Eventually, she fell asleep, thinking of Aidan, Graeme and Gillian in the hall, eating and drinking and sharing stories. Planning for the possible war that she had helped bring about. Only to be awoken by light streaming into her chamber from four arrow slits. Even though it was still early, the bright rays illuminated the otherwise dark chamber, promising a new beginning.

She could allow herself to dream, could she not?

Aye, and why not. She envisioned what it would be like if she answered Aidan “aye.” She saw herself sitting beside him, laughing at another of his jests and sharing a meal with him. She imagined another scene, one of her standing beside Gillian as she birthed her first babe, a niece or nephew. And then another, this one very different from the other two. She and Aidan were in a bedchamber much like this one, only bigger. He stood next to her, his hand under her gown. She closed her eyes, remembering keenly each and every stroke. His lips, both soft and hard at the same time, moving against hers as he lifted her higher and higher yet, to a place she never would have found without him.

“A small taste of what awaits my wife in the days ahead.”

She let her mind flit to another vision. This time they were by the river. Their bodies touched as he explored her most intimate spot, and she, bold enough to do the same, learned to please him as well.

Clarissa sighed aloud, the lonely sound echoing in her small chamber. That future could be hers if she were bold enough to take it. A man who loved her, who did not believe her to be unworthy, wished to take her to wife.

What was the alternative? They’d not yet heard from Father Simon. She couldn’t very well go wandering about the countryside, alone, looking for the nearest convent, hoping they would accept her without a sponsor. Even if such a thing were possible, the thought of living out her life without Aidan, without ever knowing his touch again . . .

She feared it would kill her. And Aidan too.

Well, as Eda had always told her, lying in bed would certainly not help. When she rose from the bed to dress, Clarissa startled at the sight in front of her. A large wooden tray with freshly baked bread and an array of fruit sat waiting on the table. Had Morgan been here already?

After eating a handful of grapes while she dressed, Clarissa gathered up the cuts of bread with her and headed to the only place she felt safe in Highgate End. The bakehouse. As she entered the building through the underground corridor, Clarissa took a bite of the bread she carried, the small mutiny an answer to her training to never walk while eating.

“Good morn, Lewis.”

The gray-haired baker stood at the oven with his back to her. Though warm inside the bakehouse, the smell of freshly baked bread more than compensated for the small inconvenience.

“And to you, my lady,” he said, pulling out what looked like trenchers. As Lewis had told her the last time she visited him, he typically baked for the evening meal every morn. Occasionally, he provided special breads to the villagers, but much of his time was spent baking for those who lived here at Highgate Castle.

Theffield did not have its own baker. Her father thought the expense unnecessary, and so their cook did all of the baking as well.

“Tell me what to do,” she said, waiting for Lewis’s argument. Though she did not want to sit idle, he had stubbornly refused to give her a job on her past visits. “A lady should not work in the kitchens,” he’d said. Perhaps not, but this lady desired the choice to do as she wished. So, hoping it would spur him into action, Clarissa picked up a bag of flour.

“Shall I dump this onto the table to make dough?”

“Nay, lass!” He pointed to a waiting bowl. “There. Knead that dough, if you please.”

Poor Lewis. She did as he instructed, though not until she finished eating the bread she’d brought with her. Perhaps it was unladylike to do so, but she could not bring herself to care overly much.

“My lord found you, did he?”

Lewis had turned his back to the oven once again.

“Found me?” she asked, tipping the dough onto the table beneath it. Was he speaking of Graeme?

“Master Aidan. He brought you that bread you were eating, no?”

She’d just begun to knead the dough, but his words stopped her short. “Oh. Aidan brought that to me?”

“Aye, who else? Did you not speak to him then?”

“Nay,” she said, her hands resuming their ministrations. “He must have left that tray for me while I was asleep.”

“Forgive my impertinence, my lady, but it would not surprise me that he should do such a thing. Most men of his station would not serve those under him, serve a woman, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. But it is not so with Aidan.”

“Why do you say so?”

Lewis wiped his hands on his tunic and reached for the dough she’d finished kneading. Handing it to him, she watched in fascination as he quickly formed the sticky mass into what would become another trencher for the midday or evening meal.

“When his mother was ill, God rest her soul, my lord refused to leave her chamber. All of us were deeply affected when she passed, but none more so than he. There is no man kinder, or more loyal.” Lewis, who’d already finished shaping the trencher, started to move each of his creations to the stone that sat in front of the large, fire-stoked oven.

“There was no need to be a seer like my sister to know he’d find someone to love.”

Love.

“A seer?”

Lewis had a sister? Clarissa knew his wife was Highgate’s alewife, but she’d not heard of a sister.

“She fancies herself one,” he said, placing the last piece of dough near the oven. “But can hardly see the grass in front of her feet.”

Lewis laughed at his own jest. She could not help but chuckle as well as she awaited the answer to her question.

“Or it could be this ol’ man just knows the way of things.”

Something told her he was being coy.

“Lewis?”

He shrugged, pulling a large sack of flour toward him.

“Or it could be that when we first met, I could see the truth in his eyes. And yours.”

Everything Lewis said was true. Aidan truly was the kindest man alive, and she could not be the one to break his heart. Enough running. Enough hiding. Clarissa was ready to claim her place in this clan.

Aidan knocked at Clarissa’s door, glancing at the man who stood beside him. Tall and lean, he was not much older than Graeme, though his experiences lent him an undeniable air of knowledge. Aidan had known Father Simon for as long as the man had been at Brockburg, back when his brother was betrothed to Catrina Kerr. From allies to enemies to allies once again, Clan Scott and Clan Kerr had a generations-long history, which had seen their families through the devastating loss of both chiefs, the unfortunate accident in battle that had ended their alliance and, more recently, a renewed friendship.

