“Clarissa—”
“I plan to ask Sutworth’s priest to make contact with the nuns at Dunburg. I hope to join their order.”
Aidan’s heart skipped a beat and then threatened to lurch right out of his chest. Clarissa was going to become a nun?
The hell she was.
Chapter 7
“Wait! What are you doing?”
Distracted by their conversation, Clarissa had only just realized how close they’d come to the outer gatehouse of Sutworth Manor. If the guards saw Aidan . . .
“Escorting you to—”
“But you cannot be seen.” Clarissa whipped around, taken aback by how handsome he was up close. His hair curled in so many places, including on his forehead. As the sky began to lighten, so too did his eyes, which appeared more green than brown in the light of morning.
“I will not leave you here—”
“You will.”
On this, Clarissa refused to be dissuaded. She began to push against him to show the stubborn Scot just how serious she was.
“Do you mean to jump and break your neck?”
“Aye,” she said, her voice firm. “I will do just that if you do not let me—”
“Clarissa,” he warned, “stop or you will—”
“Break my neck, aye. I know.”
When he finally slowed their mount, Clarissa nodded in satisfaction. Unable to look away, knowing this would be the last time she would see him, she said, “Thank you for your escort—”
He rolled his eyes.
“Why do you mock me?” she asked.
Aidan ignored her and turned to his men. “Meet me at the river.”
When he pulled his arms away from her, Clarissa mourned the loss of his heat. And before she realized what he was about, Aidan had also dismounted and was reaching for her. Lifting her as if she were no heavier than a sack of grain, he placed her back on the ground.
As he untied her belongings, Clarissa tested out the use of her legs, which were admittedly more than a bit wobbly. Her backside was so sore she cringed at the thought of sitting. And yet, all her thoughts were for him.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Though it was obvious he meant to accompany her on foot, Clarissa refused to follow.
“My father cannot know you helped me here. If you are spotted—”
“I won’t be.”
He sounded so confident, as if he knew something she did not. Reluctantly, she began to follow him, the gatehouse, and its guards, looming ever closer.
“Aidan, this is far enough,” she pressed.
He stopped and leveled a look at her that nearly made her laugh. It was patient and charming, a classic Aidan de Sowlis look. This was the same man who’d refused to leave her side those many years ago when he’d visited Theffield with his brother and father. The one who had covered for her when she thought to run away, an action that would have likely seen her beaten. Or, if she’d been successful, killed.
The time she fell half in love with him. Only half because she had been too young to understand what it meant to love. That had come later.
“I am aware, my lady, of what your father’s knowledge of this particular adventure would do to our negotiations.”
“Aidan, wait.”
When he stopped, she considered her next words carefully. Just because she’d lost all hope didn’t mean everyone around her should do the same. But she owed him the truth.
“I told you, and meant it. I know my father. He will not be convinced to help.”
“He must help us. There is no other way.”
So it was worse than she’d imagined as she sat inside the walls of her new prison these past two years. She’d heard, of course, of the deteriorating conditions along the border, but to have it confirmed . . . with the thought of her father as their only hope.
She sighed, not wanting to say any more. It would do no good.
“Come,” he said, walking once more. “I know this area well.”
Indeed, he did. At Aidan’s direction, they’d skirted Sutworth’s small village on their way here, and now Aidan led her down a path she had never seen before.
“If you continue walking along this path, it will lead you directly behind the northwest tower and dovecote. And there is little chance anyone other than Sutworth’s men will see you.”
Unlike the other road, this one was well hidden among the trees. And since Sutworth Manor was protected on three sides by cliffs rising from the deep gorge of the River Craig, Aidan was correct. It was nigh impossible she would be accosted.
Meeting her eyes, he added, “I will not leave the area until I see movement atop the gatehouse and know you are safe.” With that, he handed her the satchel and bowed ever so slightly. “I am sorry, my lady.”
Though what he was sorry for, Clarissa feared she’d never know. Because as quickly as he’d pulled her atop his horse back at Theffield Castle, he was gone. Everything else she’d meant to tell him was to be left unsaid.
Turning toward the manor house, named as such only for its size and not its grandeur or, thankfully, its fortifications, Clarissa walked toward it. She’d only met the people who worked and lived here a handful of times in her life. Even so, it was easier to imagine the reception she might receive, or even the possibility they would send directly for her father, than it was to think about what she just had lost.
Again.
* * *
“You’ve told me what he said.” Graeme leaned back in his chair in his solar. “Now tell me what you think.”
Aidan was about to explain to his brother that Theffield would likely help them, but Clarissa’s words from that morning came back to him. She’d been adamant that her father would not aid their cause. But rather than ruminate on that fact, he’d spent his ride back to Highgate End thinking about the man’s daughter instead. No matter how hard he tried, Aidan could not get her out of his head.
Lady Clarissa of Theffield.
A nun.
