Clara’s Vow

by Madeline Martin

  “Are ye here for a dowry?” Ross demanded in a gravelly voice.

  The men around him snickered, and Clara’s face went hot with humiliation. “I’d like to speak with ye in private.”

  “Look at this bonny lass, lads,” he said loudly. “Though dinna be getting any ideas. I’ll no’ be accused of selling off another granddaughter of mine.”

  His men laughed in earnest, and Clara found herself wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Her grandda was flush with drink. The odor of it emanated from him like a thick fog.

  This had been a mistake. She ought to have known better than ever to consider asking him for anything. Especially when he always exacted a price for his efforts.

  Ross waved his men away and gave her his full attention, his lined face nothing at all like the sweetness of her mother’s. Indeed, it was difficult to even imagine a man as brash and coarse as Ross having anything to do with Mum’s upbringing.

  He tilted his head closer to hers. “What is it ye’d like to discuss?”

  Clara wanted to shake her head and beg off the conversation. Indeed, she might well have, were it not for thoughts of the innocent children who would be subjected to an English attack if she could not get them aid. It was for them that she found her voice.

  “There’s to be an attack on a village in several days.” She spoke in a voice meant only for his ears and looked him directly in the eye as she did so, refusing to allow him to intimidate her. “We’re on our way to warn them, but they could use a stronger defense.” She looked behind her grandfather. “Warriors who could keep the English at bay. I imagine ye have even more with ye than are gathered here now.”

  Ross narrowed his green eyes. “I do. And they’re all spoken for. We’re off to raid one of the English border villages.”

  His selfishness was starker than she had anticipated. Her sisters might have been right when they said she tried too hard to find the good in people. Mayhap some people had no good in them.

  But Clara was never one to give up on anyone.

  “People are in need,” she said in a bid to appeal to him.

  “Aye, like my men.” Her grandda winked. “They’re in need of the great wealth they hear can be found in English homes.”

  She gaped at him. Was it possible there was truly no humanity in this man?

  Her grandda pointed at her shocked expression and guffawed. When his mirth subsided, he threw an arm over her shoulder. “Yer heart is too big for this small, ugly world, Clara. Find yerself a man and settle down. Leave the business of war to men.”

  “If I did that, I fear it would result in the loss of many innocent lives.” Clara regarded him with open hurt. “I’d hoped what Mum said about ye wasn’t true.”

  Any humor on his face melted into a wounded expression. “What did yer mum say?”

  Ordinarily, Clara would not have disclosed such a razor-edged truth, but her grandda needed to hear these words. “That ye’re greedy, cruel and self-serving.” She didn’t soften the words as she said them and tried to distract herself from the stab of guilt when he winced.

  He had the good sense to appear somewhat chastened.

  “If ye change yer mind,” she said. “Please join us in Dumbarton posthaste. We are making our way there now.” Even as she said it, she couldn’t help that sliver of hope that he might still prove himself a better man than so many thought him to be.

  He gave a stiff nod, but it was no commitment. It wasn’t even acquiescence. That much was evidenced by the way his gaze slid from hers.

  Shame.

  With that, their conversation was done. She stepped away from him and didn’t bother to look back at the man who had offered her family nothing but disillusionment. Often in her youth, she had wondered how a separation had formed between her mother and grandfather when Mum was so kind. And while Clara knew her grandfather to be a harsh man, she also knew her mother to be forgiving.

  Mayhap a man such as him was beyond forgiveness, even for someone like Mum.

  Reid still sat at the table, his body tense as if he anticipated having to leap up and strike someone at any moment. She understood then that he was ready to be at her side in a second should he be needed.

  He got to his feet as she approached, his eyes narrowing. “What did he say?”

  “He won’t help us,” Clara said, unable to stifle the flash of disappointment at her grandfather.

  Reid glared over her shoulder toward her grandda. “Why no’?”

  “They’re going on a raid in England.” Clara kept her tone flat to mask the smolder of her anger.

  “They’d rather rob the English than protect their own countrymen?” Reid growled.

  His ire fanned hers until it glowed like an ember in her chest. She curled her hand into a fist and focused on ebbing her rage.

  They pushed out of the tavern and made their way to the paltry stable that was little more than a covered stall where the horses all stood next to one another. Whatever ice had crusted over the ground had melted away with the first rays of sunlight that poked through gray clouds.

  As of yet, the day was blessedly without rain.

  “How can ye be so calm about it?” Reid asked.

  She sighed. “My being angry about it will not change his mind.”

  Reid frowned slightly and set to work on readying their horses.

  In truth, Clara wasn’t calm about it. Her grandda’s response screamed through her thoughts and left her pulse jumping in erratic beats. She’d wanted to demand the same as Reid, to know how they could focus on pillaging when others needed aid.

  She wished she could genuinely feel inside what she expressed outwardly. For as much as she outwardly exhibited being devoid of sorrow and anger, she felt it powerfully within.

  But of all the hurt churning in her, there was one that stood above the rest: Reid’s decision never to get married and how it had doused the fragile flame of hope that she might someday be his wife.

