The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4 Read online

  “The earl should consider himself lucky to be dead, for it sounds as if you would do the job yourself if given half a chance.”

  Clara sat up and looked at Alex’s poor shirt, which she’d just soaked with her tears.

  “My father came to believe in him, but to me, he and his followers were responsible for the loss of my father. So now you know.”

  “And when Barrington's armorer decided you were no longer safe as a woman, Alfred was born,” he said. “And you believe, so many years later, that if your identity were discovered—”

  “I would be imprisoned. Or killed.”

  Alex took both of her hands in his. “But Clara, the Dictum of Kenilworth—”

  “Protects those who were not among the earl’s most fervent supporters.”

  “And your father was one of those men?”

  She nodded her head. “He gave everything to a cause he believed in. And he paid the ultimate price.”

  Alex sighed. “I don’t know your English politics well enough—”

  “But I do.” She needed him to understand.

  “If you were to live in Scotland—”

  “You know the borderlands are unique and nearly indistinguishable. Perhaps farther north. . .”

  Panic welled in her.

  “Alex, you must never tell anyone. My father was considered a traitor. If his daughter were found alive—”

  “I will not—” his voice held the conviction she needed to hear, “—tell anyone without your permission. Ever.”

  “And I will not give it. Ever.”

  He leaned toward her then and kissed her, gently this time. His lips, so soft and warm, were a welcome respite from having to relive the worst moment of her life.

  But he did not press her. Instead, he pulled away and stood.

  “Alex, what are you doing?”

  “Undressing,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Indeed, he took off his boots and trewes, everything but his shirt, before she could form a single coherent thought.

  “Stand up, let me help you.”

  “Alex, I—” She stood, confused.

  He untied the laces at the back of her gown quickly, efficiently. Otherwise, he didn’t move to touch her. When she was free of the heavy gown, she stepped out of it, and he pointed to her leather shoes. She took them off, leaving her completely bare but for the silken chemise Emma had lent her.

  But he wasn’t even looking at her. Alex had already climbed into the bed.

  “What are you—”

  “I will not touch you tonight. Not in that way.”

  “Then why—”

  “Your nightmares,” he said simply, and finally Clara understood. He was going to sleep here to save her from the dreams.

  “Alex, I don’t believe this is quite proper.”

  He laughed, a deep, sexy sound that made her wish he had not promised he wouldn’t touch her.

  “I believe you’re right,” he said, mimicking her more proper tone. “I will be gone before anyone wakes.”

  “But someone will see you!”

  “Clara. . .”

  He was asking that she trust him. And she did. Clara moved to the other side of the bed and lay next to him.

  Alex pulled her close, the feel of his hard, muscular chest under her cheek more familiar than it should be.

  He kissed the top of her head, and Clara smiled against him. She’d told him everything, and he’d not recoiled in horror. He had not run from the chamber to tell everyone or looked at her as if she were a lunatic. Or a traitor.

  She allowed the temporary contentment to flow through her as she listened to the crackle of the fire intermingled with the sound of Alex’s steady heartbeat. And drifted off to a blessedly peaceful sleep.

  By all that was holy, Alex would not get a moment’s sleep this night. No matter how hard he tried, he could not calm his body—as if he were some randy lad and not a disciplined man perfectly capable of sleeping with a desirable woman draped across him.

  Though she was not just any desirable woman. . . that was the problem. She was Clara. Or rather, Lady Clara, daughter of a baron who’d consorted with the man who had almost defeated and bested the English king. If not for the circumstances at Eversham, which had put the earl in such a precarious position, many believed he would have eventually gained enough support to succeed.

  Instead, Simon de Montfort’s body had been mutilated and scattered across England. But did Clara still have a reason to be afraid? Though she would likely never reclaim what should have been her inheritance, Alex wasn’t convinced the king would be looking for every child, sibling, or relative of de Montfort’s supporters. But he could easily understand the reason for her continued deception.

  English bastards.

  If only she’d gotten a good look at the man who’d murdered her father in front of her. Alex would have gladly hunted the man to the ends of this godforsaken country and slit his throat.

  Clara, already sleeping, turned from him, but he didn’t have time to mourn the loss of his sweet Englishwoman. From the opposite direction, Clara sought the warmth of his body from behind. She wiggled as close to his side as possible, her bottom pressing up against him.

  He groaned.

  “Alex,” she mumbled, not as deeply asleep as he had assumed.

  “Mmm,” he murmured.

  “Are you okay?” She yawned, and he held back his answer. He’d nearly done something extremely foolish that night at the inn, when he’d instructed her on the ‘pains’ he was currently experiencing. And if he answered that question, he’d place them in the same compromising position.

  As if sharing a bed with an unmarried maid, the one he desired above all others, were not compromising enough. But after hearing the rest of her story, he’d decided this was the one thing he could do for her, the one way he could show his unflinching support. If his presence could at least save her from her nightmares and give her a full night’s rest, then by God, he would sleep here every night.

  “Alex?”

