The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4

by Cecelia Mecca

  “You’re a churl to say such things to a lady,” she teased.

  “A woman or a lady?” They were admitted entry through the gatehouse.

  “Does it matter, sir?” He already knew too much. She didn’t want to give anything else away.

  “While it should not, I confess it does. But as you say, such topics are much too delicate for your innocent English ears.” He wasn’t able to hide the laughter in his voice.

  “I doubt that very much. You forget, I’ve lived as a boy.”

  Posing as a boy had indeed given her a unique perspective. Men spoke more openly around small, insignificant Alfred than they would around Lady Clara. As such, she’d learned one thing about men over the past few years. Their desire for the fairer sex was insatiable. Married men and the newly betrothed often spoke of liaisons that, by rights, should not have been possible. Their crude talk had given Clara an education Gilbert had never intended her to have. In turn, she’d also learned to speak more openly than she ever would have as a noblewoman.

  “Neither does the fact that I am English seem of consequence,” she added as an afterthought.

  When they stopped, Alex held out his hand to help her dismount. Quickly realizing his mistake—he never would have made such an offer to Alfred, and someone could be watching—he pulled it away. They each dismounted on their own.

  “The English ears are more delicate.”

  “More delicate than. . . ?”

  “Their less refined and savage northern neighbors.” He made a face so ridiculous that Clara couldn’t help but grin.

  “You look more like a wild boar than you do a savage Scot.”

  “And when have you seen a wild boar?”

  Alex handed his reins to the groom, and Clara followed him to the main keep. They would likely be visiting with the lord and lady of Brockburg, if she guessed correctly.

  “At the Tournament of the King one year, I was hired by an English knight who took part in the earl’s hunt. They were seeking deer, but they found and killed a boar instead. It was quite terrifying.”

  “I’d imagine no more terrifying than making your way through the borderlands without an escort.”

  He said it so casually, Clara nearly forgot herself and answered truthfully. That she’d lived in terror every day since she’d lost Gilbert. That she’d only felt safe—or somewhat safe—after meeting Toren.

  “Just slightly so.”

  “I can’t look at you.”

  The change in topic took her aback. Entering the large wooden door, Clara hurried to follow Alex up the single flight of stairs leading to the great hall.

  “Pardon?”

  He stopped and turned. “I can only see the woman now, not the lad. ’Tis not natural to treat you like a squire.”

  She shrugged. “But ’tis necessary,” she insisted.

  He turned away, and she followed. Would he continue to ask questions? Could she continue to deny him answers? Likely he would press her. As would Toren and Juliette. This was the reason she had never stayed in one place for this long. The reason she would likely be forced to move on once they were back in England.

  “If you say so.”

  “Oh, thank the heavens!”

  The moment they crested the top of the stairs, Juliette rushed toward her, and for a moment Clara thought she would hug her in full view of everyone in the hall. Her friend held back, however, and soon they were surrounded by Toren, Juliette, Reid, and Father Simon. They all spoke so quickly, asking questions one on top of the other. She didn’t know where to turn first.

  Clara caught Juliette’s eye, and the two women headed toward the back of the hall.

  “Where did you go?” Juliette whispered.

  Clara glanced back at the cluster of men near the stairs. She could hear Alex’s voice, likely explaining what had happened. Or some of what had happened.

  “He knows,” Clara said simply.

  Juliette frowned. “Toren told me. But how did he—”

  “He followed me out to the river.” Clara felt her cheeks grow warm. “I needed to bathe.”

  “Oh.”

  She couldn’t look into the other woman’s eyes. Clara was afraid Juliette would somehow detect her newest secret. Though she should be mortified, Clara was not sorry Alex had discovered the truth. . . nor was she disturbed by how he’d discovered it.

  “But why did you leave?”

  “I was afraid he would continue to ask questions.”

  She looked back at the others again. Toren shook his head, and when they all turned her way, Clara guessed Alex had told them about their upcoming trip.

  “And I’m leaving again,” Clara said softly. She rushed to explain when she saw Lady Juliette’s stricken expression. “Alex is going to find his mother. He did not wish to take me with him, but he relented.”

  “But—”

  “I feel more comfortable moving around. Please understand, you’ve been nothing but kind to me here. And I do hope to come back, but. . .”

  “But?”

  Clara really did want to be as honest as possible.

  “I’m just not sure that I can.”

  She glanced back at Alex again, curious to see how his news had been received.

  “Oh my,” Juliette exclaimed.

  “What is it?”

  Juliette raised her brows. “’Tis nothing really. Just. . .” She lowered her voice. “If you ever tire of the ruse and decide to settle down, I would be extremely happy to count you as a member of the family.”

  Clara’s head whipped back to Juliette’s face. “A member of. . .” Did she mean? Oh dear, she did. And what made it even worse, the impossible thought had flitted through her mind as well. . . and she liked it.

  But Juliette did not know what Clara did.

  She could never marry, as that would mean revealing herself. Unless she wanted to meet the same fate as her father, that could never, ever happen.

