Thief by Linda Windsor Page B

when she and Gemma had taken them to the beach to get them out of the house during their short stay. Poor fellow must be about to burst with it, she thought.
    “I’ve an idea,” she said. “Ebyn, why don’t you run off with yon lads for a bit, while I practice? When I’m ready for a partner, I’ll call you.”
    The grin he gave made her small consideration well worthwhile. “Aye, thank you, milady.”
    He was off before Gemma could put in her thoughts. But from the way she followed Ebyn with affection in her gaze, she approved. “’Tis no wonder Tilda offered to keep him again tonight without pay. He’s a dear and, ” she added, “Tilda swears he has potential at the loom.”
    “I know what you’re thinking.” Sorcha lifted her unbound hair off her neck to cool herself from the exertion. “But Tilda is old enough to be his grandmother. What would become of the lad, were she to die before he’s grown?”
    “Aye,” Gemma sighed in agreement. “Let’s try something slower.” Putting the pipe to her lips, she began to play a dignified tune.
    Step, two, three. Sway to the music. Step, two, three.
    “Skip,” Gemma said to the side as Sorcha beat out the time on the sand with the ball of her foot.
    Curtsy, two, three. Sorcha stooped low. Up, two, three—
    And there stood the Cymri stranger, as if conjured by elf magic, offering his hand. “Well done, milady.”
    Sorcha and the music stopped. Finally, shock freed her tongue. “How did you find me?”
    “Well, now, you”—he fingered a lock of her hair—“and your companion don’t exactly blend into the crowd. Not that there’s much of one.”
    He only touched her hair, but that and his dazzling smile caused her pulse to trip. Indeed his humor was uncommonly bright, given what had happened to him. Sorcha cut her gaze to Gemma, who seemed as taken aback as she.
    “Gemma,” he prompted, “if you’ll continue, I’ll—”
    “Now what would a man like you know of dancing in a king’s court?” Sorcha challenged.
    The sun played on his golden hair, as wavy as the sea and tamed with a band of leather at his neck today. When he slipped his cloak over his head and tossed it near Gemma on the sand, there was a fringe of the same gold showing at his throat in the vee of his tunic.
    “I have danced in the courts of most of Arthur’s kings,” he informed her.
    True, Caden spoke and acted more refined than most of the men who frequented the tavern. He even looked different from when she’d last seen him, though she was hard-pressed to say what was different.
    “So you’re a prince, then?” Gemma spoke up.
    Wistfulness graced the gaze he turned to her. “I was , milady, but today I’m a soldier. Nothing more.”
    A prince? Now that intrigued Sorcha all the more.
    “Courtly dance is nothing more than moving to the music as nature bids in a closer space than the outdoors. In it, man and woman are companions, one mirroring the other,” he declared, before she could frame her curiosity into a question. “Lady Sorcha,” he said, taking Sorcha’s hand.
    “I’m not a thane’s wife yet,” she reminded him, although she allowed him to position her opposite him. He certainly exuded more charm than last night.
    But charm could cloak wolf as well as lamb.
    “The tune you were playing is perfect, Gemma. A fling is more suited to the freedom of meadow than the confines of a hall.”
    Sorcha wasn’t certain exactly how Gemma would take to his compliment. She looked at Caden as though she were reading one of their song sheets, looking past the words to what lay behind them.
    “Why?” she asked bluntly. “Why are you so interested in teaching Sorcha to dance?”
    Caden gave a short laugh. “Milady, it is a lovely day beside the sea, and Sorcha is a lovely woman. Is it so odd that a man should want to while away the afternoon in her company, when yon Din Guardi fortress is so thick with people a man must walk sidewise through them?”
    Lighthearted.