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

  Clara couldn’t tell if he was serious, or if the words had been said in jest.

  “And yet you’ve two English relatives.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. She certainly had not meant to say that.

  “And an English squire,” he added. “Alfred, do not mince words with me. If you truly are to serve me, I’ll not have you minding everything that comes from your mouth. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, I do.”

  “So if you’re so inclined to call me a Scottish bastard, then do so. You are to be my squire, not my handmaiden.”

  Good lord, never that! She imagined assisting him in undress—

  “But I do insist on one thing,” he said, his tone serious.

  They had just emerged from the trees, and the magnificent sight of Brockburg Castle loomed high above them.

  “Anything, my lord.”

  He stopped, and she followed his lead. She looked up at him, the sun setting behind him in a magnificent display of orange and blue. Though not quite as magnificent as the sight of this powerful, alluring man towering above her.

  “Do not ever lie to me.”

  “Alfred, what do you think?”

  Juliette stood in the great hall, looking at the new tapestries that had been hung on the walls.

  Two days after Alex’s ominous warning, Clara continued to avoid him as much as possible. She was eager to leave before he appeared for supper, but she also wanted to help Juliette, who was determined to transform Brockburg into a more appealing keep. Though well-maintained, it had lacked a woman’s touch for many years.

  “I think a squire is an unlikely choice to assist with the new decorations in the great hall.”

  Juliette winked and walked around the wooden trestle tables to get a closer look at the colorful tapestries. “Why so many beautiful pieces sat in storage for so long, I’ll never understand.” And then, abruptly changing the topic of conversation, she asked, “How goes your training with Alex?”

  Alex.

  It seemed the man’s name was on everyone’s lips. Just that morning she had been stopped in the courtyard by the priest, who’d asked where the chief’s second could be found. Alex was everywhere here at Brockburg, even when he was not present. There was simply no way of avoiding the man.

  “Fine,” she said, moving toward Juliette, drawn to a blue and gold tapestry depicting various oxen and boar gathered about a mighty sword that dominated the center of the scene.

  “Interesting,” Juliette replied.

  At first Clara thought she referred to the scene in front of them, but when she looked at the new lady of Brockburg, Juliette was staring at her and not the tapestry.

  “Pardon?”

  “You were witness to our courtship,” she whispered, evidently referring to herself and Toren at the tournament.

  “Aye, or some of it.”

  “When did you know there was something between us?” Juliette reached up, just barely touching the point of the sword etched into the hanging.

  Clara thought back, trying to remember the first time she suspected Toren’s feelings. Perhaps it was the time he’d bolted out of the lists to find Juliette after his second match?

  Nay. She knew the answer.

  “It was when you visited the tent city,” she said. “I was about to retire for the evening when I saw you approach.”

  “My lady.” A servant moved toward them, weaving around the tables, her arms filled with another folded tapestry. “Beggin’ your pardon, but I was told to give ye this.”

  Juliette smiled at the woman and held out her arms. “Cleaned already?” She thanked the woman, who beamed at her new lady, her smile growing even wider when she glanced up at the previously bare stone wall.

  She had once overheard Toren speak of his home in a way that had made her think something at Brockburg was lacking. No longer. With Lady Juliette, Brockburg would be whole again. The wounds of the past would finally be healed.

  Juliette set the wall hanging down on a nearby table and then returned to her. For some reason, Clara knew she was not going to like the remainder of Juliette’s speech.

  “And you knew because it was hardly proper for a lady to be visiting the tent city at night?”

  Oh dear.

  “Nay, my lady. I knew because I heard your voice before moving off. And you asked Toren why he’d kissed you. It wasn’t the words, but the way you said them.”

  Even as she spoke, Clara realized she’d walked into a trap. “I really must get to—”

  “You are a fine squire,” Juliette said before lowering her voice. “But ’tis only a matter of time before Alex realizes the truth, as I did.”

  “But I simply said training was ‘fine.’ Nothing more. There is nothing—”

  “It was not what you said, my dear Alfred, but how you said it. That night, I did not yet know Toren and I were meant to be together. I just knew I felt something for him. And I dared to allow myself to explore it.”

  She looked up at Clara’s hat and then lowered her gaze to the smudges on her face. “I do believe your training is going fine…” She smiled. “As is the man in charge of it, aye?”

  Clara scrunched her lips together, attempting a frown. “I’ve not noticed,” she lied.

  Juliette turned her attention back to the wall, nodded her apparent satisfaction with the tapestry’s position, and then moved to retrieve the new one from the table.

  “Well then,” she replied. “I suppose your instincts are better than my own. And of course, you will not care that your master makes his way toward us.”

  Clara immediately turned about, searching the hall with her eyes. There was no sign of him. Whether it was her baffled expression or simply Juliette’s finely honed intuition that made the Lady of Brockburg burst into laughter, she couldn’t be sure. But there was no doubt that Clara was indeed in trouble.

