who are you, and what is your business hereabouts?"
Fallon felt Ciaran's arm tense where it brushed hers, felt him faltering. He was an abysmal liar, doubtless one of the drawbacks of being so noble. If anyone were going to extricate them from this predicament, she would have to be the one.
"I can vouch for him, Captain," Fallon interjected. "He is a close friend of mine. We, uh... he was with me yesterday, in fact. At the castle. In the mist."
"Ah, so it was as I suspected when I stumbled across you last night," Redmayne said, the breeze riffling the angelic gold of his hair. "You had gone up to the castle to summon back your mythical hero."
Fallon's heart stopped. She heard the sharp hiss of Ciaran's breath. Was it possible that Redmayne knew? That he'd been watching? Listening? That he'd discovered the truth with that unerring gift for discovering an opponent's weakness?
But the officer only glanced at the crowd, chuckling. "Tell me, the lot of you. Does this look like a man who could hurl three dragons into the sea or stop up a flooded river with his bare hands to save a pack of children from drowning?"
He'd meant it as a joke, but the people of Glenceo took their legends seriously. Eyes rounded, a visual battery pounding against Ciaran.
"I'm no damned hero," Ciaran growled, but no one else seemed to hear him.
Obviously delighted with the villagers' reaction, Redmayne crossed his arms over his broad chest. His gaze measured Ciaran as if they were on opposite sides of a dueling field. "However, much as it grieves me, Miss Delaney, honor bids me confess the truth. Considering everything I've heard about your Irish legends, I expected him to be a trifle more... impressive."
"Perhaps you'd care to test your skills?" Ciaran challenged, and Fallon could feel the battle heat singing in his blood.
She all but leaped between them, fending off Redmayne's comments the only way she knew how, forcing scorn into her voice, tossing her curls. "You claim to be an officer and a gentleman, Captain. You can't possibly believe in peasant tales of magic."
But those shrewd eyes gave her nowhere to hide. "Perhaps not. Of course, then I'm forced to examine less mystic explanations for this man's presence here, I suppose. I was at the castle last night myself, as you know, but not for some sort of lover's tryst. No. I was there a-hunting. I'd heard reports that a certain lord of the smugglers was in the vicinity, ripe for capture."
