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He blinked. “Oh. Never thought of that.”
I snorted. “Are you a good liar, or are you from a different planet?”
He scratched his head. “I think a monastery must count as a different planet.”
There he went again, deflecting my argument. Still, I kept up my guard. Men wanted to possess, to claim. To use and abuse as they saw fit. Of course, there were exceptions, but those were so rare, it was best to put strangers in that ninety-nine-percent category.
“I swear, I’m a monk,” he continued. “Not by choice, maybe…”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re not exactly building a strong argument.”
“You know, you’re very confusing.”
Ha. There went the pot, calling the kettle black.
“The door was locked,” he pointed out, still pursuing his ridiculous maidens need rescuing theory.
I pointed to a big bronze key on a nearby table. “From the inside. But maybe I’ll push a desk against the door from now on, just in case.”
He put up his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“No? Then you’re roaming the halls of the abbey at midnight to…?”
He gestured to a desk. “I’m here for some sketches.”
I frowned. He really was insane. The library was full of priceless treasures, from centuries-old Bibles to dusty artworks. Yet all he wanted were some sketches?
This was definitely the nuttiest lion, tiger, or leopard shifter I’d ever met.
Lion, I decided. First, they were more common in this part of the world, and second, they were the chattiest of the great cats.
“What sketches?”
He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “Ones a fair lady probably oughtn’t see.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh yes. As a fair lady, I must be protected from many things. Bloody wounds. Naked bodies. Sex.”
He looked a little stunned that I’d uttered that three-letter word but quickly recovered.
“Well, if you want to see them…”
I threw up my hands. “No, I do not want to see them. And I’m scandalized that you do.”
He shook his head vehemently. “I need them for a friend!”
“Ha. I bet.”
“Truly!”
The crazy thing was, I found myself wanting to believe him. To trust him. To learn more about him.
“Looking at indecent art isn’t a good hobby for someone who chose the priesthood,” I observed.
“It’s not my hobby. And I’m not here by choice, believe me.” He plucked glumly at his brown robe. “The only part I like is the hood.”
He flipped it up, giving himself a dangerous assassin look. But when he flipped it down again, his broad grin made me picture…
“You’d make a better minstrel than monk,” I observed.
