Clarissa wanted to scream as the priest ignored her, but she reminded herself Father had been nothing but kind since she’d laid her troubles at his feet. She lived in a world ruled by men, and it would do well for her to remember it.
“Nay,” she said, attempting to keep her voice calm, “I will not return to Sutworth, but neither will I go back to England.”
Aidan watched her, his shoulders square and chin lifted.
“You will return to Highgate End with me.”
“No,” she said, as forcefully as she could. “I will not. I’ve put you, and your cause, in too much danger already. Anyone who saw you at Sutworth—”
Aidan and Father Patrick spoke at the same time.
“I’ve ensured they will not . . .”
“None will breathe a word of it.”
Both men stopped to allow the other to speak. Which was when Lawrence entered the argument. “I will escort the priest back to Sutworth, then return to Highgate End to notify your brother of your whereabouts.”
“Aye,” Aidan said, turning to his friend. “I will circumvent Sutworth on my return, which will take nearly an extra full day. Tell him I should be back at Highgate End by nightfall tomorrow.”
“Wait!” she yelled, feeling her cheeks flush with frustration. “No one is listening to me. I am telling you, I will not go with you, Aidan. I cannot—”
“Aye, there are other places,” he said. “But we cannot traipse through the countryside looking for an abbey or convent willing to take you. Our own priest will write—”
“And what of my father?” she demanded.
Aidan and Lawrence exchanged a glance. They were worried, rightly so, but did not want her to know it. Did they think she was dense?
“He will not know you are there. We will keep your visit quiet—”
“Visit?” Clarissa did not mean to yell, but she had long ago begun to panic. If forced to choose between being discovered by her father and being the instrument by which the shaky peace along the border fell apart, though she was still not convinced her father would capitulate, Clarissa would gladly sacrifice herself. “Aidan,” she started again more calmly. “Think on this. I cannot go to Highgate End with you.”
While she spoke, Father Patrick walked toward Lawrence, who held the reins to his mount. As he prepared himself to leave, Clarissa knew what would happen next. And she was powerless to stop it.
Unless . . . unless she returned with the priest. Gave herself over to her father . . .
“Do not even consider it.”
Aidan’s knowing glare surprised her.
“You are always welcome at Sutworth Manor,” Father Patrick said. “We are honored to have you as our lady. But if you come with me now, your father will find you there.”
Oh God, he was really leaving.
“Farewell, lass.”
And before she could even consider whether to nudge her mount forward and attempt to accompany them anyway, he and Lawrence were gone. It still had not rained, and the cloud of dust they left behind rose from the ground as if aiding in their disappearance.
Father Patrick was gone.
And she was left with . . .
No, no, no.
This could not possibly be happening.
* * *
Graeme is going to kill me.
And his brother would be justified. He knew better than to bring Clarissa back to Highgate. Lord knew he did. But Aidan could not bear the thought of her returning to her father.
He did not yet know exactly what Lord Stanley had done to her, but it had clearly affected her, as was to be expected. No woman should be forced to endure such treatment, and certainly not one as good and giving as Clarissa.
Glancing to the side of the path, he announced, “We stop here for the night.”
As Lawrence had suggested, they’d made a wide berth around Sutworth and would enter Highgate from the east. Aidan hated the idea of sleeping on the road, the exposed section of marshland offering little cover, but they had no choice. He was well known in these parts, and keeping Clarissa’s identity a secret was imperative, so they could not seek shelter. Perhaps it would be safest to ride through the night, but Clarissa was exhausted. They’d not slept the evening before, having left Sutworth before dawn.
Their greatest threat sleeping in the wild was from reivers, but luckily this particular stretch of the path was typically not appealing to them. It was too wet for raising sheep, and only patches of dry land like the one they now rode upon made travel even possible.
“Here?”
Clarissa looked around them, sunlight having long since abandoned them, the moonlight as their guide. The only cover, to their left, was a line of trees that marked the entranceway to the Carnwood Mountains. In the daylight, the view was a spectacular combination of rugged Scotland and the open farmlands that marked the central lowlands.
“Aye, lass. We cannot chance you being seen.”
They’d not spoken much since leaving Dunburg Abbey. In truth, he had not known what to say, an affliction those close to him would struggle to believe. Taking care of others had always come easily to him, and it gave him great joy. But he hardly knew how to help Clarissa. Stealing her away and hiding her at Highgate End while they found another abbey hardly seemed the best course. But what choice did he have? The alternative was to do the very thing he’d wanted all along—wed her. But to do so would ensure Theffield refused to assist the cause. Indeed, it would all but ensure he’d attack them.
They dismounted, and Aidan pointed to a thicket he could still see from his position. “You can have a bit of privacy over there.”
He began to set up camp, and by the time Clarissa returned, he’d fed the horses and had begun to prepare a fire.
“Is that wise?” she asked, pointing at the small pile of wood and kindling.
