Clara’s Vow

by Madeline Martin

  He studied her for so long that she didn’t think he would offer his name in reply. After a stretch, he finally said, “Well met. I’m Finlay.”

  “Will ye join me for a bit of rabbit, Finlay?” she asked. “Ye’ve not had a campfire that I can tell, and I wager ye want some warm food.”

  His gaze slid toward the smell of roasting meat. “If ye have enough…”

  “I do.” She tilted her head toward her camp and made her way back to the small fire. “But we need to be swift. I think we may be running out of time.”

  Finlay nodded and followed her, bringing his horse with him. He put his hands to the fire as soon as they arrived at her camp; his fingers were reddened with chilblains.

  “Do yer hands bother ye?” she asked.

  He paused, mid-scratch between his forefinger and thumb. “Aye, but ’tis common this time of year.” He lifted a booted foot. “My feet as well.”

  She went through her bag and withdrew a jar of rosemary and lavender salve. “Keep them as warm as ye can and ensure yer feet stay dry and warm. Put this on for some relief.”

  He accepted it, popped off the lid and sniffed. With a shrug, he smeared a bit on his hands. He offered it back to her.

  “Ye can keep it,” she said. “’Tis easy to make more.”

  He nodded again, this time in appreciation, and folded it into the leather satchel at his side.

  They departed for the Paisley Abbey once they snuffed out the small fire, but while Clara tried to maintain a pleasant conversation with the warrior on the way to the abbey, her pulse beat wild and erratic.

  She would see Reid. Most likely for the last time in her life.

  Her emotions tangled into something bittersweet. There was the joy at being reunited with him, of course. But also the trepidation of facing what stood between them.

  And what could never be.

  For as much as she cared for Reid, and mayhap despite the regard he harbored for her, theirs was an affection that would never bloom into love. Not when there could be no future.

  It was that thought which held fast in Clara’s mind as if a burr was stuck in the back of her skull. However, once the spires of the abbey came into view, her poor, foolish heart slammed its ecstatic beats in her chest, and she could think of nothing more than seeing his handsome face once more.

  For the better part of the day, Reid had been out of bed and moving about. After nearly a week of confinement, which had felt like a year, the ability to stretch his muscles was glorious.

  Sister Agnes entered the infirmary with a tray of herbs. “Ye look hearty, my lad.”

  “I wish to leave for Dumbarton,” he said without preamble.

  Concern crinkled the skin around her eyes. “I’ll allow it so long as ye dinna do anything foolish,” she said at last and set the tray down. “I’ve a list of rules for ye to follow. Ye’re the type who needs to be told what ye canna do.”

  “Even though I’ll likely do it regardless?” he grinned.

  She gave a good-natured chuckle and wagged a finger at him. “No riding longer than two hours.” She lifted her brows. “No fighting.”

  He looked away.

  “There ye go already—” The whinny of a horse outside interrupted Sister Agnes’s chastisement.

  Reid’s heart leapt into his throat, the same as it did every time a horse sounded in the courtyard. Though he always hoped it would be Clara, she had yet to return.

  The need to leave the abbey, to get to Dumbarton, pressed on him until he felt as though he was suffocating. She had been away too damn long. The worry of it had gone from an occasional thought in the back of his mind to a constant gnawing.

  He strode from the infirmary and to the doorway to see who had arrived. Once it had been the butcher; another time, it had been a traveler seeking shelter for the night.

  His pulse kicked up into a frenzy. A woman with a long, dark braid dismounted from her horse.

  Clara.

  Sunlight shone off her shimmering black hair, and she moved with grace as she stroked the steed’s powerful neck with gentle affection.

  He approached her and was struck anew with the force of her beauty. The five days of her absence had somehow become a lifetime, and he wondered how he had even breathed without her.

  Her eyes were paler than a winter sky, yet as warm as summer. Her generous mouth turned up in a shy smile that recalled everything that existed between them. He longed to draw her into his arms, for their bodies to fit together perfectly once more, for the opportunity to press his mouth to hers and taste her sweetness.

