Page 95 of The Scot’s Secret

A single tear fell down her cheek as her chest constricted. Emma rushed to her side and took both of her hands.

“Listen to me.”

It was the first time she’d heard her friend speak so sternly.

“You will not feel sorry for what happened here last eve. I meant it when I said you’ve been through too much sorrow to not enjoy some modicum of joy now.”

She spoke as if from experience.

“I will take back my vow unless you stop feeling badly, immediately.”

How could she argue with such a demand?

“Done.” She made the vow, but it was, of course, not so easily accomplished.

Emma continued talking as they walked. “The most extraordinary women I know found themselves in similar positions. I don’t think poorly of them and will not allow you to judge yourself harshly either.”

She meant Catrina and Bryce, of course.

But she’d said. . . “Women?”

“My brothers, well, not Neill, have both gotten themselves into, shall we say, delicate situations before they were wed. And yet they continue to lecture me as if I should be the one Waryn to do things the conventional way.”

“Sara and Geoffrey. . .”

Emma’s grin confirmed it.

“You see? So stop worrying about last eve and start worrying about tonight instead.”

“What’s happening tonight?”

Emma turned to leave once again, calling over her shoulder, “I don’t have much experience in this area, but I hear ’tis something you, and likely he, may want to repeat.”

22

Alex and Geoffrey hardly spoke on the way to Elkview. The castle loomed before them, consisting of a small keep with just a few outbuildings and a village less than half the size of Brockburg. Their uneventful ride had been punctuated with conversation, but Geoffrey must have sensed his mood, for he’d eventually stopped trying to talk to him.

They’d agreed to meet at sunrise, though Alex had been ready well before the sun made its first appearance. Finding clean sheets without raising suspicion had been more of a task than he’d anticipated. Trying not to wake Clara, Alex had stoked the fire and relit the candles. But before he could leave the room, she made a noise. Wanting to be sure she wasn’t having a nightmare, he returned to the bed.

Standing beside it in the darkness, he watched Clara sleep. Her lips slightly parted, Alex could imagine she was dreaming of him. He’d certainly dreamed of her—then awakened to feel her body pressed against his own. He nearly reached for her, but it had been her first time, and she would likely be sore.

He was the first, and only, man she’d been with.

And he would be the only one.

Alex was forced to concede he’d been wrong about taking a wife, and just as wrong about blaming English women for what his mother had done. He would endure his brothers’ jests and admit his folly. But he was still determined not to claim Dunmure. How could they hope to make a future in a place steeped in the past?

He wasn’t concerned that she still had reservations about marrying him. Clara could be stubborn, but no more so than he. She held back only out of fear, but he would never allow anything to happen to her.

“Are you ready, Kerr?”

Just as before, they gained entrance easily. None would deny Sir Geoffrey Waryn, the new Earl of Kenshire, and Alex was glad for the man’s company.

They dismounted and led their mounts to the stables. Alex thought of how he’d greet his mother, discarded the idea, and considered a new one.

“They’ll never allow us entry with that scowl,” Geoffrey quipped. “Summon that legendary wit of yours or we’ll be riding back to Kenshire without an audience.”

“Wit, my arse. I could no sooner smile at that woman than willingly chop off my right arm.”