“You would marry me to protect me?”
“I would marry you because I love you.”
Oh God, Aidan. I love you too. But if I say the words, how could I ever leave you?
“He will come back for me.”
Aidan’s hands slid from her face to her shoulders. “Aye, he will.”
“You will have made a new enemy.”
His hands dropped down to her waist. “Perhaps.”
“For certain. You put your clan at risk.”
He pulled her toward him, then lifted her chin so he was looking into her eyes.
“Marry me, Clarissa.”
Aidan would not be dissuaded. He was going to kiss her, and Clarissa desperately wanted him to. She’d thought about the feel of his lips on hers nearly every moment he was away. She wanted that, and more.
But he would have her answer first.
Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to say yes. To become the wife of this hardened warrior whose touch was so gentle that it made her forget every one of her troubles when she was in his arms.
“I . . . I cannot.”
Chapter 20
“Why?”
He pulled back just slightly but didn’t let go. Aidan would never let her go again.
This time, he understood exactly what held her back.
“I’ve put your clan in too much danger already.”
Aidan searched her eyes. He believed she meant it, but there was more to her hesitation. His Clarissa didn’t truly believe she deserved happiness. The insidious words of her father and her former husband had lingered with her.
“Do you love me?”
“Aidan, I never intended—”
“Do you love me?”
He had laid himself as bare as a warrior venturing onto the battlefield without armor. But knowing the answer made it easier to ask the question.
At least, he thought he knew it. But as the silence stretched—
“Aye, I love you, Aidan,” she said in a burst of words. “How could any woman not? But—”
He kissed her, not wasting another moment. As rain pounded the earth around them, water splashing in puddles around the walls of the old fort, he kissed her, roughly enough to make her forget any additional protests.
At least, that was his aim.
Though he ached to be inside her, to claim Clarissa as his for eternity, he would not do so. Not yet. But he was determined to make her scream his name loudly enough to wake the dead Roman soldiers who’d once graced these walls.
Luckily, the riding gown was not so tightly laced that it kept him from moving his lips to her neck, and lower. Though he could reach only the very tops of her full breasts, it was just enough to distract her from the touch he knew was foreign to her.
But it would not be for long.
In fact, she would become quite accustomed to his fingers, which had already lifted the layers of both gowns, ignoring their weight on his wrists. Navigating the shift as well, he found his target, or close to it.
He squeezed the soft skin of her inner thigh and smiled at her gasp. Continuing to twirl his tongue with hers, wishing he could wrap his lips around her nipple but not willing to stop, he dipped his hand closer to her core. Pushing aside the last remaining barrier, Aidan cupped her fully as he stood, wanting to see her expression.
Cheeks flushed, hair spilling around her in every direction, Clarissa looked as if she’d already been ravished.
Not quite yet.
He stilled his hand, waiting, until she finally pressed against it.
“I’m going to slip my fingers inside you,” he said, “and hear my name from your lips before we’re through.”
The minx shrugged, actually shrugged, as if she doubted him.
Aidan was not fooled. She ruined the effect of her bravado by biting her lip. It was as good a place to start as any. He ran the tip of his tongue to the seam where her teeth met her poor lower lip, coaxing it to open. When it did, he plunged inside.
And his fingers followed.
She was dripping wet and more than ready to come apart at his touch, so Aidan circled and pressed with his fingers, unrelenting, even when Clarissa tried to pull her mouth away. If the sensations were too much, she would simply have to learn to be overwhelmed by them.
Aidan did not relent, not in anything, and certainly not in her pleasure.
Devouring her mouth as he slowed the pace down below, he captured her low groan. Hard and more than ready to sink himself into her, Aidan relied on years of discipline to ignore the powerful urge to claim this woman as his own. Instead, he continued his gentle assault until Clarissa met his pace, her hips circling and pressing against his hand.
Only when he felt a very slight tremor beneath his fingers did he relent. Pulling his mouth from hers, he watched in amazed delight as her angel’s face was transformed by passion—lips wide apart and head tilted back. When she finally found release, the powerful spasms gripping his fingers, he waited . . .
And was finally rewarded.
“Aidan!” she called, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh my.”
Her chest heaved up and down, and Aidan tried to resist the urge to reach into the neckline of her gown. Actually, he did not try very hard. Slipping his thumb down as far is it would reach, he quickly realized he needed assistance. Reaching his other hand out from under the folds of her double-layered gown, he used it to pull down the offending material. Already loosened, it gave way just enough for him to uncover the prize he sought. There were too many folds of fabric to expose her entire breast . . . but it was enough.
Wrapping his lips around her, Aidan suddenly wanted nothing more than to ensure Clarissa found release again. Every time she thought to leave him, to spare his clan and sacrifice herself for their safety, he wanted her to think of this moment. Every time the rain began to fall or Clarissa heard the loud crack of thunder in the sky, he wanted her to clench tight in memory of his hands caressing that most intimate part of her. He wanted the nipples on her breasts to peak as they did now under his ministrations.
