Aidan was back.

Though no one told her as much, she’d been summoned from her room without explanation, and Clarissa had only left the main keep of Bowden Castle twice in the time she’d stayed here. Once, Lawrence’s sister, one of the loveliest women she’d ever met with the exception of Lady Gillian, had snuck her out late at night. She’d tried to tell the other woman it was not safe, but she’d refused to listen. They only went as far as the interior garden, but Clarissa could not have been more grateful for the reprieve.

Then yesterday, five full nights after she first arrived, she had been startled by a visit from Lawrence’s father, the chief of Clan Karyn. When he ordered her to walk with him, she had not thought to argue. His gruff manners made her uncomfortable at first, but by the time the chief returned Clarissa to her chamber, she was smiling easily, if not often. Though he was kind to her, even after admitting to his dislike of “everything English,” Clarissa could understand the purpose of his visit.

He never said as much, but he clearly worried her presence may cause exactly the kind of trouble Aidan hoped to avoid. His carefully worded questions and looks of concern told her what everyone else denied—Clarissa could start a war.

Or at the very least, prevent one from being avoided.

She should never have asked Aidan to escort her north. It had been the kind of selfish act her father would have committed without self-recrimination. But Clarissa was most certainly not her father.

As she followed the servant from her temporary chamber, through a long corridor and out of a side entrance that led directly to the stables, Clarissa’s pulse began to race. She’d thought of little else besides Aidan these past days, and despite the unease that continued to plague her, the voice in her head that insisted she could not stay with him, Clarissa could not deny the rush of pleasure at the thought of seeing him again.

His back was turned toward her.

Aidan held the reins of both their mounts as he looked off into the distance. Framed by the waning light of day, he appeared every bit the warrior. The sight reminded her of what it had been like to see him on the jousting field after all those years apart. Aidan had sat tall and proud atop his horse, looking into the temporary stands surrounding the field. The excitement of being there had not yet worn off, and she could hardly take in the sights and smells—not all of them pleasant—when he looked at her and everything around her fell away.

“My sister will be sorry she did not see you off.”

She turned, the deep voice from behind startling her out of her reverie. Lawrence walked toward her, grinning at his friend beyond her.

“The great Aidan de Sowlis, taken unaware by a wee slip of a woman.”

When her gaze returned to Aidan, she understood what Lawrence had meant. She’d caught him off guard. He had not noticed her standing there, behind him.

“Come,” Aidan said to her, reaching for her. When he took her hand, she wanted to squeeze and never let go. But he helped her onto the horse, and all too soon, a cool slip of leather replaced his strong warmth. She watched him mount his own horse in one effortless movement, unable to look away, and then realized she had not yet answered Lawrence’s comment.

“Please tell her the pleasure was mine,” she said.

“Until we meet again, my lady.”

Clarissa laughed at Lawrence’s wink, wondering how many ladies he had seduced with that gesture. She’d overheard enough to know Aidan’s friend had something of a reputation.

Did Aidan as well?

Remembering the last time they were alone together, she avoided looking directly at him as they rode side by side back to Highgate End. When she finally did glance his way, Aidan’s head was tilted up toward the sky.

She hadn’t noticed it before, but it seemed just a bit darker than it had a moment before. The air felt heavier too.

“Will we make it to Highgate before the storm?”

In answer, the wind rustled through the trees like crumpled parchment.

“Nay, lass. We will not.”

The sun dipped behind thick gray clouds. Aidan left the path, and Clarissa followed without question. The long sleeves of her simple deep green riding gown kept out the chill that accompanied the quick change in weather. But if it began to rain, an inevitability if the distant rumbling was any indication, they were in for an uncomfortable ride back.

“Hurry,” he said, riding in front of her on a trail that became more and more overgrown as they followed it. Trees surrounded them. She would have asked where they were going, but a loud crack in the sky prevented her from doing so.

In truth, Clarissa was not alarmed. She loved the rain. Loved hearing it patter or pound on the roof as she watched the fat droplets from her window. Loved the feel of it against her skin.

It had been dry as of late, but people usually complained about inclement weather, for any number of reasons. She secretly reveled in the wildness of it. Even now, with the possibility of a soaking very real, she could not drum up much enthusiasm for disappointment.