  8

  The day was clear, and Clara was grateful not to contend with the rain as they had the evening before. Particularly the lightning and thunder accompanying it. Her mare had only reared up yesterday after being startled by the lightning.

  Clara had managed to hang on, thanks to Drake’s insistent training that he had imposed on her and her sisters. It had been he who had educated her on the proper way to throw a dagger. He had also taught her how to ride a horse and how to handle one that had been spooked. That instruction may well have saved her life.

  Without the rain or fear of her horse’s reaction to a storm to focus on, Clara found her thoughts returning to Ross’s reaction to her request for his help. She considered what she might have said differently that would have convinced him. There had to have been something she missed, another way she might have approached it.

  She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Reid stopping his horse.

  “Clara, are ye going on without me?” he called out.

  She pulled back on the reins and turned in her saddle to find him standing beside his destrier in a clearing with a small stream running nearby. A look of amusement quirked the corner of his handsome mouth.

  “Forgive me, I was…” She sighed. “I was thinking of my grandda.”

  Reid scowled. “I know ye say the whole mess of it doesna enrage ye, but how can it no’?”

  “It does make me angry,” Clara admitted. “But holding on to hate and anger makes it burn brighter inside ye, and to what effect? It helps no one and will not alter the situation.” She went to the stream and opened her wineskin. The fresh water would be needed for teas as the batch she’d made at camp the day before was nearly gone.

  “I disagree.” Reid led their horses to the stream, where they lowered their heads to drink from the clear, fast-moving water.

  Clara looked up at him, curious. “How so?”

  “Ye have to let it out.” He lifted a shoulder. “Hitting something, or even having a good scream. It can ma
ke quite the difference.”

  “A good scream?” She gave a little laugh.

  “Aye, ye dinna believe me, I know, but I think ye should try it.”

  She pushed the stopper back into the wineskin to seal it and returned to where they’d set their bags in the clearing. Though it wasn’t raining, the spring air still held a sharp bite and her fingers were half-frozen with cold.

  Reid joined her. “Are ye going to try it?”

  She studied him, noting his serious expression. “Ye were serious?”

  He nodded. “Try it.”

  She shook her head.

  Together, they went into the surrounding forest to gather whatever branches they could find that were not too wet. Sunlight dappled the forest floor, where leaves of various colors were scattered against the dark soil, and errant branches were readily available to retrieve.

  “Then tell me about yer grandda,” he said.

  Clara bent to pick up a relatively thin branch and discovered it was nearly dry to the touch. “I don’t know much about him.”

  “What ye do know, then?”

  She searched through her memories. “He’s been generous with the dowries for my sisters.”

  Reid slid her a long look but said nothing. “What else has he done to yer family?”

  Nothing but terrible things rushed to Clara’s mind.

  “Say them,” Reid encouraged as if he could see the awfulness rising in her.

  “He forcefully abducted my eldest sister and forced her and her husband to wed to get land he felt he was owed,” Clara replied slowly. “He tried to manipulate my older brother to get hold of that land. He’s done something to my mother that she will not speak of. And he is unkind to many.”

  As she spoke, tension built in the back of her throat, squeezing until an ache settled there.

  “And what has he done now?” Reid pressed.

  “He’s left people to die so he can loot treasure.”

  “And does that make ye upset?”

  Clara closed her eyes as the fire inside her sparked to life. “Aye,” she whispered.

  “When yer sister was taken, when ye found out what he’d done, were ye upset?” Reid moved by her side.

  The flames inside her licked at her patience, sewn and restitched over time until it had begun to wear thin, until it barely covered the hoard of her repressed emotions.

  She drew in a shuddering breath. “Aye.”

  “And what he’s done to yer mother…”

  A hot tear ran down her cheek, but it did little to assuage the pressure in her throat.

  “Scream, Clara,” Reid coaxed.

  She shook her head as tears ran freely down her cheeks.

  “Think of the English and how they treated yer family,” he said, his voice firm. “Think of the Scottish and how they have no’ let ye have a home here, either.”

  She choked on a sob as years of abuse snapped free from its hold and whirled around in her like a blizzard.

  “Scream,” Reid ordered.

  She opened her mouth, and a scream ripped from her throat, long and loud and so raw that it seemed to be physically torn from her body. The injustice of how she and her family had been treated, the pain of her father’s death. How she had to sacrifice so much so that others could give in to their grief. How everyone thought of her as weak, when in actuality, she had been the one to shoulder so very much.

  “Again,” Reid said.

  Again she screamed until she had no more breath and the tears were flowing down her cheeks. And just like that, the brilliant energy that fueled those screams winked out, replaced by a startling lethargy. She staggered back, and sturdy arms caught her.

  Reid.

  She sagged against him, grateful for his fortitude. He cradled her against the hard wall of his body while her sobs subsided into pathetic little whimpers. One large hand rubbed over her back as he patiently held her.

