The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4

by Cecelia Mecca

  “I know,” he said.

  What did he know?

  He reached down and pulled up her surcoat, under tunic, and shift in one easy motion.

  “I’m going to remedy that.”

  “What—”

  She never finished the thought. Alex moved his hand toward her as if the layers of clothing didn’t exist. He was going to touch her. There!

  “Alex, I’m not sure—”

  “I am, lass. And there’s only one way to fix it.”

  With that, he placed his hand over the most intimate part of her. This time he didn’t merely press a palm against her—he actually pushed his finger inside. For a moment, she was frozen with shock, but then he began to move, pressing his hand against her as he thrust his finger in and out, and pleasure coursed through her.

  He watched her face and she stared right back. He swallowed, lifting his chin just slightly as his hand began to move faster still. She couldn’t hold his gaze. Clara closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

  “Please.” She wanted more.

  He gave it to her.

  Her breaths were coming quicker and quicker, and a shudder escaped from her shoulders and made its way down to where his hand wrought the most exquisite feelings she’d ever experienced in her life.

  As the pleasure coursing through her continued to build, she tried to get even closer. She pressed into him, a moan escaping. She didn’t care. She just wanted. . .

  That!

  When the shudder came this time, it started from the inside and worked its way across her entire body. She cried out, holding on to him for fear of crumpling to the sand below. She pulsed around him, and Alex refused to let her go. His hand stayed where it was until she opened her eyes.

  His smile started small and then grew into the most devilishly handsome grin.

  “Was I right?”

  He pulled his hand away, and she immediately mourned its loss. Her skirts fell back around her, and Alex pulled the laces of her surcoat back together.

  “You self-assured—”

  “Passionate.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  Still grinning, he tied her stays as expertly as if he’d done it more than once before.

  “Sensual,” he ventured.

  She shook her head.

  “Nay, that’s not quite right either.”

  Finishing, he stood back and crossed his arms.

  “Accomplished. I believe what you meant to say is accomplished.”

  She shook her head, unable to stop smiling.

  And then he began to unlace the top of his trewes.

  “What are you doing?”

  His hands froze. “If your female sensibilities will be offended, now is the time to look away.”

  She didn’t want to turn, but it felt like the right thing to do. So she did. And when she heard the splash a few moments later, she promptly turned back.

  “Oh!”

  He was walking into the water, and Clara had a very clear view of his backside. The man was utterly perfect. His back, his legs and. . . she didn’t want to stop staring at his buttocks.

  Oblivious to her gaze, he continued to move into the water until he was waist deep, at which point he promptly disappeared below the surface. A wave crashed, and for a moment panic welled inside her. But Alex re-emerged a moment later, shaking his head and turning toward her with the most devilishly handsome smile she’d ever seen.

  And then he began to walk toward her. In a moment he would. . .

  She spun around, trying to ignore the laughter that reached her ears. Was he dressing behind her?

  “You’re free to look, my shy English maid.”

  She didn’t trust him totally, not in this, so she waited just a moment longer. “That’s mostly correct,” she said.

  His damp, bare arms wrapped around her from the back.

  “You were shy when we first met,” he said, squeezing her gently.

  “Not precisely,” she said. “But I did learn that avoiding eye contact kept me out of trouble.”

  “Ahh,” he said. “Part of the ruse.” His hand moved to the front of her dress and ran from her waist up toward her breasts. “The Clara who cried out earlier is the real English maid. Is Alfred the demure one?”

  “Cried out,” she mocked, attempting to keep a straight face.

  He dipped his hand below the ties so it rested just short of the peak she knew was hard once again. “Aye,” he murmured, sweeping her hair to the side and kissing her neck from behind. “Your release,” he clarified. “The result of desire. ’Tis quite an enjoyable state, is it not?”

  The feeling between her legs was undeniable even as she tried to humble him. “I think you overestimate your abilities.”

  His fingers slipped lower and caressed her nipple as if to prove her wrong. His mouth seared a path toward her ear, his tongue flicking against the skin that felt as if it were on fire.

  “I’ve underestimated many things.”

  The pressure of his fingers increased as his other hand mimicked the first.

  “You, for starters.”

  She leaned her head to the side again, wanting him to kiss her neck. The pressure between her legs built even though he wasn’t touching her there. It threatened to overflow.

  “But if there’s one area I’m quite confident in. . .”

  He moved up against her, the length of his body now fully pressed behind her.

  “It’s this one.”

  He was relentless.

  The triple assault was just too much. The building sensation shattered, and she throbbed all over, crying out unabashedly. His hands stopped their ministrations and spun her around. His kisses only extended the incredible feeling that she didn’t want to end.

  Finally, he pulled away, and she was able to catch her breath.

  Sort of.

  “How did you know—”

  He placed a finger on her lips. “You don’t want the answer to that.”

  Yet she already had it. Lots and lots of practice. She tried to push the thought aside of the careless, rowdy men at the inn. Thoughts of Alex in such situations were not ones she cared to entertain.

  He moved away then to pick up the tunic that lay crumpled on the sand. “Go back, and I’ll follow.” He shook it as bits of sand fell to the ground.

