“We’ll find her,” Geoffrey said beside him.
His unlikely ally slapped him on the back. “If she’s anywhere near Elkview, word will reach us,” he said as they made their way toward the entrance of the main keep.
After arriving at the village of Elkview, the two men had spoken to as many people as they could. Geoffrey had even gained entrance to the castle. The lord had recently passed away, and though its lady had been unavailable, the marshal who’d greeted them in her stead had assured them every effort would be made to assist in their search.
Oddly, they had not been invited to stay the evening, which was just as well. They’d already agreed to stay at a nearby inn so they could learn more and speak to a different sort of crowd. Unfortunately, however, they had come away with little information. Rising early, they’d ridden hard all day to get back to Kenshire. Alex was anxious to make use of the castle’s proximity to the sea to wash off the dirt accumulated on his travels.
The only thing he looked forward to more was assuring himself that Clara was well.
“My lords,” the grey-bearded steward rushed toward them. “My lady has been eagerly awaiting your return.”
For the briefest of moments, Alex thought he meant Clara. But of course, that was not possible. To the rest of the world she was Alfred, not a lady.
Geoffrey stopped abruptly.
“What,” he said to Peter, “is she planning?”
Alex wasn’t sure what was happening, but those simple words elicited a guilty, wide-eyed look from the stern but affable steward.
“I am not sure what you—”
“Peter?”
A rooster chose that moment to escape from its master. All three men turned to the errant creature. By the time Alex looked back up, Peter was walking briskly away from them.
“Any guesses,” Alex asked as they made their way through the courtyard.
“None,” Geoffrey responded. “But I suspect we’ll soon find out what is afoot.”
When they finally entered the keep, Alex’s laughter turned more than a few servants’ heads.
“A banquet!” He couldn’t help teasing the man who had, however unlikely, become something of a friend. “And you’ve only been gone for one night.”
Flowers filled every crevice, and servants moved from the trestle tables to the cupboards at the sides of the hall and back again, their arms laden with drinking vessels.
“What the devil—”
“There you are!”
Lady Sara rushed toward them.
“Did Peter not tell you?”
“Tell us?” Geoffrey asked.
“Oh dear. Excuse my poor manners.” She turned to Alex. “Did you find your mother?”
He shrugged. “Not yet.”
She frowned and then turned to Geoffrey. Without warning, she threw her arms around her husband, who embraced her in a display of public affection rivaling only Toren and Lady Juliette.
Alex shifted his weight and looked around the hall. Clara was nowhere to be seen. He did not want to interrupt their reunion, but he needed to know she was safe.
Sara unwrapped her arms around her husband, who seemed unwilling to let go.
“I fear your man is ill,” she said, turning toward him.
“Ill?” His heart thudded in his chest. Clara was sick? Was it serious?
Sara pushed away from Geoffrey and leaned toward him. “She is not really,” she whispered. “But please just trust me.”
Not ill? “She’s still here?”
“Of course.” Then, more loudly to them both, “I have wonderful news.”
Geoffrey pressed his lips into a fine line.
“Emma has returned with her dear friend Lady Susanna!”
Emma? Was that Geoffrey’s. . .
“Lady Susanna?” Geoffrey asked.
“Oh husband,” Sara shook her head and linked her arm to his. “You remember Lady Susanna.” She leaned in and whispered something to him.
“Of course,” he said, adding, “I look forward to seeing her again.”
Nearby servants stared, and Alex didn’t blame them. The entire conversation had baffled him. And he really only wanted to know about Clara.
“Lady Sara,” he began.
But she cut him off. “You both must wash for dinner, and quickly. As you can see, I’ve planned a bit of a welcome for Emma, and I feared you would miss it. But you said one night, so I assumed. . .”
Lady Sara kept talking, but he only half listened. He wanted to see Clara. Her rooms were just above stairs, while his chamber was in a different tower entirely. He debated on whether or not to go to her now or—
“My lord,” Sara turned back to him. “I’ll have someone come to assist you.”
He shot an envious look at the lord and lady. Clara was in their tower. But how could he go to her now without raising suspicions?
He couldn’t.
“There is no need,” he finally replied. “I thought to wash in the—”
“I’ve already had a bath prepared,” she finished.
A bath. Alex smiled. “Your husband said you’re always in need of new retainers,” he quipped.
Lady Sara looked from him to Geoffrey, no doubt shocked at the change in their mutual demeanor. For him to even jest about becoming a retainer to Kenshire. . .
“The legendary Alex Kerr fighting for the English,” Geoffrey’s smile had started to come more frequently and easily over the two-day trip, and Alex was glad for it.
“Your sister would be pleased,” Sara said, and Alex knew she was right. When Bryce and Toren had fought, it had nearly killed her. To have their two families find peace after so long. . .
They came to the place where the two parties parted and he wanted to ask again about Clara, who might or might not be ill. But it seemed best to wait for whatever scheme Sara had fashioned to unfold.
Alex would have to settle for seeing her at the meal.
