The Guardian’s Favor: Border Series Book Nine

by Mecca, Cecelia

  “The garderobe is on the ground floor,” he said, pointing to an interior door as they passed it. “And this,” he led the way to the first landing, “is one of four bedchambers within this tower. I would suggest the next one up”—he continued upward—“so that you have this.”

  Waiting for Clarissa to catch up to him, Aidan ducked under an archway that led directly to a wall-walk. Though no guards were in sight, he planned to station a friendly and unobtrusive one in the vicinity. He pointed beneath them.

  “From here there is no danger of being noticed from below. Most of the activity in the inner courtyard will be behind us.”

  “The view . . . ’tis so beautiful.”

  The rolling green hills had always been his favorite scenery from this vantage point, but even after two days of travel, the road-weary woman who stood beside him stole that honor.

  “Don’t you agree?” she asked, her voice full of wonder.

  He could not tear his gaze from her. “Aye, lass. I do.”

  The glimmer in her eyes told him she had realized that he spoke not of the landscape but of her. Clarissa opened her mouth to respond when an unwelcome voice from behind them interrupted them.

  “You found your way home, brother.”

  Clarissa whipped her head around as Aidan waited for Graeme to continue.

  “My lady,” Graeme addressed her. “Well met since those many years past when I greeted you in your hall at Theffield.”

  In deference to his position as chief, Clarissa curtsied prettily, as if they’d just met at court.

  “Chief,” she said, “the honor is mine.”

  Graeme nodded politely but did not waste a moment. He gestured toward the inner chamber of the tower, and Clarissa followed him inside. Aidan did the same. Once they were all sequestered inside the very room Aidan had suggested Clarissa take for her own, he closed the door behind them.

  “We received word from your father just this morn,” Graeme began, addressing Clarissa.

  She seemed surprised. And frightened. Graeme must have belatedly realized the implication of his words. “His message was not about you, my lady. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

  Graeme glanced at Aidan and then addressed his next words directly to Clarissa. “He has agreed to assist our cause.”

  No news could have been more surprising. He had been convinced the earl would do otherwise. And while this should have been a cause for celebration, it was not.

  Clarissa’s face drained of color. “If he finds out that I am here—”

  “He will not,” Aidan cut in. “This is welcome news,” he said to Graeme. “But it changes nothing. As I’m sure Lawrence told you, Lady Clarissa has nowhere to go. With Dunburg Abbey shutting its doors, we must help her find somewhere else to go.”

  And just so that his brother understood the situation clearly, he added, “Until then, she is under our protection. I will speak with Lewis, who can assist our cause. Malcolm will need to station guards we can trust with this secret—”

  “There is not one man or woman here I would not trust with my life,” Graeme interrupted.

  “I agree,” Aidan said, “but it is not our lives we are discussing. It is Lady Clarissa, our entire clan, and indeed, all of the borderers for whom her identity must remain a secret.”

  He watched his brother contemplate his words. Graeme had not flinched when he’d announced Clarissa was under their protection. His brother would honor the vow he’d made, of course, but Aidan had expected more of a reaction.

  “Very well,” Graeme said. “I leave her protection to you. In the meantime, we’ve much to discuss.”

  “Aye, we do. I will be along shortly.”

  Graeme turned to leave but stopped at the door. “I will send Gillian along,” he said with a final nod to Clarissa. “She looks forward to meeting you.”

  Aidan turned to explain that he would be back after his meeting with Graeme and that Lady Gillian would attend to her needs in the meantime. But Clarissa’s pallor and wide eyes stopped him. She appeared as shocked as if she’d seen a fairie.

  “What is it, lass?”

  Clarissa opened her mouth but nothing came out.

  Aidan’s heartbeat quickened. “What is it—”

  “He . . . he did not question you. Or order you to send me away. He . . . your brother . . .”

  His shoulders sagged with relief. For a moment he’d thought something was wrong.

