The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4

by Cecelia Mecca

  “You look as if your meal was soured. You needn’t tell me. You should know by now I’ll not demand anything of you.”

  He spoke the truth. She’d been through enough. How she had survived for this long, alone, Alex wasn’t sure. But he knew one thing. She would never do so again. Whether she returned to Brockburg as his squire or, if she chose to trust them with her true identity, a permanent guest, Clara was alone no longer.

  Englishwoman or nay.

  10

  She’d said too much.

  Something about her companion made her feel safe, and she’d been frighteningly close to telling him everything.

  “Alex,” she said, purposefully changing the subject. “Where is my tent?”

  “Our tent,” he answered, “is over there.” He nodded toward the single tent he’d pitched.

  Our tent.

  Nay, it was not possible. She could not, would not, sleep so close to him.

  “’Tis not proper—”

  He laughed so loudly Clara was sure they’d be discovered because of it.

  “We’re an unmarried man and a woman travelling alone. Clara, nothing about this journey is proper. Surely you know that.”

  But she’d never sleep! She’d spend the whole night awake, tormented by the knowledge that he was right next to her. . . and she could not touch him.

  “But to sleep together. . .”

  “Gilbert taught you well. And I continue to be impressed by your abilities. But. . .”

  “But?”

  Alex opened his mouth, frowned, and then closed it again. That frown soon turned into a scowl. How strange. He always seemed prepared with an easy retort.

  “Alex?”

  “Damn it, woman. You’ll make me say it. You are. . . a woman.”

  “And?” She still didn’t understand.

  “St. Ann, give me guidance.” He looked up to the heavens. To pray to St. Ann or to avoid eye contact with her?

  Finally, his gaze returned to her. “You may be skilled with that weapon.” He pointed at her sword. “But you are still a woman. I could not sleep at night knowing you were unprotected.”

  “Unprotected? Who do you think has been offering me protection since Gilbert was killed? I do not need—-”

  “There is only one tent. A fact I cannot change. Besides, it will be warmer that way.” He stood. “I’ll check on the horses before we retire.”

  The cloak of night began to fall, and the brilliant orange-streaked sky was slowly being replaced by grey. She added a log to the fire, entered the tent they were to share, and quickly pulled a soft tunic and another pair of boy’s leggings out of her bag. She changed quickly into her night clothes and stuffed her other things into the satchel. Clara peered down at the two makeshift beds. Two linen coverings lay atop leaves that Alex had apparently gathered earlier in the evening. He must have stuffed additional material with extra clothing, as there were even two pillows awaiting them.

  Though the fire was nearby, a chill quickly began to seep into the tent. Clara crept inside one of the blankets and turned toward the light of the fire, attempting to get comfortable.

  “Try to sleep,” Alex said, entering the tent from behind her. “We leave at sunrise.”

  She didn’t answer; she simply lay there, imagining how Gilbert would react if he could see her now. Would he be pleased she’d secured protection or troubled by how much she’d revealed?

  Clara tried to ignore the movements behind her. Was Alex undressing? She’d already spied him without a shirt, and the mere thought made her eager to turn and look upon him. If she was to sleep at all tonight, Clara needed to stop thinking about Alex’s muscular chest.

  “Tell me something of you,” she said quietly, without turning.

  She could feel him lying down behind her. The heat was most welcome, though she’d not admit as much to him.

  “Such as?”

  “You would not reveal yourself to me before because I wouldn’t do the same, but you now know of Gilbert.”

  He made a sound that could either be frustration or dismissal.

  “There’s naught to tell.”

  Clara was sure that was not true. “You are very close to your siblings. You’re lucky to have a sister and brothers.” If only she’d had someone else to share the burden of her father’s loss, someone to comfort her and grieve with her. He was, indeed, quite lucky.

  “When our father died. . . at Largs. . . Toren became chief. Our father trained him well, and he does a fine job.”

  “And Catrina?”

  “My sister,” he said, a sweet fondness in his voice. “My mother left when she was still young, and I used to fear what the loss of her mother’s influence would do, but she’s become quite a remarkable woman.”

  “It must have been awful when she was captured by the Waryns.” When the Waryn brothers had retaken Bristol Manor, Bryce Waryn had taken Catrina prisoner. Of course, the tale had ended quite differently from how it had begun, and the two were now happily married.

  When Alex didn’t answer, Clara turned to face him. “I’m sorry. . . .”

  “It was a. . . difficult time,” he finally said.

  Clara wished she had not turned. Although darkness had fallen in truth, just enough moonlight made its way into the tent for her to see his face clearly. Though she tried to keep her tone even, she was afraid her voice would betray her.

  “But she’s quite safe now, is she not?”

  When he looked at her like that, Clara felt anything but safe. Safe meant distant. Not getting too close. And the heat and hunger in his eyes promised to blast away all of the walls that had kept her safe these last years.

  She looked away.

  “Why do you turn from me?” he said, his voice husky and so intimately close.

  “Because of the way you are looking at me.”

  “And how am I looking at you?”

  She gave her attention fully to the peak of the tent, not daring to turn her head back.

