"You'll curb that temper with me, my lad, or I'll curb it for you, understand? I've had some considerable experience with hotheaded bantlings." He paused, his eyes glinting at her. Then he said abruptly, "You know aught about sheep?"

"What's to know about sheep?" Her response was surly, but she remained seated.

"Answer the question!"

Caitlyn's eyes narrowed. "I love the little beggars like they was kin." It was a lie, and a brazen one at that. The closest shed ever been to a sheep was to sleep in a barn with one once. But his arrogance deserved a lie.

"Think you can cut peat and muck out a stall?"

"Depends on why it needs doing."

He chose to ignore her insolence. "I've got a sheep farm in County Meath. I can use another lad about the place, if he's willing to work hard and behave himself. Of course, I was picturing someone a little meatier, stronger…"

"I'm strong as an ox, I am!"

"Three hot meals a day, a bed in the barn, lots of fresh air, and hard work is what I'm offering. Unless I'm mistaken, it's more than you have here."

"You offerin' me a job? Why? I just prigged your purse-almost." Honesty forced her to add that last, while suspicion shone out of her eyes as she looked at him. His expression was unreadable.

"Because I used to know a lad who was a lot like you. A hotheaded, ready-for-anything gamecock. I had a fondness for him."

The look he gave her seemed honest enough. But she had seen a lot of honest looks in her time, and most of them came from the biggest liars around.

"I'm no' interested."

He shrugged, standing up. "Suit yourself. I'll be at the Brazen Head in Lower Bridge Street. I'm leaving at first light tomorrow. If you want honest employment and a safe berth, be there. If not, good luck to you."