Chapter 7
Reid woke the following morning to a bundle of warmth in his arms. Not just any bundle of warmth.
Clara.
Her back was nestled against his chest, her head cradled against his shoulder, his arm wrapped about her waist. The delicate, clean scent of herbs tickled at his senses. Her smell.
He inhaled deeply, appreciating her simple perfume and the way it made his body flood with energy. How many times had he fantasized about this moment?
Almost every day since he’d seen her at the village market.
He’d imagined her glossy, dark hair cool and smooth against his chest; her lithe body pressed to him as she slept, her face serene and so lovely, it made something inside his chest burn.
The reality of such a thing was far greater than the fantasy. And yet, far more painful.
Being with her would not change his inability to settle into life as any normal man would do. Especially not when he had yet to find Lord Rottry.
The English baron was the reason Reid never pursued more information on her, why he never allowed himself to be given over to love.
Not when there was vengeance to be had, and certainly not when he knew how easily it all could be snatched from him.
There would be naught for them in the future but heartbreak, and he could not do that to her.
Still, it did not stop him from remaining abed a few moments longer, allowing his musings to carry him away.
In his mind, his restlessness had calmed, and he owned a fine cottage, a protective stone one like Clara’s family had built in Castleton, the type of home a woman like her deserved.
And in that home, they had a happy life together.
She, as his wife, with her tender smile and her stunning beauty.
He brought her even closer, savoring the idea, savoring her. She gave a little hum of contentment in her sleep and something in his chest broke. He could not allow himself the pleasure of fantasy anymore. Not when it caused so much hurt to do so.
Without any further delay, he pushed up from the bed. No good would come of dreaming about what could never be.
“Reid,” Clara said sleepily from the small bed they’d shared.
The heat of her body against his had already cooled in the chilled morning air. He tossed a couple of logs into the hearth where the embers scattered about, and the dry fuel quickly caught fire.
“If we hurry, we might have time to break our fast with hot food before we depart.” He hadn’t meant to sound gruff, but it came out as such.
She rose from the bed and padded toward him in stockinged feet. Her braid had come undone in the night, and her hair fell in loose waves down her back like a curtain of silk. “How is yer back?”
He wanted to gather her tresses in his hands and let them slide through his fingers.
Damn it.
“Yer herbs seem to be helpful,” he replied honestly. The wounds hurt, but not as they had before.
“May I see yer injuries?” She moved around behind him, and he lifted his leine for her.
Her fingers swept down his back, her touch careful. Reid closed his eyes, giving in to the temptation to relish her caress while she could not see his expression.
“So long as ye don’t go doing anything foolhardy, ye should continue to heal.” She withdrew her hands from him as he let his leine fall into place.
Reid glanced over his shoulder at her. “Me? Do something foolhardy?” He couldn’t help but grin.
She shook her head at him in warning, but her eyes sparkled playfully. There was a lighter side to her that he found he enjoyed as much as he did the parts of her that were compassionate and giving.
They hurried through their morning ablutions that consisted of little more than a damp linen and water from the ewer on a narrow table by the door.
Clara sprinkled a few herbs on her linen, which left the air scented with something floral and pleasant.
She plaited her braid once more, and they made their way down to the tavern below.
They broke their fast on pottage, a thick gruel that tasted of nothing but was hot enough to send curls of steam rising from their bowls and sat warm in their bellies.
The meal would be a perfect start to what would be a cold day of hard riding, something to stick to their ribs and keep hunger at bay.
While they ate, Clara’s attention slid to a man with rusty-white hair. The Scotsman was boisterous and surrounded by men who were only slightly quieter than himself.
“Do ye know him?” Reid asked.
Clara nodded. “I believe I might be able to acquire some troops to help protect the people of Dumbarton.”
Reid returned his attention to the man with renewed interest. He was dressed in a fine gambeson and breeches that appeared to be good quality, and the hilt of his sword glittered with a couple of gems. A man with money and men could be a boon for Dumbarton in such trying times.
“Who is he?” Reid asked.
“The Chieftain of the Ross clan,” Clara said.
Reid startled at the familiar name. William had told him Kinsey was the old chieftain’s granddaughter, which meant…
“Aye,” Clara said as though reading Reid’s thoughts. “He’s my grandda.”
Approaching the Chieftain of the Ross clan was no mean feat. Clara’s nerves clattered as she neared the man who had created a massive rift within her family for so many years.
It wasn’t only that he had abducted Faye and forced her to wed a man she didn’t know, a man who thankfully was not part of the plot and with whom she fell in love. But there was also the open hurt of whatever it was Clara’s grandda had done to her mother. Something Mum refused to speak of.
Clara’s legs were numb as she crossed the short distance to her grandda. He threw his head back and laughed out loud at something someone in his party had said. But his mirth died as his sharp green eyes settled first on her, then on Reid behind her.
“Are ye here for a dowry?” Ross demanded in a gravelly voice.
