Clara’s Vow

by Madeline Martin

  She put a hand to his chest to stop him, her touch crackling against his naked skin. He pulled in a breath at the power of her effect on him and looked down at where her slender fingers rested over his heart.

  Had she felt it as well?

  She snatched her hand back as though he’d scalded her and her cheeks flushed so fiercely that her heightened color was evident even in the dim firelight. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Ye need no’ apologize.” He took her small hand in his and brought it back over his heart. “But I’m no’ hot with fever. And my heart is steady and true. Ye feel it, aye?”

  Well, mayhap not so steady. Her hand on him once more sent his pulse spiking.

  Her lashes lowered as she regarded the connection between them, then swept up as she lifted her gaze to him once more. She licked her lips. “’Twas the willow bark tea.”

  He wanted to say something more, to encourage her to continue staring up at him so that he might lose himself in her beautiful eyes, but nothing came to mind. He’d never been the type to woo women. That was left to men like William, who had found his match with Clara’s sister, Kinsey.

  “Clara,” he said in a quiet voice.

  Her eyes widened. “How do ye know my name?”

  Shite.

  It wasn’t that he wanted his association with her brother-in-law kept a secret, but he hadn’t meant for it to come out this way. Mayhap the infection addled his mind more than he cared to think.

  Clara was a gentle spirit from what Kinsey had said, one whose ideals were not focused on war but rather on kindness and compassion.

  “I know Kinsey,” he admitted begrudgingly. “And William.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, an action he wouldn’t have noticed were they not so close. She pulled her hand away from him. “How do ye know them?”

  Reid fought the urge to reach for her once more. “I fought with them under William.”

  The muscles of her neck tensed. “And now?”

  “Now I am at the king’s command.” Reid tried to keep the irritation from his tone, but he sensed by the slight flinch of her brows that she picked up on it regardless.

  He should tell her now that he’d seen her with her sister nearly a year ago at the market in Castleton when William recruited Kinsey into his ranks against the English and that he’d thought of her every damn day since. But the admission stuck in his throat.

  “Now ye’re being sent to Dumbarton to save lives,” she supplied.

  It was a far kinder way of looking at his role as a messenger. And suspect. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. How could she possibly know of his mission?

  Had he said something in his sleep?

  “How do ye know that?” he demanded with a sternness he hadn’t intended.

  She lowered her head. “Forgive me, but I looked in yer bag.”

  He regarded her with incredulity. From what Kinsey said, Clara was next to godliness in her actions. “Ye read my missive?”

  “Forgive me,” she said again, lifting her head. “I don’t know ye. Ye’re a warrior I saved from a fight against the English, and I only had yer word that ye’d saved that woman and her boy. If I was to tend yer wounds, to sleep beside ye in this cave, I had to know who ye were.”

  Sleep beside him?

  Had she?

  Desire stirred low in his groin at the thought of her slender body curled up beside him, her warm breath whispering over his naked shoulder.

  Nay. He couldn’t think such things. Dumbarton needed him.

  “And now ye know who I am.” He strode past her to reclaim his pack.

  “But I don’t.” She followed him. “I only know that ye were right about the importance of delivering yer message. I don’t even know yer name.”

  “Reid MacLeod,” he said absently. His other bag was nowhere to be found. Only then did he remember his horse was still tethered near the cottage where he’d rescued the woman and child. Along with his other possessions. Damn.

  He would need to find them quickly, then see to his horse before the journey. How long had he been in this cave?

  He marched toward the yawning entrance where the delicate colors of dawn had begun to stain the sky with gold streaks.

  “Ye can’t leave,” Clara insisted. “Ye’re not well.”

  He didn’t slow down. “I canna abandon my horse.”

  “I reclaimed him after I dressed yer wounds.” She waved for him to follow her.

  The cave veered off somewhat to the side, creating a deep alcove where a brown mare was tethered near his black destrier. Beside his horse was the large pack of Reid’s goods.

  However, the brown mare was loaded down with a bedroll and several leather bags, packed for a journey.

  He experienced a flash of disappointment. “Ye’re leaving.”

  “Aye,” she replied. “To Dumbarton.”

  He frowned. “I dinna understand.”

  “Ye’re not going,” she said. “I am.”

  Mayhap it would have been better for Clara to have left for the journey prior to Reid waking. The idea had crossed her mind, but she’d worried he wouldn’t know how to steep the tea or how often to drink it or have the ability to apply the poultice on his wounds—a feat not easily done on his back.

  His expression was fierce now as he stared down at her in the gilded light of early dawn, looking every bit a warrior with his bare torso rippling with strength. Her fingertips still tingled with the memory of his naked skin against her hand, warm and hard. Powerful.

  It was far different than touching someone in healing. Something had sparked between them, ignited by the way he’d watched her with those hazel eyes, how he’d pulled her hand back. She hadn’t resisted. Nay, she had welcomed the opportunity to return her touch to his warm skin again, for the way his steady heartbeat pulsed against her palm.

  “Ye’re no’ going,” he said with finality.

