The Scot's Secret: Border Series Book 4

by Cecelia Mecca

  She looked nervous.

  Good.

  “You are despicable.”

  He’d dreamed about this moment for years—imagining what he’d finally say to her when he saw her next. He supposed it was as good a greeting as any.

  “Good day, Alex.”

  Her lilting voice, so serene, sounded exactly as it did in his memories.

  “Good day? I would think not. Not for you. Nor for me.”

  “You’re angry—”

  “Angry?” He took a deep breath, his hands shaking with rage. “What could I possibly have to be angry about, Mother.”

  “Let us speak privately—”

  “So your new family does not overhear?” He looked around. “I understand you remarried. Do I have brothers? Sisters? You weren’t so old when you left your first family—”

  “Alex, please.”

  Alex could see her hands tremble ever so slightly. The fear in her eyes was real. He should not care. Did not care. But something about the way she looked at him made him relent.

  He bowed, mockingly, a gesture for her to lead the way. She did not lead him into the hall, as he’d expected, but around the tower where he’d first seen her. A narrow passageway led them to a dirt-floored area surrounded by stone walls. An odd choice to host a long-lost son.

  Or perhaps not.

  “I should not be surprised that you would choose to hide me in the shadows.”

  He wanted to turn around and leave—the bitterness of this moment, all of the moments since she’d left, threatened to choke him. But he had one question he would not leave without asking.

  “Why?”

  He refused to be moved by the tears that formed in her eyes and threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

  “Since my husband died—”

  “Which one,” he asked, not caring that his voice sounded cruel to his own ears.

  “My English husband,” she replied, wiping a tear from her face with a small white strip of cloth from her pocket. “I wanted nothing more than to come to you. To all of you. And explain. But his son. . . and your hatred of me. I should have come, but—”

  “Why—” he ground his teeth together, “—did you leave?”

  “What is the only acceptable reason for a mother to abandon her children? Her grieving children who just lost their father?”

  “Acceptable? Surely you jest, there is no—”

  “Is there not?”

  The resolve in her voice startled him. It was the same tone Catrina used when she knew she was right. He’d forgotten that about their mother. When she set her mind to something, she was immovable.

  “Alex, before I met your father, I was already betrothed.”

  “Betrothed? To whom? Did Father know?”

  Her wistful smile almost appeared genuine.

  “Of course. ’Twas the reason we married in secret, the reason we never visited my family in England. My parents never forgave me. Sir Godfrey, the man I was supposed to marry, was so angry that he refused to meet with your father. Refused to discuss compensation.”

  “How could we not have known this?”

  She shrugged. “It was easier to pretend your father hated all things English, which was very nearly true. Though he would certainly have visited had my parents welcomed me home.”

  “What does this have to do with—”

  She ignored his interruption. “Sir Godfrey never forgave me. He was old enough to be my father, and though his holdings are not large—” she looked up at the keep near which they stood, “—he was well-connected.”

  “You left four children behind.” He ground out his words. “Why?” He did not care about the circumstances around his parents’ marriage or his mother’s second marriage to this Sir Godfrey. He wanted an answer so he could get the hell out of—

  “He found me. And threatened my life. Or, more importantly, yours.”

  Alex looked into his mother’s tired eyes, trying to understand her words.

  “He learned of the battle, of your father’s death. Somehow, he gained entrance to Brockburg. I woke one morn to a knife at my throat and a threat that could not be ignored. I could either leave, return to England as his wife, or he would kill every one of my children.”

  Alex laughed. “You expect me to believe—”

  “He was cunning enough to be there, in my chamber, alone. The bastard vowed to find a way to do the same, whether that day or months, even years, later to you. And Toren, Catrina, and Reid. I believed him.” She swallowed. “And knowing him as I did later, as his wife, I believe him still.”

  He shook his head. “You had three sons, any of whom could have—”

  “Defended me? Defended themselves? You were so young. And the man found his way into my private chambers and held a knife to my throat. He was evil and cunning, a dangerous combination. I would not take that chance.” She stood a bit straighter. “And I would make the same decision all over again.”

  He stared at her, unsure of what to say.

  “So you left to save us,” he said mockingly. “Married this monster. And then he dies. You could have come to us then. Told us—”

  “I was scared.”

  Her simple words stopped him, penetrated his hate. She was scared. Had been since the moment he’d confronted her. He looked at her shaking hands, her tears, and this time he saw her behavior for what it truly was.

  Raw, unmitigated fear.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t nod or shake her head. His mother simply continued to look at him, to watch him.

  He had hurt her. Alex would kill the man.

  And was reminded that he was already dead.

  “When we came here looking for you. . .”

  “The man you met earlier is one of many loyal to me. But there are others loyal to the new lord, Godfrey’s son, who is just as cruel and cunning as his predecessor.”

  “Is he here?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, but he will return in a few weeks.”

  “Does he—”

  “He leaves me alone, for now,” she said. “But I give him no reason to remember that I exist.”

  A prisoner in her own home.

