The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4

by Cecelia Mecca

  While he’d enjoyed proving, yet again, his younger brother was no match for him, he was extremely hungry.

  “Bernard is anxious to start the meal,” Father Simon said.

  Alex and his brother turned toward the priest.

  “Bernard, is it?” More likely it was the priest, not the cook, who was eager for the repast. Father’s appetite was legendary. Alex knew the castle inhabitants waited on them for the evening meal, but he’d been too eager to best Reid to concern himself with that.

  “Aye, well. . .” Simon shrugged.

  All three men laughed.

  “It’s a wonder to me that you stay so lean, Father,” Alex said.

  While he and Reid ate with an equal amount of enthusiasm, they spent the majority of their days in training, while Father Simon’s habits were much more sedentary. Even so, it didn’t take a toll on his looks—his lean frame, shoulder-length brown hair, and well-formed features made him the target of many sideways glances from women who seemed to forget he was not theirs for the taking.

  He and Reid, however, had no such vows holding them back, and both enjoyed the attentions of the fairer sex. They’d often attempted to get Father Simon to admit he had made a grave error in taking his vow of celibacy, though he still had not admitted to any such thing.

  Alex turned to his brother.

  “So where are the men?”

  Reid waved to the keep. “I ran them around back. Those who survived the heat and your pace, that is.”

  It had been an unusually warm week, but that meant nothing for the men’s training. It was Alex’s duty to ensure Clan Kerr was always prepared.

  “When Toren returns—”

  Both men looked at their trusted advisor, who cut himself off.

  “Perhaps taking a wife will have improved his disposition,” Reid suggested.

  Alex frowned. “What an absurd idea.”

  “Now that the eldest Kerr is married. . .” Father Simon repeated a familiar tome. “Perhaps it is time for you to consider your choices more carefully, Alex.”

  This again. . . If only he could make his escape from the priest as easily as he’d run from his brother and his men.

  “Hear me, men. The day I take a wife will be the same day I’ll kneel to this man,” he gestured at his brother, “and allow him to take my position here.”

  Both Toren and Reid had been attempting to convince him to defer the men’s training to the youngest Kerr brother and take up residence at Dunmure Tower. It was his by right, but their holding just to the north reminded him too much of their mother. That tower was his mother’s favorite residence. Many of those memories were good, but they were tainted by the memory of what came later—their mother had abandoned them immediately after the death of their father.

  Because of that fact, Alex wanted nothing to do with his former home.

  “’Tis enough talk of wives for the day,” he said dismissively, walking toward the front of the keep. “More important matters await. Toren is expected,” he tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, “with his English wife.”

  As their small travelling party entered the front gate of Brockburg Castle, Clara looked up and squinted. With the sun setting, she could not see anything save the outline of a large stone keep, which spread impressively to the edges of the crag where it was perched. The outbuildings were also impressive to the eye.

  “The groom will see to our horses,” the chief said to her and Lady Juliette after they dismounted. Meeting a young lad at the front of the thatched-roof stable, Toren spoke a few words to him, no doubt delivering instructions. Left alone with the new lady of Brockburg, Clara watched as Lady Juliette surveyed the keep.

  “You will not reconsider?”

  That Lady Juliette would worry about her at such a moment, when she was seeing her new home for the first time, reinforced what Clara already knew of the woman. She’d made the right decision to come with them.

  “Nay, my lady.”

  “Then I have a plan.”

  Toren returned, so Lady Juliette could not elaborate, but curiosity drove her to follow the chief and his wife as they made their way into the keep. It seemed rather odd that no one had come out to greet them, though it was equally as out of character for Clara not to attempt to hide herself in the stables

  As a squire for hire, Clara had grown accustomed to sleeping in the small tent she had bartered for with the last of Gilbert’s belongings. When anyone started asking questions she could not answer, she disappeared. And although she wasn’t as familiar with the customs here in Scotland, the borderlands and its people on both sides were notoriously faithful to their own families or clans, even at the expense of king and country. If she was to squire for Alex Kerr, the man would certainly ask about her upbringing. The hierarchy among squires, in England at least, very much depended on one’s family. Her duties and even where she resided would depend on the lies she concocted, though she hated to lie at all.

  They entered the great hall together, and the clanging of cups and shouting of men ceased. All turned to look upon them, the lack of women noticeable.

  “Where are my brothers?”

  “Here,” a voice called from behind them.

  Clara did not turn around. She was unable to look away from the magnificent black stags woven into two royal blue banners hanging behind the high table. She clasped her hands together, attempting to stop them from shaking. The coat of arms was so startlingly familiar that she could not control her reaction to it. Just like her family’s crest, it featured a stag and two swords—the only difference was that these swords were crossed. And, of course, the color. Her family’s crest was yellow, a symbol of loyalty. Her father had died because of his misplaced loyalty.

  Her hands refused to stop trembling.

  “Alfred?”

  How many times had Lady Juliette called to her? She turned and froze.

