“The abbess is dead.”

Clarissa looked from Father Patrick, who made that announcement, to her two other companions, unsure of what to say. They stood on the outskirts of the abbey.

“Dead?” Lawrence was the first to ask.

They’d sent Father Patrick ahead, a precaution the priest had insisted was unnecessary. Aidan had insisted on it anyway. Until he was sure the nuns at Dunburg were willing to take her in, Clarissa would not show her face to them.

She’d caught Aidan glancing at her as they waited—more than once. Each time, she had looked away, more from sadness than embarrassment. They’d not discussed the kiss. In fact, the last time they’d been alone together had been on the way to Father Patrick’s chamber.

“Aye. God rest her soul, she passed a sennight ago, and none have any knowledge of the missive I sent.”

He looked directly at her, and before he finished, Clarissa knew it was bad.

“It seems the abbey will be closing. Its benefactor, the Earl of Argyll, founded Dunburg after promising the Creator to do so when he survived a violent storm at sea. With the recent trouble along the borders, the nuns have been unable to sustain the abbey on its own. Their herd of sheep continues to dwindle courtesy of reivers. Without the earl’s gold, it cannot survive.” Father frowned. “The abbess had convinced the earl to keep the abbey open, but without her, all agree their cause is lost. They are making preparations to leave even now.”

It was Father’s expression that jolted Clarissa from her frozen state. He looked as if he would weep for her. She glanced at Aidan, and then Lawrence, and tightened her grip on the reins of her mount.

Nay. This could not be.

“There must be others,” she said, “mayhap not in Northumbria where my father’s influence is too great, but here in Scotland. There must be others who would be willing to—”

“She cannot return to Sutworth Manor,” Father Patrick said to Aidan.

Clarissa wanted to scream as the priest ignored her, but she reminded herself Father had been nothing but kind since she’d laid her troubles at his feet. She lived in a world ruled by men, and it would do well for her to remember it.

“Nay,” she said, attempting to keep her voice calm, “I will not return to Sutworth, but neither will I go back to England.”

Aidan watched her, his shoulders square and chin lifted.

“You will return to Highgate End with me.”

“No,” she said, as forcefully as she could. “I will not. I’ve put you, and your cause, in too much danger already. Anyone who saw you at Sutworth—”

Aidan and Father Patrick spoke at the same time.

“I’ve ensured they will not . . .”

“None will breathe a word of it.”

Both men stopped to allow the other to speak. Which was when Lawrence entered the argument. “I will escort the priest back to Sutworth, then return to Highgate End to notify your brother of your whereabouts.”

“Aye,” Aidan said, turning to his friend. “I will circumvent Sutworth on my return, which will take nearly an extra full day. Tell him I should be back at Highgate End by nightfall tomorrow.”

“Wait!” she yelled, feeling her cheeks flush with frustration. “No one is listening to me. I am telling you, I will not go with you, Aidan. I cannot—”

“Aye, there are other places,” he said. “But we cannot traipse through the countryside looking for an abbey or convent willing to take you. Our own priest will write—”

“And what of my father?” she demanded.

Aidan and Lawrence exchanged a glance. They were worried, rightly so, but did not want her to know it. Did they think she was dense?

“He will not know you are there. We will keep your visit quiet—”

“Visit?” Clarissa did not mean to yell, but she had long ago begun to panic. If forced to choose between being discovered by her father and being the instrument by which the shaky peace along the border fell apart, though she was still not convinced her father would capitulate, Clarissa would gladly sacrifice herself. “Aidan,” she started again more calmly. “Think on this. I cannot go to Highgate End with you.”

While she spoke, Father Patrick walked toward Lawrence, who held the reins to his mount. As he prepared himself to leave, Clarissa knew what would happen next. And she was powerless to stop it.

Unless . . . unless she returned with the priest. Gave herself over to her father . . .

“Do not even consider it.”

Aidan’s knowing glare surprised her.

“You are always welcome at Sutworth Manor,” Father Patrick said. “We are honored to have you as our lady. But if you come with me now, your father will find you there.”

Oh God, he was really leaving.

“Farewell, lass.”

And before she could even consider whether to nudge her mount forward and attempt to accompany them anyway, he and Lawrence were gone. It still had not rained, and the cloud of dust they left behind rose from the ground as if aiding in their disappearance.

Father Patrick was gone.

And she was left with . . .

No, no, no.

This could not possibly be happening.

Graeme is going to kill me.

And his brother would be justified. He knew better than to bring Clarissa back to Highgate. Lord knew he did. But Aidan could not bear the thought of her returning to her father.

He did not yet know exactly what Lord Stanley had done to her, but it had clearly affected her, as was to be expected. No woman should be forced to endure such treatment, and certainly not one as good and giving as Clarissa.

Glancing to the side of the path, he announced, “We stop here for the night.”

