"Do you know, Miss Terrington, what I thought the very first time I clapped eyes on you?"
     She looked curious, and then a warm glow of color infused her face as she apparently recalled that the first place he had seen her was in his bedchamber. "I am sure I do not," she said, her eyes fixed at a point somewhere over his shoulder.
     "What I thought, Miss Terrington," he continued, "was that you looked like an elf. What the crofters call a sithiche, a mischievous sprite come from the glens to lead me back along the Low Road to the Highlands. Then you opened your lips to bark orders and questions at me, and I was certain you were a tannasg instead, come to pester me into perdition. In the days since, I've come to think I was right."
     Her cheeks flushed brighter with indignation. "I'm not so bad as that!"
     "Aye, lass." He grinned, carrying her hand up to his lips for another kiss. "You are. But do not worry yourself over it. I am a soldier, and used to fighting for what I want. Now come, I am sure your aunt must be wondering where you've gone."