Though not as large as Theffield Castle, Sutworth Manor was every bit as opulent. Clarissa spied her father’s hand in small details throughout the hall. Overly bright tapestries chronicling the exploits of English kings lined the walls. He’d certainly done nothing to endear himself to the people here, proud borderers who likely did not appreciate the flaunting of their very English lord. Though it was fairly common for nobles on both sides of the border to own estates in both England and Scotland, she suspected most of them attempted to assimilate a bit more than her father had.

Of course they hated him here. And, unlike at Theffield, the servants were not as circumspect in their disrespect of their master. When she entered the hall for the midday meal, Clarissa did not know what to expect. But it didn’t take long to realize the very thing she feared most had happened.

They knew why she was here.

First, the steward had approached her with a whispered apology. “I’m sorry, my lady. We will protect your secret.” Someone, likely Father Patrick, had told him the truth.

So much for the man’s vow of secrecy.

Then, as the meal was served, another servant gave her a pitying glance and sad smile. The servants’ behavior was pronounced enough that she left the head table in search of Kirstine.

The maid confirmed what she already knew—they were all aware of her situation—and promised it was not her who told. Word had already spread throughout the manor. She vowed to learn what she could and report back to Clarissa at the head table.

Fulfilling her promise, Kirstine returned with news a short time later as Clarissa ate a bowl of rather tasty stew alone at the head table. Those retainers who also ate in the hall hardly seemed to notice her.

“Father Patrick told the steward of your plight. And it seems the news spread from there.”

Clarissa’s heart sank.

“But do not fret, my lady!” The maid lowered her voice. “There is no great love here for your father, begging my pardon, and all of us are willing to help. In fact, we are most anxious to do so.”

That was all well until the wrong person learned of her true purpose here. But her troubles were hers alone, not the maid’s.

“Thank you, Kirstine.”

Dismissing her, Clarissa decided she was no longer hungry. She left the high table in a hurry, which was how she came to nearly collide with . . .

“Oh!”

She stopped just short of her guest and Master Gavin, who had apparently entered together from the double door of the small keep. Sutworth Manor had been built in stages, the small keep ironically the name for the largest of three towers connected by shouldered archways.

“My lady.” Aidan bowed as grandly as any gentleman. “You are Lord Theffield’s daughter, are you not?”

Gavin appeared confused by the hurried greeting. By rights, the steward should have introduced them, but Aidan had needed to convey a message. She understood immediately and replied in kind.

“I am,” she said. “Though it appears you do not remember our last meeting.”

Aidan’s eyes widened.

“You visited Theffield with your brother and father many years ago. Through God’s grace, you’ve not changed much.”

When he smiled, a genuine smile that did not make her feel as if she’d done something wrong, Clarissa’s knees weakened, though thankfully they continued to support her.

“What brings you to Sutworth?”

She could tell Gavin wanted to break protocol and stay for the conversation—and she suspected he would not go far when he nodded in parting and walked away.

“I came to speak to whomever is in charge here about the current troubles along the border. Had I known you were in residence, I would have come to speak to you, or your father, sooner.”

Clarissa began walking, leading them out of the corridor and toward the door from which he’d entered the hall. They needed to find somewhere more private. A challenge inside a manor house such as Sutworth.

“I regret to inform you that my father is not here,” she said, although nothing was less regrettable than that fact. “I am here alone,” she continued as they stopped in front of the wooden doors. Divided by a thin line of stone, the two doors stood side by side as if standing guard. Pushing the iron handle of the one on the right, Aidan led her into the small inner courtyard. Sutworth Manor had a much more compact design than Theffield. The manor house, inner courtyard, and outer courtyard were arranged in a straight line courtesy of the cliffs on three sides.

Though much of the manor’s activity occurred in the larger outer courtyard, Clarissa still did not yet feel safe from watchful eyes. She led him to an unusual feature she’d once inquired about as a young girl, the caponier. Though the roofed passageway had been built as an added fortification inside the ditch between the inner and outer walls, it had quickly been abandoned.

The guards stationed above them were sure to notice that she and Aidan had entered the caponier alone. But she would worry about that later, if necessary.

They did not speak again until they entered the abandoned passageway. The exit had been filled in with stone long ago, and the only light flowed in from the entrance above them.

“What are you doing here?” she finally asked.

She was sure her voice betrayed her.

Clarissa had never expected to see him again.

“I had to know you were safe.” His deep voice echoed against the cold stone walls. “Are you? Safe?”

“I don’t know.”

Clarissa explained what had happened since her arrival, still unable to believe he was at Sutworth. “But what of you? What if my father learns of your visit?”

Aidan shrugged. “Perhaps he will be grateful that Clan Scott is an ally to the people of Sutworth at such a time. I came, after all, to relay news from across the border.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Not to see you.”

Clarissa swallowed. “Of course.”

None knew of his escort. But his visit was still risky.

“Thank you for your concern—”

“I loved you, Clarissa.”