  His hand curled into a fist to ward off such temptations, especially when there were important matters at play. “What happened?” he asked. “Did the English come already?”

  Clara shook her head. “Nay. Lord Tavish didn’t believe me. I tried to enlist the aid of the surrounding clans, but they wouldn’t hear of it from me either.”

  He frowned. “Because ye’re English?”

  “And a woman.” She notched her chin just a little higher, an indication their disparaging treatment had left her wounded.

  “The fools,” Reid growled. “’Twill be their people who pay the price for their lack of trust.”

  “Women are no’ often sent.” A man appeared beside Clara, the first Reid had seen of him. He appeared to be a guard from his chainmail and the red-and-white tunic he wore over his armor. His stature was stout, and he had more red hair sprouting from his helm than visible skin.

  “This is Finlay,” Clara introduced. “He was sent to ensure I wasn’t an English spy.”

  The man pulled off his helm and smoothed a hand down his thick beard. “I dinna know she was such a goodly soul. I was merely doing as I was told.”

  A goodly soul? How much did he know of Clara?

  An unfamiliar and unwelcome spike of discomfort lodged itself in Reid’s gut at the thought of the two spending time alone together. She reached for her bag, but Finlay was there before her fingertips could even brush over the leather.

  “I’ll get that for ye.” A flash of teeth appeared in the middle of his bright-red beard.

  “I was just now preparing to depart to Dumbarton.” Reid slid a glare toward the other man.

  Clara hesitated. “I see.”

  Only then did Reid realize that if she did not return to Dumbarton with him, this would likely be the last time he saw her. There hadn’t been an opportunity to talk to her, to tell her about his parents and brother, to explain.

  She looked up at him, regret heavy in her wide gaze. “I…” she bit her lip.

  “Come with us,” Reid said. “So they will see ye were no’ lying.”

  It was a ridiculous suggestion. She would be safe in the abbey with the nuns. Returning to Dumbarton would put her in the path of danger.

  “Nay—wait.” He shook his head. “I shouldna have asked—”

  “Aye,” she answered swiftly. “I’ll come.” Her breathing quickened and her stare became almost desperate.

  “It isna safe,” he protested.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  The wind stirred and blew wisps of hair across her face. He couldn’t stop himself as he reached out and swept it behind her ear. She was warm against his fingertips, her hair even silkier than he remembered.

  “I’ll protect her as well,” the Dumbarton guard said.

  Reid shot him a hard look, but Clara smiled at him. “Thank ye, Finlay.”

  The bit of skin visible against all that hair flushed to a deep red.

  “I’ll take my horse, though.” Clara patted her horse’s long, dark mane. “’Twas kind of Sister Seraphina to allow me to use this horse, but I’d much prefer to be back on my own mare.”

  “I’ll see it done,” Reid said. “Go refresh yerself while I make the necessary preparations.”

  Clara offered him a grateful smile and disappeared into the abbey with the Dumbarton guard trotting at her heels like a besotted whelp.

  Heaven help the man if he
so much as laid a finger on Clara.

  Within the hour, and following a stern lecture from Sister Agnes, Reid and Clara were ready to travel once more. Unfortunately, so too was Fintan. Or was it Finsby?

  Regardless, the Dumbarton guard sat atop his horse with his chest puffed out, ready to lead them to the castle where they would finally ensure Lord Tavish took the threat against his people seriously. They were near the castle when a distant humming vibrated in the air.

  Clara turned a confused glance toward Reid. “Do ye hear that?”

  Reid turned in his saddle and froze.

  In the distance, moving like a hoard of locusts over the swells of hills, there was an army of Englishmen. Their number was so great that no beginning nor an end could be seen; a sea of men moving with their flags cast into the whipping wind as though they were the sails of attacking ships.

  Finlay uttered a low curse.