“Aidan? I’m glad you’re here, I’ve something—”

She noticed Father Simon then, their unexpected guest bowing his head in deference to her, as befitted her station as an earl’s daughter, even though such a gesture was not necessary. A more affable, tolerant, and intelligent man could not be found in all of Scotland, which was the precise reason Aidan had called on him for assistance.

“Oh!”

“Lady Clarissa, meet Father Simon of Brockburg. Father, may I present Lady Clarissa Harford, daughter of the Earl of Theffield.”

Her curtsy was precise, that of an Englishwoman who had been trained her entire life to make such a greeting. She wore a gown Aidan had not seen before, a deep cranberry confection trimmed with gold around the low-hanging sleeves and neckline. A simple gold belt hung low on her hips. Her hair, as always, was pulled back partially on both sides away from her face with the majority of it falling down her back. Simple yet elegant, this was the lady who’d enchanted him. Though more refined than most, she lacked the air of superiority some in her station wore like a cloak.

“May we come inside?” he asked, and Clarissa immediately stepped aside.

The perfectly neat chamber smelled sweet, like its lady. A comfortable prison, but a prison nonetheless.

“Of course,” she said, though they had already made their way inside. “I would offer you a seat . . .”

But there was one sole chair in the sparsely furnished room.

“No need,” he said, changing his mind. Aidan had thought to leave her with Father Simon—to allow them to speak in private—but now he found his feet unable to move. Though Clarissa had agreed to stay at Highgate, to become his wife, he was no fool. His brother had confirmed earlier that day what he’d already suspected. Clarissa was as skittish as a hart knowing it was being hunted.

“I thought to send a message, but Lady Allie insisted on coming to speak with you,” Father Simon said.

He could see Clarissa was confused and thought to explain. “I told you of my sister-in-law.” Clarissa nodded. “She and her husband accompanied Father Simon here, though I’ve not seen them yet. Father has the reputation of being a somewhat reckless rider—”

“I arrived before them,” Father boasted.

Aidan smiled at Brockburg’s priest. “As for your vows against pride—”

“I took no such vow.” He pretended to consider the matter further. “In fact, as I think on it, there may have been something . . .”

“Some say his time with the Kerr men has made Father—”

“I believe we are here to discuss Lady Clarissa.”

The lady in question waited, hands folded in front of her. Aidan could not seem to look away from the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Every day she spent away from Theffield, she became bolder, freer—more like the woman who’d boldly agreed to meet him at that lake than the one who’d looked up at him in fear in Theffield’s courtyard, begging him to help her.

“Indeed,” she said, looking at him. This look, no longer amused, was laced with the same desire he’d awoken feeling that morn, thinking of . . . well, things he should not be thinking of in front of the priest.

“Burness Abbey is a daughter house of Thrustan Abbey, no more than thirty miles north of here,” Father Simon said. “Though it was built by King David and has received royal support for more than a hundred and fifty years, the Order of Cistercian nuns there have come upon difficult times of late.”

Aidan had heard the tale already on their way to find Clarissa. He’d not yet told Father his assistance was no longer needed, as it was Clarissa’s place to do so. His mother’s words had guided him in this: Speak for no one but yourself, and most especially not for a woman. She’d said it so many times that even his stubborn father had begun to listen to her—no small feat given the chief’s inclination had been to solve the problems of everyone around him. Even so, hearing Father’s words aloud, watching her face as she realized what they implied . . .

Would she change her mind?

“They are eager to meet you,” Father Simon finished. “And I am glad to take you there myself.”

A heaviness settled in Aidan’s stomach as he awaited her answer.

“I . . . this is quite unexpected,” she began.

He couldn’t do it.

Though the choice was hers, the thought of her accepting the priest’s offer made him speak up.

“Your companions should have arrived by now,” he interrupted. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in the hall over a meal. When I received word of your arrival, supper was about to be served.”

If Father Simon was startled by the abrupt change in agenda—Aidan was the one who’d suggested an immediate meeting with Clarissa—he covered it well. His good manners dictated he would accept the offer of a meal.

And he did.

“Very good,” he said. “We shall discuss the particulars this evening—”

“And you will stay for the night, of course.”

“Aye,” Father said, confirming what Aidan already knew. The timing of the visit practically ensured it. But he simply could not shake the need to get Father Simon away from Clarissa.

“Come with us,” he offered, certain she would decline. She’d remained in hiding these last days, at her own volition, after all.

“With pleasure.”

He almost tripped over his own feet, his eyes darting to her face. Her shaky smile did not fool him. Clarissa was terrified, though he didn’t know if it was Father Simon’s offer that unsettled her or her decision to dine in the great hall.

What had changed her mind?

Dare he hope it was her acceptance of their situation? He knew Clarissa had spent the day with Lewis, and though he’d begun to make his way to the bakehouse not once but twice, he’d stopped himself both times. She’d always wished to learn how to bake, and he did not want to distract her from the experience—one she’d never been allowed before. So he spent the day training with his men, attempting not to think of her.

Attempting, but failing.

“Shall I send someone—”

“Nay, I am ready,” she said, her shaky voice betraying her words.

Father Simon did not appear to notice. Aidan raised his hand, an indication for the priest to walk ahead, and then offered his arm to Clarissa. When she took it, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow as he escorted her from the room, Aidan resisted the urge to pull her closer.

He smiled at the thought of how the others would react.

Lady Clarissa was about to be properly introduced to Highgate Castle.