  Clara had never been one for conflict, but nor did she shy from something she knew to be wrong. And allowing Reid to travel by himself was wrong. “I’m healthy,” she countered. “If left on yer own, ye’d end up falling from yer horse.”

  He scoffed. “I’ve no’ ever fallen from my horse.”

  “Have ye ever had a wound that’s turned?” she asked, refusing to back down.

  He didn’t respond, which was an answer itself.

  He had not.

  His legs were braced wide, and his arms folded across his broad, muscular chest. It was nearly impossible not to look at him, to appreciate the beauty of his physique. The dark auburn hairs sprinkling his skin had tickled her fingertips when she’d touched him. A sensation that was nearly imperceptible against the forceful pounding of his heart.

  “I’m going,” he said.

  Heavens, but the man was stubborn.

  Clara tilted her head in consideration. “Then so will I.”

  “Nay.”

  She put herself in front of the horses, blocking his path. “Ye’re not in any condition to travel. If ye insist on going, at least let me join ye.”

  He frowned, and she knew he was going to argue against her accompaniment.

  “If ye tear open a wound or yer infection worsens, I’ll be there to heal ye,” she said.

  “’Tis too dangerous.”

  She tried to hide her smile. “I assure ye, I can take care of myself.”

  He lifted a brow, clearly skeptical.

  It was her turn to fold her arms over her chest as ire tightened the muscles at the back of her neck. Did everyone have to presume she was helpless?

  “I helped ye to this cave, hunted for our meal and prepared it with items found in the forest,” she replied. “As well as reclaiming yer horse to ensure he would be well cared for. Might I also remind ye, I sank a blade in ye.” She hadn’t intended the latter part to sound so proud. Truly, she did feel wretched about having caused him injury.

  He scoffed. “A lucky shot.”

  “An accurate shot,” she c
ountered. “I never miss.”

  Clara had never been one to brag, but her humility was coloring people’s perspectives of her. If these people in Dumbarton were to receive the warning that would save their lives, she needed to prove her ability to fight. That she would not be a liability on the journey.

  Reid, however, still did not appear convinced. “Everyone misses at some point.”

  “I never have,” Clara admitted, her face going hot with the boast.

  He shook his head, not believing her. If she had been hot-tempered like Kinsey, she would have huffed out a growl of irritation. Except that Clara always fought away such emotions. Instead, she swallowed the bulk of her frustration and approached her pack of daggers, removing several.

  They clanked in her palms as she returned to Reid’s side. “Tell me what to hit first.” She faced the forest, where the sun had cast delicate shell-pink hues against a golden sky.

  He pointed to a tree several paces away. So close, it was nearly insulting.

  Clara drew back her dagger and let it sail directly into the rough bark center with enough force to split a vertical line in the tender wood.

  “There.” He pointed to a tree twice as far.

  She sent the next dagger into that mark as well.

  This happened two more times before he pointed to a tree impossibly far away—for most people.

  Clara aimed and loosed her weapon.

  Reid smirked. “Ye missed.”

  “I assure ye, I did not.”

  Together they strode deeper into the woods. Even as they did so, it did not escape her notice that Reid moved somewhat slow, his back still giving him a great deal of discomfort due to his injuries.

  Aye, she was making the right decision in insisting that she join him. Even if it did mean she had to be somewhat arrogant about her skill with her daggers.

  Reid stopped, his gaze locked on where Clara’s dagger protruded from the center of the tree and uttered a low curse. Light streaming through the trees caught his hazel eyes, displaying myriad flecks of green and amber.

  She wanted to stare forever, to learn every color and lose herself in them. Abruptly, she turned from him to break the temptation, and instead reclaimed her dagger. Now was not for acknowledging the warrior’s appeal. Especially not before giving herself over to a convent.

  Once there, she would be able to offer aid to people. Without distraction, without being a burden to anyone. Her life had always been intended for one of service to others, ever since she’d been a child and learned she could soothe those around her, that the ability to heal came to her so naturally. She was meant to help.

  The reminders of her purpose bolstered her and provided her with the strength to face him once more. “I don’t miss. And I’ll not take nay for an answer. I’m coming with ye.”

  “Throwing a dagger doesna mean ye willna get hurt,” he argued. “Even if yer skill is exceptional.”

  The compliment made her go hot once more. “But it does mean I can care for myself.”

  He trudged back toward the cave but didn’t argue again. It was as much of an acquiescence as she was likely to receive.

  “Ye may wish to dress.” Her eyes swept down his naked chest before she could stop herself, unable to help marveling at how the early morning light played over his sculpted physique.

  He reclaimed his pack from beside the cave wall and dug through the contents, his back muscles flexing and rippling as he did so. Clara’s pulse quickened, and she had to drag her gaze from him to keep from staring. It was ridiculous that he drew her attention in such a manner. No man ever had before.

  Finally, Reid withdrew a leine and tugged it over his head. The linen was heavily wrinkled from being crumpled in his bag, but he was still a sight to behold with his dark auburn hair hanging loose about his shoulders and around his face where whiskers shadowed his unshaven jaw. It wasn’t only his physique that was fine. So too was his face, all angles and hard lines, softened by the benevolence in his eyes and his generous mouth.

