Only one of them remained, though he dropped his sword as the Scott clansmen surrounded him.
“What happened here?” Aidan asked.
The reiver panted from his efforts with Lawrence.
“They attacked without cause,” Lawrence said. “I know not the reason.”
Aidan turned toward the reiver. “Who are you?”
The dark-bearded man refused to answer. He glared at him as if offended Aidan had dared ask such a question.
“English or Scot?”
Without a Day of Truce, justice would be served now if the man was English. If he was a Scot, he would be granted a trial. One that would likely result in his death.
“Scot,” he finally answered.
Today only, perhaps.
Border reivers tended to claim allegiance to whatever country suited them. But he did not want to waste time deciphering the truth of the man’s statement. He needed to get back to Clarissa.
“He cannot travel with her,” Aidan said. Lawrence must have already come to the same conclusion. He’d already fetched rope from his saddlebag, with which he proceeded to tie the man’s hands behind his back.
“I will take him. For the offense of attacking a member of Clan Karyn,” he said. The man’s wild-eyed reaction confirmed he was indeed Scottish. Clan Karyn’s reputation was widespread. Even the Highlanders knew enough to stay away from them in a fight. And though he did not know the reason for the man’s attack, Aidan did know what his fate would be.
“Take one of my men . . .”
“No.”
Lawrence would be stubborn on this. “You will not travel alone with a murderer.”
“I refuse—”
“Do you imply I need so many men to guard me?”
He had him, and his friend knew it. Glowering at him, Lawrence nonetheless extended his hand to Aidan.
“Until we meet again.”
Aidan shook it, the firm squeeze a reminder of Lawrence’s strength. “Thank you for accompanying me. He nodded toward the trees. “I must go . . .” Turning to address his men, he said, “One of you, go to Clan Karyn. The rest of you, back to back.”
The warning to be on alert was hardly needed. His men knew what to do. Running back toward Clarissa, he found her exactly as he had left her. Alone and scared.
Squatting down next to her, he said, “It’s over.”
He understood the tears that sprang to her eyes. Knowing her father, he did not doubt this was the first time she’d been involved in any sort of attack.
She was shaking, and Aidan didn’t blame her. He stood, lifting her with him. Without thinking, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.
This could be Gillian, or Allie. Another sister. She simply needs comfort.
Hell . . . she didn’t feel like a sister. Clarissa felt as she had the only other time he’d held her this close.
Damn good.
Too good.
“I . . . I don’t know why—”
Resisting the urge to move his hand up far enough to feel her glossy hair, Aidan said, “It is done. Scottish reivers, one in custody, the others fled. They will not hurt you.”
It would take a bit longer for her body to catch up with her mind’s reaction. As soon as Clarissa realized she was indeed safe, they needed to get back on the road.
He waited, trying to pretend holding her this way had no effect on him. Trying to pretend the way her small hands clasped his tunic did not make him feel stronger and more powerful.
“I’m sorry.” Her words were mumbled against his chest. She pulled away then, wiping her eyes and looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I did not mean—”
He released her and stepped back. Aidan had no choice. He could not be this close to her.
“The first time my father, brother, and I were attacked on the road,” he said, “was on this very journey south. I thought I was well prepared, but by the time the skirmish ended, I had not stepped but a short distance away from my mount. My father and his men, including my brother, dispatched three English reivers to God in the same time it took me to dismount.”
He hated that particular memory. Aidan had not had the opportunity to atone for his inaction for several more years.
“There is no shame in being unprepared for death,” he continued.
Their eyes met.
He did not need the moonlight to know her eyes were the most extraordinary shade of brown, like darkened liquid gold. Everything he’d felt for her in the past was still there. The months he’d spent cursing her after the tourney didn’t matter. Nor did the torment he’d endured upon learning she was married. Nor did the fact that she was still married.
He stepped back, as if burned.
“Lawrence is taking our hostage back with him,” he said, walking away. Hearing the crunch of twigs behind him, he continued. “You’ll ride with me. If you tire, sleep. By the time the sun rises, we should arrive at Sutworth Manor.”
She would be in the care of others. No longer his concern.
“I would like to explain—”
“I would prefer you did not.”
It no longer mattered why she had left the tournament without a word. He’d assumed the reason had something to do with her father.
But that was in the past. He had moved on. Resigned himself to seeing his brother happy. To being a brother to his two new sisters, who had graced his life with joy.
He cared not for her explanations, for they changed nothing. And to ensure she did not have an opportunity to change his mind, he would have her ride with one of his men.
Pleased with himself, Aidan led her into the clearing, looked at the remaining men, and tried to decide which of them would not need to be reminded of her status as a married woman.
Goddammit.
