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voice breaking midway through the sentence.
    “I doona’ believe I’ve ever met anyone like you.”
    “Please?”
    She was shuddering with holding the weeping in, and going nearly sleepless for two days and a night was taking its toll. Aside from that, she usually wasn’t the type to cry. She was the one everyone counted on to be stoic, passionless, and strong.
    “Is there a blanket or some such, to cover me?”
    “Uh . . .” she looked up, wondering at the stupidity behind his having to ask such a question. She hadn’t considered what she’d put on him once he was without his covering of feathers and tar. She started untying her apron. “I’ve got an apron,” she answered.
    “It’s a verra good thing I’m secure in my manhood,” he replied. “I would na’ survive being naked afore a strange lass and then having to wear her apron. My mother would na’ be able to show her face in society if she knew.”
    “You’ve a mother?” Constant sniffed the last of the tears away and tucked her apron about him. And for some reason, it helped.
    “Contrary to appearances . . . I was na’ hatched,” he replied dryly.
    She snorted in amusement. It cleared her nose out and then she had to wipe it against her sleeve.
    “I promise you, I’ll make this up to you.”
    “You’ll do that when you walk out of my life.”
    “I only hope that’s possible, love,” he answered.
    She blushed and reached for the lard. “I’ve been doing some thinking, and you shouldn’t be calling me such endearments,” she replied.
    “Probably na’. But you should na’ be with a near-naked man in your hayloft, either. Tell me something we should be doing.”

Chapter Four
    Constant rocked back on her heels and considered him. She’d gotten through peeling his backside. It couldn’t get worse. And she was stalling. She got a gob of lard and started spreading it down the back of one thigh. She stopped when her hand rubbed against a large strip of rope midway to his knee.
    “There’s a binding on you.”
    “You doona’ say? How odd,” he answered flippantly.
    “They tied you?”
    He ignored her question. “You’ve quite the hand in the kitchen, Connie, love. Your bread is most fragrant. Thick. Soft. Better than my sire’s chef. I wonder if the man will survive the insult once I inform him.”
    “My name isn’t Connie.”
    “Well, that’s what I’m going to call you. It’s more informal.”
    “Constant. My name is Constant.”
    “I think I ken why they named you such. You bring constant joy into their lives”—he paused for a moment, as if for theatrical effect—“obviously.”
    “You would be wrong.”
    “So, why did they name you Constant?”
    “Why did they tie you?”
    “Because I’m verra large, verra strong, and I’m a devil when attacked. Would na’ you have tied me?”
    “Why were they so vicious?” He must have had his mouth full, because he didn’t say anything while she wiped at the feather-grease mixture on his upper thigh. “And what did you really do?” she continued, working at the rope with her knife.
    “You probably should na’ cut through that . . . just yet,” he replied.
    “Why not?”
    “Offhand, I’d say it’s doing a fair job of holding my leg in one place and keeping it straight. Rather like a splint.”
    Constant dropped the knife. Her eyes flew wide and she looked up at him. He’d swiveled his neck to look at her and more tar had fallen off his face. He had fairly full lips and a perfectly defined, square jaw. He had a small cleft in his chin, too. Her mind went absolutely blank.
    “What?” he asked.
    She shook her head. She couldn’t think of one intelligible thing to say.
    “Well, if you’re na’ going to speak with me anymore, this is going to be a hellishly long night.”
    Constant cleared her throat. It actually helped. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t speak to you.”
    “Good. Then, go on with your story. Tell me why they named you Constant.”
    “I already