  She turned, moving the feather-stuffed pillow under her head, and faced him. He could see her from the corner of his eye. And she was decidedly awake.

  “Go to sleep, Clara.” If his voice was harsh, it was with good reason.

  “I’m not tired.”

  The way she said it. . .

  He could not look at her.

  “You were sleeping just moments ago.” He turned his back to her and prayed she would not pursue this.

  “You said you desired me.”

  “Please, Clara, don’t.”

  “And that you’d not take the virginity of a maid. A woman whose name you did not know.”

  His cock responded to the implication of her words. But he did not turn to face her. If he did, he would be lost.

  “Now you know my name.”

  He would not do this. Could not do it. He needed to be blunt. Without turning, he finally responded. “You said it should not matter.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I was angry you had rejected me.”

  “Rejected?”

  He did turn then, and Lord, he wished he had not. She’d taken out the braids. When had she done that? Her hair splayed across the white pillow, the fire casting a soft glow from behind. She looked like an angel. One he refused to allow to fall from grace.

  “I did not, would not, reject you, Clara. Not then, not ever. But I will also not allow myself the pleasure of a woman who doesn’t belong to me.”

  “I am not an ox, Alex. I belong to no one.”

  He wasn’t doing a good job of explaining. “If I took you in my arms, pulled you toward me, took your mouth, your body, your maidenhood. What then? Would we marry? Return to Brockburg to live with Toren and Juliette?”

  “I will never be able to marry.” She said it with such bleak conviction, he believed her.

  “You don’t know that,” he said.

  “Did you not hear what I told
you earlier? I am the daughter of a traitor, hunted down by a man who will soon be the King of England. I’ve already lost my father and Gilbert. Do you think I have any desire to see another man killed protecting me?”

  Clara still didn’t move. Though her words were impassioned, her expression remained neutral. She truly believed that anyone who tried to protect her was in mortal danger.

  “Do you believe either of those men would not give their lives twice over to save you again? That I would not do the same? Would it be necessary to do so living in Scotland?

  This time, her expression did change. “What are you saying?” she whispered.

  “I’m saying, Clara of Barrington, that some things are more important to a man than his life.”

  And damn if he didn’t mean it.

  He couldn’t stay here. He had thought he could protect her and act honorably, but he could not. If he stayed a moment longer, Alex would pull her against him and bury himself so deeply inside her neither of them would ever question his intentions again.

  Without another word, he turned from her, got out of the bed, and dressed. He forced himself not to look back at her as he made his way to the door. His hand hesitated for just a moment, but good sense prevailed.

  Alex walked out as quietly as he had entered.

  19

  “I saw the way you and Alex Kerr looked at each other last eve. So no, I don’t believe you,” Emma said to Clara, who followed her down the sea path to the water’s edge.

  When Alex had not made an appearance in the hall to break his fast, she’d been both relieved and annoyed. The elation she’d felt the evening before had completely faded.

  Lady Susanna was a lie. She could never safely be herself, and Alex could never be hers.

  “There is nothing between us,” she said for the tenth time that morning. But when Emma spun around and caught her smiling—she couldn’t help but react to the absurdity of her own comment—Clara was caught.

  “So there may be something, but—”

  “May be, might be, is,” Emma replied.

  After breaking their fast, Emma had taken Clara around Kenshire. They’d missed the midday meal because of it, but Emma hadn’t seemed concerned. They’d visited the kitchen upon their return, and Clara had discovered why. Cook, a plump, stern-looking woman, had given Emma a basket of bread and cheese with a mild admonishment. “Miss another meal, mi’lady, and don’t expect your pears at dinner.”

  Though Cook was outspoken for a servant, Clara could see she enjoyed a close relationship with Lady Emma. The relationship between the family and their servants reminded her very much of Barrington. Like Gilbert, many of their servants and retainers had been more like family to them. It had made losing her home that much harder.

  They sat on the same rocks as before. It was nice to rest for a moment.

  Emma opened the basket and tore off a piece of bread, handing it to her with a chunk of cheese. They ate in companionable silence, and Clara tried to enjoy the unusually sunny day. It was easy to understand why this was Sara’s favorite spot in all of Kenshire.

  “Tell me,” Emma said, packing up the remainder of their light repast.

  Both dressed simply in front-laced sideless surcoats, hers borrowed, of course. The white of their under tunics peeked out, making them appear almost twins in dress although they were very different in other ways. Clara found herself wishing she could remain friends with both Emma and Lady Sara. If only there was a way she could stop hiding. . .

  “There’s naught to tell,” she lied.

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Have you been intimate with him?”

  Clara gasped.

  “I leave protocol to other ladies. Well, not Sara. And definitely not my new sister-in-law. That woman curses as badly, nay, worse, than any man. Actually—”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “I do suppose we hardly know each other. But—”

  “We have,” she admitted.

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Have you—”

  “Nay!”

  After Alex’s hasty departure last night, she’d been left much too angry to sleep. How could he simply walk away without a word in parting? Later, after she’d calmed down a bit, confusion had replaced anger. He desired her. Wanted to protect her. Said that he’d give his own life to keep her safe, and she believed him.