  Three men stood alongside the chief. While two, obviously Toren Kerr’s brothers, were as tall and broad as the chief, the third was a slightly older gentleman—a steward, perhaps? But it was the one in the middle who drew her attention. Unlike the others, he smiled, waiting for her to speak. Perhaps it was that smile that drew the eye. . . or the way he stood, so tall and proud, as if he were the chief, not his brother.

  Though all three brothers were heavily muscled—she’d seen Toren’s chest more than once since serving him at the tournament—this one was just slightly wider. His hair was darker than his elder brother’s, a shade somewhere between dark and light brown, and shorter too. More dangerous yet, it capped the most perfect face she’d ever looked upon. The color of his eyes was masked by the lighting in the hall, even though there was an abundance of candles. His face was slightly square, and a few days’ growth gave him a more ominous look than his clean-shaven brothers.

  In a past life, Clara would have been appalled by her honest perusal of the man, but she’d seen much in the past year, and it seemed silly to pretend otherwise. He was finely built, and she was not ashamed to admit it, even to herself.

  “Welcome to Brockburg, lad,” the object of her admiration said. “I hear you’ll be training with me.”

  Clara looked down just enough not to give insult. This was Alex? She could not train every day with this man. He was simply too distracting.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said in a husky voice that she’d perfected. Clara couldn’t even remember what her real voice sounded like.

  “And as a son to a very prominent family in England, you will, of course, be given your own quarters here in the castle,” Lady Juliette said firmly. She delivered the lie without flinching or giving herself away in any manner.

  A prominent family in England? So that was Lady Juliette’s plan. Clara tried not to appear surprised. The lady was extremely thoughtful. While it was true she’d helped bring Toren and Juliette together, the chief and his wife had already done more than enough to repay her. Bringing her here was repayment enough.

  She nodded
and peeked up again at Alex. He looked at her the way most did, as if she were a young boy and nothing more. The cap, the dirt, the loose, long-sleeved tunic. . . all Gilbert’s creations to ensure she went overlooked. And all quite effective these past years. But suddenly, for the first time since they had run from home, Clara wanted to be herself. The girl whom everyone had said would grow up to be a beautiful woman “like her mother.”

  That was a dangerous thought indeed.

  “Alex,” the chief said, “so kind of you to send a greeting party for the new lady of Brockburg Manor.”

  Alex’s attention turned from her as the Kerr brothers bantered back and forth in a manner that indicated they’d had plenty of practice. Lady Juliette glanced at her and winked. She smiled and then immediately bowed her head toward the ground.

  Gilbert had warned her against smiling. She’d once thought him overly cautious, but his worries had proven quite practical. A knight who’d paid Gilbert to repair his sword during a small tourney had come to their tent to fetch it. A kindly man, he’d overpaid Gilbert, declaring his work worthy of a greater fee than had been asked.

  The man had joked with Gilbert, and Clara had momentarily forgotten herself. She’d smiled, and the man had immediately walked toward her. He’d lifted her chin, turned to Gilbert, and then turned back to her. Clara had been discovered. Though they’d left immediately, and without incident, it had served as a much-needed reminder. She could never let her guard down.

  “Your smile is your mother’s,” Gilbert had said. “As bright as the midday sun. Not the morning one just peekin’ out, but one high in the sky, warming everyone in the land with its bright and beautiful rays.”

  She’d chided him for his poetic sensibility, something she’d actually come to love about the man who’d become like a second father to her. Though he couldn’t read himself, Gilbert had loved to listen to troubadours’ tales and often sought them out at tourneys, sometimes at the expense of coin he could be earning.

  Clara pulled herself back to the conversation around her. The man who would be her master caught her eye and walked toward her.

  “Toren says you are to be my squire.”

  Was he unhappy about the fact? The others moved toward the high table, but Clara was no longer hungry. Could she really stay disguised as this man’s squire? He looked at her in a way that made her feel he could see straight through her.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “I’ve not had one before,” he said and shrugged. “Tomorrow is soon enough to begin your training. But I’m sure you are hungry now.”

  “Nay,” she said, too quickly. The thought of food roiled her stomach. She’d not been this nervous traveling alone in the dark.

  “Then come. I’ll show you to your rooms first.”

  She followed him from the hall down a winding staircase, through an arched wooden door, and out into the courtyard. Brockburg Castle was a contradiction in so many ways. While they walked through a cobblestone courtyard, a clear sign of wealth, the passageway that led to one of seven towers—if she’d counted correctly—was overgrown with weeds. Like most hilltop castles, its design was compact, every necessity fit within its outer curtain walls.

  She concentrated on the uneven path beneath her feet rather than the Scotsman she followed. It would do no good to dwell on his appearance. Experience had taught her that a man’s looks had little to do with his character. Besides, how was she to train with the man if she could not overcome her foolish attraction to him?

  They entered a tower that contained, as far as she could tell, nothing more than sleeping quarters.

  “There’s a storeroom below,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him up another set of winding stairs. “’Tis where they hide the bodies.”

  “The bodies?” She couldn’t keep the alarm from her voice.

  Alex barely broke a smile. “Of the squires who displease me, of course.”

  So serious was his tone, it took her a moment to realize he chided her. They passed through a small iron gate and climbed nearly to the top of the edifice.

