Page 114 of The Scot’s Secret

Albri was a plump but fierce middle-aged woman whose hair had long ago gone grey. A woman who was known to harbor smugglers and slit the throat of any man who crossed her. Her ruthlessness was matched only by her husband’s. Edgar, the son of a wealthy merchant who once made a living as a mercenary, was large, scary, and incredibly kind. At least to Clara.

They were the kind of people she never would have gotten to know as Clara, but to whom Alfred owed much.

“I am a boy,” Clara reminded her. Albri released her, and luckily, none seemed to have noticed the overly-long embrace.

“What took ye so long to come back?”

And before Clara could answer, she kept talking. “It’s hardly daybreak. You travelled all night?”

“Albri—” she gestured to the fur trader and his nephew, “—they need a room.”

Albri watched them bring the cart to the nearby stables. From the decisive nod she gave them, it was clear she knew they’d helped Clara. “The best Keston has to offer,” she said, turning away. “Come, lad.” She chuckled, reminding Clara of the other reason she’d not remained here longer. Albri was not very good at keeping secrets.

These were Gilbert’s friends, and they had treated her like a daughter when she needed it most. But Clara still had trouble understanding how a man like Gilbert—a man killed for refusing to involve himself in illegal activities—could call Edgar and Albri friends.

“Albri,” she called out to her hostess, knowing that she would soon be whisked into the wattle-and-dab structure known as much for its penny-a-night rooms as it was for harboring smugglers. Though it was further inland than most smuggler establishments, it was close enough to gain the attention of evil-doers looking for safe passage to both sides of the border.

“Before you feed me—”

“Ha, gone for months and she—pardon, he—thinks he knows ol’ Albri.”

Clara watched her wrinkled face scrunch up, leaving no doubt as to where the lines on her face had originated.

“Well? When’s the last you’ve eaten, boy?”

Clara would have laughed, but she remembered she was no longer Clara. Masking her feminine laugh was something she’d never been able to do successfully.

“Just so,” Clara said. “But I need to speak with you first. It’s important.”

Whether Albri took heed of her impatient tone or saw the look of panic in her eyes, Clara couldn’t be sure. But rather than bring her inside, the older woman pulled her to the side of the inn.

“Are they after ye?”

Clara smiled. Albri was fond of saying exactly what was on her mind.

“There are men looking for me,” she started, pausing to search for the right words. How could she convey the importance of misdirecting Alex without unintentionally putting him in danger? If Edgar and Albri thought he was a threat to her, they would not rest until that threat was eliminated.

“Well, of course there are—”

“Nay, Albri, different men. A Scot. Not a bad man,” she rushed to explain. “In fact, he is a very good man. But. . .” She hated to do this, but it was the only solution she could think of. “I just don’t care for him. In that way.”

She did not want him to be harmed. And if Albri had any indication of her true feelings for Alex, he’d be welcomed into Keston House like a king.

Albri’s eyes widened. “He knows?”

Clara nodded, looking down the road as the sun rose higher in the sky. “He does. And please—” she emphasized her next words, “—please do not do him any harm. I just. . . he is not someone I care to be with.”

Albri scrutinized her face, and Clara prayed she looked sincere.

Please, please believe me.

“If you’re sure—”

“Yes! I am sure. Oh Albri, thank you. Bless your heart. I promise one day. . .” She could not help her now, but if she was ever in a position to repay the woman for her kindness, Clara would do so.

“Come then.”

Clara followed her inside, where most of the inn’s visitors still slept. The two-floor building, along with a separate kitchen and stable, featured more than one depiction of a magpie. From the sign hanging outside to the large tapestry that hung inside the common room, the good omen seemed to have worked thus far. Despite its location along the border and its questionable reputation, Keston House not only remained standing, but it continued to thrive, making its owners wealthy.