Bess drew back and clutched at her skirts when he released her. She panted, attempting to gain her breath back, and glared at him. He, despite her glare, he seemed comfortable enough to simply lay back and look at her with a smile on his face. His teeth were white, she noted. He was no peasant, that much was plain. 

Death? His? Her eyes widened. He'd reminded her that yes, all of the embarrassment had had a cause behind it. She'd actually given her leave to treat her that way, in a manner of speaking, for she hadn't asked him to tickle her. But had he not? 

“No,” she stood, her lips pressed firmly together as she brushed out her clothing and went to pick at a leaf which she could see clung to her hair. “No reward, sir. Just that you don' not e'er speak o' this.” 

She took a step away from him, mindful of keeping her eyes on him as she did so. He did not seem dangerous and he had, as promised, done nothing more than what was necessary to keep his head. Still, she was not about to trust anyone so handsome as he with the ease of knowing herself. 

“'Sides,” she scoffed, “who are ya ter promise gold and jewels? You were running fer your life. I'd bet m' hat, if I had one, on yer inability to give more'n your word away. You look like yeh'd be lucky to keep th' shirt on your back.” He hadn't a pack really, nor horse, nor any visible source of more. And he was definitely not from the town as she'd known him. 

She did not know his face, that much was true. Backing away from him as he lazed, looking more forest god than man, despite the lack of shadow with the sun having risen and the world about them turning golden, Bess felt something inside of her yearn for the promise of adventure he seemed to exude. Here was her path away from the drudgery, if only she were willing to take it. Ah! But to take such a chance! She was no lad, like her brothers, who might have an adventure or two and be none the worse for it. No – for her, a misstep could ruin her for forever. She was not so foolish as to rush into any promise of more. She'd have long ago lost her innocence to a bit of gold braid or velvet twist if she were so easily won. 

Instead, she stomped her foot and frowned at him. His grin made her back come up. “Why, you're worse than m' brothers. You've got y'self inta a world o' trouble hain't ya? An' no way out, I think.” Crossing her arms across her chest, she glowered at him once more and made no move to leave. “Well, don' be askin' for more from me, I'll say. I can see trouble writ all 'cross yer face, I can.”