“My lord.”
He looked at her with the most peculiar expression. Dressed for training, as always, he donned nothing more than trewes and a loose linen shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“It occurred to me, Alfred. You’ve not yet seen all of Brockburg. After the meal, I’ll give you a tour of the castle.”
Although it was not unusual that he should be smiling, something, perhaps his tone, made her leery. But of course she had no choice but to accept.
“I would be delighted, my lord.”
She concentrated on his forearms, not daring to look up. But that plan did not work. He reached down to roll his shirtsleeves even higher.
Oh dear.
“Meet me here when you’ve finished. I’ve already broken my fast.”
“Already, my lord?”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Shhh. Don’t tell Father Simon. He’d be vexed I did so before mass. But I found myself unable to sleep this morn.”
“Indeed?”
She peered up over her lashes.
“I’m an early riser, as you may have surmised. In fact, I’ve been known to train in the clearing well before the men at times.”
The clearing! Surely he doesn’t mean. . . She did look up then. His lips were turned up in a smile so big she could see faint lines appear around his eyes.
“You know, where we train each day?” he pressed.
He was mocking her. Not in a malicious way, but there was no doubt he knew something. Could he have seen her earlier?
Nay. It was not possible. She had been so careful to ensure no one was near. Otherwise, she would never have revealed herself.
“Go, you must be hungry. Meet me here later.”
With that, he disappeared into the courtyard.
Clara stared at the woman pulling a bucket up from the well without really seeing her. What was that about? She had a tendency to worry even when it was unnecessary. But the brief conversation left her unsettled.
As quickly as she could manage it, Clara fled to the hall, ate a bowl of porridge sweetened with honey, and returned to the spot where she’d promised to meet Alex. She spotted him a moment later in deep conversation with his younger brother. Whatever he was saying to Alex, it was clear he wasn’t happy about it. Finally, Reid shook his head and walked away, ignoring his brother’s plea to return.
Alex looked at her and nodded his head in the direction of the gatehouse. She scrambled to follow, his strides longer than her own. Finally, when they reached the closed portcullis, he stopped.
“This gatehouse, the chapel, and the keep are the only three original structures. The others were all made of wood and have since been replaced by the stone you now see. This structure, however, was built with stone during its first construction.”
He walked from building to building, giving her the history of each. She tried to concentrate, but found it quite difficult. She’d never become accustomed to his easy smile and effortless charm.
“Can you imagine where this leads?”
He opened one of the interior doors, though not the one leading to the guardsman’s chambers. Stepping inside, Clara shivered. Alex grabbed a wall torch to light the way as the stairs ahead afforded no source of light.
Its location near the guardroom and unused smell offered a clue.
“’Tis the dungeon,” she said, following him down the steps.
“Aye.” At the bottom of the landing, he moved the light to reveal a single empty cell. When he opened the gate, a creak reverberated against the stone wall. He moved toward the center and motioned for her to follow. She noticed the wooden door in the floor before he pointed to it.
“And this?” he asked.
There could be only one reason for a trapdoor within a dungeon. Barrington had one as well, though it had never been used.
“An oubliette.”
He pulled the light up, toward her, and turned to leave.
“You’ve seen one before.”
“Aye, in—” She stopped. It was rare for Clara to slip, although she’d only mentioned her home in conversation once before. Gilbert had quickly helped her to recover, and she’d not made the same mistake since. “In a castle once,” she finished, hoping he would not inquire further.
They exited the dungeon none too soon. Clara hated such places. And even though Brockburg’s dungeon appeared not to have been used in recent times, she nevertheless was anxious to leave.
Back outside, they toured each floor of the castle. She relaxed a bit as they walked down a narrow passageway adjacent to the great hall. The sound of hammering filled the air, becoming more pronounced as they got closer. She walked ahead, the familiar sound forcing out thoughts of the man who followed her.
The armory.
Typically positioned on a lower floor and rarely this close to the great hall, the armory was one of a castle’s most important places. Its armorer, a man skilled enough to heat metal and cut sheets of it into armor and to train the apprentices under him for mundane tasks such as repairing horseshoes or dented armor, was a well-regarded and vital member of any keep.
As the armorer came into view, working over a hot sheet metal, Clara stopped, not wanting to disturb him. She watched the master craftsman, an older gentleman, until he finally stopped to look up.
“A coat of plates,” she guessed, looking at the cut that had already been made.
The man looked from her to Alex, who stood behind her.
“My new squire,” Alex said, introducing her. “Alfred, this is Brockburg’s armorer. Allen has served three generations of Clan Kerr—”
“And will finally see a fourth now that your brother’s brought home a wife.”
“This,” Alex said, “is clearly where we come for advice on love and marriage. Although he hasn’t quite mastered the art himself, have you, Allen?”
The armorer ignored the barb and went back to work, though his smile told Clara much about his relationship with Alex.
“Come,” he said, leaving the room and escorting her back to the courtyard. “Allen has been married four times,” he added once they were out of hearing.
