Unlike with Aidan, she sat behind his companion, who had introduced himself simply as Lawrence. Holding on to his waist as he’d instructed, she tried to pretend it was normal for her to ride astride a horse with a strange Scotsman. She’d only been this close to a man six times in her life—precisely three times when her husband had attempted to beget a son with her, the day Aidan had kissed her, earlier when she had sat in front of him, and now. And while her body did not flush with warmth as it did whenever Aidan de Sowlis was near, neither did it recoil in fear as it always had with her husband.

No longer afraid they would be caught any moment, Clarissa allowed herself to consider what would happen next. At least, she attempted to do so, but every time she conjured Sutworth Manor or the priest who she prayed would help her, Clarissa found herself glancing to her right.

He never once looked her way. His profile may have scared her had she not known the type of man he was. Not that she knew Aidan well, but there was no mistaking his kind nature.

Though he did not look very kindly now.

“Who are you?”

It was not asked with heat but out of curiosity.

“Lady Clarissa of Theffield.”

The man, Lawrence, whipped his head to the side and glanced at her briefly before turning his attention back to the dirt road in front of him. Covered with gravel that kicked up every so often, the land was at least flat. It had been so long since she’d traveled north, to Sutworth, that only small portions of the journey remained in her memory.

“You are Lady Clarissa?”

He knew her father, of course. It likely surprised him that she would be here with them rather than back at Theffield Castle. Or with her husband.

“Aye,” she said dispassionately. Accustomed to the various reactions people had upon learning of her association with Theffield, Clarissa attempted to ignore his tone.

“Lady Clarissa.”

Was she expected to respond?

“I thought you were married to—”

“Aye, I am.” She preferred not to hear her husband’s name spoken aloud.

“Then what . . . why?” He stopped. “Holy hell and the blessed mother, what have we done?”

Again, no response seemed appropriate, so Clarissa chose to remain silent.

His looks and countenance reminded her a bit of Aidan, which was perhaps why she’d told him as much as she had. Clarissa hoped he would not ask further questions, and her prayers were answered. They rode until the sun began to set. And though her bottom was beginning to get sore and her stomach rumbled, Clarissa did not utter a sound. These men had saved her, and she would be eternally grateful. She’d die before she opened her mouth to utter a complaint.

Finally, when she’d begun to despair that Aidan would never look at her, he glanced over at them. She tried to tell herself she was not disappointed when she realized he did not intend to address her.

“We cannot ride through the night.”

He’d reared his horse nearly to a stop.

When he did look at her, Aidan did not appear pleased. It occurred to her that their plans must have changed because of her presence.

“The Wild Boar is behind us, and Anvil Inn too far out of the way,” Lawrence said.

“We go to Sutworth Manor first.”

Now that they had stopped, Lawrence turned completely around to stare at her. She blinked but refused to look away under his close scrutiny.

“Aidan, we really should not—”

“It is not negotiable.”

“Staying somewhere along the road is much too risky. Tensions are too high . . .”

“We’ll stop,” Aidan said, appearing to make a decision, “feed and water the horses, and then ride.” He shifted his gaze to her. “Can you do that, Clarissa?”

Two things happened at once when he said her name. Clarissa’s heart began to race and she noticed Lawrence did not flinch. As the daughter of an earl, few would call her by her given name. Even family members did not always do so, at least not without using her title.

Which meant Aidan’s friend knew what had passed between them at the tournament.

Trying not to appear embarrassed, she said to Aidan, “I can do it.”

Her backside screamed in protest. Clarissa’s husband had taken her father’s advice and did not allow her far from the castle, which meant any rides she’d taken had been rather short. But these men did not need to know that.

He seemed pleased by her declaration. With a shout from Aidan, they rode on until marshland turned into a patch of trees.

“There,” he shouted again, and everyone came to a stop. Dismounting, Lawrence lifted her off his horse and set her gently onto the ground. She eyed the tree line longingly, and when some of the men brought their mounts into the thicket, Clarissa ached to follow. But how exactly did one ask delicately to relieve themselves?

“Come with me.”

Aidan appeared from behind her, and she was more than happy to comply. He didn’t speak as he led her deeper into the dark woods, the sound of running water not far from them. Presumably, it was why they’d stopped here.

“You may use the high bushes there.”