  She was staring again.

  He found his gambeson where it had been draped over a rock. Clara had tried as best she could to clean some of the blood from the thick cloth. It would need to be boiled to truly clean the thing.

  “I dinna like the idea of ye coming with me.” He thrust his arms into the heavy garment and secured it into place. “I should be protecting ye, no’ putting ye in danger.”

  “I don’t need protecting.” Clara tried to keep the hardness from her words. But it was true. No one ever seemed to realize that about her.

  He bound his hair back in a thong, making the sharpness of his jaw all the more apparent. “Ye’re verra stubborn.”

  She smiled at him. “Does that mean ye agree to let me come?”

  He sighed and lowered his head in defeat. “Aye.”

  With so little left to pack, it did not take much time to prepare for the journey. Within several minutes, they mounted their horses, Clara with ease and Reid with a stiffness she chose to ignore, refusing to coddle him. Men like Reid did not do well with such treatment. But she would certainly be observant of how he moved and reacted through the journey to ensure he remained in good health.

  They stayed silent as they rode out, long enough for Clara’s thoughts to wander amid the steady thump of horse hooves over the forest floor. Except it was not her family she’d left who occupied her thoughts, or the convent she intended to join or even the people they hoped to save with their journey to Dumbarton.

  Nay, it was the way Reid had looked down at her hand when she’d touched his bare chest. How he’d drawn her touch back to him and stared deeply into her eyes. She’d been so tempted then to let her fingers wander over his torso, to explore the dips and valleys of his muscles, to see if all of him was just as hard.

  As these thoughts teased her mind, desire played its havoc on her body. Her breath became shallow, her pulse ran faster, and an echo of its quickened pace thrummed between her thighs. She ought to have been mortified by her reaction, but its effect was too pleasant. It was appealing how a simple thought of him could bring on a fresh wash of excitement through her. What would it be like to touch him again? Mayhap even to kiss him?

  To…possibly…let his fingers brush over her sex where her newfound lust ached?

  “Why were ye out in the woods?” He asked abruptly.

  She startled at the sudden interruption to her wicked musings, and humiliation scorched through her. “What do ye mean?”

  “Ye’re nowhere near yer manor in Castleton.” He glanced toward her.

  She looked away to keep him from seeing her thoughts in case they were written as plainly on her face as they felt.

  “Why are ye so far from home?” he asked.

  “I was making my way to a village on the outskirts of Glasgow.” She took a deep breath to cool the heat in her blood, to clear her thoughts of intimacy. “To join a convent.”

  4

  Of all the answers Reid had anticipated Clara giving to explain being in the forest, joining a convent had not been one of them. She was young, bonny and remarkably skilled with her daggers and healing. There was no reason why a lass with her attributes should commit herself behind the drab walls of an abbey.

  What was more, it put her further from his reach. He shouldn’t want her, he knew. He wasn’t the type to give her everything a woman like her deserved. And yet, he could not stop the pang that rang out inside him at the thought of her locked away from him for good.

  “A convent?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  She nodded.

  He shook his head, baffled and disappointed. “Ye dinna seem the type.”

  “Do I not appear pious enough?” Worry edged into her tone.

  He lifted his shoulders. In truth, he hadn’t paid much mind to her piety. “Well, ye did throw a dagger at me.” He grinned at her, and her mouth fell open.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  He chuckled, something he didn’t often do. The
re was something about her, a sweetness, an innocence—it made him feel as though he didn’t have to guard himself actively against her.

  She wasn’t a woman who would try to pry from him anything she could. Nay, she seemed like the person who would give the cloak from her back in the middle of an ice storm if someone else was in need. And a woman such as she made him want to protect her, to curl her against him and ensure her safety always.

  But a convent?

  He said nothing more about it as they continued over a landscape where the grass was still husk-brown from the effects of winter. Their pace was a grueling one to make up for the lost time, and the morning turned to afternoon and finally dragged into dusk when they stopped to make camp.

  The tea she’d given him had seemed to be effective at the start of their journey. But as the hours stacked atop one another, the pain had returned, as had the ache that settled deep in his joints. Aye, he needed rest. And much as he was loathe to admit it, he would require more of her tea and mayhap her aid in changing the bandage on his back.

  While there wasn’t a cave available, they did find a place where the forest floor was dry and flat, which would suit for sleeping and making a fire.

  Reid leapt from his horse as he always did, his feet landing steadily on the ground. The impact, however, jarred the pain in his back. He reacted as any warrior would, without concern as he shrugged off the pulsing agony, and came round to Clara’s mare to help her down.

  Before he could lift his hand to assist her, she slid from the beast on her own and continued straight on downward without catching herself.

  Reid snatched her from the air with one arm and hoisted her slight weight up with ease before she could crumple to the forest floor. She was perfection in his arms, her waist resting against his forearm, his palm fitting perfectly along the curve of her hip. The fever muddled his thoughts, and he remained with his hands on her, torn between the desire to brush his mouth over hers and the knowledge he needed to release her. It was all he could do to avoid the temptation of letting his touch glide over her, pulling her closer still.