  “We must hurry before we’re too late,” Clara said at Reid’s side.

  He narrowed his eyes in contemplation. “They will doubtless need to make camp before the attack.”

  “Or will do so in the middle of the night,” the Dumbarton guard agreed. “Regardless, we should make haste to Lord Tavish.”

  As they rode on, however, Reid couldn’t get the number of soldiers from his thoughts. The size was far, far greater than he had assumed. Enough to overrun the fortitude of Dumbarton Castle.

  The understanding of their predicament hit him like a gut punch. He should not have suggested Clara come. She should be back at the convent where she would be safe. Asking her to come had not only been selfish, but it had also been dangerous—and might well be the cause of her death.

  14

  The approaching army's noise continued until Clara, Reid and Finlay were swallowed up by the forest. None of them spoke as they neared the castle nestled protectively between the two massive hills.

  If Lord Tavish had listened to Clara, he could have moved the villagers to the safety of those high, stone walls. There would have been time to gather his allies to help fight off the English.

  As it was, the army would result in a slaughter if the villagers could not be relocated into the castle in time to ensure their safety.

  Though she knew the danger she had placed herself in, Clara was grateful to be going with Reid and Finlay, to know that she would be of help where she was needed.

  And to be at Reid’s side.

  She had only her daggers, aye, but they were better than nothing, and it would offer her the opportunity to save his life possibly. If any of them could be saved.

  A shiver of apprehension rippled down her spine.

  The guards at the gate offered no resistance when Finlay demanded entry, though they did eye her with suspicion. The three of them were immediately shown to the great hall, which went silent upon their entrance.

  Despite the room's size and the number of people within, their footfalls on the rushes were audible, the soft thuds echoing down from the impossibly high rafters.

  Lord Tavish narrowed his pale eyes as they approached. “I knew she was a traitor.”

  Finlay stepped ahead of Clara and Reid and pulled off his helm, revealing a tangle of bright red hair. “She was telling the truth, my lord.”

  Lord Tavish’s expression changed to one of surprise and then horror. “Everyone out,” he said in a low, flat voice.

  People scrambled in all directions to obey his orders with a frenzy that made Clara recall the chaos of ants whose hill had been kicked. The door thundered shut behind the last person to leave, its boom reverberating in an echo from the tall ceilings.

  “How do ye know this?” Lord Tavish demanded. “What proof do ye have?”

  “This is Reid MacLeod, the original messenger who acts on behalf of the king,” Finlay replied. “He was going to deliver the message, so ye’d believe it. And then we saw the army marching here on our way back to the castle.”

  The earl sat forward in his high-backed seat. “Ye saw them?”

  Finlay nodded. “They’ll be here within the hour but may no’ attack until nightfall. Mayhap tomorrow. ’Tis a large army. Well over a thousand men.”

  Lord Tavish uttered a quiet curse. “Why did it take ye so long to return to me? Where were ye?”

  Finlay looked back at Clara with a sad frown that indicated his feelings of betrayal. But she did not fault him. It was the job he’d been sent to do.

  “She was going to the surrounding clans,” Finlay said. “To gain their support to assist Dumbarton.”

  The earl’s sharp stare fixed on Clara. “Were ye successful?”

  She stepped forward, but before she could speak, Reid did so for her.

  “She is but a woman, my lord,” he said sarcastically. “And one presumed to be English at that. She was met with the same reception ye afforded her.”

  Clara shook her head at him. She did not need him to fight her battles.

  Lord Tavish’s face deepened with his irritation at Reid’s reply, but then he refocused his attention on Clara once more. “Thank ye for all ye’ve done. Despite how ye were treated.”

  “Women aren’t helpless creatures,” she said with a tilt to her chin.

  Lord Tavish took a drink from the chalice in his hand. “Because of ye, the surrounding clans will no’ be ignorant of this impending attack. Finlay, see to it that they are given rooms for their stay, however long that might be, and leave me to meet with my advisors.”