Chapter 6
Clarissa startled herself awake. It was still so dark she could barely see anything beyond the horse’s ears, though it was clear they no longer rode through deep woods. Moorland, Aidan had called it before she drifted off. With a small smile, she closed her eyes again. When he’d told her to close her eyes, to rest, she’d adamantly insisted such a thing would not be possible. Clarissa had difficulty falling asleep even in the comfort of a soft feather bed. Surely she’d not be able to do so riding atop a horse in the arms of, well, him.
“Sleep well?”
The voice was polite but void of any emotion.
“Surprisingly so.”
They were the first kindly words he’d spoken to her since he’d helped her mount. She’d assumed he was annoyed by her presence, so she’d stopped trying to think of what to say. Of how to explain something he did not want an explanation for. Eventually, she’d fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around her and gripping the horse’s reins. His hands were like two lanterns in an otherwise darkened room.
“Where are we?” she murmured, opening her eyes again. It was no use attempting to fall back asleep. She was too aware of him behind her.
“In friendly territory.”
Scotland then.
“Not far from the southernmost border of your father’s land.”
He did not attempt to hide the contempt in his voice, but Clarissa didn’t blame him. Sutworth deserved more than an absentee lord who cared little for its people. But such were the ways of the border—allegiances and property ownerships changed nearly as often as the weather.
Her chest constricted at the thought of the risk he’d taken to bring her here. He deserved at least one more attempt at the truth.
“I told him.”
He stiffened around her, but she continued her explanation. The words needed to be said. Aidan de Sowlis was a good man, one she’d hurt, though not on purpose.
“I told my father I had met someone. Begged him to consider meeting you.”
Clarissa braced for it.
“Pardon?”
“I should not have done so, of course. I should have met you, as planned. But I was filled with the exciteme
nt of a young woman . . .” She’d almost said a young woman in love. The sentiment was certainly not one he’d appreciate.
“I’d wondered why he’d allowed me to attend the tournament at all, the same man who’d refused to allow even a simple ride outside our walls. I thought he’d simply yielded to my uncle’s persuasion. But then Father mentioned Lord Stanley was in attendance.” Warming to her topic, Clarissa rushed to finish. “As soon as I understood his reason for bringing me, that Stanley was there to get a closer look at ‘the prized mare,’ I had to do something. So I told him. And we left. More precisely, I was forced to leave.”
She did not dare turn around to see his face. She’d lived with the consequences of that bad decision for two years. It had been a horrible, horrible mistake, and she knew it
And so she waited. And waited. And waited. So long, in fact, that Clarissa wondered if he had fallen asleep, though of course that could not be possible. Finally, she could not take it any longer. She turned her head, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
It was worse than him being horrified.
Aidan looked completely unaffected. As if she’d just told him it was dark outside. Or that she was English.
Nothing.
His lips flattened. “Hmm.”
That was it?
She looked away, her heart sinking to her shoes. A comment on her stupidity would have been preferable.
He’d told her he did not want her explanation, that he no longer cared. Perhaps she should have believed him.
“You never sent word.”
So much time had passed since his “hmm” that it took a moment for Clarissa to realize what he meant.
“If I’d had the means to do so, I would have.”
“The means . . . you could not have found—”
“You don’t know my father very well.” She chanced a glance back, taking in his flexed jaw and his unreadable eyes. “There were precious few at Theffield I could entrust with such a message, and even fewer who had the means to leave my father without an explanation.”
She wished she’d not looked back. Or attempted to explain. Though she could not wish he had not appeared to rescue her, for if Aidan hadn’t whisked her onto his horse, she never would have made it this far.
“I just thought you should know.”
“And Stanley?”
Every time she thought him disengaged, Aidan surprised her with another question.
“We were married less than a sennight later.”
This time, his silence was not punctuated by more questions. This time, he said nothing more, and Clarissa offered the same. Her marriage—or her father’s betrayal, as she liked to remember it—was not a topic she ever wished to discuss. Clarissa knew how lucky she was that her husband had wanted a son from her, so badly, in fact, that he had used his substantial influence to obtain an annulment so he could marry a more fertile bride.
She shuddered at the thought of spending a lifetime with that man.
Clarissa was lucky indeed, and she would not waste another moment wishing for more. She’d obtained absolution from a man she’d never expected to see again. Hoping for a future she would never have would serve no purpose.
But she was not chattel.
Clarissa was a lady nobly born, one who carried a satchel of jewels she’d never cared about, until now. And those would buy her the only future she dared to consider.
* * *
Damn.
Aidan repeated the word in his head, unable to pull together a more coherent thought. Though he’d told her not to explain, the question had been tearing at him since the moment Clarissa appeared in that courtyard.
Why?
His mind returned to the tourney, to the moment she’d given him her favor. He’d won that match and returned to hand the white slip of fabric back. His hastily uttered invitation could have been met with derision or shock. Instead, she smiled at him, the same shy smile of the young woman he’d met outside her hall years earlier.
