The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4
Page 24
“Perhaps there is still a bit of reiver in me,” he quipped.
No doubt that was true.
Entering the common room, one more well-appointed than most, Alex looked around but saw just one female besides the innkeeper. Reminding himself he was looking for a lad, Alex squinted, adjusting his gaze to the dim lighting.
“She’s not here,” Geoffrey said beside him.
“Nay.” He turned to Robert. “I want to keep an eye on the innkeeper,” he said quietly as they all sat. “Something seems amiss. Can you search for the merchant’s cart?”
Robert stood up and left without questioning him, a testament to his loyalty to Geoffrey.
They ate, unspeaking, watching those around them. For a reputed smuggler’s den, Keston House was well-kept. The patrons were better dressed and more well-mannered than those at The Anvil Inn.
It was, of course, early in the morn.
“Nothing.” Robert was back already. “I searched inside the stable and didn’t see any sign of it.”
So the woman spoke the truth. Did he just want her to be hiding something? The alternative was unacceptable. It meant Clara was still on the road. Still in danger.
“I know we’ve been travelling all night—” Alex began.
“We’ll keep going,” Geoffrey said.
The innkeeper walked by, and Alex stopped her. “You know Alfred,” he said flatly.
“Aye,” she responded warily.
“Then you know she could be in danger.”
According to Clara, the inn’s owners were Gilbert’s friends, and they’d wanted her to remain with them. Which meant they cared for her.
“How could you have let her leave so soon?”
It was what had been bothering him since the moment they arrived.
“Have ye met her then?”
He didn’t need to ask what she meant. Clara knew he was coming for her. And she was trying to avoid him.
Dammit, Clara!
“Where is she going?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
That, at least, Alex believed. It was the first time he’d sensed truth from the woman. But apart from tearing the inn to shreds, he had no choice but to believe her.
“But I’d guess looking for a tourney,” she added.
Alex handed the woman enough coin to pay for their meal.
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
Alex stood, and the others followed.
“Where are we going?” Robert asked.
Alex gave the room a final glance before heading for the door.
It was a question he couldn’t yet answer.
29
And then he was gone.
For a few heart-pounding moments, Clara expected a knock at the door. She’d seen them enter, surprised to see the reivers she’d encountered travelling with Alex and Geoffrey. But they had said they were travelling to Kenshire to see Geoffrey, so she supposed it made sense.
What did not make sense was the disappointment that flooded through her as she saw the men emerge from the inn. She hadn’t wanted him to find her. This was best for him.
And yet, she was a fool to deny that part of her had hoped and hoped for a different outcome. That Alex would somehow learn Albri was lying. That he’d break down every door in the inn to find her. She had imagined it so thoroughly she could almost feel his arms around her.
Before he left, Alex stopped and turned back toward the inn. Was he looking at her window? Did he suddenly suspect?
Impossible.
He looked devastated. In that moment, she knew Emma had been right. Alex loved her—just as surely and as inescapably as she loved him.
When he turned away, Clara slumped to the floor. She buried her face in her hands, too busy tending to her tears to notice that she was no longer alone.
“Hush, girl. What’s the matter then?”
Albri closed the door behind her and sat next to her on the floor. She held her in her arms, and Clara continued to sob. She could no sooner control the tears than she could worry about Albri’s reaction.
“You lied to ol’ Albri.”
She didn’t deny it, but the words brought Clara out of her misery. . . if only for a moment. She sat back and wiped her face with her sleeve.
“I’m so sorry. I knew if I told you—”
“I’ve a mind to fetch that handsome boy—”
“No!”
She grabbed Albri’s arm in panic. “You cannot. Albri, he will fight for me.”
“And protect ye, no doubt.”
Clara didn’t care if the innkeeper thought she was mad. Every time she doubted her decision to run, she needed only to close her eyes to see her father’s body dropping to the ground. The great knight, a warrior who’d loved his country as well as anyone. Dead before she could even yell out a warning.
“No,” she said. “I will not allow Alex to be killed. Or you.”
She stood, and Albri stood with her.
“I can’t stay here.”
Clara began to gather her belongings when Albri intercepted her.
“Fool girl, you need to rest.”
Clara moved to an opening in the shutters and peered out.
Nothing.
They were gone.
“You will stay here, or I’ll send someone after ’em to tell the Scotsman just where—”
“Okay,” Clara relented. “But promise me, Albri, you will not send for him?”
Albri frowned.
“I will not be responsible for another death.”
Finally, after a few agonizing moments, the innkeeper agreed. “But ye’ll stay here for at least a few nights.”
“One.”
“Three.”
Clara smiled despite herself. “Two nights.” As if the word ‘night’ reminded her she hadn’t had any sleep, Clara yawned.
“Lie down then, ye stubborn lady.”
Albri pulled back the blanket for her, and this time, she listened.
“If ye truly don’t want to be found, then ye best stay here. Your Scot spoke to every man below. Offered them coin to find you, I’m thinkin’.”
Of course he did.