“Four?”
“Aye. Two made him a widow and the third. . . Och, that’s a scandal best left for another time.”
He leaned against the stone wall not far from where they’d begun the tour that morning.
“Tell me, Alfred. Have you ever been involved in a scandal?”
The truth, she heard Gilbert say. As much truth as possible.
“Once,” she said, trying hard not to look up. “I fell in a lake and had to be rescued.”
The lord’s daughter had nearly drowned. It had been quite an affair from what she’d been told later. The handmaiden who’d allowed her to slip away and into the lake had never returned to the keep. Clara often wondered where the woman was now.
She was too young to remember the incident, but her father had insisted she learn to swim afterward, despite her lingering fear of the water. She had come to enjoy swimming, even though it was not something most did for pleasure.
“You don’t fear the water, then?”
“Nay, I do not. My father made sure of it.”
“You must have been quite young?”
“Aye, I was—”
“Since you were orphaned at a young age.”
She smartly held her tongue.
“Raised by a vassal to your father, Sir Robert Kinney. I’ve not heard of the man.”
He was suspicious, and rightly so. It was as she’d thought.
“Do you know many knights in England then?”
He shrugged. “Enough.”
“Don’t let him fool you, lad.” Brockburg’s priest approached, grinning at them. Thank the heavens. “Alex knows much less than he claims.”
Alex smiled at the priest, who looked no more than a few years older than the eldest Kerr brother. Mayhap thirty and five? And yet, he exuded a sense of wisdom beyond his years.
Clara liked him immediately.
&nbs
p; “I know you are wanting something, Father,” Alex said. “You have that look about you.”
“Ahh, do I now? Well, boy, you’re right on that account.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “I’ve not been a boy for many years.”
“To me, you will be one always.”
Clara looked back and forth between the men. She’d heard of Father Simon while at Bristol. Lady Catrina spoke highly of him.
“I’ve just heard the rumors.”
Clara felt an immediate jolt of fear, but the priest wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Alex. These rumors weren’t about her, then.
Alex shook his head. “Reid told me earlier. I care not if—”
“Tell yourself that if you’d like, but don’t lie to a man of God.”
The men stared at one another, and Clara began to back away. It was a conversation she should not be a part of. That much was clear.
“Stay with me, Alfred,” Alex insisted. He turned to Father Simon. “Father.”
Obviously dismissed, the priest walked away with a nod to them both.
Alex tipped his head back and looked up to the sky. For divine intervention? These rumors, whatever they were about, clearly troubled him.
For a moment she thought he was going to tell her what Father Simon had meant, but instead he began walking through the courtyard toward the gatehouse. “Are you ready for today’s training?” he asked over his shoulder.
He didn’t give her time to answer, so Clara scrambled after him instead. Just as they were passing through the massive arched entranceway, Alex stopped. A merchant, the same one she’d seen approaching the gates earlier, walked alongside a cart filled with spices, judging from the smell that wafted back to them.
“You there,” he called, jogging ahead to reach the man, who looked as if he’d been travelling for days. Mayhap more.
Clara couldn’t hear what they were saying, and although she did not want to intrude, their raised voices carried back to her, rousing her curiosity. She moved just a bit closer until she could hear their conversation clearly.
“And you are quite sure?”
“Aye, my lord. She was most clear. There was no denying it.”
Clara didn’t know Alex Kerr well, but he always seemed to be in good humor, smiling or even laughing. But there was no joy in him now. He gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly she could see his knuckles whiten even at this distance. Did this have something to do with the rumors Father Simon had mentioned?
“She did not deny it?”
The ominous tone to his voice seemed to affect the merchant as well, for the poor man began to have difficulty forming his words.
“No. . . she. . . uh, no. She bragged of it.”
After staring at him a moment longer, Alex dismissed the man, who rushed ahead, likely glad to be leaving Brockburg Castle.
Returning to her, he spoke as if not realizing she was a virtual stranger.
“The merchant brings word of my long-lost English mother, who is still very much alive, it seems.”
The sheer honesty and openness of the admission slayed her, and for a moment she could think of nothing else. Then the words themselves penetrated her mind. His mother? Clara had assumed both of his parents were dead. She’d never heard any mention, here or at Bristol, of either of them.
Nay, that was not true.
Clara did remember whispers of their father who was killed in battle. At Largs, perhaps? She could not remember.
“Never mind. Come.”
As she followed him down the steep path, Clara could see the merchant below them. So he’d brought word of a woman claiming to be Alex’s mother. An Englishwoman? Why was she not at Brockburg? Had she left of her own accord?
So many questions that would have to go unanswered. For the time being, Clara needed to concentrate on the training. If yesterday was any indication, it would be a long day indeed.
7
Four days had passed since her tour of the castle. She’d seen little of Alex outside of the long, grueling training sessions. Clara had asked him more than once if he needed special assistance, but she was beginning to think Alex Kerr did not have a squire for a reason. Mayhap he did not want one.