Another, much louder crack in the air startled her horse. It was decidedly more calming to watch a rainstorm from afar than it was to be in the thick of one.

“Oh!”

The ruins in front of them seemed to appear from out of nowhere. A three-sided structure with only a portion of its roof intact presided over a large ditch and another, lower set of ruins.

“What is it?” she asked, dismounting behind Aidan, aware of his sense of urgency.

“An old Roman fort,” he said, leading their mounts to an open area on the opposite side of the structure. Just as he returned, the first fat drops of rain fell from the sky, and Clarissa did not have to be told where to go. She ran past the ditch and into the only area with a roof. Aidan dove in after her.

As if it had only been waiting for them to find shelter, the sky opened with another loud crack.

The ditch in front of them began to fill as water sluiced from above. Clarissa looked at the puddles and then up as far as she could see from beneath their tenuous shelter. The roof seemed in danger of crumbling at any moment.

Finally, with nothing left to explore, she turned toward him.

Aidan either knew this place well or had no interest in examining it further, for he was already staring at her. Staring in a way that sent her heart straight to her throat. Was he thinking of the intimacies they’d shared? Of his hands on her breasts or—

“I missed you.”

She hadn’t expected that, not from the hungry way he was looking at her. But she couldn’t tell him about the ache of longing that had threatened to consume her while he was away. It would only make it harder . . . later.

“How was the meeting with my father?” Clarissa folded her fingers together in front of her, hoping it would keep them from touching him.

“Not well. He suspects that I am hiding you.”

Clarissa’s fingers flew apart. “Did he say as much? Did he accuse you—”

“I should start from the beginning.”

Listening to his account of the meeting, Clarissa became more and more agitated. They had searched Highgate Castle? She had come so close to being caught. Perhaps it would have been for the best had her father found her.

“Did you hear me?”

Indeed, she had not.

“I’m sorry. I just—”

Clarissa stumbled backward and sat on the crumbling stone bench behind her. Though it, like the entire structure, was beyond repair, enough of the original bench remained to give her a dry seat. Aidan claimed it was safe to return, that her father’s men found nothing, of course, and were long gone. That her father would be beholden to remove Caxton from power, just as he’d promised. They expected to receive word of the warden’s replacement any day. And when that happened, when a new warden was appointed—

“Clarissa?” He sat next to her, the rain continuing to fall around them, and took her hands in his. “I will not allow him to harm you.”

She knew she should pull away. She could not bear to. Instead, she shook her head. “Aidan, you do not understand my father. He will not rest until I am discovered.”

“So be it.”

Her eyes widened.

“Douglas knows our position. Clan Scott—”

“Cannot do this!” Clarissa stood once again, breaking the contact she so desired. He did the same, standing just inches away from her.

“I know you, Aidan,” she said. “You are the protector. Your responsibility is to the clan. If anything goes wrong,” she swallowed, her throat raw, “you will blame me, and rightly so.”

He reached for her again, cupping her face as if it were a fine piece of porcelain.

“You say my responsibility is to the clan. Clarissa, you are one of us. I offered my protection because I could never let anything happen to you. Marry me. Become my wife, and there will be no further questions about where you belong.”

A single tear escaped, unbidden, as his hands branded her. She could no sooner escape their grasp than she could keep running. Nor did she want to. But still, this was not right.

“You would marry me to protect me?”

“I would marry you because I love you.”

Oh God, Aidan. I love you too. But if I say the words, how could I ever leave you?

“He will come back for me.”

Aidan’s hands slid from her face to her shoulders. “Aye, he will.”

“You will have made a new enemy.”

His hands dropped down to her waist. “Perhaps.”

“For certain. You put your clan at risk.”

He pulled her toward him, then lifted her chin so he was looking into her eyes.

“Marry me, Clarissa.”

Aidan would not be dissuaded. He was going to kiss her, and Clarissa desperately wanted him to. She’d thought about the feel of his lips on hers nearly every moment he was away. She wanted that, and more.

But he would have her answer first.

Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to say yes. To become the wife of this hardened warrior whose touch was so gentle that it made her forget every one of her troubles when she was in his arms.

“I . . . I cannot.”