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“Were you not able to spend any time there?”

Another memory assaulted her, one she did not so readily share. One of her father finding her, yet again, in a place that “did not suit to the daughter of an earl.”

“Nay,” she said simply. “My father forbade it. But no matter, it was an overly romantic notion. The life of any maid is not so easy. I understand more now than I did as a child—the freedom I so coveted is not easily won.” Trying to keep the tone of their conversation light, she nodded to him. “Tell me something of you.”

Aidan cocked his head to the side, thinking. “When I was a child, I always wished for a sister.”

“You did?”

“Aye. When our mother died, I mourned twofold—for her and for the loss of a dream I’d always thought quite silly.”

“Not so silly,” she said, “I wished for the same.” She smiled. “Or a brother.”

“Your father never married again.”

“Nay. When I was young and bold, I asked him about it once.” She stopped, remembering that particular conversation.

“And what did he say?”

Why did every topic seem to lead back to the man who’d raised her, who hated her?

Clarissa shook her head. She thought Aidan would let the comment pass, but he did not.

“Clarissa? What did he say?”

Her throat tightened. She had never said the words aloud and did not wish to do so now. But that she’d shared some of this with him—knowing Aidan would not condemn her—compelled her to do so anyway. “That I had killed my mother, and I’d not be given another chance to do so again.”

She looked down at her hands, folding her fingers inside each other. Taking a deep breath, she was surprised to see Aidan’s feet appear in front of her. She hadn’t even heard him move. When he squatted in front of her, Clarissa was forced to look up.

Without saying a word, Aidan reached out and covered her hands with his own. A familiar welling inside her chest threatened to give way to the tears she’d shed so many times over her father’s treatment of her. But she was determined not to cry this time. There was no reason to do so.

She was not to blame for her mother’s death. How many times had Albert and Eda told her that?

She looked up.

Aidan’s expression of warmth and understanding nearly shattered her resolve not to break down in tears over her father’s cruel words. Again.

“You do not believe that, do you?” he asked softly.

His warm hands reminded her that spring nights in Scotland were much the same as they were in northern England, cool and unforgiving. In that moment, she was glad for it.

“Nay, I do not.”

Though she meant it, Aidan did not appear to believe her. He waited, as if trying to decipher if she would change her mind. Though she said nothing more, he did not move. An awareness that had nothing to do with her father or his words covered her like a thick blanket.

“You’ve not had it so easy, lass.”

She supposed not, but some had fared much worse than she.

“I just want to feel safe.” When the words poured out of her, Clarissa realized the truth of them. She’d been running, it seemed, for so long. And now she was doing so again, and she just wanted it to end.

Aidan stood, pulling her with him. His arms encircled her as her own arms reached around him of their own accord. They stood that way for so long, the crackling of the fire the only sound except for their own breathing. Clarissa was loath to break away.

So she didn’t.

“You are safe with me,” he said finally. “I pledge on my honor as the second to the chief of Clan Scott, I will not let any harm come to you.”

He never pulled away, and Clarissa did not see his face when he said the words, but she did not need to. She knew he meant every word. This time, she could not stop the tears from springing to her eyes.