The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4 Page 13

  “Loved the borderlands.”

  Alex sensed his companion didn’t want to discuss the loss, so he did not push him.

  “As dangerous as it had become, it was the only home they’d ever known,” Geoffrey said. “The game played by our kings is a dangerous one, and I fear peace will be hard-fought for years to come,” Geoffrey said, taking a bite of bread.

  “Even so, I am deeply sorry.” Geoffrey’s father had been a casualty of battle, and even though his mother had nearly decapitated one of their clansmen, she should not have been killed in that raid.

  Geoffrey clearly wanted to change the topic. “I know where we look for your mother, but not why.”

  “I’m told my good looks were inherited from her, and I can hardly remember if it’s true.” Though he smiled, it was forced, and Geoffrey was not fooled.

  “Obviously it is not. You’re as ugly as your brothers.”

  If he or his brothers had ever been accused of anything, it was for being unnaturally large and fair featured. So Geoffrey’s retort only made him laugh.

  Geoffrey tried again. “You’re sure the merchant mentioned Elkview specifically?”

  “He said she was in the village on market day and purchased a sampling of his wares. When he mentioned travelling across the border, she bragged of having three sons and a daughter in the Scottish borderlands.”

  “Yet she didn’t give her name.”

  “Nay, and the merchant, new to Elkview, never asked. He said she was richly appointed, a noblewoman. And that her hair was red-brown, which is the same color of—”

  “Catrina’s,” Geoffrey finished.

  Though Geoffrey received the news as skeptically as Toren and Reid had, Alex knew it was her. He couldn’t explain how, but he just knew. He’d seen Clara’s face when they’d spoken of his mother. . . he knew that she pitied him. But there was no reason for it. His mother was dead to him. She meant nothing. He just needed to understand what had happened.

  “And the squire?”

  “Is there anything else you need to know? You failed to also ask when I last relieved myself,” Alex said, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “No need to ask,” the Englishman replied. “I saw you do so myself not long after we stopped.”

  He laughed heartily. “If you’re not careful, reiver, I may not rue the day we were bound by our siblings’ marriage.”

  “I was not a reiver by choice,” Geoffrey pointed out. He was still smiling, but his words were serious.

  “My brothers and I didn’t want Bristol. We felt we had no choice.”

  “The whims of gods and kings. We all do what we must to survive, and I regret nothing.”

  That took him by surprise. “Nothing?”

  Geoffrey took another swig of ale and stood. “None of the choices I’ve made, at least. Sara and I attempt to distance ourselves from it all as much as possible. She offered the majority of Caiser’s southern holdings back to the crown as an appeasement for breaking her betrothal, but we have Kenshire, and it is enough.”

  Alex stood and walked toward their horses. “It seems every man I know has grown soft with love for a woman.” Geoffrey’s emotions were evident when he talked about Lady Sara.

  “Not everyone,” Geoffrey commented, looking pointedly at him.

  Alex wasn’t so sure.

  Alex was gone, and unless she wanted to don her pins and hat and search for a way to disguise her face, Clara was a virtual prisoner in her bedchamber. She woke to a tray of food by her bedside, which she imagined the countess had likely left for her while she slept.

  “May I come in?”

  Without Alex by her side, Clara had awoken not once but twice in the night. When she finally rose from bed, she was embarrassed by the lateness of the hour. It was unlike her.

  “Of course,” she answered the beautiful woman peering through a crack in the door.

  Dressed in a simple, bright yellow gown embroidered with tiny navy blue flowers along the cuffs of the sleeves, Sara exuded confidence and glowed with the joy of impending motherhood.

  Sara’s hand slipped to her stomach. She must have seen Clara’s eyes move there.

  “I fear I can’t stop touching it,” she said. “The babe will come this winter, and ’tis none too soon. I can’t wait to meet her. Or him.”

  Her smile was infectious.

  Sitting up in the bed, Clara gestured to the untouched food. “You’ve been so kind,” she started.