  “As if you want to kiss me.”

  She’d become much too blunt since her time with Gilbert.

  So be it.

  “I look at you that way because I do wish to kiss you,” Alex said.

  She forced herself not to move.

  “’Twould not be a good idea.”

  “Aye lass, I agree.”

  She did look at him then.

  He was smiling.

  “I am a virgin,” she blurted out.

  “I know.”

  “How could you possibly know such a thing? It’s not—”

  “Because of the way you move away from me, as if you’re afraid I will devour you at any moment.”

  “And will you?”

  Her heart thudded as she waited for his answer. And which answer, precisely, did she want him to give?

  “Likely, aye. Which is why you should go to sleep.”

  He closed his eyes, his face so much softer when he did so. In repose, the warrior almost looked like a regular man.

  He was anything but.

  Clara turned away again, attempting to breathe normally. It was simply impossible. She would never be able to sleep like this.

  She was sleeping.

  Alex could hear the change in her breathing, and he was glad for it. At least one of them would be well-rested. This trip had surely been a folly. . . it was hard enough to ignore her draw during the day, and now he was just inches away from her. Surely he was strong enough to keep from touching her, but he likely wouldn’t get a moment of sleep.

  He’d simply been too long without a woman. When they arrived at Kenshire, he’d find a willing maid and sate the lust that had overtaken his good sense.

  They just had to make it there. And back.

  That is, if she would agree to return with him. The woman was as skittish as a stag who sensed the bow and arrow aimed at his heart. Even so, he was determined to protect her—now and in the future—even more so after hearing part of her story.

  She sh
ifted and Alex turned away. Better not to tempt himself unnecessarily. He forced his eyes closed, listening for the unlikely intruder. He knew this area well and had never seen travellers this far off the path. But he lay with one hand on his sword nonetheless.

  Alex had just begun to drift off when a sound forced him to sit up, sword in hand. He listened carefully, chastising himself for thinking they were safe here. Nowhere was truly safe along the border. Only when he was fully awake did he realize the sound came from Clara.

  She turned her head and moaned. Not the type of low, lustful moan he would have loved to hear from her, but a pained one. He listened, trying to make sense of her words, but when her cries became louder, he shook her shoulder gently.

  “Clara,” he whispered.

  She continued to mumble.

  “Clara, wake up.”

  He spun her toward him, shaking her a bit more forcefully.

  Her eyes flew open, and he thought for a moment that she might strike him. But when she realized who he was, where she was, her features softened.

  “Alex.”

  “Aye.”

  He lay back down and pulled her toward him. Placing her head in the crook of his arm,

  he reached down and covered her with the blanket she’d lost in her dream. She wiggled at his side, and Alex tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the breasts that pressed, unwrapped, against him.

  She sighed, murmured something, and promptly fell back to sleep.

  The terror on her face in the moments before she’d fully awakened had been very real. A nightmare from the night Gilbert had been taken? From watching her father’s murder? Alex closed his eyes and listened to Clara’s even breathing.

  Surprised he was able to sleep so well on the hard ground with an Englishwoman sleeping in his arms, Alex woke with the bright light of the early morn. He listened for noise outside the tent but heard nothing save the regular breathing of Clara, who was still tucked inside the crook of his arm. He tried to lift her gently, not wanting to wake her just yet, but as soon as he moved, she stirred.

  “What. . . why am I. . .”

  She clearly had no memory of the night before.

  “You dreamed. . . called out,” he said simply.

  She sat, her hair tousled about her shoulders. Unbound and uncovered, she looked nothing like the squire who’d trained with his men at Brockburg.

  “Did I say. . . anything?”

  Alex crossed his arms behind his head as Clara moved away from him. She tugged on the covering Lady Juliette had begged him to take, one much thicker and warmer than he was accustomed to travelling with, and pulled it around her shoulders. His own tunic was heavy and warm, but Clara’s was better suited to a bed than a tent in the middle of the Scottish marches.

  “Nothing that could be understood.”

  She reached behind her head and smoothed out her hair. Alex reached up and pulled aside an errant strand.

  “Do you remember the dream?”

  He knew by her expression that she did. But she was not going to tell him.

  “You said we needed to leave at daybreak.”

  She scrambled out of the covering and grabbed her satchel. Alex did the same. They walked in silence toward the small stream. Clara moved behind a thicket of bushes, and when she emerged, she was fully dressed as a squire once more. But when she moved to the riverbed to begin her ministrations—the careful masking of her face—Alex held out a hand to stop her.

  “Don’t.”

  She looked at him, eyebrows drawn together.

  “There’s no need to disguise yourself, Clara.”

  “No need? There is every need. I’ve been doing so every day for—”

  “You do not wish to remain yourself instead?”

  She stood, clearly agitated.

  “I wish for nothing more, every single day. But ’tis not possible. Gilbert—”

  “Is not here,” he said gently. “But I am. And I will protect you, Clara. There’s no need to disguise yourself for our journey. The path we take is not a common one, and I don’t expect to meet anyone along the way, with the exception of at the inn.”

