“And the moon is made of cheese,” she said dryly.

“They will, though you doona believe me.”

“And all the other things you’ve stolen?”

“What other things?”

“All that Celtic stuff. The knives and swords and badges and coins and—”

“All of that is mine by right of birth.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“’Tis.”

Chloe snorted.

“’Tis Keltar regalia. I am a Keltar.”

Her gaze turned measuring. “Are you saying the only things you’ve actually stolen are the texts?”

“Borrowed. And aye.”

“I don’t know what to make of you,” she said, shaking her head.

“What does your viscera”—nay, that wasn’t quite the right word—“instinct tell you?”

She looked at him intently, so intently that it was intimate. He wondered if a lass had ever looked at him so piercingly before. As if trying to probe the depths of his soul, down to the blackest heart of it. How would she judge him, this innocent? Would she damn him as he’d damned himself?

After a few moments, she shrugged and the moment was lost.

“What kind of information are you looking for?”

“’Tis a long story, lass,” he evaded, with a mocking smile.

“If you let me go, I really won’t tell anyone. I far prefer to stay alive than get all hung up on moral compunctions. That’s always been a no-brainer for me.”

“No-brainer,” he repeated slowly. “Simple decision?”

Chloe blinked. “Yes.” She peered at him. Between some of the words he used and the way he occasionally paused, as if mulling over a word or phrase, it occurred to her that perhaps English wasn’t his native tongue. He’d understood French. Curious, testing him, she asked him—in Latin—if Gaelic was his first language.

He answered in Greek that it was.

Sheesh, the thief was not only gorgeous, he was multilingual! She was starting to feel treacherously like Rene Russo again. “You’re actually reading these things, aren’t you?” she said wonderingly. “Why?”

“I told you, lass, I’m looking for something.”

“Well, if you tell me what, maybe I can help.” The minute the words left her mouth, she was appalled. “I didn’t mean that,” she retracted the offer hastily. “I did not just offer to aid and abet a criminal.”

“Curious lass, aren’t you? I suspect it oft gets the best of you.” He gestured toward the food. “’Tis cooling. What would you like?”

“Anything you eat first,” she said instantly.

A look of incredulity crossed his face. “Think you I would poison you?” he said indignantly.

When he said it, it sounded like a patently ridiculous and perfectly paranoid thought. “Well,” she said defensively, “how am I supposed to know?”

He gave her a chiding glance. Then, holding her gaze, he took a full bite from each plate.

“It might only kill in large doses,” she countered.

Raising a brow, he took two more bites from each dish.

“My hands are tied. I can’t eat.”

He smiled then, a slow, sexy, shiver-inducing smile. “Och, but you can, lass,” he purred, spearing a tender slice of salmon and raising it to her lips.