“Tell me about your brothers,” he said to Geoffrey, hoping the conversation would help distract him.
“You’ve met Bryce, of course,” Geoffrey said. “He’s always been the quiet one.”
“Quiet,” Alex chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way to describe him.”
In truth, Bryce glared more than he spoke. His silence was unnerving at times, and Alex still wondered how Catrina could have fallen in love with such a man. She was his opposite in so many ways, and yet there was no denying they were happy together.
“And Neill. . .” He was quiet for a moment. Alex allowed him time to think. “He takes after his eldest brother in his good looks and charm.”
Alex laughed aloud then. “I doubt that.”
Geoffrey ignored him.
“But he’s as headstrong as Emma. He oft acts before he thinks.”
Alex thought it was a good description of Geoffrey’s sister as he knew her.
“But I see Bryce in him too. Though I believe he uses silence more to his advantage than anything else. With us, he’s never too shy to give an opinion.”
“That sounds like Catrina,” Alex said.
“A fine woman,” Geoffrey complimented his sister. “Bryce could not have found a better one.”
“She is very much like the mother I knew from my childhood.”
Geoffrey didn’t answer, and Alex could have kicked himself. No matter how friendly they became, the subject of Geoffrey’s parents would never be a comfortable one for them, and he did not wish his. . . friend any discomfort.
“As is Emma,” Geoffrey finally said. “That my mother was killed attempting to attack one of your men was not a surprise to me.”
There was no malice or condemnation in his voice. Alex didn’t know how he managed such a thing.
“I feel sorry for the man who attempts to tame that hellion,” Geoffrey said. “I love my sister dearly, but she’s never once listened to anyone. Perhaps with the exception of our father. But I’m not the only one who couldn’t control her. My mother and my aunt and uncle had no better luck.”
Alex thought again of Catrina. Of Clara and Sara and all the other strong women he knew. “Maybe you should all stop trying.”
“Ha!” Geoffrey slowed his horse. “What of when she sneaks off in the dead of the night to ‘watch the waves ebb and flow,’ giving the entire household a scare? I could tell you stories that would make your protective instincts flare.”
Those same instincts made him aware that they weren’t alone. Geoffrey had slowed for a reason, and he could hear that reason just up ahead. Not voices, yet—these were more like whispers in the wind. He moved his hand to the hilt of his sword and waited, as did his brother-in-law.
They didn’t have to wait long for the threat to reveal itself.
27
There were as many different kinds of reivers as there were men. Some were of noble birth, even lawmen, who thought of reiving akin to a sport. Others, like the ones they met on the way to Kenshire, were more ruthless and mercenary than the most disillusioned of men. Most fell somewhere in between, reiving as a means for survival.
The reivers slowed, finally having spotted Alex and Geoffrey. Waiting for their approach, Alex flexed his hand—ready to determine if words would be enough to see him and Geoffrey on their way. He had no desire for bloodshed, but neither did he appreciate this delay. Clara was out there, alone and afraid, and he needed to find her.
He couldn’t see their faces yet, but if Geoffrey’s position were any indication, he was also preparing for a possible fight. Having been a reiver himself for a time, he knew their ways better than most, and Alex allowed him to take the lead as he edged his horse forward.
“Greetings, men,” one of them said. “You can relax your. . . Waryn?”
They were close enough now for Alex to get a good look at the men. They were neither large nor small.
Geoffrey jumped from his mount, as did both reivers. To Alex’s surprise, the lord embraced them one at a time. The reunion lasted but a moment before they all turned toward him.
“Alex, come meet these men.”
He dismounted and walked toward the group.
“Aaron and Robert Dunn, meet my brother-in-law, Alex Kerr.”
Their smiles faded and the Englishmen, which their reaction revealed them to be, looked as if they wanted to kill him.
“Geoffrey— ” the light-haired one named Robert began.