He nodded behind them. “The river where we watered the horses back there splits into an old Roman road and this less-used path. If it had rained at all in the past sennight, this path would be deluged with water. But even though passable right now, it is hardly traveled.”
She watched him without speaking as he finished preparing their camp. With nothing more than stale oatcakes and nuts to offer her, he’d considered hunting for meat but decided the risk of leaving Clarissa was not worth the potential reward. Instead, he unrolled the sole bedroll for his companion, stoked the fire, and patted the rock beside him.
Clarissa lifted her skirts and sat beside him.
“I’ve a shift in my belongings, but . . .”
“But?” he prompted.
He knew what she was thinking. Aidan could see it in the way she glanced down at her feet. If it were lighter, he would likely see the telltale spots of pink on her cheeks. Now that they had a moment to stop with nothing but quiet around them for miles in every direction, he had been thinking much the same thing.
It was going to be a very long night indeed. He could not have endured watching her sit next to him in such a garment, so he thanked the saints she’d decided against wearing it.
“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about, lass. That kiss—”
Her eyes flew up and locked with his own. “How did you know?”
Aidan chuckled, handing her an oatcake that he’d taken from the leather bag at his feet. “That you were thinking of it?”
Clarissa nodded.
“I supposed I didn’t. But I’ve thought of little else myself.” He shrugged. “Maybe I hoped the same was true of you.”
When her mouth opened and her lips closed down on the oatcake, Aidan wished to trade places with it. He doubted an attacking band of English reivers could have taken his eyes away from her. “I was wrong to have—”
“I liked it,” she blurted. “Very much.”
Aidan didn’t dare move. He’d already promised himself not to let it happen again. There was simply too much at stake. And yet . . .
“As did I, lass.”
“I had no idea—”
“Clarissa . . .” How could he put this delicately? “If we continue to discuss the matter, I cannot guarantee it won’t happen again.”
His heart skipped a beat when she opened her mouth to answer. If she gave him permission . . .
But she must have thought better of it because she took another bite of the oatcake instead, following it with a swig of fresh water from the river they’d passed. When a droplet spilled onto her chin, Aidan wiped it off with his thumb. At least, he did so in his mind. In truth, he’d not moved a muscle.
“It has been like this, with us, from the start.”
He knew she didn’t say it to provoke him. Or to test his earlier warning. She said it because it was the truth. One he would not deny. Those days at the tournament had been enough for him to know her.
“Aye, lass. It has.”
“Is it normal then? When a man and woman—”
“Nay, Clarissa. I have been in the company of many beautiful . . .” That had not come out as intended. Clarissa’s raised eyebrows confirmed his blunder. “It is not,” he finished simply. And when she smiled, the lines of worry that usually marked the corners of her eyes magically turned to lines of mirth.
It pleased him to see her smile. She should have been allowed more of them in her short life.
He wished to give them to her.
But he could not have what he most wanted. If things had been different, if Lady Clarissa were not the daughter of a man he, his clan, and his country needed on their side . . . but nothing was more important than ensuring the enduring safety of his people.
Still, while she was with him, Aidan would do what he could to ensure that beautiful smile became more frequent than her frowns. He would be the one to restore her faith in men and make her forget at least some of the horrors she’d faced.
And he would begin right now.
Chapter 13
“Tell me something I don’t know of you already,” Aidan said, catching her off guard.
Finished with her modest meal, Clarissa pulled her riding gown beneath her, wishing she were wearing something a bit more comfortable.
“When I was young, I dreamed of being a scullery maid.”
The look on his face told her she’d surprised him.
“Surely not—”
“The kitchens have always fascinated me. Unlike my own bedchamber, where I spent much of my time as a child, there was always activity there. People coming and going, the smell of freshly baked bread . . . ’twas my favorite place in the castle. I knew enough to understand it was hard work, but still I dreamed of it. Of having the freedom to come and go each day—”
“Were you not able to spend any time there?”
Another memory assaulted her, one she did not so readily share. One of her father finding her, yet again, in a place that “did not suit to the daughter of an earl.”
“Nay,” she said simply. “My father forbade it. But no matter, it was an overly romantic notion. The life of any maid is not so easy. I understand more now than I did as a child—the freedom I so coveted is not easily won.” Trying to keep the tone of their conversation light, she nodded to him. “Tell me something of you.”
Aidan cocked his head to the side, thinking. “When I was a child, I always wished for a sister.”
“You did?”
“Aye. When our mother died, I mourned twofold—for her and for the loss of a dream I’d always thought quite silly.”
“Not so silly,” she said, “I wished for the same.” She smiled. “Or a brother.”
“Your father never married again.”
“Nay. When I was young and bold, I asked him about it once.” She stopped, remembering that particular conversation.
“And what did he say?”
Why did every topic seem to lead back to the man who’d raised her, who hated her?
Clarissa shook her head. She thought Aidan would let the comment pass, but he did not.
“Clarissa? What did he say?”