  5

  Clara peered out through the arrow slit in her chamber. The sun had not yet risen. After just over a week at Brockburg, she knew the morning routine well. Mass with Father Simon at sunrise, a quick meal in the hall, which had finally been attended by the lord and lady of Brockburg yesterday, followed by an endless day of training.

  Though Clara had watched many training sessions at many different tournaments, she’d never seen such training methods as the ones employed here at Brockburg. There was not a quintain in sight. And she had not seen a single baton. Instead, the men ran and climbed. They crossed rivers and hoisted other men across their backs. Yesterday, when they’d finally taken up swords against each other, it was the first time Clara had felt remotely at home. . . until the realization had struck that she could not match up with any of the men.

  Choose your opponent wisely. It was one of the first lessons she’d learned from a skilled knight who had later earned his place as tourney champion. Of course, he’d admitted this was not always possible.

  She opened the door to her bedchamber and treaded lightly down the winding staircase. The path to the gatehouse was short, one of the boons of staying so close to the entrance of the castle rather than at the other end in the main keep. The portcullis was raised, and none of the guards on watch even gave her a glance. She was leaving, after all, not entering. Two additional men stood in the short walkway of the massive stone gate house, which served as both a deterrent to invaders and a home to the men who stayed on watch both day and night. She approached the final exit—a smaller version of the mighty metal gate behind her.

  “State your business.” Without hardly glancing at her, the lightly armed guard reached for the lever that would allow her exit.

  “To bathe in the river,” she said. Truth, whenever possible.

  He raised it just enough for her to leave and kept it up, presumably for an approaching wagon. The two tired horses looked much like she felt each time Alex made them run up the steep incline that led to the castle.

  Aside from the supply wagon, no one used this path in the early morn. She’d watched each day before su
nrise from her chamber to ensure it would be safe. Careful of her footing as she approached the wooded area just beyond sight of the castle walls, Clara almost skipped to the river bed.

  Finally, to be clean!

  She made her way downriver to the spot where Alex had taken them across. The water flowed slow and steady here as opposed to the rush abovestream. Dropping her small sack beside her, Clara glanced around, not expecting to see anything, or anyone, stirring. And she did not.

  As she stripped off the dirty, travel-stained clothes from her body piece by piece, Clara tried to decide if she should clean herself or her garments first. Picking up the piece of scented soap the maid had kindly given her that first night, she decided the clothing could wait. She stepped into the water, not caring about its chill, and splashed it on every part of her body. She scrubbed everywhere, finally submerging herself to her waist.

  She’d almost forgotten to remove her hat! Clara undid the pins that held the clever fabric in place and, removing it, tossed it ashore. Returning her attention to the task at hand, she shook her head, relishing in the feeling of the tips of her hair brushing against her shoulders.

  If only she could stay here all day . . . if only she could stay like this. No dirt smudged on her face. No pins holding her hair in place.

  Oh, to be free.

  To be herself.

  Alex shifted his weight, careful not to make a sound.

  With every piece of clothing she removed, he became more and more uncomfortable—and not because he was spying on her. The reason for his discomfort turned toward him and looked in his exact direction. But she didn’t see him. The sun had not yet risen, and it was only the wayward moonlight that gave him a clear view.

  And what a view.

  When he’d followed her from the castle, his first thought had been of treachery. Was Alfred meeting with someone? Planning an attack? When he’d realized he—or, more accurately, she—was actually planning to bathe, he’d felt only relief. Toren would have been sorely disappointed if Alfred, of whom he clearly thought highly, had turned traitor.

  And then she’d begun to remove her clothing.

  First, the shirt and strip of cloth that, unbound, revealed two perfectly shaped breasts tapering to a slim waist. And then the loose breeches she wore in favor of hose. Now he knew why. . .

  Dear Lord, do not turn around, woman.

  The curve of her delicate buttocks stirred him to arousal. If she turned, Alex would be lost. To his relief—and slight disappointment—she entered the water before giving him an even more scandalous view. Alfred, or whatever her name was, reached up and removed her hat. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her, a cap styled similarly to those usually reserved for servants. It covered more of her head than was typical. And, of course, the smudges of dirt that were ever-present on her face.

  Dark hair, either brown or black, he could not tell in the darkness, spilled onto her shoulders and stopped just below them. She did turn then, to toss the hat onto the shore, and Alex got a glimpse of her freshly washed face. Though the features were still imperceptible, he could see enough to chide himself for a fool.

  She was not only a female, but a damned beautiful one. Slim enough to pass for a boy, though not so slim that he could not imagine himself running his hands along every one of those lovely curves.

  A gentleman would have turned away the moment he realized what was happening.

  Clearly, he was not a gentleman, for Alex couldn’t look away. Her transformation from a young squire to this curvaceous, sensual woman had so startled him that he did not even consider the matter of why until she turned away. The questions came quickly, one on the heels of the other. Why the ruse? Why would a woman wish to train as a squire?

