They’d somehow avoided the discussion that Clarissa knew was necessary. She would tell Father Simon no, but she had not yet mustered the strength to do so. And so she ignored his inquisitive looks and attempted to enjoy her evening.

An easy feat while sitting between Gillian and Allie.

When they’d first walked through the doors of the great hall, a stunned silence had descended over the room. Clarissa had done her best to ignore the fuss by concentrating on the differences between the great halls in Theffield and Highgate—while the former was a place for the men to simply gather and eat each day, the latter was a warm, inviting space filled with laughter. Then Gillian and Allie whisked her into the fold, and she spent the rest of the meal listening to the two women tell stories of their time here at Highgate.

If they were trying to convince her it was a magical place from which no one would choose to leave, Clarissa needed no convincing. There was nowhere she would rather be than here, surrounded by love.

Aidan sat next to Allie’s husband, but she darted glances at him throughout the meal. His eyes always seemed to be on her whenever she looked over.

Once, when she caught him staring, she lifted the corners of her lips in a smile meant to reassure him nothing had changed. If she’d thought for a brief moment Father Simon was the answer to her prayers, it was only because she doubted the sanity of her decision. Marrying Aidan was likely not the right thing to do. In fact, it felt utterly selfish. She found herself looking at Father Simon, wondering how much he knew. Did he suspect she had changed her mind?

Would he approve of their decision?

“She’s not listening.”

“When Reid was pursuing you, did you listen to anyone else when he was in the room? Even after I explicitly forbade you to even glance his way.”

They were speaking to her. Or rather about her.

“You forbade Allie to speak to Reid?” she asked.

Allie grimaced, pushing away the trencher she shared with her husband.

“She did. Would you care to enlighten our guest with your recollection of when Highgate End hosted the council—”

“I remember the event well,” Gillian said, turning to Clarissa. “I’d met Reid once before, at The Wild Boar, and he was, how shall I put this delicately—”

“A complete arse,” the man in question interrupted.

Clearly he’d been listening to their conversation—with some amusement, it would seem. But when Clarissa attempted to look at him, she met Aidan’s eyes instead.

“You’re being kind,” Gillian teased Reid. “I’d have used a stronger word, but it will do.”

Allie sat back, lifting a cup of wine to her lips. She was clearly enjoying the memory, or at least her sister’s retelling of it.

Gillian frowned. “I knew immediately she was attracted to him—”

“And still is.”

“Reid,” Gillian admonished. “Would you please allow me to finish?”

The rogue, for certainly that was the best word to describe him, lifted his mug in silent acquiescence.

“And I will admit to being a mite stubborn about his pursuit of my sister—”

“Or her pursuit of me,” Reid said.

This time it was Allie who intervened, swatting her husband on the arm. In response, he pulled her toward him and kissed her. To imagine such a thing! In front of a room full of men . . . and the kiss was no small peck on the cheek. In fact, he stopped only when the banging of mugs and cheers became so loud they were impossible to ignore.

“As I was saying . . .” Gillian smiled. “I was convinced Reid was not the best choice of a husband for Allie.”

After what she’d just witnessed, Clarissa was inclined to disagree.

“But being the mature and thoughtful sister that I am—”

“Ha! You hated him until the very moment he begged you to reconsider his suit. And perhaps afterward for a time as well.”

For a man whose honor was being maligned, Reid seemed to be taking it all quite well. In fact, he appeared to be enjoying it. Or at least, he enjoyed sitting next to his wife.

All had turned out quite well for them.

Clarissa looked at Aidan again, unable to resist.

He watched the couple as she had been doing. Was he thinking about their situation too? But they were not Allie and Reid. Allie had risked angering her sister. Clarissa risked angering an entire force of well-trained knights under the brutal guidance of a man who hated her. Or at least, thought no more of her than he would his prized warhorse.

Nay, that probably overstated her importance to her father.