“Thank you, Albri.”
She tried not to think of Alex when she closed her eyes. But his face, so full of pain, was the last thing she remembered before giving in to the weariness that overcame her.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
They’d parted ways with the reivers earlier. Geoffrey had spoken to his friends quietly before they left. After two days of searching, there was still no sign of Clara. They searched roads, farms, and villages. They had spoken to hundreds of people and paid nearly as many with the promise of more if they found her and sent word to Kenshire.
“Perhaps she went back?”
That slim possibility was the only thing that made him agree to return. That and the hope that someone may have seen her—or at least the boy she pretended to be.
“We’ll stop at Elkview first.”
His mother would be waiting for him. Alex would have to tell her they wouldn’t be heading back to Scotland just yet, but he wanted her out of that place. She could stay at Kenshire while he looked for Clara.
They rode in silence, the mood as somber as it had been since they’d left Keston House. Turning back felt like a defeat, and it was not a feeling to which Alex was accustomed. Nor did he enjoy it. But what else could they do? Travel the English countryside looking for a woman, dressed as a boy, who had spent years learning how to disappear? He pictured Clara with her sword held to the reiver’s back and smiled.
She was a remarkable woman, and a beautiful one too. His mind was full of Clara. Disrobing by the lake. Snuggling up to his backside for warmth in the tent they’d shared. Giving herself to him with abandon. . . Och, he’d been a fool not to tell her how much he loved her.
“Someone is ahead,” Geoffrey said, which Alex had already surmised.
Alex watched the lone rider approach. There was a grave look in
the man’s eyes that he recognized all too well. He looked as if someone he loved had died.
“Good day, my lords,” he said, his voice flat.
An Englishman. He was finely dressed, though his clothing appeared well-worn. A large man, his brown hair and beard mixed with grey, he was almost as tall as Alex and his companion.
“Good day,” Geoffrey replied back.
The man made no move toward a weapon and didn’t appear to be a threat.
“Travelling alone?” Alex asked. “A dangerous proposition.” It made him think of Clara, out there all alone, and he nearly turned his horse back around.
“I’ve little coin to steal,” he said, slowing as he caught up to them.
“Where are you headed?” Geoffrey asked.
“In search of a troubadour’s tale,” he answered.
Alex raised his brows and waited.
“Keston House,” the man replied. There was something kindly about him despite his size. “You?”
“To Elkview. And then Kenshire,” Geoffrey said.
The stranger nodded as if that made more sense to him. “You are lord there?” he guessed correctly.
“Sir Geoffrey Waryn, at your service. And this is my brother-in-law, the Scot.”
Alex laughed at that introduction. “Otherwise known, back in my country of heathens,” he joked, “as Alex Kerr of Clan Kerr.”
“Ahh, a border clan.”
“A borderer by birth and choice,” he said. “And home to you is?”
He hesitated and looked ahead. “I have a home no longer.”
A chill crept up Alex’s spine.
“What is your trade?” Geoffrey asked.
“An armorer.” The man shrugged. “Or I was once.”
An armorer. Without a home. Heading to Keston House.
It could not be possible. Gilbert was dead. And yet. . . Alex had felt a connection to this man from the start. Every hair on his body seemed to stand up.
Would he even give his name? Of course, it was Clara who was in hiding, not him.
“And what do you call yourself?” Alex asked, the humor from his voice gone.
The English armorer, now in front of him, looked back as if contemplating whether or not to give an answer. But he did.
“Gilbert, my lord.”
“You’re welcome here any time, my. . . Alfred.” Edgar was no more skilled than his wife when it came to keeping her secret.
“Many thanks,” Clara said. “I hope to see you again and pay for your charity in kind.”
Though the morning threatened rain, which had very nearly delayed her departure, the clouds outside had just begun to clear. The knight whom she’d hired would take her two days south, and from there, it would be up to her to find a way west toward the edge of the borderlands.
“I say yer makin’ a mistake,” Albri said, not for the first time. Refreshed and laden with enough food to feed Alex and all of his men, Clara was grateful for Albri’s care. But she didn’t agree with her about Alex, and they would have to part ways on those terms. Albri had spent every waking moment of the past several days attempting to change Clara’s mind, which reminded her a bit of Emma. Still, she would not be swayed. Gilbert had told her to trust no one. And while she wasn’t sorry to have broken that promise a wee bit at Kenshire, she had renewed her silent vow to him, one that had kept her alive for years.
“I know you believe so,” she said. They stood just inside the inn’s entrance, but Clara knew she was wanted outside. The knight waited on her. He was a frequent visitor to Keston, and Edgar and Albri had assured Clara of her safety with him. She couldn’t chance letting such a man leave without her.
She hugged the older couple, wishing she could stay but knowing it was not possible.
“And remember what to say if he returns.”
“I know what ye told me to say.”
Clara chuckled. That was exactly why she had not divulged her exact destination to them.
“Take care of yerself,” Albri said as her husband moved aside to open the door behind Clara. “And if yer ladyship arrives again at our humble door, she will always be welcome.”