Swallowing her fear, Clarissa moved toward them as if being enveloped in darkness in the middle of a dense forest in the borderlands were something she’d done many times before.

She finished quickly, relieved to find Aidan just where she’d left him.

Dressed in a simple tunic and trewes, his ever-present dirk strapped to his side, he looked more like a warrior than a knight. Which, of course, he was.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded. In fact, she’d not eaten all day, and hardly at all the day before.

“Come,” he said, turning back toward the others, “I have—”

“Wait.”

When he did as she asked, Clarissa immediately regretted the simple word. Though every part of her wanted to pour out her story, tell him what had happened that night, why she never came . . . the look on his face stopped her. He was not angry, precisely, but nor was there any special regard in his gaze. He stared back at her as if she were a woman like any other, waiting only because she’d commanded him to do so.

“I wanted to thank you,” she began. Once again, it was a different speech than the one she’d intended, but the words needed to be said. “I know you take a risk to escort me—”

“Lass, if you knew the risk, you’d not have asked for this.”

What was she supposed to say to that?

“Douglas hoped our neighborly ties would endear your father to me more than most—”

She laughed, not meaning to do so. “My father is endeared to no one.”

If she had been born a boy, perhaps things would have been different. Or if she’d not “killed her mother coming into the world.”

“As you say, but he gave my clan the burden anyway.”

The burden of treating with her father. “You hope he will convince Lord Caxton to step down as warden?”

She’d met the English Warden of the Middle March on more than one occasion. And while she would never presume to know a man’s intentions, it did not seem likely this one would step down willingly. A favorite of the king, his reputation was as a man who enjoyed skirting the law . . . not one who cared about the opinion of the Scots across the border.

“Nay,” he said, “to force him to do so.”

She’d have laughed again, but Aidan appeared to be serious.

“He will not do it,” she said with conviction. “My father—”

“This is the last chance at peace.”

“But he is one man. Surely—”

“We must get back.” He turned from her once again.

Before she could think better of it, Clarissa’s hand shot out to grab his arm. “But wait—”

He did not attempt to remove her hand, and she did not wish to pull away.

But when he looked at her as if she were the barrier between his clan’s safety and all-out war, her hand did drop.

He hated her.

The man who’d once leaned down to kiss her with such reverence, giving her the happiest memory of her entire life . . . he hated her, and Clarissa did not blame him.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

For stupidly telling her father she had met a man, an action she’d regretted every day since . . . for leaving him, and the tournament, though it had not been her choice to do so. For putting him, his clan, and all of the borderlands at risk. For all of it. Clarissa was so, so sorry for everything that had happened between them.

That mistake had cost her everything, and she’d paid for it every day since.

He did not answer. Instead, he turned and walked away.

Clarissa was forced to follow or risk being attacked by one of the unknown animals or reivers or whatever was back there in the woods behind her.

She deserved his scorn. Deserved all that had happened to her since that day . . .

The pain in her chest was so great that when a shout was raised, when Aidan began yelling back to her, it took her some time to come out of the sorrowful reverie.

When the fog of self-pity finally lifted, Clarissa realized what was happening.

They were under attack.

Aidan pulled Clarissa back into the brush and down to the ground.

“Stay here,” he whispered, “and do not move.”

He could tell she was terrified, but there was no time to comfort her. Running toward the sound, Aidan assessed the situation, dirk in hand. There were four men he could see. One, weapon drawn, engaged Lawrence, while the others had yet to dismount. But they did so quickly, just as he arrived in the clearing.

When one of the other reivers charged his friend from behind, his hand raised to stab him, Aidan didn’t think. He aimed and threw his dagger directly at the assailant’s shoulder. The man’s immediate cry of pain told him he’d met his mark. At the same time, Aidan’s other men arrived on the scene and descended on the reivers, all six ready to fight. Those still mounted bolted. The one he’d injured did the same, looking in his direction before he rode away.

Only one of them remained, though he dropped his sword as the Scott clansmen surrounded him.

“What happened here?” Aidan asked.

The reiver panted from his efforts with Lawrence.

“They attacked without cause,” Lawrence said. “I know not the reason.”

Aidan turned toward the reiver. “Who are you?”

The dark-bearded man refused to answer. He glared at him as if offended Aidan had dared ask such a question.

“English or Scot?”