“Are you in need of an escort?” Sara asked.
“No need,” Alex said, trying to remember which passageway led to his rooms. He took a sharp right until he heard male laughter behind him.
Geoffrey.
So he’d made a wrong turn.
He turned and walked down an adjacent corridor, Geoffrey’s laughter echoing behind him. Catrina would, indeed, be grateful at the strides they’d made in mending their differences.
After a few additional wrong turns, he finally arrived at his destination. Opening the oak door to his chamber, he spied a large tub filled with water that, surprisingly, was still hot. Much preferable to the frigid saltwater of the North Sea.
As Alex discarded his dusty breeks, he wondered if his sister and brothers were right. Perhaps their mother was best left in the past, much like their feud with the Waryns. What good would it do to confront her? To ask her why she’d left? The fact remained that she had. . . She was already dead to them, as Reid had said over and over. It was a fool’s quest to attempt to locate a woman who didn’t want to be found. . .
He stepped into the tub, feeling more at peace than he had since leaving Brockburg. It doesn’t matter. He repeated the phrase over and over and almost believed it by the time he finished scrubbing himself dry.
Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to, namely Clara. What precisely was he to do with a squire he didn’t want and a companion he wanted entirely too much? If she could trust him with the rest of her story, perhaps he could help her.
And then what?
At least he’d have the opportunity to speak to her tonight. Or, more precisely, “him,” as she’d unfortunately be presenting herself as Alfred this eve at the impromptu celebration. One he needed to hurry to attend.
17
“I can’t do this,” Clara muttered to no one, pacing back and forth. Faye had just left after being summoned by Lady Sara. She didn’t deserve their kindness. Clara was becoming more and more of a burden, and now, when they should be celebrating Emma’s return, they were instead pre
occupied with her preparations.
She’d endured more primping than she had the day her father had welcomed her first potential suitor. She had been young at the time, but her father must have known the years ahead would bring turmoil. He had pushed her to accept, something Clara could not bring herself to do. Her father would never have forced her, however, and the match hadn’t gone through. Looking back, it was one mistake she regretted. Not for herself, but for Gilbert, who might still be alive if he hadn’t been forced to become her protector.
Gilbert, who would have been appalled that she was putting herself in such danger.
A knock at the door startled her.
“My lady?” The young handmaiden who’d been assisting her stepped into the room. “The others are already assembled in the hall.”
She should be down there already. It was rude of her to delay.
“You look lovely,” the girl said in a voice that was barely a whisper. She wanted to tell the girl such a thing didn’t matter. But it would have been a lie. Despite herself, despite the fact that Clara was about to present herself—with no disguise—to a hall filled with people, she did care what she looked like.
She cared because of Alex.
When Sara and Emma had descended on her earlier to help her choose a gown—a beautiful deep blue confection with extremely low-hanging sleeves—they’d been all excitement. They’d squealed in delight upon seeing her freshly styled hair. Faye had captured the front tendrils in a braid that extended from both sides and met in the back. The majority of her hair hung unbound, now just a bit longer than her shoulders. She could almost believe their exclamations of delight at how beautiful she looked.
Clara had forgotten her predicament for a time, allowing herself to become engrossed in the process of becoming a lady once more. But doubts began to resurface now that she was left alone with her thoughts. What if someone recognized her? Sara had declared it impossible, that the celebration would be limited to their regular household, all those who lived and worked at Kenshire.
But that didn’t stop her from fretting.
“Shall I tell her you’re coming?”
Clara had forgotten the girl’s presence.
“Aye,” she said, following her out of the chamber and down the long passageway that led to the lower floor. Clara made her way toward the balcony that overlooked the hall, wanting to see Alex before he spied her first. Unfortunately, a guard, the man ever present at the top of the stairs, stepped in her path.
“My lady,” he said, holding out his arm.
Normally she was perfectly capable of descending the stairs on her own. This evening, she wasn’t so sure. A harp played a soft melody below, and the clangs of metal, preparations for the first course, could be heard as they approached the winding staircase that led directly to the hall’s east entrance. As they stood at the top, she could see below for the briefest of moments before they began to walk down the stairs.
With her free hand, Clara clutched her dress, pulling it upward in an attempt to avoid spilling headfirst into one of the wall torches that lit their way. As they wound their way down, Clara caught brief glimpses of color and lights. Candles and people.
She couldn’t look.
Finally, they were at the bottom.
It took just the briefest of glances to find him.
Alex, along with his host, was staring at her. In fact, everyone seemed to be doing so. Clara wanted nothing more than to turn and run back up the stairs. She was so used to looking down to avoid suspicion—and attention—that she found herself doing so now.
The knight beside her released her arm. She murmured her thanks as Emma came running up beside her.
“Lady Susanna, where have you been? We were worried you may have taken ill.”
If that was a question about her well-being, Clara’s answer came easily enough. “I just may yet,” she said. Emma laughed, but Clara was not jesting.
