Page 55 of The Scot’s Secret

She jolted from the bed, unused to hearing her name on anyone’s lips. With the exception of Alex.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Sara said, entering the room. “Alex told us of your long journey. But dinner will be served soon.”

Sara closed the door behind her as Clara sat up easily, propped up on a multitude of pillows. Some were soft and practical, others ornate and meant for decoration.

“I would like to take dinner in here if it pleases you.”

“Of course.” She smiled. “I will attend to you myself in the meantime.”

“My lady, no!”

Sara’s eyes widened.

“That is to say, you’ve no need to do such a thing. I—”

“Will be forced to remain as a lad. Nay, I will see to your meal, and you’ll not be disturbed by anyone.”

She was allowing Clara the freedom to be herself. Gratitude nearly choked her.

“I’ve just one question,” the countess of Kenshire asked on her way to the door. “Alex does know your true identity, I presume?”

My true identity? Nay, never that.

“He knows I am not a lad,” she said, evading a direct answer.

Sara turned and left. Why was she being so kind? It was this unbidden but entirely welcome kindness, from both Lady Juliette and Lady Sara, that made Clara feel even worse about her deception. But what choice did she have? Either reveal herself and put her life in danger, or run. Again. But she was so weary of running. Always being scared and unsure of the dangers ahead. Unsure of how to reconcile the girl she’d once been and the lad she’d become.

Clara paced the chamber, picking up the candlestick and looking for a flint with which to light it. It was not quite dark yet, and the windows afforded enough light for the moment thanks to the orange sunset streaking across the sky and the fire that had already been lit when she’d entered the chamber.

She struck the steel, produced the needed spark, and was about to light the candle when a knock on the door startled her.

Sara.

She lit the candle, placed it in the holder, and replaced the flint where she’d found it. When the door creaked open, she moved toward it.

“Thank you for bringing me—”

It was not Sara, but Alex.

“Lady Sara said you’re taking dinner in here tonight?”

He stepped inside, carrying a tray of food and drink. She stepped around him to close the door quickly before anyone saw him.

“You should not be here.”

Which did not mean she didn’t want him there. He smelled of oak and leaves. His hair was damp and his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows.

“I am not here, fair lady. ’Tis a spirit you see in front of you, one who will take this tray back down to the hall if you wish it.”

She’d never heard a more absurd jest. He was no spirit, but pure flesh and blood man.

“I am a bit hungry.” She’d hardly eaten earlier, worried, as always, that others were watching her and would guess her secret.

“Lady Sara sends roasted duck and her finest wine for you to enjoy.”

For you to enjoy. It was just as well. It was hardly proper for him to be here. Even less so for them to eat together.

“And the most enjoyable company in all of Kenshire to share it with,” he added with a small grin.