  Sara sat in the chair next to her, the same one Alex had occupied the evening before.

  “Catrina wrote to me,” she said. “Before I knew you were coming.”

  So that explained it.

  “She told me you had gone missing, and that her brother was upset. She also told me that Lady Juliette had discovered your secret and was quite concerned for your welfare.”

  “Which is how you already knew when I arrived.”

  “I like to believe I would have discovered it on my own,” she shrugged. “But, aye, I already knew.”

  “Lady Catrina and Lady Juliette are both very kind.”

  She nodded. “I haven’t yet had the good fortune to meet Toren’s new wife, but Catrina is dear to me. You must be hungry, the hour grows quite late.”

  Clara felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “I am normally an early riser and cannot remember—”

  “Eat,” Sara said, picking up a small knife. “There’s no need for apologies.”

  Clara peered out the window slit, surprised to see how high the sun had risen. She returned to the table and sat across from Sara.

  “This is a beautiful chamber. I’ve yet to see much of Kenshire but—”

  “Let me show it to you!”

  Clara looked at her hat.

  “Nay, not as Alfred. As yourself.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t possibly—”

  “You could. No one will question it.”

  Clara looked up.

  “If not as yourself, then at least as my guest.”

  “I could not possibly—”

  “Clara,” Sara’s tone was soft but firm. “None will know your identity. I myself don’t know why you’re dressed as a lad. But I do know that if I had to don that hideous. . .”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Nay,” Clara interrupted. “It is I who am sorry. Arriving here, forcing you to serve me just so that I may remain in hiding.” She owed Sara for her kindness. “You don’t believe anyone will suspect?”

  Sara’s face brightened. “Geoffrey’s sister will return any moment from an extended stay with my dear friend Gillian. We will celebrate her return, and I’ll say you’ve come home with her. Leave the details to me.”

  Though it sounded divine, Clara was terrified of the prospect of showing herself to anyone, save Alex.

  He was different.

  But clearly Lady Sara would not betray her. How could she? None knew that she was the daughter of the disgraced lord of Barrington, whose only crime had been choosing the losing side in the bloody baron’s war.

  Non ducor, duco.

  Her father followed their family motto in earnest and had been killed for it.

  A thought occurred to her. “Even if I wanted to—”

  Sara bounded up from her chair, moved to the trunk at the foot of the canopied bed, and tossed open the lid.

  “Here,” she smiled, pointing to its contents.

  Clara pushed her chair back and walked toward the trunk. She noticed the elaborate carvings first, the heavy lock that was more ornamental than practical, and finally. . .

  She gasped. “How did you know—”

  “Well, you can’t very well present yourself as Lady Clara in that,” she said.

  Lady Clara. It had been so long since she’d heard the title. “That I can never be again,” she said, wishing it were otherwise.

  Peering at the folded gowns beneath her, Clara could not resist reaching inside to touch t
he fabric of the deep maroon one on top. Velvet.

  “Well, Lady Alfred just won’t do.”

  She pulled her hand away, laughing at the notion.

  “Susanna,” she said.

  According to her father, it had been her mother’s idea to name her after St. Clare of Assisi. Every year on the twelfth of August, she and her father had shared a special meal to honor St. Clare’s feast day. St. Clare had actually died on the eleventh day of August, only that day had already been declared for Saint Susanna.

  Sara watched her, waiting.

  “Lady Susanna,” she said. She ignored Sara’s smile, which looked more sad than triumphant.

  “’Twould be an honor to wear your gown and—”

  “Not mine,” she said, closing the lid. “Emma’s. This is Geoffrey’s sister’s bedchamber, and she is almost exactly the same size as you.”

  Clara couldn’t help but be bolstered by Sara’s building excitement.

  “You’re sure she will not mind? And, of course, I will move now that she is returning.”

  Sara linked arms with her and guided her back to the table.

  “She will be delighted. And will never consent to see you moved. Though I’ll need to tell her, of course, if that is acceptable to you.”

  So many people knowing her secret. But how could she say no?