  “You can question anyone here. Everything I’ve told you is true. Most know my late husband for the cruel man that he was. But their fear hasn’t ended with his death. And they worry, as I do, that his son will be just as bad. Or worse.”

  Alex didn’t know what to say. He’d hated her for so many years, resented her, it was hard to think of her in any other way. Could he really have gotten it so wrong?

  And then the tears spilled down her cheeks in earnest. “I’ve missed you so much. Alex, you have no idea what it’s like for a mother to lose her own children. I’ve dreamed of travelling to Brockburg, of what you and your sister and brothers would say. I knew you’d hate me. I hated myself for so long.”

  Alex went to her and engulfed the mother he had thought he despised in his arms. “After he died, I became careless.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Started bragging about my children, wanting people to know. I asked everyone who passed by here if they had word of you.”

  He believed her.

  The raw pain in her voice was real. He had never, not once, considered the possibility that she still loved them. That there might be a genuine reason for her abandonment. But he had no doubt Elkview’s retainers would validate her story. For now, he tried to forget the years of hate and misunderstanding that stood between them.

  She cried for what seemed like hours, and he held her still. His mother. Who loved her children so much she’d done the unthinkable to protect them.

  “Shhhh, Mother. I’m sorry for how I treated you—”

  She held his face in her hands, her tears finally subsiding. “I do not blame you, son. It’s exactly the reaction I expected. When I heard you’d come looking for me. . . I was going to come to Kenshire, but I was so afraid that you would hate me for what I’d done. And John.
. .”

  He placed his hands over hers.

  “The son,” she explained. “He’s never treated me as poorly as his father did, and I know you are grown men now. . .”

  When her voice trailed off, Alex finished her sentence.

  “We will protect you.”

  She was coming home, to Scotland. She would never have anything to fear again. And if the new lord of Elkview thought to threaten his mother or his siblings, he would start a war, if necessary, to end that threat for good.

  She nodded and tried to smile.

  “I’m glad you found me, son. I love you so much. I’ve thought of nothing but you and your siblings, every day and every night, since I left.” She began to cry once again.

  He held her in his arms, his mind still struggling to reorganize the past into this new frame. That was when it occurred to him. She’d lost a husband and four children all at once. And had been forced to marry a cruel, abusive husband.

  He squeezed a bit tighter. “I love you, Mother. And I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

  23

  They returned just past the midday meal. Clara was preparing for a ride to Kenshire’s village with Emma and Sara when Geoffrey walked into the stables to announce the arrivals.

  “You can remove my wife’s saddle, and tell Eddard I must speak to him at once,” Geoffrey told the stable hand. He was out of view, but it was unmistakably him. Sara planted her hands on her hips, and when her husband entered, she glared at him.

  “I’ll thank you not to order me about, husband. I was just about to—”

  He reached around the countess’s expanded waist and silenced her with a kiss, followed by whispered words for her ears only.

  “I’m so sorry, ladies,” Sara said by way of apology. “Do you mind terribly if I do not accompany you?”

  “Actually,” Emma said, looking toward the entrance of the stable, “I may come back with you.”

  Clara followed her glance toward Alex, who filled the entrance with his large frame and imposing presence. His grin stretched from ear to ear, and the way he looked at her. . . Clara knew she was lost. She had promised herself not to seek out any additional contact with him. Until she figured out what to do next, being with Alex was not wise.

  And yet, that smile drew her in. Something had changed in him. His smile was broader, his steps lighter, as he entered the increasingly crowded space.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, Emma. But surely you won’t leave—again—because of me,” Alex teased.

  Emma was already beginning to follow her brother.

  “Nay, ’tis not you at all.” She held her hand to her head, implying that she’d suddenly acquired a horrible headache.

  “Shall I unsaddle your mount as well, my lady?” the beleaguered stable boy asked Clara.

  “Aye.”

  “No.”

  The poor boy looked from her to Alex, confused.

  “I will gladly accompany you to the village, Lady Susanna,” he clarified.

  If he was surprised she intended to go there without her disguise, he didn’t show it.

  She pretended to be shocked. “Unaccompanied? Why, my lord, I could not consider such a thing.”

  His laugh made her forget everything but this very moment. It was a hearty and careless laugh, one that filled her soul with joy. As if eager to escape their banter, the stable boy led her horse outside.

  “I assure you, fair maid, I am quite harmless.”

  “That, my lord, is a lie,” she said, allowing him to escort her out of the stables. He held up his hand, and she took it, mounting the chestnut mare easily, even inhibited by the folds of Emma’s gown. Once seated, he continued to hold her hand just a few moments longer than was necessary.

  “Did you have a particular destination in mind, my lady?”

  Once he was satisfied that she was well settled on the mare, he mounted his own horse and they began to ride. They continued the pretense of formality through the inner bailey and beyond the gatehouse.

  “Enough,” she relented as they wove their way down the incline that led away from Kenshire Castle.

