The Scot's Secret - Cecelia Mecca

1

Epilogue

Excerpt from The Earl’s Entanglement

Did you enjoy this book?

Also by Cecelia Mecca

Get a free prequel

About the Author

Untitled

Get Bonuses

Get a free prequel novella to the Border Series, THE WARD’S BRIDE, along with a bonus chapter for this book by becoming a CM Insider.

Become an Insider

* * *

Stay in the know! Go behind the scenes with other Border Series readers in the most fun private Facebook group ever. Regular giveaways, live videos and lots of shenanigans will ensure. . .

Join Blood & Brawn

2

B

ristol Manor, England, 1271

“Alfred?”

Clara didn’t flinch at the use of her boy’s name. Over the past years, she had grown accustomed to answering to it.

“Where were you?” Toren handed the reins to a groom and lowered his voice as he approached. He knew that she was no squire at all, but a woman in disguise. She’d first come into the chief’s acquaintance when he’d hired her—“Alfred”—to squire for him at a tournament designed to bring men from both sides of the border together in a peaceable display of skill. The chief had even offered her a position in his household.

“I. . . ” She stumbled on her words. “I fled,” she finally mumbled. But of course, he already knew as much, and he likely knew why. She’d run from the fear that he would spread her secret. She’d run even though he’d assured her that she still had a safe place in his household.

All along, she’d known she was playing a dangerous game, posing as a lad—one that could end badly—yet it was better than the alternative. It was better than getting caught.

A rustling sound reminded her that they were far from alone. Everyone gathered in Bristol’s courtyard was watching them, bearing witness to her shame. If only she could have sought the chief out privately. . . But by the time she’d learned that he would be here at Bristol Manor with Lady Juliette, Toren Kerr had already been preparing to leave for Scotland. And, despite everything, she dearly wished to go with them. The thought of making her way, alone, to the next tournament was nearly unbearable.

“Do you still wish to come to Brockburg with us?” Toren whispered for her alone to hear.

She peered up at his wife, Juliette, who was already mounted and prepared to leave for her new home.

“Come with us,” Lady Juliette said. She looked as if she meant it.

Clara nodded, afraid to say too much. She had been a fool to run away. Toren and Juliette would help her. If nothing else, they would get her across the border safely.

“Come,” he gestured toward her mare, and without assistance, she quickly mounted before he changed his mind.

This one would take her away from her homeland. A good thing under the circumstances. Any distance she could add between her and her past was welcome indeed.

“Fare thee well,” called out the lady of the manor, Toren’s sister.

Toren and Juliette waved in parting. With that, their small retinue, which included four of Bristol’s men, began the journey that would bring them into Scotland.

Following a well-worn old Roman road north, they met no resistance other than the lack of clouds on an unusually hot day. Clara tried to push away thoughts of how she would remain in disguise at Brockburg. She’d simply make it work.

By the time they stopped to water the horses and eat a light repast, Clara was grateful for the splash of river water that served to cool her down, if only temporarily.

One of Bristol’s men, a burly knight who had hardly spoken a word all day, brought a handful of water to his face.

“A small one, you are.”

As was her custom, Clara nodded. Speaking little and deferring to all who didn’t appear to be a threat was her primary means of survival. The more she spoke, the closer she came to people, the more likely they would realize the truth.

“You’d do well to use that water on your face,” he said in parting.

She didn’t dare. The smudges of dirt that she’d spent years perfecting were her only defense against exposure.

Clara stood, intending to blend into the countryside until their party continued their journey, when her savior approached from behind.

“Alfred?” the chief said in his deep, intimidating voice.

“Aye, my lord?”

Though she looked at him, Clara kept her head bowed and did not meet his gaze.

“I feared you were dead.”

Not yet . . . and with any luck, the protection he offered would keep her alive longer than she expected.

“Nay, my lord.”

He reached into the river once more,