And nodded.
If her acceptance had surprised him, Aidan had been even more shocked when she’d arrived at the agreed-upon place, alone. And though she had not remained long enough, those brief, stolen moments, and the ones they managed to arrange over the next few days, had convinced him that he had met the woman he would marry.
His parents had been in love, and though he’d never said as much to Graeme, being born the younger son had allowed him one clear advantage. Though his brother was expected to make a good match, one that would firm a clan alliance or beget a new one, he was free to choose a wife. And though it was absurd to imagine he’d fallen in love with Lady Clarissa in such a short time, he had been nearly knocked to the ground by her beauty and smile. By the way she seemed to defy all odds with Theffield as a father. She was his opposite in every way. Kind and compassionate, the epitome of grace and strength.
Quite literally knocked to the ground. She’d so distracted him during his match, he’d nearly found himself staring up at the sky, bested by an Englishman. Then, despite her father’s watchful eye, they managed to meet every day of the tournament.
That fateful day, they had planned to meet again. He thought it odd Lady Clarissa did not appear to witness his match that morn as she had for each one before it. He’d looked for her in the stands, of course. But there were many events, and she could have been perusing the wares of the merchants who came from afar to set up stands in the makeshift marketplace.
He’d felt like an untried lad that day, certainly not a man of five and twenty. Each moment he waited for her, his anticipation grew. Until it began to turn to dread.
Because she never came.
Never sent word, neither at the tournament nor any time afterward. He had learned by chance, nearly a year later, that she was married. He and Graeme had stopped at The Wild Boar, the only inn that managed to thrive despite the increasing tension along the border, and he’d heard her name mentioned above the din in the common room. At first, Aidan assumed he’d imagined it. But the black eye he received later that eve was anything but imagined. After defending her honor to a pair of Englishmen who thought it amusing to discuss Lord Stanley’s quest for an heir in detail, Aidan was dragged from the inn by his brother.
Hell.
He didn’t know what to think now. There were still so many unanswered questions.
“Were you betrothed when we met?”
The way she stiffened beneath his arms told him she had not fallen back asleep.
“No.”
When she turned to face him, he instinctively tightened his grip to hold her more securely.
“When we returned home, he told me I’d be married immediately. He did not care that I’d met someone else. He did not even care to learn your name.”
Softening toward her despite himself—his anger had been his only shield, and a faulty one at that—Aidan turned away. But he found himself glancing at her again as she blinked at him, expecting a response.
She was telling the truth.
In the short time he’d known her, Aidan had learned much about the only daughter of the Earl of Theffield. He’d been most impressed with her sentimentality and idealism, despite the treatment she’d received from the man who was supposed to love and protect her. Theffield had done neither of those things, but he had somehow managed to raise an extraordinary daughter. Though they had spent barely a sennight together, he’d learned his first instincts had been correct. Amidst turbulence and turmoil, divided allegiances and endless battles, Clarissa represented all that was good in the world.
She was good. Her heart, pure.
“How did you come to be here?”
When she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, Aidan tried not to notice. Or stare.
Tried, and failed.
“As I said, Stanley appealed for our marriage to be annulled—”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
Again, that damn lip.
“I would prefer not to discuss it.�
��
No matter, he could guess the reason. Stanley had married Clarissa for one reason alone, and if Aidan’s suspicions were correct, the old man could take wife after wife and still fail to beget an heir.
“You misunderstand.” He needed to soften his tone. It was certainly not her fault he was plagued by visions of the aging lord in a bed with her. “How did you come to be here, or back at Theffield? And why do we travel now to Sutworth?”
He had vowed not to ask questions. To provide the lady escort, drop her off, and then be gone. Now, it seemed he couldn’t stop the questions from coming.
She met his eyes with a bravado he could tell she did not feel.
“When he received word that the annulment would be granted . . .”
She turned then, giving him her back. It was an infinitely less interesting view, if one did not account for silky locks that his hands ached to touch now that her hood was down . . .
The pain she’d endured was evident. He could feel the anger seeping from him, little by little, if indeed any remained at all.
How could I have been so foolish?
“My husband bade me leave.”
She spoke the words so quietly he had to ask her to repeat them. When she did, a white-hot fury consumed him as he thought of Clarissa being sent away, without preamble, back to the man who had resigned her to such a fate in the first place.
Aidan was almost afraid to ask.
“Sutworth?”
Silence.
“Clarissa,” he said as the very manor in question came into view ahead. “What do you plan to do at Sutworth Manor? And how did your father react—”
“He does not know.”
Of course . . . she’d not told him about the annulment. But he would find out soon enough.
“What are you planning?”
He watched as her shoulders rose and fell.
The Guardian’s Favor: Border Series Book Nine Page 5