“Yes. He’s a Kerr. And a good man, so you can stop staring at him like that unless you want your skull cracked in half.”
The other reiver looked toward Geoffrey. “By who? Certainly not you? We’ve heard you’re a great earl now. Likely you can’t even use that thing,” he said, pointing to Geoffrey’s sword.
Geoffrey moved quickly, grabbing the lance from Robert.
“Who needs a sword?” Geoffrey said. “This will do quite nicely.”
Aaron laughed. “That’s twice tonight you’ve been taken unaware, brother.”
Geoffrey finished the introductions. “Aaron and Robert are friends of my aunt and uncle who took us in after Bristol.”
The men exchanged another surprised look, likely because Geoffrey had spoken so calmly about his home being attacked.
“They introduced me to reiving.”
“And Hugh. Where is your uncle?”
Geoffrey handed the reiver back his lance. “He’s overseeing fortifications of an old wall at Elmhurst with Simon. His wife, Faye, is at Kenshire.”
It took Alex a moment to place the name until he remembered he was the uncle whom Geoffrey had referenced earlier.
“Wife?” the lighter-haired one grimaced. “The poor woman.”
“What are you doing this far east, Aaron?” Geoffrey asked. “And at this time of night?”
The reivers looked at each other and then at Geoffrey. “We’re headed to you.”
“Me?” Geoffrey’s surprise was evident. “Is something wrong?”
“We didn’t know you needed us, Waryn,” Aaron said. “Rumors of Bristol reached us too late. We’d not have you thinking your reiving family had abandoned you.”
Geoffrey put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “If I’d needed your help, I’d have found you.”
The men both looked at Alex again. “But clearly you did not,” said Robert.
“Much has happened since we last met.” Geoffrey walked toward Alex, evidently as a display of allegiance. “Bristol is secure, and the Scottish king who ordered Clan Kerr to take it—” he emphasized the word ordered, “—has relinquished their claim. And—” his tone hinted at the finality of his words, “—my brother, Bryce, is married to his sister.”
Robert shrugged, apparently satisfied. “Whatcha doing out here? Are you missing your reiving ways?” he asked.
Geoffrey nodded to the road ahead. “We’re looking for someone.”
Robert moved toward his mount. Without asking any further questions, he displayed the legendary reiver loyalty to family and clan, and said, “Then we’ll help you find them.”
Geoffrey didn’t seem surprised, and Alex was just glad to keep moving.
“Where are we going?” Aaron asked.
“To Keston House,” Alex answered.
“Who are we looking for?” Robert stroked his mount’s mane with care, another indication that, reiver or not, he was the kind of man Alex would be glad to travel alongside.
“A lad,” Geoffrey answered. “A squire by the name of—”
“Alfred?”
They all stopped to look at Robert.
Alex understood immediately. “Were you taken unaware by a lad named Alfred?”
“You should have seen it,” Aaron boasted. “He was as small as his sword, but the lad held it so quickly to Robert’s back I thought I may have one less brother this eve.”
“And you’re sure his name was Alfred?” Alex held his breath, waiting.
“Aye, that’s what they called him. He travels with a merchant and a
nother young boy.”
“When?” he and Geoffrey asked at the same time.
“A few hours past,” Aaron answered.
“Did they say where they were going?” Alex asked eagerly. Though he swelled with pride, the vision of Clara arming herself against these men terrified him.
Aaron shook his head. “On this road? ’Twould seem the same place you are. Not much besides Keston House between here and—”
“He is okay then?” Alex interrupted.
“You should be asking my brother that. I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Aaron?” Geoffrey prodded.
“Aye, better than that. He is a feisty lad. It was only when we mentioned we were headed to Kenshire that he took his sword from Robert’s back.”
“Please tell me you didn’t rob them?”
“Rob?” Aaron apparently was appalled at such an idea. “Tax them, more like. This is our territory.”
“Aaron!”