  His breath caught as she once again emerged from the water. She stood before him, utterly naked, unquestioningly female. Still hidden among the bushes, Alex watched as she pulled clothing from her sack and began to dress. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Should he confront her now? Nay, he would learn what he could from Toren first. If his brother knew the truth, then her purpose for disguising herself as a lad posed no threat to the clan. If that were the case, mayhap he would have a bit of fun with this revelation. Granted, she was an Englishwoman and therefore off-limits to him. Even still, the day promised to be an interesting one.

  With a final glance back at his female squire, who was now fully dressed, bent by the river washing clothes, Alex set off to find his brother. By the time he made his way to the main keep, the castle inhabitants were just beginning to stir. Alex sent a maid to fetch Toren, who was none too happy when he entered the great hall.

  “Alex Kerr, if Brockburg is not under attack—”

  “Walk with me.” His tone quieted his brother, who, in a state of half-dress, followed him down a winding staircase to a chamber typically occupied by the steward during daylight hours. But the steward was likely still abed, and though servants had already lit the chamber, it was still mostly dark due to a lack of outside windows.

  Alex closed the door behind him and turned to Toren.

  “My squire,” he said, “is female.”

  One glance at his brother told him what he needed to know. Goddamn it, Toren already knew. “So that’s why you defended her yesterday in training,” he said.

  “We vowed not to tell anyone. Including you.”

  “We?”

  “Juliette is the one who discovered her secret at Bristol. The girl was terrified of discovery. So much so that she fled after Juliette learned her secret. She only reappeared as we prepared to ride here.”

  Not only had he known the truth all along, but Toren was wholly unapologetic.

  Alex felt his body tensing. He crossed his arms and waited for a real explanation.

  “We made a promise, Alex. I don’t break my word.”

  “Admirable.”

  His brother had nothing further to say, apparently.

  “So let me assure you,” Alex said. “That is no ‘girl’ you brought from England. She is very much a woman. What am I to do with an Englishwoman who poses as a lad? Did she tell you why?”

  He uncrossed his arms and began to pace the room.

  “Alex, you’re not marrying the girl. Just training her. She’s capable in many ways. I told

  you, she served me well in Condren. Let her prove it to you.”

  He stopped in front of Toren. “Why does she disguise herself so?”

  When Toren hesitated, Alex threw up his arms in disgust. “You don’t know. Toren, have you gone daft? What if she’s a spy—”

  “Calm down, brother. The girl is no spy. She’s scared. And alone. Juliette and I owe her a debt of gratitude.”

  He met his brother’s eyes and nodded, a sign that he should continue.

  “Without her intercession,” Toren continued without pausing to let him speak, “I might not have gone after Juliette the night she left Bristol Manor. Alex, I would not abandon the squire, and I ask you not to either.”

  “Then let her squire for you. Or take a different position, one less. . .”

  “Think of Catrina. How would our sister feel if you refused to train the squire because she’s a woman?”

  An image of their fiery, red-headed sister flitted through his mind. Surely Toren was right; she would scream at him for what he was saying.

  “Perhaps she can train, but let her do so with you.”

  “I already have a squire. Alex. . . please.”

  He had never denied his brother and chief before, and he would not do so now.

  But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  Scowling, he sighed as Toren clasped him on the shoulder. “Aye, your new squire is English. . . and a woman. I’m not asking you to marry her, Alex, simply train her. Allow her safety, to hone the skills she needs to feel safe. And be done with it.” He paused, giving Alex an intent look.

  “Trust me, brother. My wife is gentle and pure. You’ve met Lady Sara at Kenshire
and other ladies, good ones, who live just across the border. Just because Mother—”

  “Enough.” Alex was not so stubborn as his brother, but neither did he feel inclined to relent easily. He would not think of their mother. Not now, not ever. “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Toren released his grip, and for the first time since their conversation had started, Alex smiled. “But I’m going to have a bit of fun with this. And you’ll not interfere.”

  If his brother looked worried, Alex didn’t care. He asked much of him. And if he was going to play nursemaid to an Englishwoman, he would damn well enjoy it.

  6

  Clara made it back to the castle without incident. She was even able to slip into the quick morning mass. Brockburg’s shape was similar to English hilltop estates, with each building attached to the other, all surrounding a central courtyard; the chapel was attached to the outer building. Although there was likely an entrance which allowed the inhabitants to go directly from the second floor chapel to the great hall, it appeared to be out of use because everyone, with the exception of the priest, headed to the lower floor to access the keep’s main entrance. She spotted Lady Juliette, who gazed at her husband with such love and joy, Clara had not wanted to interrupt.

  While sitting in the mass with a room full of people, Clara had almost felt like she was a part of something. Now, as everyone eased away and she made her own way to the great hall, she felt very alone again. Such was the life of a runaway and fugitive. It was at times like these, when she felt somewhat safe, that she missed Gilbert’s companionship most.

  Lost in thought, she followed the crowd past the well at the center of the courtyard and was preparing to enter the keep when she heard her other name posed to her.

  “Alfred, can I speak to you?”

  It was a voice that she’d quickly come to know. Heart beating, Clara turned to face her new master.

  “In private.” Alex Kerr motioned for her to step aside.