The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4

by Cecelia Mecca

She hesitated.

  “We will start with Clara. And I insist you call me Juliette.”

  When she began to shake her head, Juliette amended, “In private, if it pleases you.”

  Clara tilted her head to the side.

  “Do you remember the night we spoke last?” Juliette pressed. “The night I left Bristol?”

  Neither of them were likely to forget it. It was the same night Lady Juliette had discovered that Toren had been sent to England to kill her father. The lady had been so upset at his duplicity, she’d left that very night, prompting Toren to go after her.

  “Aye, and I’m sorry I was forced to share your secret with Toren.”

  “I understand. ’Twas necessary.” Juliette leaned forward. “Do you remember what I told you? I said that you could trust him.” She smiled. “I stand by my claim. You can trust us both to keep your secret as long as you wish it. Clara, you’ve nothing to fear from us. We will keep you safe, ’tis my promise as well as my husband’s.”

  She so desperately wanted to believe it. And would have more easily if Gilbert’s voice had not been whispering in her head ever since she’d agreed to come to Scotland. Trust no one. He had said it so many times Clara had often teased him about the refrain. Though he had never been amused.

  “Perhaps. . .” Juliette shrugged. “Perhaps we can even be friends. I could certainly use one now.”

  Relieved that the conversation had shifted away from her secret, Clara said, “Your reception here has been a warm one.”

  Juliette scrunched her nose, as if she smelled rotten meat.

  Clara amended, “With the exception of the lack of a greeting party.”

  “Even now Toren is arguing with his brothers about that. ’Tis just as well—I don’t require a grand welcome. But. . .” She trailed off, her nose still scrunched prettily.

  “Brockburg is a beautifully appointed castle.”

  “Of course,” Juliette agreed.

  “But there is a certain lack of—” She hesitated, not wanting to offend.

  And then, at once, both exclaimed, “Women.”

  “You noticed too?” Clara asked.

  “Aye, ’twas the first thing I commented to Toren as we walked into the hall. Chauncy Manor, where I am from, is rather isolated. You already know my father is the English Warden, which means he knows of most of the crimes committed along the border.”

  As Warden, her father brought criminals to the monthly Day of Truce to meet the Scottish Warden, who did the same. Both attempted to keep peace along the border, a task that seemed to get harder, not easier, with time.

  Juliette arched a perfectly formed eyebrow. Indeed, everything about the lady was perfect. “Unfortunately, that made him a bit. . . protective.”

  Clara knew of Chauncy Manor. She didn’t think it was more than two or three days’ ride from Barrington. Which made this conversation all the more dangerous. Lady Juliette might have known her father. . . or at least heard of him by reputation.

  “So we may not have had an abundance of visitors, but certainly there were at least more female servants.”

  “’Tis odd,” Clara agreed. “Well, there are at least two more females at Brockburg now.”

  Juliette crossed her arms.

  “Well, of sorts.” Clara’s smirk was an acknowledgment that she understood her predicament well.

  Juliette stood. “I will not ask again for you to share,” she said more seriously. “But please do be careful. I wish you would agree to—”

  “Nay,” Clara said, softly but firmly. “I am a squire and must remain as such.”

  “But you will be Alex’s own squire. Surely you realize what that means? How are you to conceal yourself from someone you see every day, all day?”

  “I served your husband, and he was not aware,” Clara reminded her.

  “And I tease him about that even now,” Juliette said. “How he could not have known. . .”

  “’Twas my duty to ensure he did not.”

  My life depends on it.

  But that was a thought Clara kept to herself.

  Alex and Toren entered the heavily wooded area as they watched the men run ahead.

  “Kind of you to finally join us, brother,” Alex said. Nearly a week had passed since Toren’s arrival, and he’d only seen his brother once—that first night, at the evening meal.

  “I’ve been otherwise occupied,” Toren replied.

  “If by ‘occupied’ you mean enjoying the company of your beautiful English bride, then aye. I am sure you have been.”

  Dressed lightly without armor, the men entered the clearing Alex and Toren’s father had designated as another list for training. Surrounded by trees and cut in half by a river strong enough to carry a man at its center, it afforded more obstacles than the artificial field housed inside the castle walls.

  They stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as the men paired off with their blunted swords. They’d been trained well, and all knew their positions.

  “So your wife allowed you to escape? I assume she sickens of your overbearing presence?”

  Toren shot him a glance, warning him away. But that look never scared Alex quite as much as his brother would have liked. And so he pressed on, smiling.

  “Your wife. The same woman, for all eternity.” Alex shuddered. “At least one Kerr will have done his duty.”

  “That’s enough, Alex.”

  “Enough? Never!” He reached behind his brother so quickly Toren didn’t have time to react. He wrapped his arm around Toren’s neck, squeezing until his brother was finally able to loosen his grip.

  Alex relented good-naturedly. “’Tis good to see your stubborn arse again, Toren.” Turning to the men, he yelled, “Switch,” and they did. Alex watched as they changed sparring partners and took up their swords against new opponents.

  “I’d say the same if you’d manage to be serious just once.” Toren ruined the effect of the chiding comment by lifting the corners of his mouth just slightly.