  “I told you,” he clarified. “You are under my protection, which means you are under the clan’s protection as well. My word and my brother’s are interchangeable,” he explained.

  Aidan wanted to stay to assure her that she was safe, and that her father’s decision did not change that. But Graeme was right, there was much to be done. “Rest,” he said. “Lady Gillian will be along shortly. And I will visit you as soon as I’m able.”

  Then, because he could not stop himself, Aidan leaned over and placed the gentlest of kisses on her lips. If the move startled her, Clarissa did not show it. But as he turned to leave, Aidan could have kicked himself. Why had he done that? Though it nearly killed him, he had not kissed her at all during their journey . . . since the kiss they’d shared at Sutworth had nearly undone him, of course. And yet, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to say farewell in that way.

  Clarissa is not yours to kiss anytime you please, and you will do well to remember that.

  God help him, he was trying. Though it was becoming harder and harder each passing day.

  Chapter 14

  “She is absolutely lovely.”

  Gillian waved her hand in front of him, but Aidan was too engrossed in his thoughts to form a response. They sat in the hall, the evening meal being cleaned around them. Graeme had already left the head table to address the steward’s concern over an accounting error that could have waited for tomorrow. As always, the hall was just a bit quieter without Allie’s presence, though she and Reid would no doubt be back before long.

  But Graeme never liked leaving problems unsolved. He had difficulty sleeping unless all was well, at least for the moment. Their mother had been the same way, and whenever their father had left on a counter-raid or for battle, he and his brother had refused to leave her side, knowing she’d never sleep if left alone. The memory of being curled up by her side as a laddie would never leave him, no matter how much time passed.

  The illness had taken her five years ago, but the loss felt so fresh some days, as if he’d only just learned of her death.

  “Aidan?”

  He shifted his focus to his sister-in-law.

  “Aye?” And then he stood, suddenly worried. “Are you ill? Do you—”

  “Nay, nay. Sit,” she said. “I seem to go longer and longer without the need to have a chamber pot by my side. I was speaking of Lady Clarissa.”

  Clarissa. More than a day had passed since he’d arrived at Highgate End with his new ward. He’d returned to the Prison Tower after his meeting with Graeme, who’d informed him about the next steps of Douglas’s plan, only to find Gillian with Clarissa. Much to his chagrin, his sister-in-law had waved him away, assuring him she was well taken care of for the night.

  This morning, unable to stay away, he’d introduced Clarissa to Lewis, the baker, and the secret path beneath the Prison Tower that led to the bakehouse. He wasn’t sure if she or Lewis were more delighted at the arrangement. She could work alongside him, if she liked, and Clarissa had wasted no time expressing her excitement. He’d given her a key and advised her to lock the door behind her. Though the doors of the tower normally remained open, he wanted to keep Clarissa’s presence as secret as possible.

  “She is lovely,” Gillian said, repeating herself.

  “I’m sorry, Gill.”

  He took a swig of ale and wondered if it was too soon to visit her. Gillian’s maid knew a mystery woman was in residence, as did Fiona, an older servant who doted on his sister-in-law and had been serving Highgate for as many years as h
e’d been alive. Between all three women, it would be a wonder if Clarissa had any privacy or rest if they did discover her identity.

  “I hope you will not be upset with her,” Gillian sat back in her chair, “but Allie told me of your discussion about the annulment before she left.”

  He took another swig. “As I suspected she would.” In fact, it was easier that way. He had no desire to tell the tale again. “But much has happened since I left for Sutworth.”

  Gillian raised her brows. “Clearly.”

  She stopped talking when a servant walked by them.

  “How long do you think it will be before Father Simon sends word?”

  They’d agreed to elicit the support of Clan Kerr’s priest, their own too new to Highgate for Aidan’s liking. Though Gillian thought it absurd that he did not fully trust their priest, he was not taking any chances. He’d sent Malcolm, a trusted warrior who did not ask questions, to Brockburg to seek out Allie and explain the latest developments in Clarissa’s situation. Aidan had no doubt Father Simon would help them, and that he would do so as efficiently, or more so, as Sutworth’s priest.

