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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.