Though he joked and laughed often enough and he was always surrounded by people—men during training, his family members at meals, and comely servants nearly every other time—there was one person he held back from speaking to.
Her.
She caught him looking at her more than once, so he was obviously aware of her presence. But each time she asked if he needed something, he declined her help. The day he’d shown her Brockburg, he’d partnered her with another squire in training, a young boy she’d not seen in the clearing previously, someone with whom she could actually train. And then he had promptly begun to ignore her.
If only she could do the same.
Clara’s eyes were always drawn to him. During their training, she sometimes caught him looking at her with interest, but it could only be her imagination. In his eyes, she was Alfred, not Clara. She’d told Juliette as much the evening before. Like she’d done twice already, Juliette had come to visit her in the somewhat lonely tower where she and her charge stayed. Clara was grateful for those brief moments with Lady Juliette when she could actually be herself.
Today had begun like any other day, with Alex ignoring her, so it shocked her when he waved away her companion in the lists and took up his sword against her. Gilbert had made her a blunted sword for training nearly as fine as the one he’d crafted for her to use in truth.
“Let us see what that weapon can do,” Alex said.
Though Clara was competent at the other exercises, and she could easily keep up with her new sparring partner, she knew she would need to dodge Alex in order to win. Clara could never overpower such a man. In fact, she’d not seen any present who had successfully done so with the exception of his brothers. Occasionally, the chief or Reid would succeed at besting Alex when they trained with him.
With the sun’s bright rays shining behind him, Clara lifted her sword and deflected his blows the best she could.
“You must not always remain on the defensive,” he shouted.
It was the only way she knew how to survive. But the maneuvers she’d learned were useless on him, and Clara began to despair until she finally found an opening. He was holding back, deflecting her gently, and in so doing, he was making himself vulnerable on the retreat.
She waited for the right moment, stepped back, and pivoted quickly, striking Alex with her blunted blade. He stared incredulously as her.
“How did you do that?”
She shrugged.
“Being small has its advantages.”
“My lord.” One of the men approached him, the red gash in his shirt growing.
“Go,” Alex said simply, giving him leave to attend to his wound. Though they used blunted swords, accidents were common in training—something they shared with their southern neighbors. Indeed, with the exception of Alex’s unusual training methods, many of the customs she’d encountered here were the same.
But that didn’t mean she had met anyone quite like Alex before.
“You’ve been trained well,” he said, sheathing his sword.
Clara did the same, smiling at the compliment.
“I’ve never met a woman who can wield a sword,” he added in an undertone.
Her hand froze on the handle of her weapon. She stared at him in shock, wondering if she’d heard correctly.
The sound of clanging metal rang in Clara’s ears as she considered how to react. Was he guessing? Had Toren or Juliette told him? Nay, neither of them would have willingly revealed her.
“Come with me,” he said. And then to the men, “I leave your fate to Gregory here.” He clapped a red-headed man on the back.
“Shall we dine among the trees or retire to the keep for the midday meal?” Gregory bellowed.
The men’s smiles indicated it was a rare boon. Indeed, t
hey took a light repast with them most days, so an extended break would likely be welcomed by most of them. But Clara couldn’t think beyond what Alex had said.
A woman.
If he had guessed, would the others? She would be forced to leave, for as Gilbert had said often enough, her boys’ clothes and new identity were all that shielded her from a prison cell. Or worse.
“Then I say we stay. The men may as well be English, they’re so weak,” one man called out. Clara winced at the insult. She’d heard it often enough, but it still rankled when everyone laughed in agreement.
To her surprise, Alex’s smile faded.
“I’ve no love for our southern neighbor,” he shouted for all to hear. “But the lad here cannot help that his parents were born on the wrong side of Hadrian’s Wall.”
The man who had hurled the insult immediately apologized to her.
“I meant no offense, Alfred.”
“’Tis as I would expect,” she said, loud enough for only his and Alex’s ears.
Alex’s mood turned light once again as he said to the others, “I give you leave to dine and meet me afterward to finish training within the castle walls.”
A cheer was raised, and before it had faded, Alex tugged on her arm. “Come,” he said once again.
He led her toward the river, and suddenly she knew. This was the exact spot where she’d bathed.
“You were there,” she choked out.
“Aye lass, I was there.”
There was no mistaking his expression as he turned and once again made for the water’s edge.
He had seen her. All of her. She should have been embarrassed or panicked. Instead, a rush of pleasure coursed through her as she thought of him watching her that day. As she realized that mayhap he had been watching her with interest these past days.
Alex walked toward the water and bent down to it. Turning, he gestured for her to do the same.
Did she have a choice?
He splashed water onto his face, drying it with the edge of his loosely hung tunic.
She swallowed, knowing what he wanted from her. She shook her head.
“You owe me this much,” he said. “Deceived by you, my brother, and the new lady of Brockburg.” His jaw clenched. “I wish to see your face in truth. And,” he added, “you will remove the hat as well.”
The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4 Page 5