“Nay, Geoffrey, we did not take anything from them. Certainly not after the boy pulled his sword.”
The relief that coursed through Alex’s body almost felled him. He was in love with Clara. The thought of seeing her, of holding her in his arms. . .
To hell with the danger. They knew now his guess was accurate. Clara was headed to Keston House. He sped up and led the group, not caring if the other men followed.
He would get there by daybreak, and when he found her, he’d never let her go.
“Alfred?”
Clara leapt off the cart and ran to the woman who had kept her safe after Gilbert’s death.
Albri was a plump but fierce middle-aged woman whose hair had long ago gone grey. A woman who was known to harbor smugglers and slit the throat of any man who crossed her. Her ruthlessness was matched only by her husband’s. Edgar, the son of a wealthy merchant who once made a living as a mercenary, was large, scary, and incredibly kind. At least to Clara.
They were the kind of people she never would have gotten to know as Clara, but to whom Alfred owed much.
“I am a boy,” Clara reminded her. Albri released her, and luckily, none seemed to have noticed the overly-long embrace.
“What took ye so long to come back?”
And before Clara could answer, she kept talking. “It’s hardly daybreak. You travelled all night?”
“Albri—” she gestured to the fur trader and his nephew, “—they need a room.”
Albri watched them bring the cart to the nearby stables. From the decisive nod she gave them, it was clear she knew they’d helped Clara. “The best Keston has to offer,” she said, turning away. “Come, lad.” She chuckled, reminding Clara of the other reason she’d not remained here longer. Albri was not very good at keeping secrets.
These were Gilbert’s friends, and they had treated her like a daughter when she needed it most. But Clara still had trouble understanding how a man like Gilbert—a man killed for refusing to involve himself in illegal activities—could call Edgar and Albri friends.
“Albri,” she called out to her hostess, knowing that she would soon be whisked into the wattle-and-dab structure known as much for its penny-a-night rooms as it was for harboring smugglers. Though it was further inland than most smuggler establishments, it was close enough to gain the attention of evil-doers looking for safe passage to both sides of the border.
“Before you feed me—”
“Ha, gone for months and she—pardon, he—thinks he knows ol’ Albri.”
Clara watched her wrinkled face scrunch up, leaving no doubt as to where the lines on her face had originated.
“Well? When’s the last you’ve eaten, boy?”
Clara would have laughed, but she remembered she was no longer Clara. Masking her feminine laugh was something she’d never been able to do successfully.
“Just so,” Clara said. “But I need to speak with you first. It’s important.”
Whether Albri took heed of her impatient tone or saw the look of panic in her eyes, Clara couldn’t be sure. But rather than bring her inside, the older woman pulled her to the side of the inn.
“Are they after ye?”
Clara smiled. Albri was fond of saying exactly what was on her mind.
“There are men looking for me,” she started, pausing to search for the right words. How could she convey the importance of misdirecting Alex without unintentionally putting him in danger? If Edgar and Albri thought he was a threat to her, they would not rest until that threat was eliminated.
“Well, of course there are—”
“Nay, Albri, different men. A Scot. Not a bad man,” she rushed to explain. “In fact, he is a very good man. But. . .” She hated to do this, but it was the only solution she could think of. “I just don’t care for him. In that way.”
She did not want him to be harmed. And if Albri had any indication of her true feelings for Alex, he’d be welcomed into Keston House like a king.
Albri’s eyes widened. “He knows?”
Clara nodded, looking down the road as the sun rose higher in the sky. “He does. And please—” she emphasized her next words, “—please do not do him any harm. I just. . . he is not someone I care to be with.”
Albri scrutinized her face, and Clara prayed she looked sincere.
Please, please believe me.
“If you’re sure—”
“Yes! I am sure. Oh Albri, thank you. Bless your heart. I promise one day. . .” She could not help her now, but if she was ever in a position to repay the woman for her kindness, Clara would do so.
“Come then.”