  “You’ll find I can be quite serious when the situation calls for it.”

  He drew his eyebrows together, mocking his older brother’s expression as best he could.

  “Tell me.”

  “Either you or Reid should bring men to the Day of Truce. I need to ensure Juliette’s father encounters no further trouble.”

  Toren’s new father-in-law, Stewart Hallington, had been falsely accused of taking bribes to allow Englishmen who’d committed crimes against Scots to walk free. The criminals should have been brought to the monthly Day of Truce, where crimes against men from each side of the border were judged and punished. Hallington’s sheriff, unbeknownst to the lord, had been taking the bribes. Sent to kill the warden, Toren had instead fallen in love with the man’s daughter. Ultimately, he had discovered Hallington’s innocence, and by breaking Clan Kerr’s tradition of remaining neutral and refusing new allies, he’d managed to rally enough support to convince Douglas, Scotland’s Warden, and the king to abandon their original plan. The matter had been settled, but some Scots still wanted the warden’s head served to them on a plate. Toren was right to worry.

  The situation had put their clan in the unlikely position of having new allies. Though Alex and Reid were glad for the development, their mistrusting chief was not. Much like their father, Toren had spent years cultivating a perfectly unallied, neutral clan who cared only for keeping themselves safe.

  Now, they were anything but neutral. With their sister’s marriage to Bryce Waryn and Toren’s marriage to the daughter of the English Warden, Clan Kerr was as embroiled in border politics as any clan in Scotland.

  “And now deSowlis is firmly an ally once again.” His brother winced. “We should ensure the recent raid on their land remains nothing more than a nuisance. Word is they lost men, though I’ve yet to confirm as much.”

  Toren frowned. “If that’s true, we should increase the watch. The raids have become more violent lately. It worries me that these men are so braze
nly violating the tr—”

  “What is he doing?”

  As they talked, Alex’s eyes had been drawn to his new squire, who, rather than taking a sword against an opponent, stood to the side, watching the spectacle. Each day the lad made himself available—he ran with the others and climbed as well as most. But it suddenly struck Alex that he’d not seen his squire swing a sword.

  “You can’t expect him to pair with someone of that size.” Toren gestured toward the field. Most of the men were full grown, almost twice the lad’s weight and heft.

  “I forget the lad is English. Do they stand aside when a battle takes place, perhaps cleaning the mud from their lord’s boots as—”

  “You’ll remember my wife is English.”

  Alex frowned.

  “And your sister is married to an Englishman.”

  That reminder did not improve his disposition. Alex’s dislike for the English was well-established. At one time, all of his siblings had shared that feeling—a relic of having an English mother who’d abandoned them and living on the border where strife was the way of things.

  “Alex. . .”

  “Don’t worry, brother. I will conduct myself quite courteously with Lady Juliette, you can rest assured.”

  “Is that why you failed to welcome her to her new home? Did you hope to make her feel unwelcome?”

  He had been waiting for his brother to bring that up again.

  “I’m more surprised that Reid agreed to go along with such nonsense,” Toren continued. “But you no doubt came up with the idea.”

  “We are allied with them now,” Toren said.

  It was a fact he could not change. He’d even grudgingly begun to accept that the Waryn men were worthy of his respect. When he brought his sister back to England to visit, before Catrina and Bryce decided to marry, he’d spoken to both brothers on more than one occasion. “By Christ’s—”

  “Alex.” His brother’s tone was sharp.

  But he didn’t want to have this conversation now. . . and he didn’t want to think about how the English had infiltrated his life—like the reedy squire who had been foisted upon him. The lad would learn nothing if he stayed out of the way of danger.

  “Begging your pardon, Chief,” he said, turning away from his brother. He once again yelled for the men to switch as he pulled his sword from its sheath. “Alfred!”

  The boy was obedient enough—he’d give him that. The lad ran toward him.

  “Alex, what are you doing?” Toren asked in an undertone.

  “Training my new squire,” he replied smartly as the lad came to a stop in front of him. “Alfred,” he said, looking at the lad, “Why are you not training with the men?”

  Alfred hardly looked up. He did indeed carry a sword, albeit a smaller one than even most boys his age handled. But he made no move to wield it.

  “Tis a fine looking weapon,” he said. “May I?”

  The lad stuck his arm out, and Alex exchanged swords with him. While Alfred held his own out in front of him, Alex admired the craftsmanship of the unusual blade.

  And the inscription. Non ducor, duco.

  He handed the sword back to Alfred and took his own once again. “It’s been too long, brother.”

  Toren placed his own sword between them—a silent invitation. It had indeed been too long since he and his brother had met on the practice field. Truth be told, he’d much rather parry with his brother than with the lad.

  Alex looked back and forth between Toren and the boy, then told Alfred, “It seems you’ve one more day’s respite.”

  It was only much later, after the training had ended, that Alex realized Toren had deliberately dissuaded him from practicing with Alfred.

  He and his brother had always been close, and they’d become inseparable after losing their parents—their father to death and their mother to England.

  Which was why Alex knew, without question, that something was amiss.

