“De Sowlis,” the man said, hardly concealing a sneer. “Derrickson.”
Though the earl was accustomed to deference, they were no English lords and would not bow as it was not their custom. For a more deserving man, however, he and Lawrence would have done so out of respect. Instead, Aidan extended a hand, which Theffield, not surprisingly, refused to shake.
“Take them to the hall,” he ordered of Aidan’s men. His rough, dismissive tone was exactly as Aidan remembered it. “You may follow me.”
It was unclear whether the invitation had been offered solely to him or also to Lawrence. It did not matter. They would both be going.
“I would bring you to the solar but do not expect this to take long.”
Theffield spoke like a man who was accustomed to being in command. And to having those commands followed, no matter how ruthless or ill-advised.
The kind of man who would marry his only daughter to an old man simply to gain a tract of land. But Theffield was not alone in his approach. Men killed, and died, for patches of soil every day. Gillian and Allie could attest to such a fact. Their father had attempted to marry them off well in order to collect the funds to save their home.
Escorting them to the solar, a room much smaller than Aidan would have expected in a castle this size, Theffield seated himself behind the large, flat-topped wooden desk. Its surface was empty but for a single candle in a plain iron holder, its tripod not quite even.
The desk was like the room. Dark and foreboding. Unlike most solar chambers, which allowed for natural light, this one was bathed in shadow barely repelled by the four additional torches on each side of the walls.
“You are here concerning Caxton.” It was not a question.
Without being invited to do so, Aidan and Lawrence sat on the high-backed wooden chairs across from Theffield.
“We are,” Aidan began. “You have been a neighbor . . .” His tongue stuck on the word friend. “. . . to our clan for many years.”
Even in the dim light Aidan could see the earl’s eyes narrow. “Sutworth. That crumbling pile of stone,” he muttered.
In fact, Sutworth was anything but. Its people were rather resilient in remaining self-sufficient and avoiding conflict, especially considering they had an absentee lord.
“And surely cannot be pleased with the recent turn of events.”
A lie, and they both knew it.
If Theffield had wanted to intervene, he would have done so already. Allowing the terms of the treaty to crumble around him, the earl was as responsible as anyone for their current troubles. One word, and he could have Caxton removed from power. Only his English king could make the same claim.
“If you refer to your clans’ boycott of the Day of Truce—”
He said the word clans as if it were an epithet.
“Because they know the proceedings are no longer fair or just,” Lawrence said.
“Know? Or do they merely believe it so?”
Theffield did not betray his emotions, and Aidan did his best to emulate the wily earl. Lawrence was not so composed. “Murderers being set free simply because they are well-positioned?” he said. “’Tis not justice.”
Theffield looked at Lawrence, his brows rising. Aidan willed his friend to remain calm, for he knew what was coming.
“It seems you are conveniently forgetting Clan Karyn’s bowyer.”
Clan Karyn’s skilled bowyer, the same man who made every crossbow for Clan Scott, had been accused of murder at an inn just across the border. He’d fled back to Scotland, and since the clans had stopped attending the monthly Day of Truce, he had faced no consequences as of yet.
“My father offered to try the man—”
“In Scotland. On his terms.” Theffield’s dry, cold laugh sent chills up Aidan’s spine. “You truly believe the accused’s family would agree to such an arrangement?”
“Enough,” Aidan said, risking Theffield’s ire.
His friend believed the bowyer had been wrongly accused, but they had not come here to argue the man’s guilt or innocence. He could not allow the incident to become a distraction.
“We are here to discuss Caxton.”
Theffield slammed his hands on the table before him and leaned forward. “Give me one reason I should oust my own man, against the wishes of our king, to help you,” he spat.
“Not to help me, or Clan Karyn. But to take our only remaining chance at peace. With Lord Caxton in power, the chiefs will not allow their clans to be subjected to one-sided justice. Without the Day of Truce, the reivers will once again be allowed free rein, and the hard-won peace of the last thirty years will have been for naught. Is that truly what you desire, my lord?”
Aidan also sat forward, meeting the earl’s defiant position with his own.
“Tell me, Theffield. Is that what you want?”
He could not understand the man. He had as much at stake in this matter as any border lord, more with lands on both sides of the border, and yet he distanced himself from it.
“Are you not Lord Caxton’s overlord?” he pressed.
The insult was intended. But surprisingly, Theffield did not appear insulted. Instead, he sat back and crossed his arms.
“What are Douglas’s terms?”
The only question that mattered.
“Force Caxton to step down. In return, Douglas will agree to move the Truce Day here.”
Theffield, known for his cool, detached demeanor, failed to contain his surprise. The Day of Truce had been held across the border, in Scotland, since its inception. It had been part of the original bargain, and such a contested term that it had nearly torn apart the treaty before it was signed. In truth, only some of the clan chiefs had agreed to these new terms, but Theffield did not need to know as much.
“Here? At Theffield?”
Aidan forced himself not to show any surprise. The bastard was actually going to agree.