  Her breathing returned to normal, and though her eyes still felt gritty from her tears, a remarkable lightness seemed to replace that tension in her soul. She stayed in his arms longer than necessary, breathing in the familiar spice and leather scent, continuing to draw comfort from this man who offered so much, who somehow knew how to pry out her greatest weakness and set it free.

  For that was exactly how she felt now that her strength was returning.

  Free.

  His lips brushed the top of her head in a tender kiss. She tilted her head upward, wanting him closer, eager for affection and comfort. For him. He bowed over her, and his mouth grazed her jaw, her ear.

  Prickles of pleasure tingled over her skin as he spoke, like velvet in her ear. “Do ye feel better?”

  “I do,” Clara said. “I truly do.”

  She looked up at him and found him smiling down at her. Gone was his usual fierce expression, and in its place was a warmth that reached his eyes, as though he was genuinely glad to have helped her.

  At that moment, she couldn’t pull her gaze from his handsome face. Her heart did a strange little flip, and she suddenly had the very necessary urge to remain in his arms, to be loved by this man who saw her with more clarity than even her own family.

  He regarded her with the same enraptured focus, their eyes searching one another’s as their breath came more quickly. She wanted his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, his tongue teasing over her naked breasts, like before. But this time, without stopping.

  “Clara,” he said softly.

  “Don’t tell me ye shouldn’t,” she threatened.

  His brows drew together as if he was in physical agony. “I canna stay away from ye.” He caressed her cheek with his calloused palm. “God forgive me.”

  Before he could lean over her and take the full force of the guilt at what they were about to do, she met him halfway, sharing the responsibility. Their mouths found one another’s as they held tight in a desperate embrace.

  They could not be together like this forever. Their paths would eventually split, and they would be forced to go their separate ways.

  But now was not the time for thinking of such things. Now was for taking what she wanted when she had spent a lifetime putting her desires aside for others.

  Now was for her. And Reid. And the beautiful passion flaring out of control between them.

  Reid clung to Clara, their mouths slanting over one another’s with unbridled eagerness. The harder he’d tried to keep from wanting her, the stronger her pull had become. Her kindness, her openness and honesty. The quiet strength that she used to pull together those around her. She was the most fascinating, irresistible woman he’d ever known.

  She filled his thoughts constantly, adorned his dreams and accented his fantasies, to a point where he wondered if it had been fate at work when she’d struck him with her blade.

  And now, with her in his arms, he could not deny his yearning for her any longer.

  Her screams echoing out into the forest had been so stark, so filled with pain that he’d wanted nothing more than to comfort her. But in holding her, his desire hit him full force—desire he’d meant to avoid until she looked up at him.

  There was so much reflected in her pale blue eyes: trust, need, longing...

  She was impossible to resist.

  His tongue stroked hers as one hand found her breast, and the other pulled her against him. She arched into his palm with a moan and tilted her head back to give him better access to her mouth, her throat, her bosom.

  He trailed kisses down her jaw to her slender neck. A pretty flush spread beneath the fair skin of her chest. He breathed her in as he kissed and licked his way down to the modest bodice of her gown.

  She smelled as she always did, of clean floral scents and herbs.

  Feminine.

  Sensual.

  He ran his tongue along the neckline of her kirtle. She cried out, her voice hoarse with need. He glanced up at her, using that swift moment to note how desire made her heavy-lidded eyes sparkle, how her lips and cheeks had gone from a
delicate pink to an alluring red. Still studying her, he eased down her neckline and slid his palm inside to cup her breast.

  Her lashes fluttered, and she released a breathy exhale.

  He nudged her bodice lower, exposing her breasts and kissing first one, then the other, taking the time to work each little nub to a pert bud. Her hands fisted into his gambeson with every suckle, every teasing scrape of his teeth.

  Reid’s cock was hard as stone between them, the heavy shaft lying against her belly with only a few layers of clothes in between. Every roll of Clara’s body arching against his ground him into her and left a torrent of pleasure swirling through him.

  She was so responsive to his touch, to his ministrations. Each little moan and whimper encouraged him onward. He caught her skirt in his fist and slowly drew it up, shifting his hold on it as his hand passed over her knees and slid beneath. Her naked leg was warm, and her delicate thigh muscles strained as she pushed into his caress.

  Watching the expression on her face, he let his fingertips graze her sex. She blinked with wonder and sucked in a breath.

  When he touched her again, it was firmer, a definite stroke that glided over her slit and teased at the sensitive bud at the top. She clung to him, her body swaying slightly.

  “Trust me,” he said in a low voice.

  She nodded and leaned her head back in total surrender. There was something about the trust she put in his hands, how she did not once question him, that left him honored. He circled the pad of his thumb against the bud of her sex as he gently nudged his finger into her.

  Clara bent her head toward him, her brows drawn with the force of her pleasure. It was beautiful witnessing her experience such intimate sensations for the first time. He pushed his finger deeper inside her, carefully thrusting as he moved his thumb more quickly, pressing a little harder.

  Her knees buckled, and she cried out, a soft gasp of surprise first and then the hoarse exclamation as she came undone in his arms. Even though his cock ached with want of her, he knew he should walk away now. While she was still innocent.