  “As you heard, Lady Juliette has requested that you receive private chambers,” he called back. “’Tis a luxury not provided to our servants,” he said, arriving at a small platform and another wooden door. He lifted the iron handle and pushed inside. She followed him into a modest chamber devoid of any luxuries beyond a large bed without coverings and a single chair. It was clean, though a mite dusty, and she’d spied a wardrobe below in this same tower. If it was not already in use, it would prove most convenient.

  Modest, aye, but much more than she’d expected. Lady Juliette had given her the invaluable gift of privacy.

  “You can sit beside the arrow slit and see well beyond our borders.”

  She walked toward where he stood and peered out of the small opening. Indeed, a most spectacular view lay beyond, though an even more impressive one stood next to her. He filled the room, which had become quite warm, and Clara backed away.

  “Shall we return to the meal?”

  She needed to separate from him. “I can find my way back, my lord.”

  She placed the small sack of her belongings on the bed.

  “Then I shall see you there. I don’t require personal assistance, except on the training yard. Despite your size, you’ll be treated the same as the others, so be sure to eat. You’ll need the energy.” He turned to leave. “Should you require anything, I am just above.”

  He pointed to the high, wood-beamed ceiling as he walked back through the door, and Clara’s shoulders sank. Just above? She’d assumed his bedchamber was in the great hall. How could she possibly endure living so close to him?

  You are his squire, Clara. What did you believe, that you’d never see the man?

  “And Alfred,” he called back from the other side of the entrance. “Take a bath.”

  3

  A bath!

  It should not have come as a surprising request. The well-placed smudges had saved her from being discovered, but they did not fit with her newly escalated status. Had she come as a lowly squire of no rank, her filth might have been accepted, even expected, but Lady Juliette’s story indicated that she was a visiting knight, not a typical servant. She could even request a maidservant of her own, which, of course, she would not do. Clara could not possibly have someone attend to her; it was too dangerous. Which meant she’d need to find bed coverings and something to clean the cobwebs from this clearly unused bedchamber.

  A bath.

  She imagined her handmaiden at Barrington, who had oft chided her for taking so many baths that a tub had been permanently positioned in her bedchamber. If only she could see Clara now. . .

  Of course, she would need to keep the dirt, however it antagonized her new master. “Master Alfred,” a small voice called from behind the door.

  It would seem her wish to remain without a maid was not to be granted.

  “I am Ansley,” the young girl said. No more than ten and two, she was well-kept and neatly presented. “My lady asked that I see to your needs.”

  From lady to servant to squire. Clara sighed.

  She could do this.

  “I’ve none, Ansley, save bed coverings and a clean chamber,” she said. “And a basin of water, if you please.”

  She could not ask for a bath to be brought unless she wanted the servants to speak about her, which she did not. Filling a tub was no small matter, and until she learned how Alex cleaned himself, she’d not presume to request such a thing. And though they’d crossed a river not far from the castle before arriving, Clara was not yet prepared to follow it into the forest. She must first ensure it was, indeed, private.

  With a small bow, Ansley left her. A short time later, she returned, and the two of them set to putting the chamber in order. It was only when she received a strange glance from the maid that Clara remember her newly altered status.

  God’s blood, this was going to be difficult.

  “So this is where the new squ
ire sleeps.” Lady Juliette’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

  When her patroness entered the room, Ansley bowed deeply. “That will be all. Thank you, Ansley.”

  The servant startled, likely for being thanked for doing her duty. Or mayhap she was merely surprised that Lady Juliette, who had only just arrived to Brockburg, knew her name. Clara was not. Had circumstances been different, the new lady of the house was exactly the kind of woman whom she would have befriended.

  Placing a small wooden tray on the bed, she closed the door behind her. Lady Juliette sat in the solo wooden chair against the circular stone wall and gestured for Clara to sit on the newly made bed. She did so, folding her hands on her lap.

  “You’ve not yet eaten.” Lady Juliette pointed to the tray, which was piled with bread and cheese. Clara eyed it hungrily, but she would wait for the lady to leave before partaking of the food.

  “You only just arrived at your new home and have no need to care for me, my lady. Although I thank you for doing so.”

  Clara cursed herself. Though she’d succeeded in training herself to speak in a lower voice than was natural for her, she still struggled with her speech. Gilbert had often chided her for slipping back into the speech of a high-born lady, and she’d just done it again.

  And Lady Juliette had noticed.

  “When I told the men you’re bred of a great family, a noble family, I was not far off the mark.” She stated it as a fact, not a question. Adorned in a simple but elegant deep green gown fit for a queen, her long blonde hair flowing down her back, Lady Juliette embodied the noblewoman she had accused Clara of being.

  Clara knew to secure the safety of living at Brockburg, she would be forced to reveal more than she was accustomed to the chief and his wife. But just how much was safe to share?

  “At least tell me your name.”

  In this Clara was lucky. All who knew her, who would be looking for her, called her by her given name, Lady Clarissa.

  “Clara.”

  “’Tis Lady Clara, I presume?”