Without a Day of Truce, justice would be served now if the man was English. If he was a Scot, he would be granted a trial. One that would likely result in his death.

“Scot,” he finally answered.

Today only, perhaps.

Border reivers tended to claim allegiance to whatever country suited them. But he did not want to waste time deciphering the truth of the man’s statement. He needed to get back to Clarissa.

“He cannot travel with her,” Aidan said. Lawrence must have already come to the same conclusion. He’d already fetched rope from his saddlebag, with which he proceeded to tie the man’s hands behind his back.

“I will take him. For the offense of attacking a member of Clan Karyn,” he said. The man’s wild-eyed reaction confirmed he was indeed Scottish. Clan Karyn’s reputation was widespread. Even the Highlanders knew enough to stay away from them in a fight. And though he did not know the reason for the man’s attack, Aidan did know what his fate would be.

“Take one of my men . . .”

“No.”

Lawrence would be stubborn on this. “You will not travel alone with a murderer.”

“I refuse—”

“Do you imply I need so many men to guard me?”

He had him, and his friend knew it. Glowering at him, Lawrence nonetheless extended his hand to Aidan.

“Until we meet again.”

Aidan shook it, the firm squeeze a reminder of Lawrence’s strength. “Thank you for accompanying me. He nodded toward the trees. “I must go . . .” Turning to address his men, he said, “One of you, go to Clan Karyn. The rest of you, back to back.”

The warning to be on alert was hardly needed. His men knew what to do. Running back toward Clarissa, he found her exactly as he had left her. Alone and scared.

Squatting down next to her, he said, “It’s over.”

He understood the tears that sprang to her eyes. Knowing her father, he did not doubt this was the first time she’d been involved in any sort of attack.

She was shaking, and Aidan didn’t blame her. He stood, lifting her with him. Without thinking, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.

This could be Gillian, or Allie. Another sister. She simply needs comfort.

Hell . . . she didn’t feel like a sister. Clarissa felt as she had the only other time he’d held her this close.

Damn good.

Too good.

“I . . . I don’t know why—”

Resisting the urge to move his hand up far enough to feel her glossy hair, Aidan said, “It is done. Scottish reivers, one in custody, the others fled. They will not hurt you.”

It would take a bit longer for her body to catch up with her mind’s reaction. As soon as Clarissa realized she was indeed safe, they needed to get back on the road.

He waited, trying to pretend holding her this way had no effect on him. Trying to pretend the way her small hands clasped his tunic did not make him feel stronger and more powerful.

“I’m sorry.” Her words were mumbled against his chest. She pulled away then, wiping her eyes and looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I did not mean—”

He released her and stepped back. Aidan had no choice. He could not be this close to her.

“The first time my father, brother, and I were attacked on the road,” he said, “was on this very journey south. I thought I was well prepared, but by the time the skirmish ended, I had not stepped but a short distance away from my mount. My father and his men, including my brother, dispatched three English reivers to God in the same time it took me to dismount.”

He hated that particular memory. Aidan had not had the opportunity to atone for his inaction for several more years.

“There is no shame in being unprepared for death,” he continued.

Their eyes met.

He did not need the moonlight to know her eyes were the most extraordinary shade of brown, like darkened liquid gold. Everything he’d felt for her in the past was still there. The months he’d spent cursing her after the tourney didn’t matter. Nor did the torment he’d endured upon learning she was married. Nor did the fact that she was still married.

He stepped back, as if burned.

“Lawrence is taking our hostage back with him,” he said, walking away. Hearing the crunch of twigs behind him, he continued. “You’ll ride with me. If you tire, sleep. By the time the sun rises, we should arrive at Sutworth Manor.”

She would be in the care of others. No longer his concern.

“I would like to explain—”

“I would prefer you did not.”

It no longer mattered why she had left the tournament without a word. He’d assumed the reason had something to do with her father.

But that was in the past. He had moved on. Resigned himself to seeing his brother happy. To being a brother to his two new sisters, who had graced his life with joy.

He cared not for her explanations, for they changed nothing. And to ensure she did not have an opportunity to change his mind, he would have her ride with one of his men.

Pleased with himself, Aidan led her into the clearing, looked at the remaining men, and tried to decide which of them would not need to be reminded of her status as a married woman.

Goddammit.