  9

  Two days after she had left with the merchant, Clara rode out once again, this time with Alex. She knew from Juliette that Toren was worried about Alex, who was missing the Day of Truce, something he never did, to search for his mother. She had bid goodbye to her friend, knowing it was entirely possible she’d not return. Juliette must have sensed as much—she’d implored her to be safe, never once asking about her identity.

  Alex, on the other hand, clearly did not intend to keep silent. They’d travelled only a short distance before he began to question her.

  “You ride well, yet have no mount of your own?”

  Clara adjusted her headpiece and tried to think of an answer that would suit.

  “The truth or no answer at all, please.”

  Confound it, the man was too clever by half.

  “I had to sell her,” she said. Which was the truth.

  Once he realized she’d say no more, Alex fell silent. Clara watched him ride just ahead of her, admiring his form against the lush landscape around them.

  They rode at a hard pace, but not so hard she couldn’t handle it. Clara had long since learned how to stay in a saddle all day. Long gone were the days when she had ridden for pure pleasure. When they finally did stop to water the horses, they dismounted and settled onto a hard patch of earth just off the path and next to a small stream.

  “Between here and Kenshire, there’s just one inn. Most nights we’ll sleep here.” He patted the ground beside him.

  “Kenshire?”

  She knew they headed south to search for his mother, but he had not told her their destination.

  “Aye. We’ve recently forged an alliance with the Countess of Kenshire, and my mother was spotted near Elkview.”

  “And you’ve no word from her before now?”

  The easy smile fled from his face. “She’s not given any indication she wants to be found. The merchant only said a woman matching her description was overheard speaking of her ‘three sons and a daughter in the Scottish borderlands.’ Whether or not ’tis she. . . ”
He shrugged.

  “Will you tell me about her?”

  Though Clara was curious, she immediately regretted the question, knowing what he’d ask in return.

  “Will you tell me who you are?”

  They looked at one another, Clara knowing he wished to speak of his mother as much as she wished to reveal her identity. Neither would do so.

  Perhaps a less threatening question would break the uneasy tension between them.

  “While we were at the Tournament of the North, Toren mentioned to me that you were once a skilled tourney player?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Did he mention the injury?”

  “Aye.” Mayhap ’twas not such a good subject to raise after all. . .

  “Then you know I was nearly killed. That wound festered for days.”

  “There was a man by the name of Lord Blackburn at the tournament who tried his best to defeat your brother by any means necessary. Toren said ’twas much the same with your last match.”

  She looked away, realized she was staring. It was difficult not to do so. Alex was the kind of man who simply commanded one’s attention.

  “When you force enemies into combat, some will do whatever is necessary to win.”

  “But not you.”

  “Nay.” He did not brag but merely spoke the truth. She knew his brother enough to surmise the character of the man who sat across from her. He would not cheat.

  “In truth, I’d like to blame your countrymen, but I’ve seen men from both sides of the border commit the same selfish, dishonorable acts.”

  “As have I. English. . . Scottish. . . it matters not.”

  Alex cocked his head to the side. “You’ve seen much as a squire.”

  For once, he was not questioning her for information about her past. He seemed curious—no more, no less. “Aye, more than I’d have liked. Some good and some not. But I do believe everyone has the capacity for both inside them.”

  She’d never voiced that thought aloud, but it had stuck with her throughout the years, and her experiences on and off the field had convinced her it was true.

  To her surprise, Alex nodded. “My father once said much the same. He warned against alliances for that reason.”

  “Which is why Clan Kerr had so few until recently.” She knew as much from Toren.

  “Aye, and even now we’ve only joined forces with others by necessity. First to help Catrina marry the man she loved, and then to help Toren settle things with Juliette. Soon, thanks to ‘love,’ we’ll be allied with half of Scotland and England.”

  She winced inwardly at the way he’d said the word ‘love.’

  “You say the word as if it were a curse.”

  “Is it not? The future of our clan is now intertwined with the decisions of others. If they go to battle, we go with them.”

  “But you serve the king the same way, do you not?”

  “By necessity, not choice.”

  Clara smiled. “Love. Allies. Is there anything you do not despise?”

  Alex returned her smile. “Battle. Training. Ale. Women.”

  She laughed. “’Tis not necessary to continue.”

  But he did anyway. “And the company of a good man. Or woman.”

  Somehow she knew he no longer spoke of intimacy with a woman, but the type of companionship they now shared. Indeed, he was an easy man to speak to.

  They sat in silence a moment longer, and then Alex abruptly stood and turned toward their mounts. She followed.

  It would be a long journey indeed.

  Alex erected the tent, already regretting his decision to allow Clara along. He’d avoided ‘the pass,’ a well-worn old Roman road that was fairly flat and well-marked in most places, because border reivers used it regularly to wreak havoc on both sides of the border. The one they took now was slower, the terrain less friendly, and it afforded them less opportunities for proper shelters. It wove through the thick forest, however, which would give them much needed protection. Clara hadn’t complained once, not even when he’d told her they would be making camp on the road. She was just as competent as Toren had assured him she’d be.