“And I love you both for it,” a voice behind her answered.
It cannot be!
Clara spun around and stared at the man who blocked her way out.
“Gilbert? You are dead!”
Gilbert, her Gilbert, stood there, very much alive. How was it possible?
She took a step toward him and threw her arms around him. Gilbert. Alive?
“Ahh, Alfred.”
She didn’t care about strange looks or how strange it must appear for a young squire to have his arms wrapped around an armorer. Somehow, Gilbert was alive.
“How it is possible? What are you doing here?”
She let go long enough to look at his face once again. It was, indeed, Gilbert.
“You’re dead!” She glanced at Albri and Edgar, who appeared just as stunned as she felt.
Gilbert, who looked just as she’d last seen him, held up his arms. “Not dead, as you can see. At least, not now that I’ve found you.”
Clara’s hands were shaking. She didn’t understand, but neither did she care. Nothing mattered except that Gilbert was alive.
“Yer big bulk is blockin’ the door,” Edgar said to Gilbert jokingly.
He walked inside and nodded to an empty table.
“Do you still have the best ale in all of England?”
Albri and Edgar brewed and sold their own ale, and while they sat, Albri waved her hand to a serving maid.
“Ale for all,” she called loudly, and everyone who sat in the great room cheered. Money flowed through Keston, and its loyal customers would benefit from this happy occasion.
“Gilbert?” She hardly knew what to say. What to ask.
“I was left for dead— ”
“But I heard them. They talked about tossing your body in the river.”
“That much is true,” he said, taking a mug of ale from the serving wench. “And if I hadn’t been yanked out like a trout, I’d still be in there rotting away for the fish to feed on.”
He drank deeply, and Clara and the others waited.
“I woke with the gash in my side wrapped, the lump on my head pounding, and the knight who’d dragged me from that river loomin’ over me like a nursemaid.”
“A knight saved you?”
“More like he took a piss and happened upon my bleedin’ body. But, aye, he saved me. And allowed me to remain in his tent until the tourney was over, and I was mended. Or mostly mended.”
“But—”
“You were gone. I cursed that I’d told you to run. Just a day later I awoke, but there was no sign of you. I reopened the wound and had to crawl back, much to the consternation of the squire who helped tend to me. But I had to search for you.”
Clara understood the pain he must’ve felt at losing her, because she’d felt it herself. Twice before. And now three times.
But he was really here. She wasn’t alone!
Alex.
Gilbert would not be happy when she told him how many knew of her secret.
“Gilbert,” she started, wanting to get it over with. “I’ve something to tell you.”
Edgar and Albri stood as if a string pulled them up together. They left, muttering something about tending to new guests.
She was grateful to be alone with the man who had saved her life.
“And I you. There’s someone who waits—”
“Me first, Gil. I need you to know. I’m so, so sorry.” She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “I told someone.” She bit her lip. That wasn’t exactly true. “I told a few people, actually. But before you chastise me, let me explain! I was so scared after you left. And alone. But I did okay, Gil. You’d have been so proud of me. This one time. . . never mind that. A man by the name of Toren Kerr, Chief of Clan Kerr, hired me. And he was so kind. I didn’t let on at all. I stayed in disguise, I promise. But. . .”
As he spoke, Clara shook her head. No. He couldn’t know any of this. Unless. . . had he followed her this whole time? As he talked, Gilbert glanced toward the front door and nodded. Why was he. . . ? It couldn’t be. . .
It was.
Alex was there, filling the door to the inn as surely as he had the stables in Kenshire. He looked. . . relieved? Angry? She couldn’t be sure.
Clara looked back at Gilbert, gawking in shock.
“I met him on the road on the way here.” Gil took a swig of ale and glanced at Alex, who was walking toward him.
“I’m sorry, Gil. I. . .”
“Listen to me.” He looked at Alex again and shook his head. Alex stopped. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
She pulled her attention back to Gilbert.
“Nothing. Alfred, do you hear me?”
For so long that name had been her own, but now it sounded foreign on his lips.
“But you told me so many times. . .”
“I told you to trust no one. To tell no one. Aye. But that’s when you had me. You did the right thing. He’s a good man.”
A good man? Nay, he was better than that.
“But I’m in danger still. . .”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you’re not alone any longer.”
She looked at Alex, who started toward them again. When he reached the table, he spoke as if they were the only two people in the inn.
“I was worried about you.”
The expression she couldn’t reconcile earlier was easily discernible now.
Alex was scared. Or had been scared. And she had done that to him. She hated that she’d caused him pain.
Clara glanced at Gilbert, who said, “Go. I’ll be here when you return.”
She wanted to reach across the table and squeeze his hand. Gilbert was alive, and he was here. At Keston House.
“You better be,” she said, standing.
The look Gilbert and Alex exchanged was a conspiratorial one. Not only had the men met on the road, it seems they had formed a bond, which, knowing Gilbert, was not surprising. He might appear scary to some, but to her, he was like a second father. Her savior.