The Scot's Secret - Cecelia Mecca Page 0,41

him.

Ah God, this was going to kill him.

“It matters a great deal.”

Clara reached down, grabbed her shirt, and pulled it over her head. “Not to me,” she said.

She turned from him then and found the blanket in the corner of the loft. After arranging it on the ground, she promptly curled up on it, pulled the second one over her, and ignored him.

That she’d known the blanket was there, ready for the next guest to make use of it, proved she had taken refuge in more than one stable in her life. Disappointment coursed through him, but he did not go to her. No matter how much he wanted her, this was for the best.

As a second son, he was free to marry whomever he liked. But though he might desire her, though he certainly admired her, he could not take Clara to wife. It would break him if another woman he loved ran from him, and Clara had proven on more than one occasion that she had an inclination to do just that. She’d run from Toren at Bristol. She’d run from him after he’d discovered her secret. Nay, he would not be taking this woman as his bride so she could leave at the first sign of trouble. Which meant he would not be taking her innocence, either.

Alex climbed down the stairs, found their steeds, and pulled a bedroll from the saddlebag. Returning to the loft, he unfurled the bedroll well away from Clara and prepared for sleep.

He had finally convinced his body it was sleep, not pleasure, that it needed when the familiar sound of Clara’s nightmares began. Nay, he would not go to her.

Then she made another sound that confirmed she was, indeed, scared.

Muttering under his breath, he picked up his bedroll and moved it next to her. When he awoke the next morning, she lay in his arms, as relaxed and peaceful as a newborn babe. Of course, she was no babe and his thoughts for her were anything but motherly.

So it went for every remaining night of their journey. They slept in the open most nights except the evening before they were to reach Kenshire. That night they slept at another inn, though this time in a proper bed.

Ever since the night at The Anvil Inn, he’d kept his hands off Clara’s soft, creamy skin. . . with one important exception. He slept with his arms around her each night, even in the second inn. He’d fallen asleep on the floor that night, but he’d moved to the lumpy bed in response to her familiar cries. With hardly enough room for them both, he’d scooped her into his arms, and she’d promptly fallen asleep.

They never talked about their late-night arrangement or anything of consequence. Alex knew her favorite foods, the pastimes she’d enjoyed prior to becoming Alfred. He knew more about her, but there was an undeniable distance between them.

In truth, it was the longest, most torturous journey Alex had ever taken—the push-pull he felt toward Clara would be the ruin of him. At least they’d met with no further trouble along their path. Only a group of pilgrims and a sole English knight.

Arriving at the village of Kenshire, Alex and Clara wove their way through a crowd of peasants, merchants, and tradesmen until they came to a clearing that offered a most spectacular view. Though he’d been here once before, the sight before him affected him now just as deeply as it had then.

“’Tis so beautiful,” Clara said, riding next to him.

“Kenshire was once the seat of the king of Northumbria,” he said, repeating what his sister had told him on his first journey from Brockburg to Kenshire.

“I’ve been told about the trouble after the countess’s father died without a male heir, but I’m afraid I don’t know much else about Kenshire. Rumor tends to travel—”

She stopped abruptly, as if worried she’d reveal too much. He didn’t press her.

They wound their way through dusty but well-kept roads—a chapel on their left, a tavern on their right. It was a well-ordered village, much larger than Brockburg’s, and only after they passed the last of the buildings did the splendor of Kenshire Castle truly reveal itself.

Set upon a rock outcropping with the North Sea as one of its borders, the large stone castle had so many towers and buildings it rivaled Edinburgh Castle, though it was a wee bit smaller.

Curious glances followed them up the path to the guardhouse.

“—and Catrina told me there is quite