The words pierced her heart. Nothing he could have said would have surprised her more. She didn’t know how to respond.

Loved. Of course he did not love her still. Why would he? She’d betrayed him in the very worst way.

“I should not have come—”

She reached out without thinking as Aidan turned to leave. His hand in hers reminded her of their contact as they rode to Sutworth. Now, as then, it was much more than a simple touch. Heat shot through his hand to hers, pooling in her very core. She tried to block out the memory that refused to be denied. Clarissa remembered their kiss well. Remembered how it had made her feel.

“Do not go.”

She had no right to ask him to stay. It endangered them both. And yet, the thought of seeing him walk away again . . .

He did not pull his hand from her grasp. Instead, he parted his fingers until her own slipped into the cracks between them. When he closed them again, their hands entwined, Clarissa could hardly breathe.

Something had changed between them.

Had he forgiven her for leaving that day? Why else would he have returned? And why did he have to be so handsome? The light stubble along his cheek and jaw had grown in just a bit more, and Clarissa wanted desperately to feel it against her own cheek.

She wanted him to kiss her again.

“I am still married,” she blurted, his slow smile making her wish she’d not opened her mouth.

“I am aware.”

Aidan did not move toward her. Instead, he stood there, so close she could smell him rather than the stale air around them. She could see the rise and fall of his chest beneath his simple linen tunic. He was so much larger than her, yet so very, very gentle.

“I would see you again.”

The statement seemed to surprise him as much as it did her.

“I do not know how long it will take for the nuns to reply. Or if someone here will betray me to my father first.”

Loved, she reminded herself.

That sentiment was firmly in the past for him, and she’d do well to remember it. For Clarissa, it was not, nor had it ever been. She’d fallen in love with Aidan de Sowlis at that tournament, perhaps even before that when she was a young girl. If she’d ever doubted that truth, it was impossible to deny it any longer. She wanted nothing more than to stay in this caponier, enjoying the warmth and strength of his firm grip, sheltered from the world above.

But it could not be so.

“You are not the woman I stood next to at that lake, are you?”

“Nay, I am not. Lord Stanley has ensured that naïve young woman is gone forever.”

The old Clarissa may have blurted something silly, like “Take me with you” or “Maybe there is a way for us.” But she’d learned from her mistakes.

“I would like nothing more than to see you again,” she said. “But it will not make it any easier for me to leave.”

Aidan opened his mouth to say something, but she would never know what. He closed it, waited a moment, and then asked, “Will you send word when you arrive safely at Dunburg Abbey?”

She wanted to tell him that she’d not be going. That she could never give herself to God when she was still in love with him. That the thoughts she had of him late, late at night, alone in her bed, were anything but pure. That she was sorry for foolishly trusting her father at the tournament.

Instead, she said, “Aye.”

And when he released his hand from hers, she did not seek it out again. Nor did she go after him when Aidan turned to walk back up the stairs. Instead, she stood there, staring at the pinprick of light, waiting . . . for what? He was gone. She’d told him to leave. Because she had no other choice.

Or did she?

Aidan thanked the groom and was about to lead his horse outside when she stopped him.

“Would you . . .”

He turned and stared. Clarissa looked the same as she had moments before—the fitted bodice of her deep blue gown leaving little question of what lay beneath . . . her hair pulled back on the sides but otherwise completely free of any adornments.

But somehow she looked different too.

“Would you care to stay for the meal?”

Since supper would not be for some time, Clarissa was not merely being polite. She was asking him to stay the day, and though he knew he should not . . . he’d been both disappointed and relieved when she’d pushed him away . . . Aidan was powerless to refuse the invitation he’d hoped to receive.

“Aye,” he said, handing the reins back to the confused groom. And then, for the boy’s benefit, “It will provide me with the opportunity to speak further with your marshal.”

In fact, he’d already spoken to Sutworth’s marshal, and had no further news for the man who would attempt to keep Sutworth safe during these troubled times.

“Very good.” She gestured to the front of the stable. “Shall we?”

Following her back outside, Aidan thought of Graeme. By now his brother would know he’d come here. If he were being honest, he’d not have an easy time refuting Graeme’s arguments for why he should have instead stayed home. Despite Allie’s encouragement, he knew it had been a bad decision, and staying was a worse one yet.

But the pull he felt toward Clarissa was stronger than his good sense. She was so damn lovely. Aidan wished to wrap his hands around her father’s neck at the thought of what he’d done to them. To her . . .

“We should stay away from the keep,” she said, guiding him to a familiar path. “To the secret pathway where you brought me yesterday?”

They’d ventured through the inner and outer courtyard and to the other side of the great gatehouse. Just to the left of the main road leading directly to the entrance of the estate, not far from the top of the eastern cliff, a break in the tree line announced a footpath.

“Graeme and I explored it once, years ago. Neither you nor your father were here. I believe it was the last time I’d visited Sutworth until now.”

Without speaking of their destination, they walked toward the path.

“You’ve not been back since?”