A movement just outside the door caught the man’s attention before anything further was said. By the time Aidan turned to look, there was nothing there. Whatever, or whomever, it was, Theffield didn’t like it. He stood and waved Aidan and Lawrence from the room.
“We are done here. I will send word of my decision.”
It was the best they could have hoped for, and better than being tossed out before they could share their terms.
“You will understand,” Theffield said as he led them from the chamber, “why I will not ask you to remain at the castle.”
Aidan was sure he could not manage to eat in the presence of this man, so he would have it no other way.
“We did not expect otherwise,” he said, the barb hitting its mark.
With a scowl at them both, Theffield turned them over to the same man who’d escorted them into the hall.
“Good day,” he said, clearly not meaning the words.
“And to you, my lord,” Lawrence said, catching Aidan by surprise. His friend was rarely this gracious to someone so lacking in manners. Then again, it appeared they were on the cusp of an agreement. The smart thing to do would be to pacify Theffield.
Saying his own farewell, Aidan was about to step back through the ridiculously large door leading outside when he saw a flash of bright yellow, unmistakable for its contrast to the darkness that otherwise consumed the hall. The person who’d distracted the earl in his solar.
Ignoring the movement, and Theffield’s reaction to it, Aidan stepped outside and back into the sunlight. But he couldn’t help but wonder who lurked in the shadows of the hall? And why did the hair on his arms suddenly stand up straight, as if . . .
Nay. It could not be.
Chapter 4
At first, Clarissa couldn’t breathe. When Eda had told her Aidan de Sowlis was in her father’s solar in Theffield, she had not believed it. To say his presence was unexpected would be too mild. It was as shocking as it would be to wake up to a loving smile from her father. Besides which, Eda had never actually met Aidan. Though she’d been at Sutworth M
anor when Aidan visited with his brother and father, she’d taken ill that morn and had only heard of the incident from Clarissa herself.
Poor Eda used to lament how many times she’d been forced to listen to the tale of the two handsome Scotsmen. In particular, Clarissa had talked about the younger son, the one who’d looked at her with a mixture of awe and pity. The one she’d continued staring at from afar after she was reprimanded for being in the hall despite having been ordered to stay away from visitors.
And, of course, Eda had not been present at the tournament. It was a wonder Clarissa had been allowed to attend. No amount of begging ever convinced her father to relent, but that time, a stroke of pure luck—or perhaps fickle fate—had sent her uncle and cousin to Theffield just before the tournament. Her cousin, the eldest son of her father’s only brother, did the begging for her. When her father agreed to allow her to accompany them, Clarissa had never been so happy in her life.
Nay, that was not true.
Her happiest day came later in the week when she shared her first kiss with the man who had haunted her dreams for years after his visit to Theffield.
Careful not to be seen by her father, Clarissa peered inside her father’s solar. Despite the danger of being caught, she hadn’t been able to stay away. She bit back a gasp. Though she could only see the back of his head, it was enough to know it was indeed Aidan de Sowlis. She’d recognize him anywhere.
But why was he here? And who was he with? She couldn’t discern whether it was Aidan’s brother, but she was not daft enough to remain in the doorway and risk getting caught by her father. Instead, she fled to her bedchamber, looking for Eda along the way, but the maid was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps it was better this way. If Eda knew what she was planning, the maid would be forced to lie when asked about her whereabouts. This way, Eda would be telling the truth. Though she knew the abbey was Clarissa’s intended destination, by way of Sutworth, she didn’t know anything about her escape plan.
Without time to do more than gather a sack with a few garments stuffed inside, Clarissa walked as quickly as possible without garnering undue attention, finally exiting a side door that led to the inner bailey. There were very few loyal to her father, but those who were would not hesitate to tell him his daughter had been sneaking around the castle clutching a satchel to her chest.
With her heart hammering at the thought of what she was about to do, Clarissa avoided notice as best she could and waited. Of all her foolhardy plans, this was by far the riskiest. If her father caught her attempting to leave with the Scotsman . . .
But what worried her most was Aidan’s reaction.
Clarissa managed to make her way to the outer bailey without raising suspicion. However, assuming Aidan did agree to escort her to Sutworth Manor, she could not simply ride out through the main gatehouse with him and his companion. At least not without risking that her father’s men would recognize her and drag her back inside. Thankfully, this April day was cool enough to warrant a hooded cape, which she’d managed to secure before leaving. Slipping it on and tugging the hood as low on her face as possible, Clarissa waited in a small alcove along the inner curtain wall.
Only an empty, grassy courtyard, a gatehouse full of watchmen, and the man she’d once spurned stood between her and freedom.
Or temporary freedom, at least.
Even if she did manage to reach Sutworth, so much could still go wrong. Just one member of the household with enough loyalty to her father would alert him to her presence at Sutworth. And there was still the matter of getting to Dunburg Abbey. One did not simply arrive at an abbey and ask to be offered admission. Though she carried with her enough jewelry to offer as a dowry, she would still need to find a sponsor. Ideally, the sponsor would be her father, but he had no idea she’d been cast aside by her husband, let alone that she planned to join the order of Benedictine nuns at Dunburg. Nor would he ever allow it. Father Patrick, Sutworth’s kindly priest, would be the man to decide her fate.
