“She is absolutely lovely.”

Gillian waved her hand in front of him, but Aidan was too engrossed in his thoughts to form a response. They sat in the hall, the evening meal being cleaned around them. Graeme had already left the head table to address the steward’s concern over an accounting error that could have waited for tomorrow. As always, the hall was just a bit quieter without Allie’s presence, though she and Reid would no doubt be back before long.

But Graeme never liked leaving problems unsolved. He had difficulty sleeping unless all was well, at least for the moment. Their mother had been the same way, and whenever their father had left on a counter-raid or for battle, he and his brother had refused to leave her side, knowing she’d never sleep if left alone. The memory of being curled up by her side as a laddie would never leave him, no matter how much time passed.

The illness had taken her five years ago, but the loss felt so fresh some days, as if he’d only just learned of her death.

“Aidan?”

He shifted his focus to his sister-in-law.

“Aye?” And then he stood, suddenly worried. “Are you ill? Do you—”

“Nay, nay. Sit,” she said. “I seem to go longer and longer without the need to have a chamber pot by my side. I was speaking of Lady Clarissa.”

Clarissa. More than a day had passed since he’d arrived at Highgate End with his new ward. He’d returned to the Prison Tower after his meeting with Graeme, who’d informed him about the next steps of Douglas’s plan, only to find Gillian with Clarissa. Much to his chagrin, his sister-in-law had waved him away, assuring him she was well taken care of for the night.

This morning, unable to stay away, he’d introduced Clarissa to Lewis, the baker, and the secret path beneath the Prison Tower that led to the bakehouse. He wasn’t sure if she or Lewis were more delighted at the arrangement. She could work alongside him, if she liked, and Clarissa had wasted no time expressing her excitement. He’d given her a key and advised her to lock the door behind her. Though the doors of the tower normally remained open, he wanted to keep Clarissa’s presence as secret as possible.

“She is lovely,” Gillian said, repeating herself.

“I’m sorry, Gill.”

He took a swig of ale and wondered if it was too soon to visit her. Gillian’s maid knew a mystery woman was in residence, as did Fiona, an older servant who doted on his sister-in-law and had been serving Highgate for as many years as he’d been alive. Between all three women, it would be a wonder if Clarissa had any privacy or rest if they did discover her identity.

“I hope you will not be upset with her,” Gillian sat back in her chair, “but Allie told me of your discussion about the annulment before she left.”

He took another swig. “As I suspected she would.” In fact, it was easier that way. He had no desire to tell the tale again. “But much has happened since I left for Sutworth.”

Gillian raised her brows. “Clearly.”

She stopped talking when a servant walked by them.

“How long do you think it will be before Father Simon sends word?”

They’d agreed to elicit the support of Clan Kerr’s priest, their own too new to Highgate for Aidan’s liking. Though Gillian thought it absurd that he did not fully trust their priest, he was not taking any chances. He’d sent Malcolm, a trusted warrior who did not ask questions, to Brockburg to seek out Allie and explain the latest developments in Clarissa’s situation. Aidan had no doubt Father Simon would help them, and that he would do so as efficiently, or more so, as Sutworth’s priest.

In fact, that was exactly what bothered him. Malcolm would return any moment, beginning another countdown to Clarissa’s new life as a child of God. As absurd a notion as anything he’d ever heard. Aidan had told his brother as much, but Graeme had reminded him she could not stay here. Any who harbored Theffield’s daughter would pay for their interference tenfold.

“Knowing him as I do,” he said, sighing, “I do not expect it to be long.”

Gillian leaned in toward him. “I spoke with Graeme last eve,” she whispered. “And I know you feel, and she feels, there is no other way. But I’ve been thinking—”

Aidan groaned, knowing where this conversation was heading. “A dangerous prospect.”

She swatted his arm. “Be serious. I’ve been thinking . . . of course if Theffield caught a Scotsman hiding his daughter, he would be quite angry.”

Aidan laughed. He was unable to help himself. “Quite angry? Gillian, you don’t know the man. He would be infuriated enough to start the war that Caxton has been seeking.”

Gillian did not seem concerned by the possibility. In fact, her attitude reminded him quite a bit of Allie’s.

“Aye, well. As I said, he would be quite angry—”

Aidan rolled his eyes.

“But what of asking the Waryns for help in hiding her?”

This was one of the things he loved most about Gillian. She was both smart and resourceful, not unlike the woman he loved, who had thus far successfully avoided succumbing to one of the most powerful men in Northumbria.

“I’ve thought of that,” he said, “and the Earl of Clave as well.”

