Page 27 of The Scot’s Secret

“You may come,” he said, knowing it was a bad idea.

For his efforts, he was granted a brilliant smile. It was the first one she’d given him since he had discovered her secret. Her straight white teeth peeked out from her parted lips. . .

He had made a dangerous mistake.

* * *

When they began the incline to the castle, Clara tightened her arms around Alex. She felt as if they would topple backward. It reminded her of when she’d once ridden what she had thought to be the highest mountain in all of England. Gilbert had laughed, telling her it was nothing more than a small hill, but she’d been afraid enough to get off her horse and refuse to ride, preferring to walk alongside the beast instead.

“If you keep that up, it will be a long journey indeed.”

“Oh! Did I hurt you?” She hadn’t realized how hard she was squeezing him.

“That depends, lass, on the kind of hurt you refer to.”

Now what in the devil was that supposed to mean?

She loosened her grip slightly as his meaning finally registered. Clara smiled against his back. At least she was not the only one affected. When he had turned to look at her earlier, she’d thought for a moment he was going to kiss her.

“You’re a churl to say such things to a lady,” she teased.

“A woman or a lady?” They were admitted entry through the gatehouse.

“Does it matter, sir?” He already knew too much. She didn’t want to give anything else away.

“While it should not, I confess it does. But as you say, such topics are much too delicate for your innocent English ears.” He wasn’t able to hide the laughter in his voice.

“I doubt that very much. You forget, I’ve lived as a boy.”

Posing as a boy had indeed given her a unique perspective. Men spoke more openly around small, insignificant Alfred than they would around Lady Clara. As such, she’d learned one thing about men over the past few years. Their desire for the fairer sex was insatiable. Married men and the newly betrothed often spoke of liaisons that, by rights, should not have been possible. Their crude talk had given Clara an education Gilbert had never intended her to have. In turn, she’d also learned to speak more openly than she ever would have as a noblewoman.

“Neither does the fact that I am English seem of consequence,” she added as an afterthought.

When they stopped, Alex held out his hand to help her dismount. Quickly realizing his mistake—he never would have made such an offer to Alfred, and someone could be watching—he pulled it away. They each dismounted on their own.

“The English ears are more delicate.”

“More delicate than. . . ?”

“Their less refined and savage northern neighbors.” He made a face so ridiculous that Clara couldn’t help but grin.

“You look more like a wild boar than you do a savage Scot.”

“And when have you seen a wild boar?”

Alex handed his reins to the groom, and Clara followed him to the main keep. They would likely be visiting with the lord and lady of Brockburg, if she guessed correctly.

“At the Tournament of the King one year, I was hired by an English knight who took part in the earl’s hunt. They were seeking deer, but they found and killed a boar instead. It was quite terrifying.”

“I’d imagine no more terrifying than making your way through the borderlands without an escort.”

He said it so casually, Clara nearly forgot herself and answered truthfully. That she’d lived in terror every day since she’d lost Gilbert. That she’d only felt safe—or somewhat safe—after meeting Toren.

“Just slightly so.”

“I can’t look at you.”

The change in topic took her aback. Entering the large wooden door, Clara hurried to follow Alex up the single flight of stairs leading to the great hall.