He shook his head. Never had there been a maid so ill-suited for that particular calling. Not, he chided himself, that a nun could not look as she did. Or have a body made for a man’s hands. But that day by the lake, he had not been alone in his awareness of her, of how the air between them crackled with intensity.
He was not alone in his desire, and judging from the past day, that fact had not changed. Though of course, everything else had changed.
“I’m unsure,” he said finally. “I believe his desire to host the most important event along the border will be our own salvation.”
“And yet?”
His brother knew him well. As it was nearly midday, a meal awaited them in the great hall. When he was hungry, Graeme did not like to waste time with words.
“His daughter does not agree.”
He’d considered not telling Graeme about her, and from his brother’s expression, perhaps his first instinct—to stay quiet—had been correct. But he’d not kept anything from him before, and he would not do so now.
“Explain.”
Shite.
“Just as we were leaving Theffield Castle, his daughter . . .”
Graeme raised his brows, no doubt thinking about Aidan’s account of what had happened between them two years earlier.
“His daughter sought our help. She needed escort to Sutworth—”
“So why did her father not provide her escort? And what was she doing at—”
“Her father did not know she planned to hide away at Sutworth to convince their priest to sponsor her into the Benedictine Order of nuns at Dunburg.”
If the situation were not so dire, he’d have laughed at Graeme’s expression. “Theffield does not yet know Lord Stanley appealed for, and was granted, the right to annul their marriage.”
Graeme looked every bit as shocked as Aidan had felt upon hearing Clarissa’s plan. He waited as the information penetrated . . . and for the yelling that was sure to—
“You abducted the Earl of Th
effield’s daughter, the same earl who is our only chance at regaining any semblance of peace along the border . . .”
It seemed Graeme was too overwrought to continue. His anger was warranted. He should not have done this to him, to their clan, and yet he’d had no other choice.
His brother’s fit of anger was interrupted by Gillian, who had come running into the room at the sound of shouting.
“What in the name of . . .”
She looked at Graeme first and then him. The sight of her, and her rounded belly, reminded him of the stakes. Of the danger he’d put them in.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never should have agreed.”
“Never should have agreed to what?” Gillian asked in confusion.
By now Graeme was standing . . . nay, pacing . . . and he continued to do so as Aidan explained the situation to Gillian. Her eyes seemed to widen with every word. When he finished, she said, “This does not seem like you, Aidan. But I can see you were just attempting to do the honorable thing for a woman in need—”
Aidan said, “If it were any other woman—”
“But it was not any other woman,” Graeme said, his voice calmer now. “’Tis done.”
“You never finished your story about the daughter,” Gillian interjected. “You said you saw her again, years later. But you didn’t tell me where, or what happened.”
Graeme expelled a long, exaggerated breath. “They met again two years ago at the Tournament of the North. They recognized each other, and she gave Aidan her favor. Somehow, despite the watchful eye of her very controlling father, the two managed a series of private meetings. But she failed to meet him at their final arranged rendezvous, and he never heard from her again.”
And now his brother was not the only angry one in the room.
“You risked the mission for a woman who broke your heart—”
“She did not,” he ground out, “break my heart.”
“Ha!” Graeme scoffed. “Brother, you may have fooled yourself into believing as much, but you will never fool those who know you well.” He turned back to Gillian. “I’ve never seen Aidan that way before. Until much later when we learned she had married. And then, he was worse.”
“Married?” Gillian’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Enough,” Aidan bellowed. “That is enough.”
He strode to the door and was about to leave when Graeme’s voice stopped him.
“I assume no one knows you gave the lady escort?” He asked as chief, and not as his brother.
“None but the lady herself,” he said without turning around. “As well as Lawrence and the other men.”
“And you trust her to keep quiet?”
Did Aidan trust the woman he’d spent two years cursing? The one he’d thought, for the briefest of moments, he would make his wife?
“Aye, I do.”
Chapter 8
She should be happy.
In fact, Clarissa should be elated. For once, everything had fallen into place. Not only had she miraculously found an escort to Sutworth, but upon her arrival, she’d been treated better than she ever had in her life. Word of her presence had spread quickly, and she’d been given a joyous welcome. If they were surprised she’d arrived alone, none of them treated her as such. Rather, Clarissa had been fed and then shown to the beautiful chamber where she now sat.
Best of all, Father Patrick had agreed to help her.
She’d sought him out yesterday afternoon and asked to speak with him privately. Clarissa had always liked the portly man who smiled at everyone. Something about him had assured her that he would help, but even so, she’d woken up this morning expecting to find her world crashing down around her. Would her father somehow know where she’d gone? Would Father Patrick betray her confidence and send word to Theffield that his errant daughter was in hiding here at Sutworth? Instead, the priest had sought her out after morning mass with the happy news that all was being prepared.
He’d sent a missive to Dunburg Abbey requesting an audience. It was a formality, he assured her. The nuns would not turn away badly needed gold, nor a nobly born woman prepared to take her vows. In a few days’ time, he would accompany her to Dunburg, where she would live out the remainder of her days.