  Her gaze fell to the ridges on his stomach and then a bit lower. She swallowed, knowing he’d been fully unclothed just a few moments earlier.

  “You were bleeding,” she said, remembering the blood she’d seen earlier.

  He shrugged. “Not my blood,” he said, appearing unconcerned. She’d seen him fight and pitied his opponent.

  She looked up at the castle and knew they would be missed soon. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave just yet.

  “You haven’t told me why you came here.” And then it hit her. He hadn’t come to find her after all.

  “To—”

  She stopped him, already knowing the answer. “Wash away the dirt and blood from training.” How utterly humiliating. Clara had assumed he’d sought her out, but that was simply what she’d wanted to think.

  “I will go first so as not to arouse suspicion.” Of course, Emma already knew they were together out here. Alone.

  Clara turned and fled, her feet not moving fast enough for her. Fool!

  Why hadn’t he corrected her?

  After taking out his frustrations on a number of English knights eager to best the Scotsman, Alex had finally given in to the need that had been demanding his attention all day. He’d wanted to see her. To touch her. To be with her. He’d finally walked away from yet another sword fight—he’d have to find Geoffrey for a real challenge—and inquired about the whereabouts of Clara, or rather Lady Susanna.

  Something about her had made him forget his original intention—to apologize—and though he had apologized, he’d done much more than that. But Alex hadn’t been able to resist touching her. He wanted to be inside her, ima
gined it so often he could almost believe it had already happened. But seeing the pleasure on her face as she melted against him had been as sweet as any release of his own. Of course, he couldn’t very well walk to the castle in this state, smiling at the memory of how her cheeks had pinkened when he disrobed in front of her.

  Shy maid, indeed.

  So why had he allowed her to think washing was his only intention? The hurt in her eyes had been evident. Mayhap he’d done it simply to put some distance between them. Taking pleasures where they could was one thing. Taking her maidenhead was an entirely different matter.

  And yet. . . he could not bear for her to think the worst. Alex swore as he began to follow Clara back to the keep, his every thought fixed on his English maid.

  “There you are.”

  The steward seemed to be everywhere at Kenshire. Alex had no sooner made his way through the gate, skirting the keep’s main entrance, than Peter found him in an open passageway.

  “You’ve a rare ability to sneak up on a man,” he said, surprised not to have seen or heard the steward coming.

  “If I wasn’t able to do so, I’d not be much of a steward to the lord and lady of Kenshire.”

  “Is there word from Elkview?”

  At this point, Alex didn’t know what his preferred answer would be.

  “Nay, but there is a man inside meeting with Geoffrey now. He sent me to find you.”

  “Me?” Unless it pertained to his mother, Alex couldn’t imagine what Geoffrey would need from him.

  “Aye, they are currently occupying my office. If you’ll follow me?”

  He did so with interest. Leading him into the great hall and then across it and down a short corridor, Peter opened the door to a room with no windows or openings to the outside world. Every surface stacked with old books and parchment, it seemed a fitting room for the steward. Its smell was not unpleasant, though it was a tad dusty.

  Geoffrey and his companion, who’d been sitting around a small round table to one side of Peter’s desk, both stood to greet him.

  Peter introduced him.

  “May I present Alex Kerr of Brockburg to Lord Easton.”

  “Sit,” Geoffrey requested, indicating the two empty chairs at the table. Alex and the steward took the empty chairs, and Geoffrey and his guest returned to their seats.

  The English lord was young, perhaps the same age as Geoffrey. No one had mentioned his visit. Had he been expected?

  “Lord Easton was travelling up the coast and had not planned on stopping here.”

  “I’ve recently returned from the crusade,” the man explained. “I bring news for you. While passing through Elkview, I heard of your inquiries.”

  Alex sat up in his chair. Finally, he knew what this was about.

  “I know your mother,” the man continued.

  His chest felt as if Lord Easton had taken a war hammer and slammed him with it. His mother. He didn’t even like hearing the title on another's lips. She wasn’t his mother. She was merely the woman who had given birth to him.

  “Where is she?”

  Somehow, he still wanted to know. Alex must enjoy being punished.

  “You were in her hall.”

  “In her—”

  “Elkview Castle. ’Twas hers after the death of her husband. The new lord, his son, has yet to take up residence there. But I made the connection as soon as I heard of your visit.”

  “How?”

  Geoffrey and Peter remained silent.

  “I was acquainted with her husband.”

  Her husband. So his mother had re-married an English lord. Did she have any children by him? That would mean—

  “I didn’t speak to her, but I owe a debt to Lady Sara and hope the information is valuable to you.”

  Alex looked to each man in the room, who were all looking at him. Were they waiting for him to react?

  “She was there yesterday?” Had she avoided him on purpose?

  “I don’t know.”

  The lord sat back and crossed his arms.

  He wanted to ask more questions, but Lord Easton appeared to have said his piece. Which was just as well. He’d get the answers himself.

  “Thank you for bringing me this information,” Alex said.

  “You’ll stay the night, of course,” Geoffrey asked.