“Well, I do not hate him now,” Gillian said. “In fact, I believe I’ve said this on more than one occasion, but I was wrong. You are, in fact, the most beautiful of couples.”

“I’ve said the same for years,” said the deep voice that fluttered Clarissa’s insides. “Reid Kerr is the most beautiful man I know.” It was the first he’d spoken at the meal.

Everyone at the head table laughed, and none harder than the man at the center of the jest. When Reid looked at his wife, his expression was unmistakable. At least, it was unmistakable to her now. Clarissa knew what it was like to be looked at with desire. With love.

The youngest Kerr stood, pulling Allie up with him.

“Many thanks for a fine meal,” he said. “And for your offer to stay for the evening.”

He pretended to yawn. “It has been a long journey—”

Again, everyone laughed, knowing it was anything but. Even Father Simon appeared amused.

“And my wife tires easily—”

“Reid!”

Despite her admonition, she stood and took her husband’s hand.

“I bid you all a fond farewell for the night,” Reid said, taking Allie’s hand. With that, the couple descended the stairs of the dais and left the hall amidst the sound of mugs once again pounding on the tables.

Another sound she could never remember hearing at Theffield. And she dared not even consider her time with Lord Stanley, his home even colder and less hospitable than Theffield. Clarissa would prefer to forget she had ever been the wife of such a man.

She wanted this.

Clarissa wanted what Reid and Allie had, and she wanted it with Aidan. From his expression, he was thinking the same.

Clarissa finished her meal in silence, allowing the others around her to guide the conversation. By the time the sweets were cleared, Father Simon had also retired, leaving her with Graeme, Aidan, and Gillian.

“I meant to ask earlier,” Gillian said. “Would you like to have your belongings brought into the main keep? There is an empty chamber—”

“Nay,” she said, too quickly. Before Aidan could question her motives, she amended, “I am quite comfortable in the Prison Tower for now.”

“We really must rename it,” Graeme said to Aidan. “It’s not been a prison for some years.”

Aidan didn’t answer. He was watching her, and God help her, Clarissa could not resist him. He looked at her as a man starved, and she understood completely—she felt the same way.

“Shall I escort you to your chamber?”

“Nay,” Gillian interrupted. “I will escort her. If she will allow it?”

Clarissa looked from Aidan to Gillian, not understanding what was happening. Something was afoot, though perhaps this was for the best. She needed time to think, and if there was one thing she could not do with Aidan afoot, it was thinking clearly.

“Of course, I would be honored,” she said, standing. “Graeme, Aidan.”

Clarissa caught the look Graeme gave his wife as he bid them good eve. It was a look of promise. A look she was beginning to know well.

“Good eve, ladies,” Aidan said, standing. “We shall speak in the morning.”

“Aye,” Clarissa said. “We shall indeed.”

In the meantime, Clarissa had some questions for Gillian.

Aidan couldn’t sleep.

He’d tried, and failed, finally giving in to the urge to rise despite the early hour. Dressing quickly, he made his way to the great hall. It was still dark outside, the castle mostly still slumbering, with the exception of a few inhabitants whose jobs required an early start. His brother sometimes rose early as well, but Graeme was nowhere to be seen. Aidan walked without knowing where he was going, surprised to find himself in the quiet of Highgate’s modest chapel. He used to take mass each morning, though he’d never done so with the vigor of his mother, who’d credited all that happened in the world to the hand of God. Even when she had been too ill to walk to the chapel, she’d insisted on receiving communion each day in her chamber.

The will of God, she’d called her sickness.

He hadn’t come back since.

He knelt at the altar, the smell of incense reminding him of their new priest, one whom Aidan did not care for. They’d spoken of replacing the man—his judgmental stare was the most pleasant thing about him—but Graeme was hesitant to do so.

And yet Aidan found himself kneeling here, waiting for the sun to rise.

Waiting to speak to Clarissa.

Waiting for his future to be decided.