“You can remain there, under their protection, until the annulment is official,” he’d said. As to how they would know it had been made official, how long such a thing would take, and more importantly, if her father could arrive and drag her back to Theffield in the meantime . . . she still had many questions. Father Patrick admitted he did not have all of the answers, but once the nuns accepted her, he’d told her, she would indeed be safe, even from her father’s meddling. He could not forcibly remove her from Dunburg without serious repercussions.
All had gone remarkably well, and yet . . .
Aidan.
She’d never thought to see him again.
Even though he’d changed, those changes had all been on the surface. The bedrock of Aidan de Sowlis was still very much intact. Clarissa closed her eyes, attempting to clear her mind of memories it would not serve her well to dwell upon. Aidan de Sowlis was part of her past, not her future.
“My lady, may I come in?”
“Of course.” She nodded, waving her hand to indicate the maidservant was welcome. When she entered, Clarissa nearly gasped. The woman’s hair was a remarkable mass of bright red curls.
“I was told you may need assistance?”
Clarissa realized she was being quite rude. Jumping from the bed, she greeted the newcomer.
“Aye, thank you. What is your name?”
“Kirstine, my lady.”
She was perhaps ten and nine, and obviously new to Sutworth. Though Clarissa had not visited for some years, no one who looked like the maid would have escaped her notice.
“You’re not from here, are you?”
Kirstine’s capable hands did not pause. She removed the items of clothing from Clarissa’s bag and shook them out, one by one.
“Nay, my lady. I was born and raised in Barrington. When both of my parents died, I found work at the Anvil Inn. Master McConnell bade me come here, and I’ve been serving Sutworth since the last harvest.”
McConnell was Sutworth’s steward. Though her father did not care for the man, Clarissa liked him immensely.
“I’m sorry to hear of your parents,” she said, taking advantage of the lilac-scented water Kirstine had brought. Dipping a small white cloth into the bowl, she began by washing her face and then moved to her neck.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Tell me of Sutworth. My father does not deign to visit often, so my knowledge of this magnificent place is sorely lacking.”
Kirstine cocked her head to the side. “When were you here last?”
Clarissa tried to remember, but the days ran together, each more miserable than the last. With the exception of the tournament, and her journey here, so few of them had been filled with joy that Clarissa had stopped paying attention to the passing of time.
“Many years go,” she said vaguely. “But I am glad to be here now.”
When Kirstine looked at her this time, it was as if the other woman could see through her. It was not an unkindly gaze, but it made her feel uncomfortable nonetheless.
“Yet you are not staying.”
Clarissa froze. The maid knew something.
“What do you—”
“I am sorry, my lady,” she rushed to answer. “I’d been ordered to clean Father’s chamber, and when you entered . . . I did not know what to do. I did not mean to listen, but you began speaking and . . .”
The maid hung her head.
“You were there. You heard everything.”
It was not a question. Clarissa could feel her own heart pounding inside her chest. If word spread of her true intentions . . .
“I am so sorry, my lady. As I said, I did not mean—”
It struck Clarissa that the woman likely feared for her position. Clarissa’s f
ather was notoriously unforgiving of the smallest errors in judgment.
“Shhh,” she said, willing the maid to look at her. She crossed the room and placed a hand on Kirstine’s shoulder. “I understand.”
The woman’s tear-filled eyes confirmed her suspicion. Her father, who rarely came to Sutworth Manor, had sufficiently terrified the staff.
“I am not my father,” she said simply.
Kirstine seemed to understand. She swallowed. “I am so very—”
“Sorry, I know.” Clarissa removed her hand. “Please . . . please do not tell anyone of my plans. If the wrong person learns of them—”
“You fear him too?”
Clarissa did not have to ask of whom she spoke.
“Aye.”
Kirstine wiped her eyes with her thumb. “I’ve never even met the man.”
Clarissa hoped she never would. “So you can understand my need to keep my intentions a secret?”
Kirstine nodded. “But do you truly believe this is the only way? You are prepared to give your life to God?”
Prepared? Nay. No nun should react to a man with the fluttering sense of anticipation she felt toward Aidan. But she had no other choice. Clarissa refused to be married to another man like Lord Stanley.
“There is no other way.”
Kirstine frowned, evidently agreeing. “It just seems wrong for a woman as beautiful as you . . .”
If she were beautiful, then Kirstine was positively ravishing. But it did not matter what either of them looked like. If anything, beauty was a curse in this world, one dominated by power and strength. It hardly mattered that she was the daughter of an earl. She and Kirstine were similar in more ways than they were not. And like the maid, Clarissa would do what she must to survive.
* * *
“Aidan, are you listening?”
In truth, he was not. Something about another attack, further west.
“I heard some. What were you saying?”
Graeme crossed his arms and waited. He supposed his brother wished for him to explain what distracted him, though he’d likely not care for the answer.
The Guardian’s Favor: Border Series Book Nine Page 6