Page 84 of The Scot’s Secret

As soon as they were alone, Geoffrey frowned at him. “Are you surprised by his news?”

It was anger he felt, not surprise. Anger at himself for his reaction to Lord Easton.

“You don’t like the man?”

“I don’t know him.”

Geoffrey clasped him on the back. “I don’t blame you,” he said.

He looked at the reiver, who smiled broadly.

“In fact, I think I’ll find Sara for myself. Easton’s reputation precedes him, and I can’t say I’m sorry to see him leave. Not,” he added, “that I don’t trust my wife. But why tempt the fates with such a man?”

Alex knew what he meant. He wasn’t too proud to admit that Lord Easton was a very good-looking young lord. Geoffrey walked away, but Alex stood rooted to the same spot, shaking his head. He should have cared more about the news Lord Easton had brought than the natural, quick glance he’d given two beautiful young women.

Jealousy. An emotion he had thus far avoided.

Until Clara.

20

What had she been thinking?

Clara had pretended not to notice the men after passing the steward’s room. Emma, who had truly not noticed them, continued on toward her bedchamber, where they planned to choose their gowns for the evening meal. But Clara had not survived, alone, since Gilbert’s death by being unaware.

She hadn’t seen much, but the newcomer had noticed them. By his dress, she could tell he was a nobleman. Clara scurried to catch up with Emma, but the incident had left her rattled.

“What’s wrong?”

But Clara kept silent until they reached Emma’s chamber, her own temporary lodgings, and entered the room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Clara heaved out a sigh. “Why am I marauding through the castle, undisguised, just waiting for someone to appear who can identify me?”

Her words were too revealing, but she no longer cared if Emma knew the truth.

“There was a man down there when we walked by. A stranger. A lord by the look of him.”

Clara took a deep breath, folding her hands on her lap to steady them. “My father was a supporter of de Montfort. After Kenilworth, the king’s men killed him in our own hall, seized our home, and forced me to flee,” she blurted out. It was somehow easier to say now that she’d already told Alex.

She looked up. Emma’s eyes were wide, full of pity. . . and understanding.

“I am the daughter of Edward Wheaton, and Barrington Castle was once my home and birthright. My father's dear friend Gilbert, an armorer, helped me escape. He warned me of the risk of imprisonment or death if I were ever discovered.”

She pointed to the clothes and cap sitting atop the trunk at the foot of the bed. How she hated both of them. “As much as I despise that disguise, it’s kept me alive for the past six years. And now I’m risking everything.”

Emma sat next to her. “There’s been peace between the earl’s supporters and the king. Is the situation still so dire?”

It was the same question Alex had asked. “Can I take that chance?”

Neither woman spoke.

Finally, Emma placed her hand atop Clara’s hand, which had finally stopped shaking.

“Are you sure the threat is the only reason you’ve stayed in the disguise?” Emma rushed to continue. “You’ve been posing as a boy for so long, you’ve not had the chance to be Lady Clara. It must be scary to do so.”

Scary? Nonsense. Though she didn’t want to say so aloud. Emma was just trying to help.

“I should not have told you. My father was killed. Gilbert was killed. I’m putting everyone in—”