Page 73 of The Scot’s Secret

She looked down at her gown. “Aye, Emma choose it—”

“Not the gown, you.”

His hands continued to hold her as she drew her brows together. “But—”

“This was the first time I’ve seen you like this.”

He dropped his hands and backed away from her.

He gestured toward the gown. “Tis lovely. But your smile. Your laughter. ’Twas as if I saw you, Clara, for the first time.”

He blinked. “Though I still don’t know who you are.”

She took a deep breath, confident in her decision but nonetheless frightened to say the

words.

The overly large Scot, who was in charge of a small army, who fought like the devil himself, sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her down next to him so gently Clara thought her heart might break. He cradled her hand and looked into her eyes, beseeching her to open herself to him.

Gilbert had told her to keep this secret above all else. But he’d also told her to trust her instincts, and she would follow the latter piece of advice now.

“My name is Clara Wheaton, daughter of the late Edward Wheaton, Lord Barrington, a once-favored baron and second of that name.”

“Barrington. . .” he repeated.

“’Tis a small castle with no village to speak of. The closest establishment is three days’ ride from the northern border of our land. And even that is isolated, for Keston House is known for—”

“Smuggling.”

“Aye.”

“Your father was a border lord.”

“He was. And unfortunately. . .”

She couldn’t do it.

“Tell me,” Alex said, his voice barely a whisper.

“A supporter of de Montfort,” she blurted.

She watched his face, which stayed remarkably neutral despite the implications of such an admission. de Montfort had led a revolt against the King of England. And her father had supported such a folly.

“My father fought for his king,” she tried to explain, “and was injured, nearly fatally so, for his efforts. But after he lost my mother—” Clara was grateful for the gentle squeeze of his hand, “—those who knew him said he changed. The father I knew grew angrier, more bitter with every passing year. To me, he was the gentlest and kindest man alive. But he also sheltered me more than necessary to my way of thinking. In his final years, he became nearly crazed with fear that something would happen to me, and though he wanted no part in the First Barons’ War, by the end, he was firmly in de Montfort’s camp.”

She closed her eyes, remembering the man she had loved above all others. It still hurt that someone she so respected and loved had allowed fear to override his good sense. “He was nearly killed at the Siege of Kenilworth,” she said, almost as an afterthought. Of course, it was not. That siege was the end of the baron’s revolt against the king as well as her life as Clara Wheaton.

“They came for him,” Alex guessed.

“Aye, and for Barrington Castle. The king’s armies were relentless in their pursuit of the traitors. My father returned to me safely just in time to be murdered by the king’s henchmen.”

He squeezed her hand once again. “I’m sorry, Clara.”

Now that she started, she just couldn’t seem to stop.

“I watched it happen, saw the blade slide into his neck. Watched him crumple to the ground.” She’d told him this part before, but the words wouldn’t stop gushing out of her. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “I didn’t scream. I didn’t try to stop it. I stood there watching, immobile.”

“You could not have—”