Clara followed her inside, where most of the inn’s visitors still slept. The two-floor building, along with a separate kitchen and stable, featured more than one depiction of a magpie. From the sign hanging outside to the large tapestry that hung inside the common room, the good omen seemed to have worked thus far. Despite its location along the border and its questionable reputation, Keston House not only remained standing, but it continued to thrive, making its owners wealthy.
They climbed the stairs and Albri drew out a key from her pocket. “I’ve only got one room. Your merchant will have to sleep in the stable. I’ll go outside and tell him as much.”
So much for the ‘the best Keston has to offer.’ Albri handed her the key with a warning. “If yer worried about being caught, stay away from the window.”
Clara understood immediately when she opened the door. The room was front facing with a view of the entrance below. Not an ideal situation, but it would have to do.
“Leave the rest to me.”
With that, Albri closed the door behind her. Clara had just begun to undress when the older woman returned with a bowl of stew and two thick slices of bread.
“Eat. And don’t you worry about your Scot.”
Despite the warning, Clara peered out of a crack in the shuttered window. She watched as Albri, now accompanied by her husband, forced her companions to bring their cart around to the back of the stable. Of course! If Alex saw it, he would surely question them. A few moments later, they emerged once again, and Albri handed the man and his nephew two loaves of bread. She pushed the merchant’s hand away. She wouldn’t take his coin.
Clara smiled. She’d come to the right place. Now, if she could just remain hidden. . .
The room was much smaller than the one she’d occupied at Brockburg. And nothing like her chamber at Kenshire. But it was clean, and that was all she cared about at the moment. That, and keeping Alex and her friends at Kenshire safe.
She ate hungrily, listening to the sounds of the inn coming to life around her. A bang here and there. Voices outside her room.
After she finished her meal, Clara lay down, not even bothering to turn down the blanket. She was exhausted.
She’d just begun to drift off to sleep when she heard it. Nothing about the voices should have woken her, but nevertheless she knew.
He was here.
Springing up from the bed, she did the one thing she knew
she should not do. Closing the shutters so that barely a slit remained, Clara looked out.
And immediately began to cry.
28
“How long ago was she here?”
Alex looked at Geoffrey, whose expression showed the same skepticism he was feeling.
“At daybreak, mi’lord.”
If Geoffrey’s descriptions of the innkeeper were true, she was more biddable than he would have thought.
He and the others stood in front of the infamous inn, having ridden through the night to get here. It had never occurred to him that he would miss her; he’d assumed she would at least stay long enough to rest. Alex had spent the last hours fueled by the thought of holding her in his arms again. Making love to her again. Telling her over and over that he loved her.
To be told she was not here. . .
“But she was here, and she was well,” Geoffrey said.
“Aye,” the innkeeper answered. Too quickly?
“Then it appears we move on,” Alex said to the men. “Shall we break our fast first?”
If Geoffrey and the reivers thought it odd he wanted to stop now after racing here like the most desperate of men, they didn’t show their surprise.
There should be no reason for him to doubt the woman’s word, and yet. . .
“Very well,” the innkeeper replied. “I am Albri,” she said.
“We’ve met,” Geoffrey nodded to Albri and her husband. “My uncle and I stopped here on our way to Kenshire.”
“To Kenshire?” Albri asked.
Alex attempted an introduction. “May I present Sir Geoffrey Waryn, earl of—”
Before he finished, both innkeepers bowed, obviously embarrassed not to have recognized one of the most powerful men in Northumbria.
“A hot meal is all we require,” Geoffrey said, prompting them to stand.
Alex grinned as they made their way inside the inn. “Why do you insist on appearing thus?” he asked Geoffrey, having wondered the same on their visit to Elkview. The earl looked more like a reiver than he did the lord of Kenshire. His shield was hidden, and no mark on his surcoat identified him. Typically, the English were fond of their armorial bearings.
The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4 Page 23