When Clarissa thought of all that could go wrong, she began to worry. But she’d needed a miracle for her plan to work, and it would seem she had one. Best that she take advantage of it.
Unfortunately, as the Scotsman and his companion rode through the inner gatehouse, fierce and foreboding, they looked less like angels than they did the devil’s henchman. As they rode toward her position, followed at a short distance by their men, Clarissa nearly changed her mind. This was madness. After everything that had passed between them, it was unthinkable to ask a favor of him. One that might put him in a great deal of danger.
But she had no choice.
As the hoofbeats thundered closer, Clarissa clutched her satchel, using the material gathered between her fingers to steady her shaking hands. Staring in shock—his hair was much shorter but still curled in waves atop his head—Clarissa moved as if her feet were stuck in the mud beneath them. Slowly making her way to a position that would force them to stop, she released her grip on the satchel with one hand and raised it into the air.
Just as she’d planned, the men slowed, and then stopped, their mounts in front of her. She had precious little time, the risk of being recognized by her father’s people very real. Watching as his eyes widened in recognition, Clarissa was brought back to the second time they’d seen each other. He’d caught her staring at him on the jousting field. Embarrassed, she had looked away. Only when he’d later rode up to the stands to ask for her favor had Clarissa allowed herself another glance.
That time, his square jaw and kindly smile had taken her breath away. But he was certainly not smiling now. Quite the opposite, in fact. Aidan de Sowlis looked at her as if she were the last person in the world he wanted to be looking at. Lifting her chin and attempting to keep her voice from quavering, she spoke quickly.
“Help me” was all she managed. It was far from the eloquent speech she’d practiced, and it conveyed none of the information she’d hoped would appeal to the honor which she knew he had in abundance. Clarissa had planned to quickly explain that she needed his escort, without which her father would either cast her out as her husband had done or promptly promise her to another equally wretched potential husband.
But no other words came out.
Luckily, it seemed she did not need them. Whether it was the fear in her eyes or something else that had moved him, Clarissa didn’t have time to guess. In the swiftest of movements, he reached down and lifted her up as easily as if she were a small lad. He didn’t speak, but instead pulled her toward him, reaching around to twist the reins about his hand.
As quickly as they had stopped, he and his companion were once again moving.
The shock of being in Aidan de Sowlis’s arms again was barely tempered by her terror of being recognized by her father’s guards.
Dipping her head down, Clarissa closed her eyes and prayed. She pleaded with God to allow them to pass, promising to devote her life to him in exchange for safe passage and to never again disobey him. She apologized for cursing him when she’d been led to the altar to marry Lord Stanley.
“Please, please, please . . .”
She hadn’t even realized she’d said the words aloud until a low voice from behind her broke her fervent prayer.
“You can stop now, lass.”
Clarissa opened her eyes. The drawbridge had been lowered before they approached, as was the custom at this time of the day, and they rode across it now. The gatehouse was already behind them. They rode past a merchant who traveled in the opposite direction in a covered wagon. Otherwise, they saw no one ahead of them. Just open fields and grassy knolls.
She’d done it!
“And I’ll be wanting an explanation as well.”
Clarissa didn’t dare look back. Where to even begin?
“Greetings, Aidan,” she said instead.
“That, my lady, best be the beginning of a very detailed account of what the hell just happened.”
* * *
Keeping his voice as ev
en as possible given the circumstances, Aidan attempted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the woman whose backside was currently wedged against him. He’d asked for an explanation, but really he wanted much, much more.
“’Tis a long story,” she began hesitantly.
Though he couldn’t see her face, Aidan could sense her unease. Despite the fact that Theffield Castle was her family home, Aidan had scarcely believed it was her standing there, waving her satchel. It had taken his mind a moment to reconcile what his eyes told him. Not only was Clarissa standing before him, but he knew at once the lady was desperate. The terrified look on her face had been enough to cut through his shock, and he hadn’t hesitated to scoop her up. But that shock had begun to ease, giving way to so many other emotions he could hardly keep track of them. He needed to understand why he’d just abducted her from Theffield.
“Aidan, what in God’s name—”
He shot Lawrence a look and then glanced back at the others. His friend understood the silent request and dropped back to ride with the other men. He could only imagine what Lawrence must be thinking.
“You were saying?”
She turned her head then, and God help him, Aidan’s breath caught. Though the hood covered the top portion of her head, dipping over her eyebrows, every other feature was on full display, as if he’d not already memorized them. A perfectly oval face, smooth cheeks and full lips. Though he couldn’t see it, Aidan imagined her brown hair, parted down the middle and pulled off her face as it had been each time he’d seen her. And though she quickly looked away, turning her head back toward the road in front of them, her eyes haunted him. Just like that first time, the liquid amber shone with a brightness he’d not expect in the Earl of Theffield’s daughter.
“I beg you give me escort to Sutworth Manor.”
The Guardian’s Favor: Border Series Book Nine Page 3