  In fact, that was exactly what bothered him. Malcolm would return any moment, beginning another countdown to Clarissa’s new life as a child of God. As absurd a notion as anything he’d ever heard. Aidan had told his brother as much, but Graeme had reminded him she could not stay here. Any who harbored Theffield’s daughter would pay for their interference tenfold.

  “Knowing him as I do,” he said, sighing, “I do not expect it to be long.”

  Gillian leaned in toward him. “I spoke with Graeme last eve,” she whispered. “And I know you feel, and she feels, there is no other way. But I’ve been thinking—”

  Aidan groaned, knowing where this conversation was heading. “A dangerous prospect.”

  She swatted his arm. “Be serious. I’ve been thinking . . . of course if Theffield caught a Scotsman hiding his daughter, he would be quite angry.”

  Aidan laughed. He was unable to help himself. “Quite angry? Gillian, you don’t know the man. He would be infuriated enough to start the war that Caxton has been seeking.”

  Gillian did not seem concerned by the possibility. In fact, her attitude reminded him quite a bit of Allie’s.

  “Aye, well. As I said, he would be quite angry—”

  Aidan rolled his eyes.

  “But what of asking the Waryns for help in hiding her?”

  This was one of the things he loved most about Gillian. She was both smart and resourceful, not unlike the woman he loved, who had thus far successfully avoided succumbing to one of the most powerful men in Northumbria.

  “I’ve thought of that,” he said, “and the Earl of Clave as well.”

  Both families, though English, were considered allies. With Geoffrey Waryn’s marriage to the Earl of Kenshire’s daughter, the Waryns were as powerful as Clarissa’s father.

  “Eventually, he will find her. A woman such as Clarissa cannot remain in hiding forever. She is not easily forgotten or overlooked. Only the church would have the authority to keep her against his will.”

  “But it could give her time—”

  “And what do you suppose her father will do when he discovers our allies have been harboring his daughter?” Aidan tried to remember to keep his voice low. Though only a handful of men and servants remained in the hall, he did not want to be overheard. “It would not matter that her supporters were English. Theffield knows which side the Waryns fight for. And Clave too. We are united in our efforts to uphold the treaty against men who care more for their personal gain, like Caxton . . . or Theffield, than they do their countries. Scottish. English. It hardly matters any longer.”

  Gillian looked exactly as he felt.

  Defeated.

  “Graeme says there is to be a meeting between Douglas and Theffield. A miracle they’ve both agreed to it after their difficulties in the past.”

  “Aye,” he said, wondering when it would be safe to see Clarissa. He could easily get to the Prison Tower through the—

  “And you truly believe Theffield will force Caxton to step down?”

  Nay, he should wait until dark. They could not be too careful, and there was already enough coming and going from the tower.

  “You are not listening,” she accused, arching her eyebrows.

  Guilty.

  “Go to her already. None will notice. And perhaps I can find someone to speak with who will actually listen to me.” Gillian tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  Hell, he’d waited long enough.

  “I’m going to see her.”

  Now, what in God’s name was so funny about that?

  * * *

  Clarissa tried to wash using the scented water Morgan had left behind. Though she was grateful for Lady Gillian’s maid, she could not help but wish for a proper bath. She’d been too long without one, but such a luxury simply was not possible. Too many servants would be required to assist in the preparations. It would draw undue attention to her, and Clarissa did not want to endanger the de Sowlis family and Clan Scott.

  Morgan had helped her remove her gown, but the long-sleeved cotton shift would have to be discarded next. She was preparing to do just that, when a knock at the door stopped her. The circular room was not so large that even a soft knock wouldn’t reverberate through the stone-walled chamber. Pushing her arms back through the sleeves, she opened the door, expecting to find Morgan again.

