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

  The words she’d thought of earlier caught in her throat. Had she really been about to say ‘I love you?’ It was true, but it wouldn’t matter in the end. Clara would not risk another man she loved. She simply would not.

  But those thoughts were for the morrow.

  “Well,” she said instead. “That was quite nice.”

  “Nice?” He pulled up enough to look at her. “Hell, woman. It wasn’t anything of the sort.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  He moved so quickly Clara didn’t have time to react. Somehow, he was now underneath her but still inside her.

  “I’ll hurt you,” she said, practically lying atop him.

  He grasped both sides of her head, pulled her toward him, and kissed her so thoroughly that Clara completely forgot about her position. In fact, when she became aware of it, she could feel his manhood stirring inside her.

  Surely that wasn’t possible. . .

  Then Clara became aware of several things at once—his legs intertwined with hers, her core pressed against him, his hands splayed across her buttocks. Alex squeezed, ever so gently.

  “Yes,” she said, knowing what he was asking.

  This time, there was no pain. He moved just slightly, and she immediately understood that she needed to move with him. She met his movements and matched them with her own.

  His wicked grin made her realize that she was in control this time—he’d known it all along and had been waiting for her to figure it out.

  And she did, quickly.

  “Clara. . .”

  Her name on his lips was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. She moved with him until the pressure became too much to bear.

  “I need. . .”

  He circled his hips beneath her, somehow understanding, and once again Clara lost herself to the pleasures that he awoke in her. He called her name again, thrusting into her as she shook and squeezed and shuddered.

  She wanted to tease, ‘Not too loud,’ as he’d done before, but she couldn’t talk. She couldn’t breathe. She allowed her whole body to go limp atop him. It was as if she were frozen in place.

  This time when he broke contact, he rolled them both onto their sides.

  “You spin me around like I’m a kitten,” she said.

  “A kitten?” He laughed. “Nay, a full-grown cat, ready to pounce. No wee kitten here,” he said, kissing her nose.

  The intimate gesture made her smile.

  “Nice?” he asked.

  “Perhaps I could have used another word,” she admitted. “How many times can—”

  “As many as you’d like.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye.” His voice had suddenly grown serious. “But every time we make love, the chance you’re carrying my babe grows.”

  She would have been excited by the prospect, even unmarried, if she could offer a babe any kind of normal life.

  But she could not.

  “You’ve done that before?’

  He didn’t flinch, but instead pulled her closer to him. Wrapped in his arms, Clara could imagine all would be well. That she wouldn’t ever have to say goodbye to him. She’d never felt so safe, or sated, in her life.

  “Aye.”

  “And you have no babes?”

  He sighed. “I do not. There’s a way to avoid it.”

  She waited.

  “I could have, should have, pulled myself from you at the end to prevent it.”

  “Pulled yourself?” Though she knew how a woman became pregnant, she’d never thought about how to avoid it.

  “Aye.”

  He watched her as she thought about what he was saying. “Why did you not do so?”

  “That’s not so easily answered, lass.”

  Actually, she thought it might be, but didn’t dare say so aloud.

  “Have you ever been with a vir. . .” She stopped. She really didn’t want to know.

  “No, I have not. You are the first.”

  But he didn’t seem happy to admit it.

  “Which is why, of course, we will marry.”

  It took her a moment to understand his words.

  “Marry?”

  That was how he would propose marriage? Nay, they would not marry, but the look on his face told her that he was earnest.

  “Alex, we will not be getting married.”

  “Clara—” he mocked her tone, “—we will.”

  And the stubborn Scotsman actually believed his own words. As if she would ever put him in such danger.

  Another, more alarming thought occurred to her.

  “The bed? Alex. . .” She pushed away from him and looked down but could see nothing. She pushed at him until he moved, and sure enough, drops of blood stared back at her.

  He looked amused.

  “’Tis not funny. I didn’t think. . .”

  “The sheet can be replaced.” Alex pointed to the silken coverlet that he’d torn off the bed earlier. “That, not so easily.”

  “You thought of that before. ”

  He reached for her and ran his finger gently down her cheek. “I thought of everything.”

  “Including—”

  “Aye, including the fact that you could become pregnant.”

  She stared into the face of the man she loved.

  “I don’t regret it,” she said.

  He smiled and pulled her toward him. Nestling her head in the comfortable and familiar crook of his arm, Clara closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could sleep pressed against him this way, her hand draped on the ridges of his stomach. Those ridges were the last thing she remembered. When she woke, it was morning, and he was gone.

  The first thing she noticed, of course, was his absence. The second was a folded sheet at the foot of the bed. How the devil had he managed that? Besides which, the fire still raged when it should have died out during the night. He’d stoked it without her noticing, and he’d clearly also seen to the candles at some point in the night, for they were not much shorter than they’d been the evening before.

  He truly had thought of everything.

