Page 85 of The Scot’s Secret

“The king’s men killed your armorer?”

“Nay, he refused to help a knight cheat at a tournament. . .”

She stopped, unable to recount yet another tragedy.

Emma squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me. Though I’m glad you trust me enough to have shared your story.”

“I may have put you in danger.”

Emma looked unconcerned. “You did not. The only danger we’re in at the moment is being late to supper. Since Cook mentioned my pears, I’m expecting a special treat. Come, let’s find you a gown.”

She stood and began to look through the trunk that seemed to overflow with more clothing than before. Someone, either Emma or the lady’s maid, had added more gowns to the wardrobe for her benefit. After seeing the stranger, Clara wondered if Lady Susanna should leave Kenshire. But none seemed to remember Alex had arrived with a squire, so wouldn’t Alfred’s sudden reappearance seem odd? And she knew Sara and Emma would be disappointed.

And she would be disappointed too.

A few more days.

After that, she’d have plenty of time to don her disguise. In the meantime, she allowed Emma, and later Faye, to assist her in preparing for the evening. She wore a crimson velvet gown and a low-hanging gold-jeweled belt. Just before she left the chamber, Emma returned with a gold circlet and helped her place it on her head. A single ruby hung from the center. When she protested that she could not possibly borrow such a valuable item, Emma pushed her hand away.

“It’s perfect,” she said, standing back to look at Clara.

The gown was a heavy one, and Clara had to use both hands to lift the folds as they walked. Kenshire’s hall glowed with so many candles one could hardly tell it was nighttime. It must have cost a fortune.

Still reeling from the fact that she had blurted out her real name and history to Emma, Clara tried to appear casual as she glanced around the hall.

No Alex.

Geoffrey and Sara entered the hall, hand in hand, and she and Emma followed them to the dais. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed by Alex’s absence. And she refused to ask for him. Instead, she made polite conversation with Emma, trying—and failing—to overhear Geoffrey’s conversation, especially when she heard him say Alex’s name.

But he was seated too far from her.

“He hasn’t been seen all evening,” Emma whispered.

There was no pretending she didn’t know what her friend was talking about.

“That’s nice,” she said instead. Emma chuckled.

Her companion’s eyes brightened when the final dish was served.

“I knew it,” Emma exclaimed.

The pears were cooked in wine and spiced with cinnamon, and after one bite, Clara had to agree they were quite tasty.

She tried to concentrate on the delicacy, her companion, and her final days of freedom, but a certain roguishly handsome warrior intruded on her thoughts. . .

And then he entered the hall.

Their eyes locked. Clara slowly finished her bite of pear. He moved toward them, freshly washed, looking every bit the second in command of a powerful border clan.

Provoking him would only cause her more trouble. She shouldn’t do it. But whether it was the wine or something else, Clara knew what she wanted.

She wanted to be with Alex.

He’d given her a taste, and she wanted more. Pretending otherwise was for virgin brides with marriage prospects. Or ladies old enough to understand desire but too young to have the chance to act on it. She was neither.

She’d seen camp ladies flirt, something she was perfectly capable of mimicking. Clara had simply never felt the need to do so. Until now. And so instead of popping the final bite of wine-soaked pear into her mouth, she extended the moment.

Before picking up the cloth to clean her fingers, she licked the sweetness from them as slowly as possible without being so overt Emma would notice.