Her throat tightened. She had never said the words aloud and did not wish to do so now. But that she’d shared some of this with him—knowing Aidan would not condemn her—compelled her to do so anyway. “That I had killed my mother, and I’d not be given another chance to do so again.”
She looked down at her hands, folding her fingers inside each other. Taking a deep breath, she was surprised to see Aidan’s feet appear in front of her. She hadn’t even heard him move. When he squatted in front of her, Clarissa was forced to look up.
Without saying a word, Aidan reached out and covered her hands with his own. A familiar welling inside her chest threatened to give way to the tears she’d shed so many times over her father’s treatment of her. But she was determined not to cry this time. There was no reason to do so.
She was not to blame for her mother’s death. How many times had Albert and Eda told her that?
She looked up.
Aidan’s expression of warmth and understanding nearly shattered her resolve not to break down in tears over her father’s cruel words. Again.
“You do not believe that, do you?” he asked softly.
His warm hands reminded her that spring nights in Scotland were much the same as they were in northern England, cool and unforgiving. In that moment, she was glad for it.
“Nay, I do not.”
Though she meant it, Aidan did not appear to believe her. He waited, as if trying to decipher if she would change her mind. Though she said nothing more, he did not move. An awareness that had nothing to do with her father or his words covered her like a thick blanket.
“You’ve not had it so easy, lass.”
She supposed not, but some had fared much worse than she.
“I just want to feel safe.” When the words poured out of her, Clarissa realized the truth of them. She’d been running, it seemed, for so long. And now she was doing so again, and she just wanted it to end.
Aidan stood, pulling her with him. His arms encircled her as her own arms reached around him of their own accord. They stood that way for so long, the crackling of the fire the only sound except for their own breathing. Clarissa was loath to break away.
So she didn’t.
“You are safe with me,” he said finally. “I pledge on my honor as the second to the chief of Clan Scott, I will not let any harm come to you.”
He never pulled away, and Clarissa did not see his face when he said the words, but she did not need to. She knew he meant every word. This time, she could not stop the tears from springing to her eyes.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, lass?”
She nodded against his chest.
“You are under my protection. My clan’s protection.”
“But—”
He did look at her then, his gaze so intense that Clarissa would have been frightened if he were foe rather than friend.
“You will come to Highgate End and stay there until your safety can be assured.”
“None can know I am there.”
“Very few will know, aye.”
“And you will help me find a convent that will take me?” She’d already asked so much of him, but Clarissa was truly at his mercy. And though she’d sworn never to be at the mercy of another man, she trusted Aidan.
“I will.” He frowned. Aidan did not like her plan, but he would not go back on his promise. For the first time that she could remember, she actually believed all might be well.
Reluctant to leave the warmth of his embrace, Clarissa laid her head against his chest once more, thanking God for sending him to her. Her husband had been just as wrong as her father. If God wished to punish her for being unworthy, surely Aidan wouldn’t have returned to her life just when she needed him most.
* * *
The scent of her lingered still.
Aidan looked up at Highgate Castle, so named for the mound of earth that perched the circular structure high above the surrounding land. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing hims
elf to remember last eve, and how it had felt to hold the woman who now rode beside him. He’d wanted her, aye, but for far more than that he’d wanted them to stay that way—nestled together, her clutching the fabric at his back as he struggled to get closer to her. She fit perfectly against him, as if she belonged there. He’d only released her upon remembering how badly she needed to sleep.
Sleep.
Once Clarissa was installed safely at Highgate, he desperately needed rest. He’d stayed awake for the second night, not trusting the silence of the road he’d thought was safe. It had been, but Aidan did not take his oath to Clarissa lightly. In order to properly protect her, he could not sleep until they were safely inside Highgate’s walls. With all that had happened recently along the border, he could not be too careful.
“Do you remember what I told you?” he asked, glancing over at her.
Peeking out from under the hooded cape she’d worn as a blanket last eve, Clarissa nodded. Looking down and ensuring her face could not be seen, she followed him up the incline and through the gates of his home. If any of the guards thought it odd his companion wore such a garment in the middle of the day, none of them commented. In fact, no one questioned them at all as he rode past the stables, where he’d normally stop, and led her directly to the Prison Tower. Each of the four towers framing Highgate Castle had once had a purpose, though this one served as a prison no longer. Before he was born, it had been converted into a mostly abandoned series of chambers for guests, used only when the great keep and the other three towers were filled to capacity.
The furthest away from the keep, situated at Highgate’s southeast corner, the Prison Tower also had its own well to recommend it. But Aidan had mostly chosen it for Clarissa because of the smells that made their way to it from the nearby bakehouse. If Clarissa had enjoyed being in the kitchen back at Theffield, certainly she would like to meet Lewis, Highgate’s baker and one of the few people Aidan would trust with her true identity.
When they were directly in front of the entrance to the tower, Aidan dismounted and helped Clarissa do the same. Aidan pushed open the iron-studded door, revealing a set of winding stairs on the east wall of the rounded tower.
The Guardian’s Favor: Border Series Book Nine Page 10