  Clara sprang from the bed, the cool air reminding her of her state of undress. Locating and tossing the shift over her head, she tore the pillows and sheet from the bed and began to redress it with the fresh sheet Alex had left behind. She really had missed sleeping on a feather mattress. At Brockburg, the large linen bag stuffed with wool was an improvement on the pallets she’d often found herself on moving from tournament to tournament, but it was nothing compared with this bed. She shuddered at the thought of sleeping on the ground once again.

  The bed freshly made, Clara only had to determine where to hide the offending sheet. Moments after she shoved it under the bed, a knock landed at the door, followed by a familiar voice.

  “Clara?”

  It was Emma’s voice. She struggled to stand, but her friend opened the door before she could manage it.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  She stood and, seeing her friend fully dressed, realized it was much later than she’d thought. “When Faye said you were still asleep, I thought I’d—”

  Emma closed the door behind her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Clara’s plan completely fell apart. Instead of hiding the truth, she told Emma everything. Including her true feelings for Alex.

  If Emma was shocked, she didn’t show it. Instead, she sprang into action.

  “Find something to wear,” she ordered.

  Clara moved to the trunk to do just that.

  Emma reached under the bed and pulled out the sheet. She calmly walked to the fire and tossed the evidence into its flames. Why had she not thought of that?

  “I’m so sorry, Emma. I—”

  “Sorry? For being with the man you love? For allowing yourself to feel something other than pain and sorrow?”

  Emma pulled out a fresh shift and simple pale blue gown. The color matched her mood. What had seemed so exciting and romantic the night before was now wrought
with complications.

  Once dressed, she moved to put her boy’s clothes back into the trunk, their freshly washed state courtesy of Faye, when Emma held out her hands.

  “Give them to me.”

  Clara was poised to do just that when she realized what the other girl intended. She was going to toss them into the fire.

  “No, you can’t!”

  “Clara, you don’t need them. Surely you realize you’ll never be Alfred again?”

  Emma must have sensed the panic that welled up inside her. She could not get rid of her disguise. Susanna was temporary. Alfred was her future.

  “Of course I will,” she said. “I will not be marrying Alex.”

  She’d told Emma everything except the fact that she had refused his offer.

  “Clara, what are you saying? You love him. ’Tis obvious. And ’tis just as obvious he feels the same way.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Emma ignored her.

  “Did you tell him of your decision?”

  “I did. Although,” she admitted, “I don’t think he believed me.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Well of course he didn’t. What possible reason could you have—”

  “I will not be responsible for his death.”

  Her words must have penetrated because Emma stopped talking.

  “Everyone I love has died trying to protect me. I will not allow Alex to do the same.”

  “Clara, you don’t know what will happen if—”

  “I will not take that chance.” She tried to be firm without hurting her new friend. “Please understand. After my father died, I never expected to have my own life again. I didn’t allow myself to think about a future. This—” she waved to the bed, “—felt right. I love him, and perhaps selfishly, I wanted to know what it would be like.”

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t agree with you, Clara, but I would never presume to tell you how to live your life. But please, please just think on it a bit more. At least until you leave Kenshire. I could tell Sara and Geoffrey, perhaps—”

  “No.” Clara softened her tone. “I should not have told you. Promise me, Emma. Promise you will never tell anyone.”

  Emma hesitated.

  “Please?”

  The look on her face indicated she didn’t like it. And Clara was sorry for having involved her. But it felt good to have an ally. A friend.

  “I will not tell, but—”

  Clara dropped the clothes and hugged her.

  Emma hugged her back, and at that moment, Clara vowed to do anything this woman asked of her.

  “But,” Emma pushed her back slightly, “only if you promise to consider, just consider, his proposal. Think about why you fell in love with him. Trust that his words to you are true.”

  She agreed.

  “Good,” Emma said, turning to leave. “Let’s eat.”

  Clara had never seen anyone who loved mealtimes so much. And yet she stayed so slim.

  “Wait,” she said, holding back.

  Emma looked back, curious.

  “Alex,” she said simply.

  Would she be embarrassed to see him? What would she say?

  “Is gone,” Emma replied.

  “Gone?”

  “To speak to his mother.” She turned once again to leave the bedchamber, but Clara didn’t follow.

  “But. . . I thought he didn’t find her?”

  Once again, Emma turned. This time she looked confused.

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Nay. Tell me what?”

  “A man was here yesterday, some lord of something. He knows Alex’s mother and heard he and Geoffrey had been to Elkview looking for her. Apparently, the merchant was correct and she was there the whole time.”

  He found his mother? And didn’t tell her?

  “She is actually the lady of Elkview. Apparently she remarried, though her husband is now dead. How can you not know this already?”

  “We were, uh, slightly busy. I supposed he never had the chance to mention it.”

  “Never had the chance? How busy could you possibly have—”

  Emma stopped, her eyes widening even more. “You must have had quite an evening.”

  Clara had never been more mortified in her life. Even though there was no judgment in her voice, both of them knew giving your maidenhead to a man who was not your husband was wrong. It was a sin and simply wrong. And she’d done it in the bed of the woman who’d befriended her. Somehow, she had not felt ashamed until now.

