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“Or it could be this ol’ man just knows the way of things.”

Something told her he was being coy.

“Lewis?”

He shrugged, pulling a large sack of flour toward him.

“Or it could be that when we first met, I could see the truth in his eyes. And yours.”

Everything Lewis said was true. Aidan truly was the kindest man alive, and she could not be the one to break his heart. Enough running. Enough hiding. Clarissa was ready to claim her place in this clan.

* * *

Aidan knocked at Clarissa’s door, glancing at the man who stood beside him. Tall and lean, he was not much older than Graeme, though his experiences lent him an undeniable air of knowledge. Aidan had known Father Simon for as long as the man had been at Brockburg, back when his brother was betrothed to Catrina Kerr. From allies to enemies to allies once again, Clan Scott and Clan Kerr had a generations-long history, which had seen their families through the devastating loss of both chiefs, the unfortunate accident in battle that had ended their alliance and, more recently, a renewed friendship.

“Aidan? I’m glad you’re here, I’ve something—”

She noticed Father Simon then, their unexpected guest bowing his head in deference to her, as befitted her station as an earl’s daughter, even though such a gesture was not necessary. A more affable, tolerant, and intelligent man could not be found in all of Scotland, which was the precise reason Aidan had called on him for assistance.

“Oh!”

“Lady Clarissa, meet Father Simon of Brockburg. Father, may I present Lady Clarissa Harford, daughter of the Earl of Theffield.”

Her curtsy was precise, that of an Englishwoman who had been trained her entire life to make such a greeting. She wore a gown Aidan had not seen before, a deep cranberry confection trimmed with gold around the low-hanging sleeves and neckline. A simple gold belt hung low on her hips. Her hair, as always, was pulled back partially on both sides away from her face with the majority of it falling down her back. Simple yet elegant, this was the lady who’d enchanted him. Though more refined than most, she lacked the air of superiority some in her station wore like a cloak.

“May we come inside?” he asked, and Clarissa immediately stepped aside.

The perfectly neat chamber smelled sweet, like its lady. A comfortable prison, but a prison nonetheless.

“Of course,” she said, though they had already made their way inside. “I would offer you a seat . . .”

But there was one sole chair in the sparsely furnished room.

“No need,” he said, changing his mind. Aidan had thought to leave her with Father Simon—to allow them to speak in private—but now he found his feet unable to move. Though Clarissa had agreed to stay at Highgate, to become his wife, he was no fool. His brother had confirmed earlier that day what he’d already suspected. Clarissa was as skittish as a hart knowing it was being hunted.

“I thought to send a message, but Lady Allie insisted on coming to speak with you,” Father Simon said.

He could see Clarissa was confused and thought to explain. “I told you of my sister-in-law.” Clarissa nodded. “She and her husband accompanied Father Simon here, though I’ve not seen them yet. Father has the reputation of being a somewhat reckless rider—”

“I arrived before them,” Father boasted.

Aidan smiled at Brockburg’s priest. “As for your vows against pride—”

“I took no such vow.” He pretended to consider the matter further. “In fact, as I think on it, there may have been something . . .”

“Some say his time with the Kerr men has made Father—”

“I believe we are here to discuss Lady Clarissa.”

The lady in question waited, hands folded in front of her. Aidan could not seem to look away from the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Every day she spent away from Theffield, she became bolder, freer—more like the woman who’d boldly agreed to meet him at that lake than the one who’d looked up at him in fear in Theffield’s courtyard, begging him to help her.

“Indeed,” she said, looking at him. This look, no longer amused, was laced with the same desire he’d awoken feeling that morn, thinking of . . . well, things he should not be thinking of in front of the priest.

“Burness Abbey is a daughter house of Thrustan Abbey, no more than thirty miles north of here,” Father Simon said. “Though it was built by King David and has received royal support for more than a hundred and fifty years, the Order of Cistercian nuns there have come upon difficult times of late.”

Aidan had heard the tale already on their way to find Clarissa. He’d not yet told Father his assistance was no longer needed, as it was Clarissa’s place to do so. His mother’s words had guided him in this: Speak for no one but yourself, and most especially not for a woman. She’d said it so many times that even his stubborn father had begun to listen to her—no small feat given the chief’s inclination had been to solve the problems of everyone around him. Even so, hearing Father’s words aloud, watching her face as she realized what they implied . . .

Would she change her mind?