Page 52 of The Scot’s Secret

He had finally convinced his body it was sleep, not pleasure, that it needed when the familiar sound of Clara’s nightmares began. Nay, he would not go to her.

Then she made another sound that confirmed she was, indeed, scared.

Muttering under his breath, he picked up his bedroll and moved it next to her. When he awoke the next morning, she lay in his arms, as relaxed and peaceful as a newborn babe. Of course, she was no babe and his thoughts for her were anything but motherly.

So it went for every remaining night of their journey. They slept in the open most nights except the evening before they were to reach Kenshire. That night they slept at another inn, though this time in a proper bed.

Ever since the night at The Anvil Inn, he’d kept his hands off Clara’s soft, creamy skin. . . with one important exception. He slept with his arms around her each night, even in the second inn. He’d fallen asleep on the floor that night, but he’d moved to the lumpy bed in response to her familiar cries. With hardly enough room for them both, he’d scooped her into his arms, and she’d promptly fallen asleep.

They never talked about their late-night arrangement or anything of consequence. Alex knew her favorite foods, the pastimes she’d enjoyed prior to becoming Alfred. He knew more about her, but there was an undeniable distance between them.

In truth, it was the longest, most torturous journey Alex had ever taken—the push-pull he felt toward Clara would be the ruin of him. At least they’d met with no further trouble along their path. Only a group of pilgrims and a sole English knight.

Arriving at the village of Kenshire, Alex and Clara wove their way through a crowd of peasants, merchants, and tradesmen until they came to a clearing that offered a most spectacular view. Though he’d been here once before, the sight before him affected him now just as deeply as it had then.

“’Tis so beautiful,” Clara said, riding next to him.

“Kenshire was once the seat of the king of Northumbria,” he said, repeating what his sister had told him on his first journey from Brockburg to Kenshire.

“I’ve been told about the trouble after the countess’s father died without a male heir, but I’m afraid I don’t know much else about Kenshire. Rumor tends to travel—”

She stopped abruptly, as if worried she’d reveal too much. He didn’t press her.

They wound their way through dusty but well-kept roads—a chapel on their left, a tavern on their right. It was a well-ordered village, much larger than Brockburg’s, and only after they passed the last of the buildings did the splendor of Kenshire Castle truly reveal itself.

Set upon a rock outcropping with the North Sea as one of its borders, the large stone castle had so many towers and buildings it rivaled Edinburgh Castle, though it was a wee bit smaller.

Curious glances followed them up the path to the guardhouse.

“—and Catrina told me there is quite a tale,” she finished.

“I’ll gladly tell Clara, but not Alfred.”

Alex wasn’t sure what had made him say that. The tentative truce between them relied on his relationship with Alfred. But he wanted to know the woman, not the boy she’d posed as for the last six years.

“We shall see.”

And although it was said innocently enough, the slight huskiness to her voice forced Alex to shift in his saddle. It was not a promise that held any more possibilities than a simple conversation, but. . .

They dismounted when the guard called down to them. After a brief exchange of words, the portcullis was lifted and they were admitted into the outer ward. Kenshire Castle boasted more paths and corridors than any castle where Alex had previously stayed. He prepared to be lost once again.

“Good day, my lord. And greetings to you—”

“Alfred,” Clara said.

“We’ve met before.” The steward bowed to Alex. “Under much more. . . “

“Tense circumstances,” Alex finished.

“My lord and lady are taking the midday meal and would be honored if you would join them. Are you hungry, or would you prefer a brief respite first? Oh, and I am the steward here,” he said to Clara. “Peter.”

“A meal would be most welcome,” she said.

This was another thing he loved about Clara. She ate nearly as much as he did. Though she was not thick around the waist, neither did he feel the outline of her bones, something he’d experienced with a few other lasses, who, in his opinion, were simply too thin. Clara’s body, what he’d seen and felt of it, was made perfectly.

They followed Peter through a second gate and the inner ward. Unlike Brockburg, where the buildings were close together, Kenshire was spread out. The small party finally arrived at the main keep, and once they’d relinquished their reins to a stable boy, Peter waved his hands.

“I give you Kenshire Castle.” Clearly he was quite proud of it. And well he should be.