  “Oh Clara, please don’t misunderstand me.”

  A single tear fell down her cheek as her chest constricted. Emma rushed to her side and took both of her hands.

  “Listen to me.”

  It was the first time she’d heard her friend speak so sternly.

  “You will not feel sorry for what happened here last eve. I meant it when I said you’ve been through too much sorrow to not enjoy some modicum of joy now.”

  She spoke as if from experience.

  “I will take back my vow unless you stop feeling badly, immediately.”

  How could she argue with such a demand?

  “Done.” She made the vow, but it was, of course, not so easily accomplished.

  Emma continued talking as they walked. “The most extraordinary women I know found themselves in similar positions. I don’t think poorly of them and will not allow you to judge yourself harshly either.”

  She meant Catrina and Bryce, of course.

  But she’d said. . . “Women?”

  “My brothers, well, not Neill, have both gotten themselves into, shall we say, delicate situations before they were wed. And yet they continue to lecture me as if I should be the one Waryn to do things the conventional way.”

  “Sara and Geoffrey. . .”

  Emma’s grin confirmed it.

  “You see? So stop worrying about last eve and start worrying about tonight instead.”

  “What’s happening tonight?”

  Emma turned to leave once again, calling over her shoulder, “I don’t have much experience in this area, but I hear ’tis something you, and likely he, may want to repeat.”

  22

  Alex and Geoffrey hardly spoke on the way to Elkview. The castle loomed before them, consisting of a small keep with just a few outbuildings and a village less than half the size of Brockburg. Their uneventful ride had been punctuated with conversation, but Geoffrey must have sensed his mood, for he’d eventually stopped trying to talk to him.

  They’d agreed to meet at sunrise, though Alex had been ready well before the sun made its first appearance. Finding clean sheets without raising suspicion had been more of a task than he’d anticipated. Trying not to wake Clara, Alex had stoked the fire and relit the candles. But before he could leave the room, she made a noise. Wanting to be sure she wasn’t having a nightmare, he returned to the bed.

  Standing beside it in the darkness, he watched Clara sleep. Her lips slightly parted, Alex could imagine she was dreaming of him. He’d certainly dreamed of her—then awakened to feel her body pressed against his own. He nearly reached for her, but it had been her first time, and she would likely be sore.

  He was the first, and only, man she’d been with.

  And he would be the only one.

  Alex was forced to concede he’d been wrong about taking a wife, and just as wrong about blaming English women for what his mother had done. He would endure his brothers’ jests and admit his folly. But he was still determined not to claim Dunmure. How could they hope to make a future in a place steeped in the past?

  He wasn’t concerned that she still had reservations about marrying him. Clara could be stubborn, but no more so than he. She held back only out of fear, but he would never allow anything to happen to her.

  “Are you ready, Kerr?”

  Just as before, they gained entrance easily. None would deny Sir Geoffrey Waryn, the new Earl of Kenshire, and Alex was glad for the man’s company.

  They dismount
ed and led their mounts to the stables. Alex thought of how he’d greet his mother, discarded the idea, and considered a new one.

  “They’ll never allow us entry with that scowl,” Geoffrey quipped. “Summon that legendary wit of yours or we’ll be riding back to Kenshire without an audience.”

  “Wit, my arse. I could no sooner smile at that woman than willingly chop off my right arm.”

  After handing their reins to a groom, they made their way to the front entrance of the keep.

  “You could at least not look as if you plan to kill someone at any moment.”

  Alex’s answering expression was meant to convey exactly whom he planned to kill if Geoffrey wouldn’t stop talking. But his brother-in-law simply laughed.

  “Greetings, my lords,” the steward said from the steps of the main keep.

  The man was hiding something. And this time Alex knew exactly what it was. He would not be put off by feeble excuses.

  “I want to speak to her,” he said simply.

  The steward, large in both height and in girth, barely flinched.

  “I’m unsure to whom you refer, my lord, but I can assure you—”

  “We are not leaving without speaking to Lady Margaery.” The name was bitter on his lips, but he would not be put off. “Tell her—”

  The man looked up so quickly, Alex nearly missed it. He followed his glance to an arrow slit just above them. She was there.

  He took a few steps back and glared directly at the tower and the woman he knew was watching him. Alex would not leave Elkview until he spoke with her. Rage boiled inside him as he continued to look up. He ignored Geoffrey and the steward and waited. Two guards joined them, but still Alex stood, unmoving.

  The door to the main keep finally opened, and his mother emerged. She walked toward them and placed a hand on the shoulder of the steward, who stood aside.

  She had not changed much. She was still a beautiful woman who looked much like an older Catrina.

  He hated her.

  “Leave us,” she said, obviously expecting to be obeyed. Her men did so, but Geoffrey moved toward them. He was looking for Alex’s permission to leave, which he gave with a nod. Geoffrey left him alone with the woman who had abandoned him and Reid and Catrina and Toren when they’d needed her most.