Page 110 of The Scot’s Secret

The thought of never seeing Clara again brought him physical pain—the kind of ache that would never go away. Aye, he loved her, and he would find her and convince her she was safe. That they were safe. He didn’t care how long it took.

Gilbert had kept her alive, but being alive was not enough if she spent her entire life running.

Now, riding atop his horse next to Geoffrey, something finally clicked into place. Gilbert.

“Gilbert told me if anything ever happened to him, I should go to Keston House,” Clara had said, after telling him she’d left Keston before long, worried she’d put the owners in danger.

“Geoffrey, we go to Keston House.”

26

Clara bounced up and down with the motion of the cart, thanking God for her good fortune in finding not just any merchant, but a fur trader willing to accept her coin. The cart was much more comfortable than she’d expected, and although the elderly trader would not be of much assistance against potential threat, he and his young nephew navigated the roads well.

They had just been stopped for a tax collection, having passed through a new lord’s border. Clara assumed the man would then stop for the night since darkness had already begun to fall, but he did not.

She had spoken to no one in Kenshire’s village, assuming Alex would start looking for her there. She’d tried not to feel too badly about taking a loaf of bread since she had left the baker ample compensation.

So far, her disguise had worked well. Clara had kept her head down and taken only what she needed. Standing at the edge of the village, she’d waited for someone, anyone, to leave—and she’d given the fur trader double the usual amount for his trouble. There was a chance he’d attempt to rob her, knowing she had that much coin on her, but it was a chance she had to take.

The man and his nephew had been kind thus far, so when the wagon creaked to a stop and she heard the raised voices, Clara did the one thing Gilbert had trained her never to do. Get involved in a confrontation. Usually she was more careful about choosing her riding companions, and she favored those who could provide her with protection.

Damn fool reivers.

She couldn’t tell if they were English or Scottish, but that was the danger of travelling by moonlight.

“We don’t care about your guild, old man. Show us the goods.”

Clara jumped out on the opposite side of the would-be attackers—there were two—and hid behind the large wheel, knowing surprise was her best defense.

She could tell the merchant was nervous, likely because of her. The merchant’s guild might offer some protection, but this trader needed either an older nephew or plenty of coin to keep himself from harm.

“Pay us in coin or in fur. You decide.”

“I’ve not got more than I earned at Kenshire.”

So he didn’t have a bribe. How did he plan to stay alive?

Clara moved around the side of the wagon and held her finger to her lips when the boy looked down to her. The poor lad was terrified.

“Please,” the merchant begged. “My sister and her husband are both dead. The boy only has me to look after him. Without that fur—”

As soon as the second man dismounted from his nag, she moved quickly, taking advantage of the opportunity before her. Clara kicked the lance from the first man’s hand and held her thin sword to his back.

“You have choices,” she grumbled. “Leave us in peace and rob some other unsuspecting victim, or lose your partner for a few pelts of fur.”

She only had one chance to get it right, to convince him her words were true. Her training, it seemed, had not deserted her.

“Move,” she muttered to the man, who smelled like a mixture of dirt and dung, “and die.”

He could overpower her easily, but she wouldn’t give him the chance to learn that.

“I’ve no wish to see anyone die,” the second man said.

It wasn’t at all what Clara had expected to hear.

“Can’t overlook the opportunity for extra coin,” he continued. “But we’ll be on our way.”

This was the most dangerous part. Once she took the sword away, she would be vulnerable.