“Nay. Your father made it clear Sutworth was his in name only. It’s lucky, I think, Sutworth has not yet been attacked since the lack of leadership here is well known along the border.”

They continued down the trail, which reminded him . . .

“You will be questioned about my visit. Coming here, alone, will not help your cause,” he said.

Clarissa seemed to consider that for a moment before she answered him. “There are already so many questions. My arrival, my plans—”

“To join the nuns at Dunburg?” Every part of him wanted to shout, No!

“Aye,” she said, seemingly as disappointed about the prospect as he.

Aidan stopped. This had to be said. He’d not forgive himself if he kept quiet.

“You don’t belong there.”

Clarissa stopped alongside him, the corner of her lower lip curling inside, under her teeth.

“While I waited for you that day, before I realized you were not coming—”

“Aidan—”

“Nay, lass. I want you to know.”

He looked up, the stab in his chest a very different one than when he’d thought of her these past two years.

“I tried to understand how a woman like you could have been raised by a man like him. I wondered if he’d accept me and thought of how lucky I was to have met you, again.”

She abused her poor lip, though he’d very much like to be so abused.

“When you did not come, I wondered what I had said to offend you. And later, I wondered if you’d already known about your betrothal to Stanley. I should have guessed the truth.”

He’d failed her then and was doing so now.

She released her lips and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Knowing you likely hated me was, is, difficult.”

“I don’t hate you, Clarissa. I could never hate you.”

Neither of them spoke for a time. A gentle rustling of leaves and distant call from above was the only sound, with the exception of Clarissa’s breathing. With every rise and fall of her chest, Aidan found himself questioning everything. He’d convinced himself that as long as his family was happy, and safe, nothing else mattered.

But something else did.

Clarissa had always mattered.

“My maid,” she said, though Aidan wasn’t sure where the thought had come from. “She is the kindest, gentlest woman in the world. It was she who convinced me that my father was wrong, that I did not kill my mother, and yet—”

“How could you think such a thing?”

He knew the answer as soon as he posed the question. Of course the man blamed her for her mother’s death. He was a monster.

“Tell me what happened, Clarissa,” he said in a softer tone.

The slight shrug of her shoulders undermined the devastation on her face.

“As I said, I made a mistake. I thought for one brief moment that maybe he would soften toward me. That he’d allowed me to attend the tournament because he was ready to show me the wider world . . . so I told him. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I saw myself married so quickly neither I nor Eda could prepare, not that there was anything I could have done, really.”

He knew all of that already. “And the marriage?”

Clarissa opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. She promptly closed it again. “Was possibly better than living with my father. Except . . .”

God, he would kill them. Both. If her husband had abused her . . .

“Did he hurt you?”

She frowned. “I suppose not—”

“Suppose?”

“Nay, not really.” The light pinks spots on her cheeks told him to stop questioning her, though he found himself thinking about what those Englishmen had spoken of at The Wild Boar. Of foul Stanley’s quest for an heir.

“I am so sorry, Clarissa.”

He had no words to explain how sorry he was for having failed her.

“’Tis not your fault that my father—”

“’Tis my fault for assuming the worst. I had means to contact you, but I did not. Instead I abandoned you to—”

“’Tis I who abandoned you.”

Foolishly, he reached for her hand again. When she did not protest, he took them both in his. That same jolt of heat surged through him.

“You cannot do this.”

But he could see in her eyes that she would.

“I have no choice.”

Stay with me.

He wanted to say the words so badly, but he squeezed her hands instead. Aidan didn’t know which was stronger, the urge to take her in his arms or the urge to put her back on his horse and ride straight to Highgate End.

In the end, he did neither.

“I wish I could disagree with you.”

Her rueful smile told Aidan what he already knew. She could not come with him. Absconding with Theffield’s daughter would make an enemy of him. He would refuse to deal with Caxton, and chaos would surely follow.

“Delay it,” he found himself saying. “Once your father agrees, and Caxton is replaced—”

“And if he does not agree?”

“Then we will no longer need him.”

The look of determination on her face was one he knew well. He’d seen it before on his new sister Allie’s face. She was going to say no.

“If I do not go to Dunburg Abbey, he will find me. When he does, I will have no recourse. And I will not marry again.”

Not even to me?

“Then go to Dunburg if you must, but do not say your vows. Wait for me—”

“I cannot. Until I say them, I will be vulnerable. My father will still have a claim on me.”

He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch Theffield in the throat. He wanted to disagree with her, but she had the right of it. Until she said the words—

“But you are still married! You cannot take the vows while you are wed. If he finds you before—”

“Father Patrick assured me the Benedictine Order allows for a postulant to still be married. Once the annulment is official, I will become a novice. Under the rule of the Church, I will be the property of God, not of my father.”

He opened his mouth to object, but his gentle English lass squeezed his fingers once more and let them go.

“’Tis done.”

As she began to walk back toward the keep, Aidan watched her walk away. He refused to accept such a fate for her. He had already lost her once.

But how could he hope to save both her and the borderlands?