Both families, though English, were considered allies. With Geoffrey Waryn’s marriage to the Earl of Kenshire’s daughter, the Waryns were as powerful as Clarissa’s father.

“Eventually, he will find her. A woman such as Clarissa cannot remain in hiding forever. She is not easily forgotten or overlooked. Only the church would have the authority to keep her against his will.”

“But it could give her time—”

“And what do you suppose her father will do when he discovers our allies have been harboring his daughter?” Aidan tried to remember to keep his voice low. Though only a handful of men and servants remained in the hall, he did not want to be overheard. “It would not matter that her supporters were English. Theffield knows which side the Waryns fight for. And Clave too. We are united in our efforts to uphold the treaty against men who care more for their personal gain, like Caxton . . . or Theffield, than they do their countries. Scottish. English. It hardly matters any longer.”

Gillian looked exactly as he felt.

Defeated.

“Graeme says there is to be a meeting between Douglas and Theffield. A miracle they’ve both agreed to it after their difficulties in the past.”

“Aye,” he said, wondering when it would be safe to see Clarissa. He could easily get to the Prison Tower through the—

“And you truly believe Theffield will force Caxton to step down?”

Nay, he should wait until dark. They could not be too careful, and there was already enough coming and going from the tower.

“You are not listening,” she accused, arching her eyebrows.

Guilty.

“Go to her already. None will notice. And perhaps I can find someone to speak with who will actually listen to me.” Gillian tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Hell, he’d waited long enough.

“I’m going to see her.”

Now, what in God’s name was so funny about that?

Clarissa tried to wash using the scented water Morgan had left behind. Though she was grateful for Lady Gillian’s maid, she could not help but wish for a proper bath. She’d been too long without one, but such a luxury simply was not possible. Too many servants would be required to assist in the preparations. It would draw undue attention to her, and Clarissa did not want to endanger the de Sowlis family and Clan Scott.

Morgan had helped her remove her gown, but the long-sleeved cotton shift would have to be discarded next. She was preparing to do just that, when a knock at the door stopped her. The circular room was not so large that even a soft knock wouldn’t reverberate through the stone-walled chamber. Pushing her arms back through the sleeves, she opened the door, expecting to find Morgan again.

It was certainly not the maid.

Aidan, dressed casually in dark brown trewes and a cream tunic with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, filled the doorway. She was so distracted by the muscles in his forearms that it took a moment for her to remember her own state of undress.

Backing into the chamber, she tried to appear unaffected as she grabbed the first garment that she spotted, the hooded cloak she’d worn as they rode into Highgate End, and tossed it over her shoulders.

“May I come in?”

She turned toward the sound of his voice, which had become increasingly familiar and comforting.

“Of course,” she said, feeling absurd as she pulled the cloak tighter around her chest.

Something had shifted between them the night he’d held her by the fire. A new intimacy had sprung up between them that had left her both sad and confused. She knew Aidan had solicited the help of Clan Kerr’s priest; Gillian had told her. She tried to think it a good thing, for the longer she was here, the longer she put his cause in danger, and yet . . .

He looked at the bowl perched on the sole table in the room.

“Your needs have been met, I trust?”

“Aye, of course.”

Of course. Could she utter another phrase besides that one? When he was near, Clarissa had difficulty turning her thoughts into coherent words.

“Can I get you anything else?”

She followed his gaze to the bowl and sighed. “Nay, you’ve been more than gracious—”

“A bath, perhaps?”

He was jesting!

“Surely you cannot . . . that is, it would cause too much fuss—”

That smile. She was sure no one could resist it.

“A tub would be difficult . . .”

“I assumed as much.”

“But that is not the only way to cleanse oneself.”

The washbowl? But she’d already used it.

“There is a river just down the hill, behind an area the men use to train.”

“A river?”

Clarissa had never bathed in a river. She’d crossed one only once, on her way to the tournament, but she’d been on horseback then. She remembered the sunlight’s reflection on the shallow water, and how the flow of it entranced her. She’d laughed when her horse kicked up spray onto her gown.

“I will warn you, lass. It’s more than a wee bit cold this time of year. But it can be—”

“Aye!” She did not need to hear more. “I will do it.”

Would she ever get the chance to bathe in a river again? Likely not. Clarissa smiled at the idea of nuns undressing on a riverbank, preparing to—

“I wish you would smile more often.” He said it softly, almost like a prayer.

Clarissa lifted her chin. “’Tis easy to do with you.”

“Then come.” He took her hand. “A bath and another smile. I promise to give you both this eve.”

A shiver of excitement ran through her as she imagined an alternate meaning for his words.