  Suddenly shy, she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to know what had happened on his journey but also why he’d left so suddenly—and without telling her about the latest news regarding his mother. Thoughts about that night, which had filled her every waking moment prompted her to look ahead rather than at the Scotsman riding next to her.

  “We found her,” he said.

  “You did?”

  Alex looked around them and nodded ahead to a thicket of trees. He sped up, and she followed. Moving away from the dirt road, they entered a grassy clearing between two massive oaks. He dismounted, tied his mount quickly and efficiently, and came to assist her. Clara took his lead and did the same, reminding him she was quite capable of handling both herself and the mare he had lent her at Brockburg.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “This.”

  He pulled her into his arms, and Clara immediately wrapped hers around him. She inhaled deeply when an afternoon breeze blew a tendril of hair between them. He moved it away and brought his lips to hers so tenderly, she forgot to close her eyes.

  He pulled away just enough to see her face.

  “We found her,” he repeated. And the rest of his words rushed out. Alex told her of his initial anger—and how it had wilted in the face of his mother’s explanation of the events that had unfolded after his father’s death. When he spoke of her English husband, he broke contact, likely not even realizing it. His fists clenched as he paced back and forth, clearly infuriated by his mother’s mistreatment.

  When he mentioned the look in his mother’s eyes—the fear and sadness—Clara’s chest tightened. She was shocked when she realized Alex’s eyes swam with unshed tears, and she went to him, holding him close, eager to ease some of the pain.

  “You didn’t know, Alex. How could you have known?”

  “I should have kept looking for her. We could have protected her.”

  She lay her head on his chest and listened to the rapidly beating heart of a man in pain. She willed it to slow, for Alex to begin to heal after believing for so long his mother didn’t love him.

  “I’d convinced myself it was my fault she left,” he said quietly.

  Clara didn’t move.

  “Toren was always the bravest and strongest. Surely she wouldn’t leave her first-born son. And even now she and Catrina look so much alike. There is no doubt they are mother and daughter.” His voice cracked. “Reid was the baby, innocent and beloved by everyone. But I…”

  Oh, Alex!

  “But I was none of those. A second son who had to spend every waking moment training to be as good. . .”

  Though he stopped, Clara knew he had been about to say, ‘as Toren.’ Alex loved his brother dearly, but he clearly felt lesser than him. Though she could never understand why. To her, Alex was perfect.

  “She loved us, me, all along.”

  That simple truth had clearly changed everything for him.

  She looked at Alex, her gaze unflinching. “You are as strong, as honorable, and as witty as you’ve been since the day we met. Any person would be honored to know you. Any mother would be honored to have you as her son.”

  She nearly added, ‘Any woman would be lucky to love you,’ but something stopped her. She’d vowed to Emma to consider a life with Alex, and she’d been thinking of naught else. But she could not forget the risks. If he came to harm while protecting her, she would never recover. She understood, all too well, his mother’s decision to leave her children.

  Clara and Alex stood like that for a long while, wrapped up in each other’s arms. If only she could spend the rest of her life in this wooded spot, somewhere between her home and the one she was not brave enough to make with Alex. . .

  But eventually, he pulled back.

  “I promised you a ride to the village, though I must admit, it was a bit of a shock to learn
you’d agreed to go there at all.”

  Clara would have been content to call off the trip entirely. She’d only relented after an entire morning of goading by Sara and Emma. They both believed that Alfred was firmly a part of her past. Sara had made some discreet inquiries, she’d said, and there was every indication the peace agreement between the king and his errant barons was being honored.

  Even so, Clara was hesitant. She’d tried to explain what Gilbert had told her, but neither woman wanted to listen. They were so convincing that Clara had finally agreed, though she was adamant they continue to call her Lady Susanna in public.

  “Sara and Emma convinced me it was safe.”

  “Geoffrey told me the countess has been making inquiries.”

  She didn’t wish to discuss Alfred right now. . . or her family’s past.

  “Alex—” something had just occurred to her, “—your mother. Where is she now?”

  They walked toward their horses and mounted them.

  “She agreed to return to Brockburg, or Dunmure, with us but asked for a few days to prepare.”

  Dunmure Tower. She was pleased he considered going back. “So she is coming home with you?”

  He turned that irresistible smile on her. “Aye, lass. As are you.”

  With that, he spurred his horse forward, and Clara had no choice but to catch up. She had no opportunity to answer.

  Which, she supposed, was just as well. She still wasn’t sure what to say.

  It was settled.

  Alex would return home with his mother and the woman who would be his wife.

  He never imagined this journey would have led to either development. The revelations about his mother also opened a new possibility. He’d been opposed to claiming Dunmure because of the memories it held, sweet turned bitter, but now he could allow himself to honor and enjoy those memories.

  His mother had not abandoned them.

  Which changed everything.

  Unfortunately, the woman who rode beside him now did not altogether share his enthusiasm about his plan. They headed back to the castle after a very short trip to the village. While he was surprised Clara had agreed to make the visit as herself, he was less so when, after spending just a few minutes there, she had begged him to leave. She wasn’t ready, she’d said.