Page 14 of The Scot’s Secret

“And you knew because it was hardly proper for a lady to be visiting the tent city at night?”

Oh dear.

“Nay, my lady. I knew because I heard your voice before moving off. And you asked Toren why he’d kissed you. It wasn’t the words, but the way you said them.”

Even as she spoke, Clara realized she’d walked into a trap. “I really must get to—”

“You are a fine squire,” Juliette said before lowering her voice. “But ’tis only a matter of time before Alex realizes the truth, as I did.”

“But I simply said training was ‘fine.’ Nothing more. There is nothing—”

“It was not what you said, my dear Alfred, but how you said it. That night, I did not yet know Toren and I were meant to be together. I just knew I felt something for him. And I dared to allow myself to explore it.”

She looked up at Clara’s hat and then lowered her gaze to the smudges on her face. “I do believe your training is going fine…” She smiled. “As is the man in charge of it, aye?”

Clara scrunched her lips together, attempting a frown. “I’ve not noticed,” she lied.

Juliette turned her attention back to the wall, nodded her apparent satisfaction with the tapestry’s position, and then moved to retrieve the new one from the table.

“Well then,” she replied. “I suppose your instincts are better than my own. And of course, you will not care that your master makes his way toward us.”

Clara immediately turned about, searching the hall with her eyes. There was no sign of him. Whether it was her baffled expression or simply Juliette’s finely honed intuition that made the Lady of Brockburg burst into laughter, she couldn’t be sure. But there was no doubt that Clara was indeed in trouble.

5

Clara peered out through the arrow slit in her chamber. The sun had not yet risen. After just over a week at Brockburg, she knew the morning routine well. Mass with Father Simon at sunrise, a quick meal in the hall, which had finally been attended by the lord and lady of Brockburg yesterday, followed by an endless day of training.

Though Clara had watched many training sessions at many different tournaments, she’d never seen such training methods as the ones employed here at Brockburg. There was not a quintain in sight. And she had not seen a single baton. Instead, the men ran and climbed. They crossed rivers and hoisted other men across their backs. Yesterday, when they’d finally taken up swords against each other, it was the first time Clara had felt remotely at home. . . until the realization had struck that she could not match up with any of the men.

Choose your opponent wisely. It was one of the first lessons she’d learned from a skilled knight who had later earned his place as tourney champion. Of course, he’d admitted this was not always possible.

She opened the door to her bedchamber and treaded lightly down the winding staircase. The path to the gatehouse was short, one of the boons of staying so close to the entrance of the castle rather than at the other end in the main keep. The portcullis was raised, and none of the guards on watch even gave her a glance. She was leaving, after all, not entering. Two additional men stood in the short walkway of the massive stone gate house, which served as both a deterrent to invaders and a home to the men who stayed on watch both day and night. She approached the final exit—a smaller version of the mighty metal gate behind her.

“State your business.” Without hardly glancing at her, the lightly armed guard reached for the lever that would allow her exit.

“To bathe in the river,” she said. Truth, whenever possible.

He raised it just enough for her to leave and kept it up, presumably for an approaching wagon. The two tired horses looked much like she felt each time Alex made them run up the steep incline that led to the castle.

Aside from the supply wagon, no one used this path in the early morn. She’d watched each day before sunrise from her chamber to ensure it would be safe. Careful of her footing as she approached the wooded area just beyond sight of the castle walls, Clara almost skipped to the river bed.

Finally, to be clean!

She made her way downriver to the spot where Alex had taken them across. The water flowed slow and steady here as opposed to the rush abovestream. Dropping her small sack beside her, Clara glanced around, not expecting to see anything, or anyone, stirring. And she did not.

As she stripped off the dirty, travel-stained clothes from her body piece by piece, Clara tried to decide if she should clean herself or her garments first. Picking up the piece of scented soap the maid had kindly given her that first night, she decided the clothing could wait. She stepped into the water, not caring about its chill, and splashed it on every part of her body. She scrubbed everywhere, finally submerging herself to her waist.

She’d almost forgotten to remove her hat! Clara undid the pins that held the clever fabric in place and, removing it, tossed it ashore. Returning her attention to the task at hand, she shook her head, relishing in the feeling of the tips of her hair brushing against her shoulders.

If only she could stay here all day . . . if only she could stay like this. No dirt smudged on her face. No pins holding her hair in place.

Oh, to be free.

To be herself.

* * *

Alex shifted his weight, careful not to make a sound.