She allowed Emma to lead her around the trestle tables toward the back of the hall. She stared at the raised platform, looking at the shining silver goblets and candles that seemed to be everywhere. She focused her gaze there. . . anywhere but on—
“Lady Susanna?”
Him.
She and Emma stopped as the others moved around them, making their way to the dais.
She turned, and Emma let her arm drop. Geoffrey’s sister winked as she joined the others, abandoning her with Alex.
Was he angry? Confused?
He looked neither. Alex’s perpetual grin was back, a welcoming smile that made everyone around him feel compelled to speak. To bare their soul as she had done. The smell of sandalwood competed with his own unique scent. Her fingers ached with the need to touch him.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, but it appears there is no one to introduce us.”
He was enjoying this. Clara was not. Anxiety crept up her spine.
“Your reputation proceeds you, my lord,” she said for the benefit of the servant threading
his way around them.
Alex bowed. “Alex Kerr of Brockburg,” he said, taking her hand.
His eyes glinted as he lowered his head and touched his lips to her flesh. A flood of warmth flowed from her hand to the rest of her body. His lips stayed there just a moment longer than was proper.
“And I—”
“Are the most beautiful woman on either side of the border,” he finished.
He let go of her hand, and Clara was saved from giving him yet another false name. It wasn’t the first time he had complimented her. But it was the first time she felt confident enough in herself as a woman to believe him. His eyes never left her face, and his expression. . . it was if he saw her for the first time. And in some ways, perhaps he did.
“You are most gracious, my lord.”
He took her arm in the crook of his own, and they made their way to their seats. Her gentle Scottish warrior. After so many years of posing as someone else, it felt so natural, so right, to look the part of a lady and to be escorted to the dinner by Alex Kerr. Lord help her, she could get used to such a feeling.
“Lady Emma,” he said, bowing once again as he released her arm and pulled out the
empty seat next to the youngest Waryn.
His own seat was on the other side of Geoffrey’s. She watched him make his way there, her eyes taking in his fine figure in his evening clothes. He was dressed more formally than normal, the surcoat he wore stopping short of his waist, shorter than most men’s. His white undershirt deliciously complimented his tanned skin. Emma leaned in toward her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she accused, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes putting Clara immediately on the defensive.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
She nodded to the cupbearer, who filled her cup with a deep red wine.
“He’s a fine man,” Emma whispered. “For a Kerr,” she added.
“Your brother is married to a Kerr,” she reminded her, stealing a glance at Alex, who appeared to be in deep conversation with Geoffrey. But just as she was about to look away, he caught her eye.
And winked!
The Scotsman was incorrigible. Every person in the hall would know of their ‘affinity’ by the end of the evening.
“You’ve met Lady Catrina,” Emma said eagerly.
“Aye, your brother is quite lucky.”
“They are both lucky,” she responded, glancing at Sara, who smiled and nodded in agreement.
“I understand you have another brother?”
“Neill is my twin,” Emma said, a wistfulness in her voice.
“You miss him.”
Clara took a sip of wine. Delicious. Though she’d forgotten how cumbersome the draped sleeves could be.
“Very much,” she said. “When we lived with my aunt and uncle, after. . . well, after we lost Bristol, we were inseparable. I love all of my brothers, but Neill. . .
“Where is he now?” Clara thought she’d heard something abo
ut him being fostered.
“At Langford Castle.”
“Langford,” Clara repeated. “I’ve not heard of it.”
“It was once a Caiser holding, but it was given to a man by the name of Sir Adam Dayne many years ago. He was fostered by my grandfather. ’Tis an interesting tale—”
Emma was cut off by the appearance of the first course.
The first of many.
“I’ve not eaten so much in one sitting,” Clara said much later, after the food had finally stopped coming. With every passing moment, she relaxed just a bit more. Emma was an easy companion, and their ‘forced’ friendship felt like it was fast becoming a real one. As Sara had said, the visitors at the banquet were limited to two wealthy merchants passing through Kenshire to the border. The others were all Kenshire knights, retainers, and servants. It should be safe.
“’Tis nice to see you smile,” Emma commented.
Clara immediately looked at Alex.
“He does appear in good humor most often. I’m not surprised he and Bryce did not get along very well.”
Clara thought it might have more to do with their shared history than their dispositions, though she did agree Sir Bryce appeared somewhat surly. But she kept that thought to herself.
“I’m sorry his quest was not successful,” Clara said of Alex’s search for his mother.
“We shall see.”
Clara looked at Emma. “What do you mean?”
“Geoffrey believes there’s hope yet they may find her.”
Clara tore her eyes from Alex when Sara caught her staring. He was just so easy to look at, so appealing to the eye.
She sat back, the effects of too much wine beginning to take effect. It had been some time since she’d allowed herself more than one goblet at a sitting.
She allowed the conversation to flow around her and tried not to look at him too much. Clara smoothed the front of her gown under the table, the soft velvet under her fingers reminding her of happier times. Reminding her of home.
“I’ve never seen you so happy.”
The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4 Page 14