  And yet he still wouldn’t make love to her.

  Strangely, her assertion that she would never marry had seemed to upset him. But he had always seemed the sort of man to evade marriage—didn’t he feel the same way? Or had he changed his mind? It mattered not. Even if he would sacrifice himself for her, she could not allow it—but she still did not want to die an old maid, unfamiliar with the ways of love.

  “You’re thinking of it.”

  “I’ve thought of little else,” she admitted.

  “I don’t understand,” Emma said. “What is preventing it? He clearly desires you.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Actually, it’s quite simple.” The two women sprang to their feet upon hearing the deep voice.

  Alex! How long had he been standing there?

  “Alex, what are you—”

  Emma stood, grabbed Cook’s basket, and started to walk away.

  “Nay, Lady Emma, you don’t have to leave,” Clara insisted.

  Emma scrunched her lips to the side as if in thought. “Mayhap you’re right. I could stay. In fact, this should be interesting.”

  She promptly sat back down.

  Alex, who had clearly come directly from training, his tunic tinged with dirt and even a smattering of blood, turned to her.

  “While I would enjoy nothing more than to provide you with an afternoon of entertainment, I do believe your initial instincts were correct, Lady Emma. Mayhap you should leave.”

  Her new friend stood once again and marched right up to Alex. She stood so close Clara thought for a moment she might hit him.

  “And you are sorely mistaken if you think to find another woman such as this one.”

  With that, Emma Waryn winked at her and promptly walked back to the castle.

  Clara stared after her for a moment, unsure of how to feel. Then she met Alex’s eyes, and both of them burst into spontaneous laughter.

  “She thinks highly of me,” Alex said, teasing.

  “I tend to agree with her,” Clara said.

  As Alex made his way toward her, Clara shifted on the flat rock.

  “Even after last eve?” he asked.

  He reached out a hand.

  She took it.

  “Despite my better judgment, aye.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand when she stood. Instead, he wound his fingers through hers. They fit nicely between her own, and the contact sent a wave of warmth through her.

  Alex led her away from the castle and toward the shore.

  “Wait,” he said, coming to a sudden stop. He removed his leather boots and looked at her, nodding. She took the hint and removed her own as well. They tossed them aside, and he took her hand again as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Though the sun had not yet set, it would do so before long. “This is my favorite time of day,” she said.

  “Why?”

  They continued walking, the sand now wet beneath their feet as they moved closer and closer to the water’s edge.

  “My father worried about everything. Reivers, enemies, even allies. The more fearful and suspicious he became, the less inclined he was to allow me to accompany him on his travels. To compensate, he built an elaborate bench and even fashioned a pile of rocks that funneled water from a nearby stream through the garden. I could sit there, just before dusk, and listen to the sound of flowing water for hours.”

  Hand in hand, they stood listening to the gentle lapping of the waves as they came ashore.

  “Did you fall back asleep last eve?”

  She almost lied, knowing the truth would upset him, but decided against it.

&n
bsp; “Nay.”

  “I’m sorry, Clara. I was a fool to promise to stay and then break that promise by leaving.”

  “You are a fool,” she said, “but for other reasons.”

  He turned her toward him. “That may be so,” he said. “But I only spoke the truth.”

  She wasn’t sure they were talking about the same thing.

  “I don’t know what you want, Clara.”

  His laughing eyes were strangely dark, uncharacteristically serious.

  “You,” she said. “I want you, Alex.”

  The look he gave her was clear. This was why he’d come.

  He was finally going to give her what she asked for.

  She could sense the change in his mood. Her mouth, moist and ready for him, opened just slightly. He leaned toward her, his mouth moving over hers in a kiss meant to claim. Their tongues dueled in the way he’d taught her, and the groan she heard was her own.

  They pressed together so tightly she could feel the evidence of his need against her. Tearing himself away, he discarded his tunic, leaving her with a view even more spectacular than the one to her right. She wanted to touch every inch of him, and she did. Clara caressed and grasped him, his muscles tensing under her fingers, as he moved his mouth from her lips to her neck. She leaned her head back to give him better access, and he took it.

  His other hand moved to her bodice. She hadn’t noticed him untying the laces when his bare hand moved over her breast. He squeezed gently, in rhythm with his mouth, and she unabashedly pressed herself toward him, the feeling between her legs building.

  “Just the surcoat,” he muttered. She didn’t know what he meant.

  He abruptly changed course and, before she understood his intent, Alex pushed both fabrics aside to allow for better access. He cupped her breast in his hand and lowered his mouth to it.

  “Alex!”

  His tongue circled her nipple, hard beneath his deliberate ministrations. He teased and tortured her until she called his name again. He took her nipple into his mouth and nipped it, holding it lightly between his teeth. She sucked in a breath and forgot to let it back out.

  “I. . .” She didn’t know how to describe what she was feeling.

  He lifted his mouth and looked directly at her, his eyes hungry.