  “As long as you’re sure—”

  “Sit,” Sara demanded, immediately taking over. “Break your fast, and pardon my departure. I’ve much to prepare.”

  Sara began to mutter to herself on her way out the door. “Will speak to Cook, and just a few musicians. . .”

  Sara closed the door behind her.

  Gowns? Musicians? What had she just gotten herself into?

  16

  Clara stood next to Sara’s lady’s maid, Faye, just around the corner from Kenshire’s great hall. Though the kind woman had been extremely helpful, it worried her that yet another person knew her secret. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d made the right decision.

  “Will ye come down to greet Lady Emma, or are we to stand here instead?” Faye asked.

  “Stand here,” she ventured, though the look on the maid’s face told her that was not the correct answer.

  “Lady Susanna,” she said in the same motherly tone she’d used all afternoon. “You’ve nothin’ to be afraid of. You can trust my lady with your life.”

  That, Clara worried, was exactly what she was doing.

  “Come.” Faye walked ahead of her, and Clara allowed herself to be escorted to the hall dressed in one of Emma’s simple day gowns.

  Even though Clara had been raised a noblewoman and had frequented plenty of such halls, this one was special.

  Spectacularly appointed with a ceiling that seemed to never end and more tapestries than she’d ever seen in one place, Kenshire’s hall had to be the most elegant one in all of England. She spotted Sara with a stunning woman by her side. Could this be Emma?

  “There you are! Are you quite all right, Susanna?”

  The black-haired beauty walked briskly toward her, grabbed both of her hands as if they were long-time acquaintances, and stared at her with a pair of piercing, light blue eyes. Clara didn’t know what to say.

  “’Twas the ride, was it not? I remember the first time I travelled any distance on horseback. I was exhausted as well.”

  So she was to play the weary companion to this raven-haired woman? Clara looked from Lady Emma to the other expectant faces. A small crowd had gathered, and Clara fought back the temptation to run back to her bedchamber.

  Except, it was not hers. It belonged to the woman who was holding her hands and awaiting an answer.

  “I’m feeling much better,” she managed.

  Emma’s broad smile was rivaled only by Sara’s.

  “Wonderful,” the countess said, clasping her hands together. “Faye, can you please advise Cook we will take a late dinner? I’ve much to discuss with these two.”

  The handmaiden nodded, though not as deeply as one would expect. The familiarity between the countess of Kenshire and her servants was another unique aspect of her household. Picking up her gown from both sides, Sara nodded to a corridor. Clara assumed they would speak there, in relative privacy, but Sara kept walking, the twists and turns convincing Clara that she would never be able to make it back on her own. After a time, they climbed a set of stairs and emerged outside. The gate in front of them was locked, but Sara pulled out a key.

  “The sea gate,” she said. Unlocking it, she gestured for them to follow.

  The scene that greeted her was even more resplendent than the castle’s interior.

  The North Sea stretched beyond them. As they made their way through a path in the tall grass surrounding them, Emma caught up to them from behind, her laughter breaking the silence.

  “I could see Peter looking at Susanna. He was definitely suspicious,” she said to Sara, who led the way.

  “Aye, and your poor companions. Thankfully they had not been travelling for long—”

  “Those poor guards. To be sent back to Gillian without even entering the castle.” Emma laughed again, then turned to Clara to explain. “Sara didn’t want them to reveal they’d accompanied just one lady to Kenshire. So she sent them off with a sack of food from Cook and extra coin for their troubles.”

  Clara had to admit the countess was quite clever.

  Once they were a distance from the castle, Sara turned and pointed behind them, away from the water. “The view of the sea is my second favorite,” she said.

  Clara turned and gasped. From here, the entirety of Kenshire was visible. It spread like the wings of a bird in both directions from the main keep. Brockburg had looked impressive perched on its hill and seemingly stretching up into the clouds, but compared to Kenshire, it was nothing more than a single Pele tower.

