Page 25 of Dancing On Air

“Everyone knows my name,” Connor told the boy. “I once used to be a nobleman, you realize.”

“You were?” That seemed to surprise the little thief. It also seemed to bring some kind of respect between them. “Here is your pouch and coin,” he told Connor, holding it out, but being careful to keep his distance.

“Is there something else you’d like to say to him, Finnian?” asked Eleanor.

“I’m sorry,” said the boy. “I didn’t know you were once a noble.”

“Hrmph,” grunted Connor, taking the pouch and looking inside to make sure the coin was still in there. “You shouldn’t steal from anyone, no matter if they are noble or a commoner or even a hangman. Don’t do it again. No good can ever come from it.”

“What difference does it make?” asked the boy, sounding defiant.

“You know,” said Connor, using the frayed string to tie the pouch back on his belt. “I just came from the hanging of a thief. He wasn’t that much older than you.”

“Y-you did?” Finnian’s hand went to his throat.

“That’s what happens to thieves. They go to the gallows,” he said, purposely trying to scare the boy straight.

“I returned your pouch. Now leave me alone.” The boy turned and ran back down the street to the butcher’s shop, running inside and slamming the door behind him.

“Connor, was that necessary?” asked Eleanor, raising a brow.

“Well, hopefully it’ll scare him straight so he never steals again.”

“I honestly think there are better ways to help the boy than that.”

Thunder rumbled overhead and the sun was blocked out totally from the sky.

“We need to get going. It’s about to storm.” He reached out and helped her up to the seat of the wagon, liking the way her small waist and curvy hips felt in his hands. Then he climbed up after her and took the reins, driving the cart out of town.

“Since Finnian stole your money, I guess you never got food for your family?” she asked.

“Nay,” he answered. “I guess I’ll have to hunt when I get back.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t allowed. Not for another month.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, isn’t that dangerous?”

“Of course it is. So is starving to death,” he told her, just as his stomach rumbled. He was not able to look at her when he said it.

She reached over the back of the wagon and then held out an apple to him. “Here. Eat this. It’ll help your stomach to stop rumbling.”

“Nay. I’ll take it back to my siblings instead,” he told her.

“Connor, I saved an entire bushel of apples to give to you for your family.”

“You did?” He turned a little to look at her.

“Yes.”

“Nay. I don’t need charity,” he told her, feeling what little noble pride he had left rising to the surface.

“We have more apples than we can possibly use at the abbey, so you will be doing me a favor by taking them.”

He looked over to her, wanting to kiss her right now. “Thank you,” he said, under his breath. “It will mean a lot to my siblings.”

“I also want to give you this.” She slid a package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string onto his lap.