The Scot's Secret - Cecelia Mecca Page 0,45
Sara sends roasted duck and her finest wine for you to enjoy.”
For you to enjoy. It was just as well. It was hardly proper for him to be here. Even less so for them to eat together.
“And the most enjoyable company in all of Kenshire to share it with,” he added with a small grin.
He was staying! But he should not. “Do you think ’tis wise?”
For an answer, he placed the tray on a table large enough to hold it and moved to the candle she’d lit earlier. He picked it up.
“It was not wise for either of us to come to England. And certainly not for you to have accompanied me. But that has not seemed to stop our course as yet.”
Alex used the candle to light the others. Clara was glad she’d taken off the hat and washed her face earlier. And even more grateful to Sara for providing her with this opportunity to be herself—with Alex.
“May I?”
He pulled out the chair, its gold-trimmed maroon velvet cushions the height of luxury. Indeed, everything about Kenshire was at once richly appointed and comfortable. Approachable.
Like its countess.
Clara vowed to leave her worries behind for the night and enjoy Alex’s company somewhere other than on horseback or in a stable.
She sat, her boy’s clothes allowing for an easy transition.
Alex sat across from her, split the food between them, and poured wine for them both.
“I’m glad you declined an invitation to dinner.”
“Why?” She didn’t mean to blurt out the question, but there was no denying she was eager for his answer.
“We need to talk.”
Aye, they did.
“About what happened. . . “
Her cheeks grew warm. Without her hat and smudges, she felt exposed. And Alex was looking at her that way, as if she were one of the courses placed in front of him.
She blurted. “You were right—”
“I was an idiot—”
They spoke at the same time.
Her grin was immediate. “Please, do continue. I find your opening much more intriguing.”
Clara popped a morsel of cumin-spiced duck into her mouth. She was hungry indeed, and the fare was so much finer than the meals they’d shared on the road.
“You’re so kind,” he said, obviously meaning just the opposite. “I was an idiot not to have explained my thinking that night. Clara. . .”
Her smile faltered when his voice turned serious.
“I will not be coy with you. I told you that I want you, and I do. I think of that morning at the loch. Of the nights you’ve slept in my arms. Our conversation at the inn that night, in the stable. . .”
He took a sip of wine, peering at her from above the rim of his goblet.
“I meant what I said, however. That I don’t know anything about you other than—”
“You know my name.”
“Your given name.”
“And that I have nightmares each night.”
“But I don’t fully understand what haunts you.”
“You know I served as a hired squire and that—”
“Clara.” He placed the goblet back on the table. “I know nothing other than the carefully selected bits you’ve chosen to reveal to me. I don’t know where you were born. Or why you are posing as a boy. I don’t know why you’re terrified to reveal yourself or what your intentions are after we leave Kenshire.”
“My intentions?”
“You aren’t coming back to Brockburg, are you?”
To hear it said aloud. . .
Clara sighed. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you’re considering it. Each time I mention returning, you hardly speak.”
“What does it matter, Alex?” He hadn’t answered before, and she could see he was not inclined to do so now.
“What if I was born a servant, raised in a noble household, learning enough to emulate my superior’s mannerisms. What then? Would you feel free to be with me? For one night? For a fortnight? Until you tired of me?”
She could tell she was angering him, but Clara did not care.
“Or what if I am the illegitimate child of the king? A lost princess? Then you will be forced by some honorbound—”
“Clara, that’s enough.”
“Nay, Alex. You’re asking me to share more of myself than I am able. And with someone who does so little sharing himself.”
“I’ve held back nothing from you,” he said.
“Except for the real reason we’re on this journey.”
He ground his teeth, his jaw moving back and forth as his eyes narrowed.
“You already know I am looking for my mother.”
“Why?”
He was not the only one who could ask difficult questions.
“What do you hope to learn by finding her?” she pressed.
Clara knew she pushed too far, but she