  It was certainly not the maid.

  Aidan, dressed casually in dark brown trewes and a cream tunic with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, filled the doorway. She was so distracted by the muscles in his forearms that it took a moment for her to remember her own state of undress.

  Backing into the chamber, she tried to appear unaffected as she grabbed the first garment that she spotted, the hooded cloak she’d worn as they rode into Highgate End, and tossed it over her shoulders.

  “May I come in?”

  She turned toward the sound of his voice, which had become increasingly familiar and comforting.

  “Of course,” she said, feeling absurd as she pulled the cloak tighter around her chest.

  Something had shifted between them the night he’d held her by the fire. A new intimacy had sprung up between them that had left her both sad and confused. She knew Aidan had solicited the help of Clan Kerr’s priest; Gillian had told her. She tried to think it a good thing, for the longer she was here, the longer she put his cause in danger, and yet . . .

  He looked at the bowl perched on the sole table in the room.

  “Your needs have been met, I trust?”

  “Aye, of course.”

  Of course. Could she utter another phrase besides that one? When he was near, Clarissa had difficulty turning her thoughts into coherent words.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  She followed his gaze to the bowl and sighed. “Nay, you’ve been more than gracious—”

  “A bath, perhaps?”

  He was jesting!

  “Surely you cannot . . . that is, it would cause too much fuss—”

  That smile. She was sure no one could resist it.

  “A tub would be difficult . . .”

  “I assumed as much.”

  “But that is not the only way to cleanse oneself.”

  The washbowl? But she’d already used it.

  “There is a river just down the hill, behind an area the men use to train.”

  “A river?”

  Clarissa had never bathed in a river. She’d crossed one only once, on her way to the tournament, but she’d been on horseback then. She remembered the sunlight’s reflection on the shallow water, and how the flow of it entranced her. She’d laughed when her horse kicked up spray onto her gown.

  “I will warn you, lass. It’s more than a wee bit cold this time of year. But it can be—”

  “Aye!” She did not need to hear more. “I will do it.”

  Would she ever get the chance
to bathe in a river again? Likely not. Clarissa smiled at the idea of nuns undressing on a riverbank, preparing to—

  “I wish you would smile more often.” He said it softly, almost like a prayer.

  Clarissa lifted her chin. “’Tis easy to do with you.”

  “Then come.” He took her hand. “A bath and another smile. I promise to give you both this eve.”

  A shiver of excitement ran through her as she imagined an alternate meaning for his words.

  Chapter 15

  Add this decision to the litany of my mistakes since Clarissa appeared in that courtyard asking for assistance.

  As he led her through the corridors that would deposit them directly in front of the gatehouse, Aidan had plenty of time to ponder the events of the day, including this hasty invitation to the river, which would do nothing to put distance between him and Clarissa.

  Gillian’s question plagued him. Was there another way? No matter how much he wished there were, he doubted it. He’d already considered the possibility she’d suggested, only to throw it out. Involving the Waryns or Clave would endanger their negotiations with Theffield—and endanger their friends. His logical mind assured him Clarissa had devised the safest plan possible—and yet he could not accept it.

  “This way,” he said, pushing the thoughts aside.

  They exited just inside the gate. Aidan looked back to ensure Clarissa was well hidden behind him, then called to the guard. When the portcullis was lifted, he hurried her toward the path he’d shown Allie back when their training sessions with the longsword were still a secret. Though they’d never met this late in the evening, with only the moonlight to guide them, he and Allie had taken this footpath most evenings before supper.

  Clarissa caught up to him as they bounded down the hill. When she passed him, he had to run to catch up. Evading him, she ran faster. Aidan would have let her best him, but the lass didn’t know where she was going. So he ran ahead and guided her past the training yard and toward the river. When they reached its banks, both of them out of breath, the beautiful sound of her laughter filled the air.