Page 23 of The Scot’s Secret

“And you are a beautiful man.”

Oh dear. Had she really said that aloud?

Oh, that smile. . . Alex’s smile was always appealing, but the smile he was giving her now was devastating. Sensual. Clara needed to get away.

Before the thought took root, Alex grabbed her hand, mayhap sensing she was prepared to run.

“Stay,” he said.

He’d not yet let go. His hand, warm and strong, enveloped her like a protective shield. She would not be the one to pull away.

Neither of them moved.

“Tell me,” he said.

Still holding his hand, Clara envisioned herself sharing everything with him. It would be so liberating to share her secret and her burden at last. To truly let someone know her. The temptation nearly compelled her to tell him all, but the memory of that day was so vivid—so utterly awful—it stayed her tongue.

“I cannot.”

He did let go of her hand then, and Clara was sorry for it.

“You’ve told no one, not even my brother, of your reasons.”

“Nay. And yet he offered to bring me here—”

“As my squire.”

“He said you were always looking for men to train.”

“Men, aye. Lasses, nay.”

He did not sound angry any longer. But that certainly did not mean he’d keep her secret. Or that she could stay. But Clara was afraid of the answers to the questions she needed to ask, so she remained silent instead.

“It makes no sense.”

She simply waited, letting him work the matter through his mind. Letting him speak.

“A woman, such as you, disguising herself as a lad. A squire.” His eyes widened. “You assisted Toren in the tournament. He said as much. And you can wield a sword. How did you become strong enough to do such things?”

She shrugged, as if it were no great or uncommon feat.

“God’s teeth, woman, give me something.”

“My name is Clara.”

“Clara.”

It had felt liberating to share her name with Juliette, but it was different to hear it on Alex’s lips. It made her feel like a woman again.

He inclined his head. “Alex, if it pleases you.”

It pleased her well enough. That he was giving her leave to call him by his given name meant something, though she wasn’t sure what exactly.

“So what am I to do with an Englishwoman who gives me nothing more than her name? Who pretends to be a boy, will not trust me with the truth, and has learned to hide herself so well that none can see the treasure beneath?”

Treasure? Clara lowered her head, as she had become accustomed to doing.

“If you would allow me to remain as Alfred—”