It suited his heavily built chest, Honoria mused, admiring the contour of his body. “You travel a lot then?”
“Of course, I am Rom.”
Her eyes jumped to his. “You don’t like answering questions in detail, do you?”
“You are a stranger.”
“A stranger that saved your life,” Honoria pointed out. “Where is the harm in sharing something about your travels? Like how you came to get your tattoo?” She infused a note of challenge in her voice.
His lips twitched, his eyes dragging over her face as he conceded. “In my youth, I met a wanderer called Yamada Hajime, a man who claimed to be a descendant of a famous Japanese adventurer. He told me stories of dragons and their folklore. I was fascinated. The tattoo is his design.”
Honoria’s eyes traveled over the intricate detail on his chest before lifting to meet his gaze. She bit down on her lower lip. “Did it hurt?”
He searched her eyes, studying her as if she were a puzzle to solve. “Like the devil.”
The corner of her mouth curved upward. “Will you not tell me your full name? Where you are from? Who hurt you?”
He peered at her without blinking.
Honoria harrumphed. “Some men truly do try my patience.”
One dark brow jutted upward. “To heal a wound, you must stop poking at it.”
“Is that some sage gypsy advice? I’m not poking at anything.”
“Romany,” he corrected. “And you arepoking into things better leftunpoked.”
She snorted. “Do you not care to bring the bandit who attacked you to justice?”
“And what sort of justice will I get? I am a vagabond, trickster and swindler.”
“You are?” Honoria asked intrigued, lips stretching.
A scowl deepened his brows. “That is what people think when they learn of my heritage.” He gave her a strange look. “Except you. It’s as if you revel in all that is wicked.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I do.”
He stared at her for a moment, and then, to her shock, conceded. “In that case, Ruthven. My last name is Ruthven.”
Her heart thumped. Hard. “Lash Ruthven. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Again, he said nothing, and this time Honoria let it go, biting down on her lip to keep from smiling. She would have to be patient if she wished to earn this Gypsy’s—no, Romany’s—trust. Luckily, Honoria was nothing if not forbearing, and she took small measure of comfort that Lash recognized her as different.
“You must be famished,” she murmured, stepping out from behind her canvas. “You’ve eaten nothing but broth, perhaps we can prepare something more substantial for today. If you feel up to it, you can even join us for dinner.”
“I think it best if I do not.”
Disappointment settled in her breast. He said nothing else, but Honoria noticed the tension in his jaw. It must be a Romany thing, then. They kept to themselves and lived in wagons if she was not mistaken. Lash might not have dined at a table before, and for some reason, that saddened her.
“If I can join you for dinner,” he said, interpreting her disenchantment. “I can leave.”
Honoria shook her head. “Walking a few steps and traveling are different things, and you are not healed enough to travel.”
“Says the novice.”
Honoria made a face.
His eyes blazed like dark crystals. A new air of toughness surrounded him, vital masculinity she hadn’t noticed when he’d been sleeping.Thiswas a man that might help her leave MacCallan castle. This was aman, full stop.