  And he would discover what it was.

  4

  “Alfred.”

  Oh dear.

  So far, Alex Kerr had demanded little of her. Much to her relief, he’d kept his word and made no demands for assistance with his person. And despite their close proximity in the west tower, she’d seen him only once on the way to break their fast. The conversation had been brief.

  Since she took pains to avoid the other men as much as possible when not training, Clara had thus far raised no suspicions. She’d begun to let down her guard, if only a little, and planned to venture down to the river where they trained the next morn so she could bathe before the household awoke for mass. She’d watched the gatehouse through her narrow bedroom slit at that early hour, and it seemed there was enough activity for her to avoid rousing anyone’s suspicion.

  But it would seem her streak of good luck had come to an end. Alex had called her out earlier for not training with the others, and Clara was sure she would now be asked to answer for it. She could wield the sword Gilbert had made for her. Crafting a weapon made for her small hands had been an easy task for him, but while Gilbert had wielded a sword passably well, and a dagger even more so, he’d been no trained knight. So he had paid others to train her. She could likely hold her own against the young boys who trained back at the castle, but she didn’t dare take up her sword against a grown man, especially not the large, braw men trained by Alex.

  She turned and allowed the others to walk ahead of her back to the main keep.

  “Why did you not train with the men?” Alex asked her.

  She chanced a glance up at him and wished she hadn’t. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the sleeves of his loose tunic were rolled up, revealing thick, muscled forearms beneath.

  “Look at me, Alfred.”

  Oh dear, indeed.

  She did. His bright hazel eyes stared back at her. They were lighter than his brother's, more green than brown. His smile was usually easy, from what she could tell, but he was certainly not smiling now.

  The man staring down at her was a pure, unbridled warrior exuding strength and power.

  “You’ve not yet bathed.”

  Though she had cleaned up with the cloth and water basin, it was true that she had not washed the dirt off her face. She couldn’t risk it. Nor could she continue to meet his gaze. He unnerved her. Not in the way some men had, as if they posed a threat. But there was an awareness of him, of his handsome looks and constant smile that she could not easily dismiss.

  “If you’re to continue to train with the men, I’ll know why you didn’t join them today. And why my brother has taken such an interest in you. And—” he looked beyond her as the last of the men left the area, “—from where you come.”

  So many questions. But she was prepared with answers.

  “In serving as a tournament squire, I fear I’ve had little time for my own training. I believe your brother took pity on me at Condren. And as to your last question,” she said, drawing on the words she and Gilbert had rehearsed so many times. “My master was killed at the Tournament of the King when I was but ten and six. I’ve been following the tourney ever since.”

  “Who was your master? How old are you?”

  “His name was Sir Robert Kinney. I am ten and eight.”

  “Lady Juliette said you were from a prominent family.”

  Something had raised his suspicions. For days he’d asked her nothing, and now he was asking question after question, so quickly that Clara was glad to have answers.

  “Sir Robert claims my parents were both of noble birth. He was a vassal to my father, who lost his lands in a dispute with a neighbor.” Which was close enough to the truth.

  “He claims?”

  “Aye, my lord. I was orphaned as a young child. I knew them not.”

  And that was where anything approaching the truth ended. A vision of the father she very much remembered, his slightly greying hair and beard, always a touch too long, fluttered through her mind, and the memory nearly made her eyes well with tea
rs. But a male squire simply did not cry, so she willed them back and continued to stare straight ahead.

  Directly at Alex Kerr’s chest.

  He must have taken pity on her then, for rather than asking more questions, the handsome Scots warrior crossed his arms over his chest and continued to peer down at her.

  Attempting to divert his attention away from asking further questions, Clara ventured to ask one herself.

  “Have I displeased you?”

  She looked up.

  “Nay, Alfred, you have not. But I find myself with an English squire who is hesitant to take up a sword.”

  His uncharacteristic scowl indicated he was not being completely truthful—she’d hardly ever seen him without a smile on his face—and Clara was eager to mend things between them.

  “May I ask why your brother did not take me as his own squire?”

  It was a question she’d been wanting to ask, and though she was hesitant to speak too much, she also needed Alex to relax his guard around her.

  “He has one already,” he stated simply. “My own left for the Isle of Man well before Toren travelled to Condren.” He shrugged. “And Toren knows I’m always glad to teach a lad who’s willing to learn, even if I’m not necessarily in need of a new squire.”

  It was exactly the opening she needed.

  “And I am, my lord. Willing to learn, that is.” She said it with sincerity, and though he didn’t quite smile, she could tell he at least believed her in this.

  “I’m glad to hear it, Alfred.”

  He nodded and began walking the well-worn path back to the keep.

  She followed.

  Lord, the man was large.

  She did not want to pry, and perhaps it was a mistake to continue a conversation that had surely gone on for long enough, but something he’d said had struck Clara’s interest. Or, more precisely, how he’d said it.

  “You don’t like the English.”

  He looked down at her and winked. “Nay, I do not.”

  His expression did not match his words.

  “I am English,” she said, as if he had not already known that fact.

  “I’m well aware of it. With luck, you are one of the few who can be trusted.”