As Lawrence had suggested, they’d made a wide berth around Sutworth and would enter Highgate from the east. Aidan hated the idea of sleeping on the road, the exposed section of marshland offering little cover, but they had no choice. He was well known in these parts, and keeping Clarissa’s identity a secret was imperative, so they could not seek shelter. Perhaps it would be safest to ride through the night, but Clarissa was exhausted. They’d not slept the evening before, having left Sutworth before dawn.

Their greatest threat sleeping in the wild was from reivers, but luckily this particular stretch of the path was typically not appealing to them. It was too wet for raising sheep, and only patches of dry land like the one they now rode upon made travel even possible.

“Here?”

Clarissa looked around them, sunlight having long since abandoned them, the moonlight as their guide. The only cover, to their left, was a line of trees that marked the entranceway to the Carnwood Mountains. In the daylight, the view was a spectacular combination of rugged Scotland and the open farmlands that marked the central lowlands.

“Aye, lass. We cannot chance you being seen.”

They’d not spoken much since leaving Dunburg Abbey. In truth, he had not known what to say, an affliction those close to him would struggle to believe. Taking care of others had always come easily to him, and it gave him great joy. But he hardly knew how to help Clarissa. Stealing her away and hiding her at Highgate End while they found another abbey hardly seemed the best course. But what choice did he have? The alternative was to do the very thing he’d wanted all along—wed her. But to do so would ensure Theffield refused to assist the cause. Indeed, it would all but ensure he’d attack them.

They dismounted, and Aidan pointed to a thicket he could still see from his position. “You can have a bit of privacy over there.”

He began to set up camp, and by the time Clarissa returned, he’d fed the horses and had begun to prepare a fire.

“Is that wise?” she asked, pointing at the small pile of wood and kindling.

He nodded behind them. “The river where we watered the horses back there splits into an old Roman road and this less-used path. If it had rained at all in the past sennight, this path would be deluged with water. But even though passable right now, it is hardly traveled.”

She watched him without speaking as he finished preparing their camp. With nothing more than stale oatcakes and nuts to offer her, he’d considered hunting for meat but decided the risk of leaving Clarissa was not worth the potential reward. Instead, he unrolled the sole bedroll for his companion, stoked the fire, and patted the rock beside him.

Clarissa lifted her skirts and sat beside him.

“I’ve a shift in my belongings, but . . .”

“But?” he prompted.

He knew what she was thinking. Aidan could see it in the way she glanced down at her feet. If it were lighter, he would likely see the telltale spots of pink on her cheeks. Now that they had a moment to stop with nothing but quiet around them for miles in every direction, he had been thinking much the same thing.

It was going to be a very long night indeed. He could not have endured watching her sit next to him in such a garment, so he thanked the saints she’d decided against wearing it.

“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about, lass. That kiss—”

Her eyes flew up and locked with his own. “How did you know?”

Aidan chuckled, handing her an oatcake that he’d taken from the leather bag at his feet. “That you were thinking of it?”

Clarissa nodded.

“I supposed I didn’t. But I’ve thought of little else myself.” He shrugged. “Maybe I hoped the same was true of you.”

When her mouth opened and her lips closed down on the oatcake, Aidan wished to trade places with it. He doubted an attacking band of English reivers could have taken his eyes away from her. “I was wrong to have—”

“I liked it,” she blurted. “Very much.”

Aidan didn’t dare move. He’d already promised himself not to let it happen again. There was simply too much at stake. And yet . . .

“As did I, lass.”

“I had no idea—”

“Clarissa . . .” How could he put this delicately? “If we continue to discuss the matter, I cannot guarantee it won’t happen again.”

His heart skipped a beat when she opened her mouth to answer. If she gave him permission . . .

But she must have thought better of it because she took another bite of the oatcake instead, following it with a swig of fresh water from the river they’d passed. When a droplet spilled onto her chin, Aidan wiped it off with his thumb. At least, he did so in his mind. In truth, he’d not moved a muscle.

“It has been like this, with us, from the start.”

He knew she didn’t say it to provoke him. Or to test his earlier warning. She said it because it was the truth. One he would not deny. Those days at the tournament had been enough for him to know her.

“Aye, lass. It has.”

“Is it normal then? When a man and woman—”

“Nay, Clarissa. I have been in the company of many beautiful . . .” That had not come out as intended. Clarissa’s raised eyebrows confirmed his blunder. “It is not,” he finished simply. And when she smiled, the lines of worry that usually marked the corners of her eyes magically turned to lines of mirth.

It pleased him to see her smile. She should have been allowed more of them in her short life.

He wished to give them to her.

But he could not have what he most wanted. If things had been different, if Lady Clarissa were not the daughter of a man he, his clan, and his country needed on their side . . . but nothing was more important than ensuring the enduring safety of his people.

Still, while she was with him, Aidan would do what he could to ensure that beautiful smile became more frequent than her frowns. He would be the one to restore her faith in men and make her forget at least some of the horrors she’d faced.

And he would begin right now.