  Lord Easton stood and the others followed. “I would like to speak to your wife briefly, but then I must be on my way.”

  Good.

  He had worried about how Clara would react to the stranger. Would she retreat to being Alfred if this man stayed?

  They followed Peter out and toward the great hall. Alex cursed when he heard the whispers coming toward them. He knew one of those voices all too well.

  Emma and Clara were walking so fast that they passed them without even noticing the man’s presence. Lord Easton had evidently seen them pass by, however, for his gaze followed them down the now-empty corridor.

  Alex’s fists balled at his sides.

  “Come, I will bring you to Lady Sara,” Peter said, guiding Lord Easton away.

  As soon as they were alone, Geoffrey frowned at him. “Are you surprised by his news?”

  It was anger he felt, not surprise. Anger at himself for his reaction to Lord Easton.

  “You don’t like the man?”

  “I don’t know him.”

  Geoffrey clasped him on the back. “I don’t blame you,” he said.

  He looked at the reiver, who smiled broadly.

  “In fact, I think I’ll find Sara for myself. Easton’s reputation precedes him, and I can’t say I’m sorry to see him leave. Not,” he added, “that I don’t trust my wife. But why tempt the fates with such a man?”

  Alex knew what he meant. He wasn’t too proud to admit that Lord Easton was a very good-looking young lord. Geoffrey walked away, but Alex stood rooted to the same spot, shaking his head. He should have cared more about the news Lord Easton had brought than the natural, quick glance he’d given two beautiful young women.

  Jealousy. An emotion he had thus far avoided.

  Until Clara.

  20

  What had she been thinking?

  Clara had pretended not to notice the men after passing the steward’s room. Emma, who had truly not noticed them, continued on toward her bedchamber, where they planned to choose their gowns for the evening meal. But Clara had not survived, alone, since Gilbert’s death by being unaware.

  She hadn’t seen much, but the newcomer had noticed them. By his dress, she could tell he was a nobleman. Clara scurried to catch up with Emma, but the incident had left her rattled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  But Clara kept silent until they reached Emma’s chamber, her own temporary lodgings, and entered the room.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Clara heaved out a sigh. “Why am I marauding through the castle, undisguised, just waiting for someone to appear who can identify me?”

  Her words were too revealing, but she no longer cared if Emma knew the truth.

  “There was a man down there when we walked by. A stranger. A lord by the look of him.”

  Clara took a deep breath, folding her hands on her lap to steady them. “My father was a supporter of de Montfort. After Kenilworth, the king’s men killed him in our own hall, seized our home, and forced me to flee,” she blurted out. It was somehow easier to say now that she’d already told Alex.

  She looked up. Emma’s eyes were wide, full of pity. . . and understanding.

  “I am the daughter of Edward Wheaton, and Barrington Castle was once my home and birthright. My father's dear friend Gilbert, an armorer, helped me escape. He warned me of the risk of imprisonment or death if I were ever discovered.”

  She pointed to the clothes and cap sitting atop the trunk at the foot of the bed. How she hated both of them. “As much as I despise that disguise, it’s kept me alive for the past six years. And now I’m risking everything.”

  Emma sat next to her. “There’s been peace
between the earl’s supporters and the king. Is the situation still so dire?”

  It was the same question Alex had asked. “Can I take that chance?”

  Neither woman spoke.

  Finally, Emma placed her hand atop Clara’s hand, which had finally stopped shaking.

  “Are you sure the threat is the only reason you’ve stayed in the disguise?” Emma rushed to continue. “You’ve been posing as a boy for so long, you’ve not had the chance to be Lady Clara. It must be scary to do so.”

  Scary? Nonsense. Though she didn’t want to say so aloud. Emma was just trying to help.

  “I should not have told you. My father was killed. Gilbert was killed. I’m putting everyone in—”

  “The king’s men killed your armorer?”

  “Nay, he refused to help a knight cheat at a tournament. . .”

  She stopped, unable to recount yet another tragedy.

  Emma squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me. Though I’m glad you trust me enough to have shared your story.”

  “I may have put you in danger.”

  Emma looked unconcerned. “You did not. The only danger we’re in at the moment is being late to supper. Since Cook mentioned my pears, I’m expecting a special treat. Come, let’s find you a gown.”

  She stood and began to look through the trunk that seemed to overflow with more clothing than before. Someone, either Emma or the lady’s maid, had added more gowns to the wardrobe for her benefit. After seeing the stranger, Clara wondered if Lady Susanna should leave Kenshire. But none seemed to remember Alex had arrived with a squire, so wouldn’t Alfred’s sudden reappearance seem odd? And she knew Sara and Emma would be disappointed.

  And she would be disappointed too.

  A few more days.

  After that, she’d have plenty of time to don her disguise. In the meantime, she allowed Emma, and later Faye, to assist her in preparing for the evening. She wore a crimson velvet gown and a low-hanging gold-jeweled belt. Just before she left the chamber, Emma returned with a gold circlet and helped her place it on her head. A single ruby hung from the center. When she protested that she could not possibly borrow such a valuable item, Emma pushed her hand away.

  “It’s perfect,” she said, standing back to look at Clara.