  “’Tis beautiful,” she said honestly. The sun had not seen fit to show itself that day, and the clouds hovered over the castle, making it appear almost magical.

  “Thank you,” Sara said, accepting the compliment easily.

  “Here.” She pointed to an outcropping of rocks, many of which were flat as if they were made for sitting.

  “I don’t believe we’ve properly met,” Emma said to Clara. “I am Emma Waryn.”

  “And much too impatient to wait for a proper introduction,” Sara finished.

  “And I am Clara. . .” She stopped. It seemed rude not to give the woman who’d just covered for her a full name.

  “And Alfred,” Sara interrupted.

  Clara quietly exhaled.

  “A lad. A visiting noblewoman. You are many things, Lady Clara—”

  “Just Clara.”

  “But a lady nonetheless.”

  Emma and Sara both watched her, and she decided she could at least acknowledge that simple truth. “Aye, once I was a lady.”

  “Once,” Emma repeated. “And while you’re at Kenshire, you’re a lady indeed. In fact, ’tis said we are dear friends already after travelling together!”

  Clara smiled. “Then ’tis good to meet you, dear friend.”

  “Emma,” Sara interrupted. “You mentioned news from Gillian?”

  “Only that she wishes she could have come to visit.”

  Clara could tell Emma wanted to say more, but likely she did not wish to do so in her presence. Suddenly, she felt like an outsider. But of course, she was an outsider. She’d been an outsider ever since she’d left home.

  “So tell me the plan,” Emma said.

  There was a plan?

  “Geoffrey and Alex are expected back tomorrow,” Sara started.

  Clara’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Alex’s name.

  “Since Clara, pardon, Lady Susanna has not had the opportunity to enjoy herself in some time, I’ve planned a small. . . gathering.”

  “Oh dear,” Emma’s facial expression told Clara all she needed to know.

  “’Tis just a welcome home for you both. Some music
ians and a special meal.”

  Emma turned to Clara. “Sara refuses to do anything half-measure,” she said. “Extra musicians and a special meal likely means something akin to a banquet—”

  “Nay,” Sara interrupted. “Nothing of the sort.”

  Clara should be alarmed at such news. . .

  Emma rubbed her hands together.

  “Can you blame me if I missed my sister-in-law? Now that I am unable to travel—”

  “Poor Sara is bound to the most lovely castle in all of Northumbria with a most attentive husband. I do feel so badly for you.”

  The banter between the two ladies reminded Clara of sisters. If she ever had a sister-in law. . . she stopped herself. Such thoughts were useless. She would never be aught but alone.

  “Just remember, it’s Susanna, not Clara.”

  “And if Alex found his mother? You’re sure they will return on the morrow?” Clara asked.

  “Geoffrey said…” Sara paused and tilted her head to the side. “I suppose you’re right. I believe he assumed their search would not be fruitful. I should speak to Cook to make her aware of the possibility they’ll be late.” She stood, and Clara and Emma followed suit.

  “She will not be pleased,” Sara muttered.

  Emma turned back to grimace at Clara. Her face scrunched up in a way that forced a laugh from her, even though her thoughts had drifted to Alex. She wondered if he was okay. Had he found his mother? What would she say to him? Would anything make it better?

  Emma turned toward the castle and rushed to follow Sara. Clara scurried to catch up with them both, her mood not quite as light as theirs. Though it felt wonderful not to don that hideous disguise, as Sara had called it, her concern for Alex and apprehension about the growing number of people who knew of her ruse overshadowed the excitement she’d initially felt.

  She would try to dismiss the sense of apprehension that was settling over her. But as she watched Kenshire loom larger and larger the closer they came to the castle, Clara felt more and more trapped and more than a bit concerned for what the days ahead would bring.

  Alex handed his reins to the groom and followed Geoffrey from the stable into Kenshire’s bustling courtyard. The hour grew late and the castle inhabitants were likely preparing for the evening meal. Servants chased wayward children as knights entered the armory after a day of training. Tomorrow, he would join them. Now, more than ever, he needed a good fight.