The men around him snickered, and Clara’s face went hot with humiliation. “I’d like to speak with ye in private.”
“Look at this bonny lass, lads,” he said loudly. “Though dinna be getting any ideas. I’ll no’ be accused of selling off another granddaughter of mine.”
His men laughed in earnest, and Clara found herself wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Her grandda was flush with drink. The odor of it emanated from him like a thick fog.
This had been a mistake. She ought to have known better than ever to consider asking him for anything. Especially when he always exacted a price for his efforts.
Ross waved his men away and gave her his full attention, his lined face nothing at all like the sweetness of her mother’s. Indeed, it was difficult to even imagine a man as brash and coarse as Ross having anything to do with Mum’s upbringing.
He tilted his head closer to hers. “What is it ye’d like to discuss?”
Clara wanted to shake her head and beg off the conversation. Indeed, she might well have, were it not for thoughts of the innocent children who would be subjected to an English attack if she could not get them aid. It was for them that she found her voice.
“There’s to be an attack on a village in several days.
” She spoke in a voice meant only for his ears and looked him directly in the eye as she did so, refusing to allow him to intimidate her.
“We’re on our way to warn them, but they could use a stronger defense.
” She looked behind her grandfather. “Warriors who could keep the English at bay. I imagine ye have even more with ye than are gathered here now.”
Ross narrowed his green eyes. “I do. And they’re all spoken for. We’re off to raid one of the English border villages.”
His selfishness was starker than she had anticipated. Her sisters might have been right when they said she tried too hard to find the good in people. Mayhap some people had no good in them.
But Clara was never one to give up on anyone.
“People are in need,” she said in a bid to appeal to him.
“Aye, like my men.” Her grandda winked. “They’re in need of the great wealth they hear can be found in English homes.”
She gaped at him. Was it possible there was truly no humanity in this man?
Her grandda pointed at her shocked expression and guffawed. When his mirth subsided, he threw an arm over her shoulder. “Yer heart is too big for this small, ugly world, Clara. Find yerself a man and settle down. Leave the business of war to men.”
“If I did that, I fear it would result in the loss of many innocent lives.” Clara regarded him with open hurt. “I’d hoped what Mum said about ye wasn’t true.”
Any humor on his face melted into a wounded expression. “What did yer mum say?”
Ordinarily, Clara would not have disclosed such a razor-edged truth, but her grandda needed to hear these words. “That ye’re greedy, cruel and self-serving.” She didn’t soften the words as she said them and tried to distract herself from the stab of guilt when he winced.
He had the good sense to appear somewhat chastened.
“If ye change yer mind,” she said. “Please join us in Dumbarton posthaste. We are making our way there now.” Even as she said it, she couldn’t help that sliver of hope that he might still prove himself a better man than so many thought him to be.
He gave a stiff nod, but it was no commitment. It wasn’t even acquiescence. That much was evidenced by the way his gaze slid from hers.
Shame.
With that, their conversation was done. She stepped away from him and didn’t bother to look back at the man who had offered her family nothing but disillusionment.
Often in her youth, she had wondered how a separation had formed between her mother and grandfather when Mum was so kind.
And while Clara knew her grandfather to be a harsh man, she also knew her mother to be forgiving.
Mayhap a man such as him was beyond forgiveness, even for someone like Mum.
Reid still sat at the table, his body tense as if he anticipated having to leap up and strike someone at any moment. She understood then that he was ready to be at her side in a second should he be needed.
He got to his feet as she approached, his eyes narrowing. “What did he say?”
“He won’t help us,” Clara said, unable to stifle the flash of disappointment at her grandfather.
Reid glared over her shoulder toward her grandda. “Why no’?”
“They’re going on a raid in England.” Clara kept her tone flat to mask the smolder of her anger.
“They’d rather rob the English than protect their own countrymen?” Reid growled.
His ire fanned hers until it glowed like an ember in her chest. She curled her hand into a fist and focused on ebbing her rage.
They pushed out of the tavern and made their way to the paltry stable that was little more than a covered stall where the horses all stood next to one another. Whatever ice had crusted over the ground had melted away with the first rays of sunlight that poked through gray clouds.
As of yet, the day was blessedly without rain.
“How can ye be so calm about it?” Reid asked.
She sighed. “My being angry about it will not change his mind.”
Reid frowned slightly and set to work on readying their horses.
In truth, Clara wasn’t calm about it. Her grandda’s response screamed through her thoughts and left her pulse jumping in erratic beats. She’d wanted to demand the same as Reid, to know how they could focus on pillaging when others needed aid.
She wished she could genuinely feel inside what she expressed outwardly. For as much as she outwardly exhibited being devoid of sorrow and anger, she felt it powerfully within.
But of all the hurt churning in her, there was one that stood above the rest: Reid’s decision never to get married and how it had doused the fragile flame of hope that she might someday be his wife.