He’d dreamt last night that her father had come to Highgate End, demanding to take her back to England. When Aidan awoke, he had, for a brief moment, thought the dream real. The very notion of Clarissa falling into that man’s clutches again made him nauseous.

“’Tis early, my son.”

He’d heard the noise of footsteps behind him, but he’d assumed it was their priest. On a different day, he would have been relieved to see Father Simon instead.

“Good morn, Father,” he said as the priest knelt beside him. “Did you sleep well?”

Mayhap a foolish question considering the early hour, but Father Simon surprised him by nodding.

“Very well indeed.”

“But the hour—”

“Is the one I enjoy most,” he said, looking around the chapel. “None but myself and God to speak to. It reminds me of my time in the monastery.”

“The silence?”

“Aye, and peace that comes from spending the dawn of the day with your own thoughts.”

Aidan had always disliked being alone, so to him, such a life seemed more like hell than heaven. But the priest evidently disagreed.

“I would ask what brings you here at this hour, but I believe I already know the answer.”

“How much do you know, Father?”

Those knowing eyes met and held his gaze. “Well, son, I know you are in love with a woman who has decided to pledge her life to God.”

Aidan blinked.

“Or at least, one who considered doing so before her path crossed with yours.”

Of course . . . he knew everything. He always seemed to know everything, even when they and Clan Kerr had been at odds over Lady Catrina. The priest had been the first to suggest a meeting between their clans after she’d married the Englishman rather than Graeme.

“But you came anyway—”

“The nuns agreed to take her.”

“You could have sent a message.”

“Allie would not allow me to do so.”

Allie. The same woman who had urged Aidan to go to Clarissa at Sutworth. Why was she pushing her toward accepting a place at Burness Abbey? It made no sense.

“She urged you to come here? To convince Clarissa—”

“Not to convince, Aidan, but to offer the lady what she asked for, an alternative to the life her father had predestined for her.”

Aidan did not want to get angry with the man who tried to help them, in a chapel of all places, but his words were an unwelcome reminder that Clarissa was not yet his. Even as he knew the final choice was, of course, hers alone to make.

But still. “I am her alternative,” he said.

“Hmmm.”

Father looked up at the altar but otherwise said nothing.

“You don’t approve?”

His expression unreadable, Father Simon offered only silence. His inscrutable, knowing expression was likely to drive Aidan mad.

“You believe I’m making a mistake. Putting a target on Clan Scott for the sake of a woman?”

Still, silence.

“Graeme supports me in this. Father, she offered herself to the church only because she had no other way to escape her father. But she has another choice now. I love her and cannot lose her.”

Again, nothing.

Finally, Father Simon looked at him.

“And what makes you believe you will lose her?”

A chill ran through his body, the words sticking in his throat.

“Aidan?”

He’d have uttered a blasphemy if he wasn’t in the company of a priest. Finally, the words came out. “I believe she is still considering your offer.”

Father Simon waited.

“She believes the risk is too great. She’s agreed to marry me, but . . .”

“But?”

“She feels guilty for all that has transpired. But Father”—he warmed to his argument now—“you do not know Clarissa as I do.” Aidan then found himself telling the priest all that he had told Allie, and more.

“She feels badly for telling her father about us,” Aidan said, finishing his tale. “He has made her feel inferior, which clearly she is not. And Lord Stanley . . . she needs to understand that the decision is not between staying here and being loved or leaving and keeping us safe.”

“Is it not?” Father Simon asked, his expression still unreadable.

“Nay,” he said, standing. “Clarissa must decide between living a new life with me, with Clan Scott, and joining the nunnery to escape her father. This is not about Caxton or the border clans. It is about choosing love over fear. Over her father’s hate.”

He needed to speak to her.

“Indeed,” the priest said.

“Thank you for your guidance, Father,” Aidan said, leaving the priest to his prayers.

The last thing he noticed was a slight smile on the priest’s face. Sometimes, it seemed, saying nothing was more powerful than speaking.

He had to see Clarissa and end this torment.

Now.