Hastily she looked around. The tents were still half a mile off, and there was not a living soul closer. If there had been, they could not have seen her blushes. Realizing she was grinning idiotically behind the shawl, she wiped it away. Light, she had to keep a rein on herself. Forget the feel of Gawyn’s strong arms and remember why they had had so much time at The Long Man.

Threading through the crowd, she peered about, looking for Gawyn and trying with some difficulty to pretend casualness; she did not want him to think her eager, after all. Suddenly a man leaned toward her, whispering fiercely. “Follow me to The Long Man.”

She jumped; she could not help herself. It took her a moment to recognize Gawyn. He wore a plain brown coat, and a thin dustcloak hung down his back, the hood up and nearly hiding his face. He was not the only one cloaked—any but Aiel who went beyond the city walls wore one—but not many had their hoods raised in that oven heat.

She caught his sleeve firmly as he tried to slide away ahead of her. “What makes you think I’ll just go off to an inn with you, Gawyn Trakand?” she demanded, eyes narrowing. She did keep her voice down, though; no need to attract eyes to an argument. “We were going to walk. You are taking entirely too much for granted if you think for a moment—”

Grimacing, he whispered at her hurriedly. “The women I came with are looking for someone. Someone like you. They say little in front of me, but I’ve caught a word here and there. Now follow me.” Without a backward glance he strode off down the street, leaving her to follow with a lurching stomach.