  “And if we do? And I’m recognized?”

  “Recognized by whom? Is your face so well-known?”

  “Nay, but—”

  “The reivers who roam this land are more interested in looting than—”

  “Raping women? Would I not be safer as a boy?”

  Had she been raped? “Has someone—”

  “Nay, but Gilbert said—”

  “Clara, by all that is holy, I won’t let anyone close enough to touch you or even dream of touching you.”

  “And if something happens to you?”

  “I would not be so careless with my life. I know this area well and can assure you that nothing will happen to me. I won’t allow it.”

  She began to soften.

  “You won’t allow it?”

  Even though her lips were turned up in the slightest grin, Alex remained serious. “I will not.”

  Clara looked down at her satchel and then back up at him.

  “You are not marring Gilbert’s memory by disobeying his orders. He was your protector, but you have a new one now. Nothing will happen to you.”

  Whether it was the conviction in his voice or her desire to let Alfred rest for the moment, Alex wasn’t sure, but he was grateful when she slung the satchel over her shoulder without opening it.

  “Alfred can make an appearance at The Anvil Inn,” he said.

  “Aye, he must. But in the meantime, I will very much enjoy being Clara.”

  “You are free to unwrap yourself as well.”

  She glanced down at her flattened chest and looked back at him with a smile.

  “Perhaps I shall.”

  He nearly said, ‘Please do,” but somehow restrained himself.

  She turned, presumably toward the bushes, when he reached out and grabbed her hand. Mayhap he was not so adept at restraining himself after all. He needed to touch her, if only for a moment.

  “You have that look again.”

  He was sure he did.

  “Which one precisely?” he managed to ask. He tugged her closer, imagining her lips on his own.

  “The one that makes me think you’re going to kiss me.”

  She was standing so close he could smell the mint she must have chewed moments before.

  “I could have kissed you last eve but did not. What makes you think I’ll do so now?”

  His warrior-woman swallowed. She was nervous.

  “You’re holding my hand. And are standing too close to be proper.” Her voice wavered.

  “Nothing about our arrangement out here is proper. I thought we’d established that already.”

  He let go of her hand and used it to cover her cheek. “’Tis much too smooth and pretty to cover with mud.”

  His thumb ran a trail from her cheek to her lips. She parted them, and he traced her lower lip before moving his hand back toward her cheek.

  “I wanted to do this as you slept.”

  Alex allowed his hand to roam freely, sliding it behind her neck.

  “But you did not.”

  “Nay, lass, I did not.”

  When she licked her lips, he could no longer resist temptation.

  “I couldn’t have asked for your permission then.”

  “Neither have you asked for it now.”

  He pulled her head toward his.

  “You could stop me at any moment.”

  Their faces were so close, Alex could feel her breath against his face. His heart raced like that of an untried lad.

  “Why would I do that?”

  He groaned at her words and pulled her toward him in truth. At the first touch of their lips, Alex immediately had to get closer. He brought his other hand up and pulled her head toward him. He vaguely felt her arms wrap around his back.

  She was hesitant, as if she’d never been kissed. He pressed his lips to hers, opening them slightly to show
her what to do, when a loud splash startled them both. He pulled away and looked around.

  Nothing.

  He ran closer to the bank of the river, still nothing.

  “Likely an animal, but I need to be sure. Stay here.”

  He looked for tracks and, finding none, returned a moment later.

  “We’d best be off,” he said.

  He wanted to resume where they’d left off, but he didn’t dare. When she’d blurted out that she was a virgin, he’d believed her. But if he hadn’t, the evidence was in the way she’d held herself against him. She was as pure a maiden as he’d ever kissed. And English. And determined to keep her identity secret. None of which boded well for a happy ending between them.

  Whatever had made that sound had saved him from himself.

  11

  What in the name of the king of England was that?

  He’d kissed her. From the moment they’d met, Clara had imagined what it would be like to be kissed by such a man, and yet she’d felt completely unprepared. Even so, she had never once thought of stopping him. She’d wanted it as badly as he had.

  They rode hard all day and stopped only twice to feed themselves and the horses. As promised, they met no one along the road. And, so far, the weather cooperated. While the mornings were cool and grey, the day grew warmer as it went on, the sun peeking through just enough to be comfortable but not hot. Clara wished she could borrow some of that warmth at night.

  Last night, it would appear, she’d borrowed Alex’s heat. Though it mortified her that he’d heard her cry out in her sleep, the rest of her slumber that night had been smooth and peaceful and free of dreams.

  “There’s a loch just up ahead. The last one before we reach the border,” Alex called back to her.

  She spurred her mount forward. “We’ll stop here for the night?”

  The sky had already begun to darken, and Clara had just been about to ask when they’d stop.

  “Aye,” he said, circling the area around the edge of a most interesting loch. A small, rock-faced hill stood in the center of it, the water surrounding it in a ring.

  “What is it?” she called, taking Alex’s lead and dismounting.

  “Volcanic rock,” he said. “Ancient cairns stand over there.” He pointed. “’Tis said this is a sacred spot.”