“Again,” he murmured against her. “Come again for me, my love.”
Pulling down the fabric from Clarissa’s other breast, caressing every bit of skin he could find, Aidan used his thumb and the very tip of his tongue to give both breasts the attention they deserved. Clarissa’s quick breaths confirmed what her clenched fingers on his back told him . . . she was close.
Aidan did not let up, and when she grabbed a fistful of his hair, Aidan’s moan entangled with hers until the cry he so coveted was forced from her lips. He captured it, his mouth covering hers as possessively as was acceptable.
When he finally pulled away, he amended his earlier assessment.
Now she looked thoroughly ravished.
“A small taste of what awaits my wife in the days ahead.”
She sighed, a defeated sound that should have saddened him. After all, it was the first time he’d ever asked a woman to marry him. An enthusiastic yes would have been ideal, but Aidan would take her sigh, accompanied by a small smile, instead.
Glancing out of their makeshift shelter, he realized the rain had stopped. Neither of them had noticed. He set her gown to rights, and forced himself to step back. “We should be getting back—”
“To Highgate End?”
“Aye, love.”
“Do you think it’s safe?”
“I do. The deal is done. We’ll be watching for your father’s men now, just in case, so he cannot surprise us again. And by the time he learns you’re really here, Caxton will be replaced . . . and you will be my wife.”
He waited for her to argue, but Clarissa surprised him. She came to him instead, placing her small hands on his cheeks.
“I love you, Aidan de Sowlis.”
And though his chest swelled to hear it, those were not the words he waited for.
“And I love you, lass. But as to the other—will you be my wife?”
Lifting herself up to him, Claris
sa closed her eyes and touched her lips to his. He resisted turning the innocent kiss into something more.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
* * *
As they rode through the gates of Highgate Castle, Clarissa thought of their last moments together at the fort. She listened as Aidan told her the history of how this wall had been erected, and then abandoned, by the Romans. The ditch, he said, had once been a bath house. And though the tale was fascinating, Clarissa could think only of one thing.
She had not lied to him.
Nothing would give her greater pleasure than becoming Aidan’s wife . . . but she could not do it. To accept such an offer knowing she would be responsible for the strife that would ensue . . .
He’d never listen to her. She could see the stubborn determination in his eyes. Oh, how she loved him, but his unwavering loyalty to her could lead to a lifetime of battles between Clan Scott and the Earl of Theffield.
“Nay, lass. Not the tower.”
They’d dismounted and Clarissa had assumed—
“You will not be locked away any longer. But ’tis your choice if you would like to stay there or in the main keep.”
“Do you think that’s wise? People will talk—”
“And we will tell them. We are to be married, Clarissa. I will not have you—”
This time, it was her turn to display a bit of stubbornness.
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head and walking toward the Prison Tower. “Until Caxton is removed—”
“Which will happen any day. In the meantime—”
“In the meantime, listen to the lady.”
Graeme had approached them from behind.
“It took you long enough, brother.”
She’d been too wrapped up in Aidan to notice Graeme’s approach. The realization brought on another one—their position was too exposed. Though it appeared to be mealtime, the courtyard emptier than normal, anyone could see them. Clarissa had, out of habit, donned her cape and lifted the hood over her head, but would that truly prevent her from being exposed?
“Might we have this discussion in a more private place?” she asked.
Both men looked at her then, as if surprised she was the one who’d made such an argument, but they relented. As they followed her closer to the west wall, a lone guard on the parapets above their heads, Clarissa took charge.
“I will remain in there—” she gestured toward the tower, “—until Caxton is removed.”
Graeme’s eyes widened. “So it is done?”
Aidan scowled at her and then explained to his brother everything that had happened. Graeme had surmised some of the story already. Her father’s men had appeared at Highgate End a few days prior, demanding to search both the castle and the grounds. Graeme had easily acquiesced, much to the ire of his officers, who would have denied them.
“They were none too happy with the outcome,” Graeme said with a smile.
“English bastards,” Aidan said, and then to her, “Sorry, love.”
The endearment, so easily given, stung. If she left, it would hurt Aidan. Again. He would be devastated, though no less so than she.
“I best be more careful as we’ll be having another Englishwoman reside permanently at Highgate End.”
Graeme looked back and forth between them, and then smiling, he clasped Aidan’s hand and pulled him toward him. She watched the brothers embrace, suddenly torn.
“Welcome to Clan Scott,” Graeme said to her then. “Gillian will be so happy to hear the news.”
“How does she fare?” Clarissa asked.
“My lady is well. The sickness seems to have passed.”
“I am overjoyed to hear it.” She wouldn’t wish the feelings Gillian had described to her on anyone. Well, maybe her father. And Stanley.
She was uncharitable to think such a thing.
“You must be tired, Lady Clarissa.”
“Clarissa, please.”
Graeme bowed, an odd gesture for the chief. “And you will call me Graeme.”
Very few used the clan chief’s given name, and she was honored he’d given her leave to do so. It was almost as if . . . as if he were truly happy to welcome her to his family.
But how could that be?
