The Scot's Secret - Cecelia Mecca Page 0,2

even closer. What was she doing?

He jumped back abruptly as the splash of water reached his face, the lady laughing at her successful attempt at soaking him.

Clara watched their interactions and began to feel as if she was intruding. She had started to back away when Lady Juliette stopped her.

“I could not resist,” she said. “But I do wish to ensure we are very clear, Alfred.”

Clara froze, not sure what the lady meant by that.

“Toren told you he will do his best to keep your secret.”

Lady Juliette paused, waiting for Clara to meet her eyes. Clara had to remind herself they already knew. There was no reason to avoid the lady’s gaze.

The chief’s wife was so lovely. Golden blonde hair streaked with brown and eyes so large their guileless expression was impossible to ignore.

“And as I said, we will do more than try. None will learn from Toren or I that you are not the young squire he hired at the tourney. I owe you that. We owe you as much and more. But know that if you ever change your mind, there will still be a place for you in a less. . . intimidating position. You need only speak your mind.”

Their kindness reminded her of Gilbert, of the man who had kept her safe these past five years, until . . .

She would not think of him.

She would not cry. She had abundant experience in fighting tears. Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked down once again.

“Thank you,” she finally managed. And before she embarrassed herself, Clara turned and fled for a thicket of trees nearby. The Scotsman and his wife had offered her protection, and Clara would not do anything to make them regret it.

3

B

rockburg Castle, Scotland

“Get down, Reid.”

Alex glowered at his younger brother, albeit by only one year. At five and twenty, Reid was every bit a man, although it was difficult to think of him as such at times like these. He sat high up in the oak tree beneath which Alex and the Brockburg men stood gathered, in the dense forest at the edge of Brockburg’s northern border.

“I fear I’m unable, brother. You’ll have to fetch me.”

The other men looked at him and waited for his reaction.

Alex hesitated only briefly. As the chief’s second, it was his job to ensure the men of Clan Kerr were always prepared both for counter-raids or full-scale battle. This close to the border, either could threaten at any moment. He took their training more seriously than anything, but they’d already finished for the day. Surely there would be no harm in. . .

He scaled the tree so quickly he almost caught Reid then and there. At the last possible moment, his brother ventured onto a thick branch of the oak and then swung himself onto the tree’s leafy neighbor. Alex followed.

It was a game they’d played as children, which had the added benefit of toning their arms. As the trainer of Brockburg’s men, Alex would take any opportunity to hone their skills and strength. Even if it meant chasing his damn fool brother from limb to limb high above the other men. By now the men were clapping and cheering.

Nimble for their large size, both he and Reid were evenly matched in most feats of strength. Save one: Alex was quicker, and Reid always seemed to forget that fact.

Taking advantage of Reid’s position, perched precariously between the branches of two trees, Alex climbed too quickly for his brother to react. He touched Reid’s arm and shouted in victory to the spectators down below.

Both men made their way to the ground amidst laughing and applause.

“Well done, Alex,” someone said.

“You’ll have to move quicker than that, lad,” another added.

Alex laughed at Reid’s expression, his younger brother not hiding his displeasure at the nickname meant to remind him of his status as the youngest Kerr brother.

“Do try to keep up,” Alex shouted over his shoulder, already running toward the keep.

Giving the men one last challenge, he moved more quickly than usual, knowing none would be able to catch him. Slashing through branches, hardly noticing the cuts and scrapes appearing on his muscled arms, Alex chanced a look over his shoulder.

Only Reid was close.

Alex ran through the open field, past the training yard, and through the sole curtain wall that separated Brockburg Castle from the castleton below it. Built on a rocky crag that afforded spectacular views on a clear day, even into England at times, the ancient castle had been