  Finlay nodded and did as was bid exactly, locating two rooms for them within the castle. While the private accommodations were luxurious, Clara couldn’t stand the idea of being far from Reid’s side. They had already spent enough time apart from one another.

  Their time together would be ephemeral. She wanted to make the most out of every moment she could.

  As they were shown to their rooms in a corridor with a long row of doors, her hand moved behind the cover of her skirt and found his. His grip squeezed back at once in understanding.

  “I’ll come to ye,” he said under his breath as she was left in a solitary chamber, and he was shown to his accommodations.

  Her room was simple but elegant, with a four-poster bed surrounded by thick crimson curtains. The room had a number of fine furnishings, a chest at the foot of the bed, two chairs near the hearth and several small tables. A fire crackled in the fireplace and kept the room at a pleasant temperature.

  Clara stood at the center of it all, too eager for Reid’s return to relax.

  At long last, a knock sounded. She rushed to the door so quickly that her skirt swung around her legs. Reid was on the other side, his shoulders broad and powerful, his face set with a look of determination that made her heart flip.

  She stepped back to allow him to enter, then closed the door behind him. A single moment hovered between them, and in that brief spell, Clara relived everything they’d shared. The journey they’d done together, the admissions they’d both confided in one another, the attack when Reid had been knocked senseless, and the intimate moment of passion.

  To be so close to him and not touch him, hold him, kiss him—it was almost too painful. And yet, she did not know if she could stand going to him, giving in to the longing within her that someday promised to break her heart.

  If they even survived this night.

  In the end, she did not have to decide on how she would react to being alone with him for the first time since the attack. It was Reid who closed the distance between them and drew her into the security of his arms.

  Clara breathed him in as she melted against his body, savoring the safety of his embrace, his masculine strength and the alluring connection that hummed between them.

  His hand tenderly touched her jaw, tilting her face up to look at him as he searched her eyes. “I shouldna have asked ye to come here, Clara. ’Tis no’ safe.”

  “I would not have stayed away,” she said firmly. “Not when I might do something to help. Not when I know ye’re here.”

  His bro
ws furrowed with apparent anguish, and he rested his forehead on hers. “I couldna bear the thought of leaving ye. Of knowing it might be the last time I ever saw ye.”

  “Nor could I,” Clara whispered.

  She leaned into him until the spice of his breath teased her with memories of everything they had shared the afternoon they lay together in the forest. Desire pulsed anew through the place he had touched so thoroughly, where they had once been joined.

  Without considering what she was doing, Clara brushed her mouth against his. He gave a low groan and tightened his hold on her as his lips captured hers in a passionate kiss. His tongue grazed hers, an intimacy she welcomed and returned with fervor.

  Longing simmered through her, heating her blood, and made her body thrum with need. Their kisses and panted breaths were overloud in the quiet room, but Clara didn’t care.

  She didn’t care about anything but Reid and the passion between them. Even if it was fleeting, she wanted to hold tight to it with a white-knuckled grip.

  Reid broke off the kiss and stared down at her, his eyes bright. “Ye canna stay here.”

  “I cannot go without ye.”

  “Ye saw the soldiers coming here…”

  Clara swallowed and nodded. There had been far more than Dumbarton could have withstood, even with prior warning.

  “Ye must return to Paisley Abbey,” he said.

  “Once I go there, I will never come back,” she replied solemnly. Her mind had been made up. She could not stand the idea of going back to the manor in Castleton, of being a burden to her family. And though it broke a piece off her heart to admit it, she could not allow herself to be a warrior’s lover. She would not travel from battle to battle with no purpose but to warm his bed.

  “Clara.” His voice caught.

  “I know ye don’t want a family.” Clara shook her head. “I’ll not force ye to try to be who ye aren’t.”

  “There’s a reason…”

  She gazed up at him. “What do ye mean?”

  “There’s a reason I’ve no’ had a desire to start a family.” He hissed a sigh and strode away, running a hand through his hair.