Aidan took her hand and squeezed it before releasing it. “Come to the hall—”
“Nay, Aidan. I cannot. Not yet.”
Maybe never.
Aidan looked to his brother for support, but when Graeme merely shrugged, he finally admitted defeat. “I will bring you a tray—”
“Nay, you will enjoy a meal with your family and have one sent to me,” she countered. “I could use a rest after our quite interesting journey back.”
She felt the heat begin in her neck and rise to her face. She hadn’t meant to say . . .
“Interesting, “ Graeme said good-naturedly. “Not a word I’d normally use—”
“Graeme,” Aidan interjected who grinned at her unintended gaffe.
“I meant to say—”
“No need,” Graeme interrupted. “I already understood what you meant.” Still grinning, he said to Aidan, “We have much to discuss, brother. Perhaps you could take your lady for a late-night bath in the river another night.”
Clarissa felt her jaw drop open. She wanted to accuse Aidan of sharing their secret, but he appeared as surprised as she felt.
His older brother winked at her, reminding her of Lawrence. “Nothing happens at Highgate End that I do not know about,” he said to them both.
And then Graeme looked at her, his smile slipping, and she realized the truth of his words. He knew. Somehow, Aidan’s brother knew, or guessed, what she planned.
Graeme knew she was planning to leave.
Chapter 21
Eventually, she fell asleep, thinking of Aidan, Graeme and Gillian in the hall, eating and drinking and sharing stories. Planning for the possible war that she had helped bring about. Only to be awoken by light streaming into her chamber from four arrow slits. Even though it was still early, the bright rays illuminated the otherwise dark chamber, promising a new beginning.
She could allow herself to dream, could she not?
Aye, and why not. She envisioned what it would be like if she answered Aidan “aye.” She saw herself sitting beside him, laughing at another of his jests and sharing a meal with him. She imagined another scene, one of her standing beside Gillian as she birthed her first babe, a niece or nephew. And then another, this one very different from the other two. She and Aidan were in a bedchamber much like this one, only bigger. He stood next to her, his hand under her gown. She closed her eyes, remembering keenly each and every stroke. His lips, both soft and hard at the same time, moving against hers as he lifted her higher and higher yet, to a place she never would have found without him.
“A small taste of what awaits my wife in the days ahead.”
She let her mind flit to another vision. This time they were by the river. Their bodies touched as he explored her most intimate spot, and she, bold enough to do the same, learned to please him as well.
Clarissa sighed aloud, the lonely sound echoing in her small chamber. That future could be hers if she were bold enough to take it. A man who loved her, who did not believe her to be unworthy, wished to take her to wife.
What was the alternative? They’d not yet heard from Father Simon. She couldn’t very well go wandering about the countryside, alone, looking for the nearest convent, hoping they would accept her without a sponsor. Even if such a thing were possible, the thought of living out her life without Aidan, without ever knowing his touch again . . .
She feared it would kill her. And Aidan too.
Well, as Eda had always told her, lying in bed would certainly not help. When she rose from the bed to dress, Clarissa startled at the sight in front of her. A large wooden tray with freshly baked bread and an array of fruit sat waiting on the table. Had Morgan been here already?
After eating a handful of grapes whil
e she dressed, Clarissa gathered up the cuts of bread with her and headed to the only place she felt safe in Highgate End. The bakehouse. As she entered the building through the underground corridor, Clarissa took a bite of the bread she carried, the small mutiny an answer to her training to never walk while eating.
“Good morn, Lewis.”
The gray-haired baker stood at the oven with his back to her. Though warm inside the bakehouse, the smell of freshly baked bread more than compensated for the small inconvenience.
“And to you, my lady,” he said, pulling out what looked like trenchers. As Lewis had told her the last time she visited him, he typically baked for the evening meal every morn. Occasionally, he provided special breads to the villagers, but much of his time was spent baking for those who lived here at Highgate Castle.
Theffield did not have its own baker. Her father thought the expense unnecessary, and so their cook did all of the baking as well.
“Tell me what to do,” she said, waiting for Lewis’s argument. Though she did not want to sit idle, he had stubbornly refused to give her a job on her past visits. “A lady should not work in the kitchens,” he’d said. Perhaps not, but this lady desired the choice to do as she wished. So, hoping it would spur him into action, Clarissa picked up a bag of flour.
“Shall I dump this onto the table to make dough?”
“Nay, lass!” He pointed to a waiting bowl. “There. Knead that dough, if you please.”
Poor Lewis. She did as he instructed, though not until she finished eating the bread she’d brought with her. Perhaps it was unladylike to do so, but she could not bring herself to care overly much.
“My lord found you, did he?”
Lewis had turned his back to the oven once again.
“Found me?” she asked, tipping the dough onto the table beneath it. Was he speaking of Graeme?
“Master Aidan. He brought you that bread you were eating, no?”
She’d just begun to knead the dough, but his words stopped her short. “Oh. Aidan brought that to me?”
The Guardian’s Favor: Border Series Book Nine Page 15