  He didn’t regret taking her because she slowed them down. . . he regretted it because she’d just washed her face and discarded her cap, and the woman, not the boy, walked toward him now.

  “Would you like me to start the fire or hunt for food?” Clara asked.

  It was the least likely question he’d ever been asked by a woman.

  “I’ve enough provisions for two more days. Tomorrow will make for better hunting, and I’d prefer that we stay together.”

  He’d already gathered materials for a fire while she was washing herself. And though the sun had not yet set, the warm summer day would give way to a cool night, as it did most evenings in this part of the world.

  “How long until we reach Kenshire?” she asked.

  “It should not take more than a week.”

  “Here, let me help you.”

  He had begun to arrange the sticks he’d gathered. Without waiting for an answer, she knelt beside him to help him stack them the right way.

  “You’ve done this before.”

  She nodded, the waves created by pinning her hair barely touching her shoulders as she moved. Alex could not stop staring at this warrior-woman. He could not imagine a more erotic sight than Clara leaning over the budding fire, her shirt and hose hugging every curve, save the ones that were bound. And her face. . . she had the most perfect, beautiful face of any woman on either side of the border.

  “Aye, many times,” she said, snapping him to attention. “My master ensured I was well-trained.”

  He was intensely curious about her past, but experience had taught him that the more questions he asked, the less inclined she was to answer them.

  So he waited, and was rewarded.

  “He was an armorer.”

  When the sparks turned to flames, they worked together to ensure those flames became the fire that would warm them this night. Once that task was complete, Alex pulled the dried meat, bread, and cheese from his pouch and handed a portion to Clara.

  “Not a knight?”

  She tore a piece of bread from the thick loaf. “Nay, not a knight. And I lost him very recently. He died just a fortnight before I met Toren.”

  “How does an armorer come to be master of a lady?”

  He’d pushed too far. She was sitting just a few feet away from him, and she’d looked so relaxed with her legs crossed, one hand in her lap and the other holding the bread. But she’d tensed immediately upon being reminded of her noble birth.

  She surprised him by actually answering his question. “More of a companion than a master. Gilbert. His name was Gilbert, and he was one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”

  Though she put her head down quickly, it was not quickly enough. He saw her eyes fill with tears. She’d likely never talked about his death to anyone.

  “Tell me.”

  Alex understood the pain of losing a loved one.

  She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her tunic and took a deep breath.

  “Gilbert was quite skilled, and because of it, he was able to buy everything we needed. Food. Shelter. Even training for me. At nearly every tournament we attended, a queue would form outside of his makeshift forge. You’ve seen the sword he crafted for me.”

  “Indeed, a fine weapon.”

  He almost asked about the origin of its inscription, but thought better of it.

  “It was the second day of the tournament at Dunstable. An English knight whom neither of us recognized sought Gilbert out.”

  She lowered the chunk of bread into her lap.

  “He asked for Gilbert to reforge his sword and poison the tip.”

  Alex clenched his fists. He knew of the practice and had even seen men killed because of it. Poison was a coward’s weapon, but some men would win at any costs. Especially when the stakes were so high. The tournament at Dunstable was infamous for the ruby awarded t
o its champion.

  “Gilbert refused.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “The man returned later that night while Gilbert was still working. He slept little at tournaments. The coin it brought would feed us for months.”

  Clara closed her eyes and bowed her head. Alex wanted more than anything to go to her. To comfort her. Instead, he sat still and waited.

  “He brought companions with him. Gilbert had refused my help that night, insisting that I get some sleep. So I was inside the tent when I heard them.”

  She looked at him then, her eyes still glistening.

  “I could hear only muffled voices, and one man said something about putting the body in the river. By the time I realized what was happening, they were gone.”

  Alex clenched his fists. It physically pained him to imagine Clara at that moment, alone and terrified, her only companion and friend murdered.

  “Gilbert was very smart.”

  The pride in her voice was evident.

  “He’d prepared me well. I carried what I could and left immediately.”

  “In the night?”

  “Aye.”

  “Where did you go?”

  She wiped her eyes once again.

  “I didn’t travel far that night. At least one of the men who’d killed Gilbert, the knight whom he’d refused, had seen me. I made my way slowly north, closer to. . .”

  She stopped talking.

  “Places that I knew. Gilbert told me if anything ever happened to him, I should go to. . . “ She looked at him and he held her gaze. He was sure she would not reveal the specific location, but she finally said, “Keston House.”

  Alex looked at her quizzically. “The border tavern whose owners are known to harbor smugglers? You stayed there after Gilbert died?”

  Clara nodded. “He said I could tell the innkeepers the truth. And though I remained a lad there, they knew my identity. They insisted I stay with them, in fact, but I couldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?” Now he was confused.

  “Place them in danger.”

  “How would your presence put them in danger?”

  Clara pursed her lips so tight, he laughed. Her eyes widened.