Alain blinked owlishly. He wasn't entirely clueless, but he hadn't really been paying attention to the Touch - which felt strained and aching, like a muscle that's been overused - and that forwardness took him by surprise. Especially aimed towards him. Cuthbert or Roland, sure. But him?

He cleared his throat, going beet-red. "Ah. Um." And there went the ease he'd managed to find somewhere inside himself. So far as he could see, there was no way to extricate himself without lying or hurting her, and neither was something he wanted to do. At last he settled, rather stammeringly, for saying "...Coin I can give, promises I can't. Cry pardon, sai. I guess we'll make our way alone."