brushed hers.
Dark fire, hot and dangerous, coiled inside her, rising from a place she’d long forgotten, if she ever knew. She swallowed. ‘Do you mean to burn us in our beds, Fitzjohn?’
At first, he let the wind answer. Then he retrieved his smile and relaxed his grip. ‘Would you like to be burning in your bed, Mistress Clare?’
She stepped back, knowing she should fear him, but fearing herself instead. ‘If I do, Fitzjohn, it won’t be you I’ll be asking for help.’
He raised his brows and cocked his head. His fingers still circled her wrist, but the grip became a caress. ‘I don’t think your Frenchman can strike that kind of flint.’
Over his shoulder, she saw her father draw his sword and touch Fitzjohn’s back. ‘Let go of my daughter, you bastard, before I run this sword through you.’
Chapter Four
Gavin let go of her wrist, resisting the feeling of loss. He wondered how much the man had seen.
And heard.
Well, death might be a welcome escape.
‘Now raise your hands and turn around.’
Slowly, Gavin did, assessing the man up close for the first time. The baron was broad and gnarled and lean with years of work and war.
‘Am I speaking to another Carr?’
‘You’re speaking to the Carr,’ he snarled.
He was careful with his smile, but he looked over at her, gratified to see she was flushed. ‘I thought Clare was a Carr.’
‘Out of my loins.’
He caught the hint of pride. ‘Well, Mistress Clare invited me in.’
‘And tell me why I should let you stay.’
‘Is your daughter’s word not reason enough?’
‘I gave you no promise. I said—’
‘Quiet, daughter.’ His sword never wavered. ‘She let you in, but you didn’t tell her the whole truth about yourself.’ The man’s sword touched his throat. Gavin swallowed, feeling the cold point against his skin. One quick thrust and he’d be a dead man.
‘I told her I had Scots blood. If you know my story, you know that’s true.’
‘Would you swear you didn’t kill those people?’ Clare asked.
He hesitated. Men would think what they liked of him. He had learned long ago not to care and no longer wasted breath trying to change their minds. Now, this woman, like all the rest, seemed to believe the worst.
Only this time, it mattered.
‘I would.’ He started to lower his arms.
‘Keep your hands up,’ she said. ‘Swear you won’t harm us?’
Did she really think he’d set fire to the place? ‘I swear.’
‘And that you won’t open our doors to the Inglis,’ her father added.
‘I swear it.’
‘On a knight’s honour?’ she prodded, not trusting him even now.
‘On my knight’s honour.’ Words that meant much to her and nothing to him.
Carr lowered his sword, though his suspicious stare didn’t ease. Gavin let his hands drop, slowly. ‘So I can stay?’
‘I’m still thinking on it,’ the man replied sharply. ‘What do you want and why are you here?’
To find peace, he thought. Vain hope. There was no truce for the war within. ‘I’m just a poor knight between wars, seeking shelter and a lord to serve.’
‘A few weeks ago you served the King of the Inglis. Why should I trust you to fight with the Scots?’
‘Half my blood’s as Scottish as yours.’
‘And the other half is as Inglis as Edward’s.’
Her voice came from beside him. ‘And which is the stronger?’
He wished he knew. Sometimes, he felt as if blood was at war with blood, tainted by his father’s sins. ‘As long as I serve you, it’s my Scots blood that will be speaking.’
‘Be sure of it.’ The baron stepped closer and Gavin caught a whiff of a warm hearth and a welcome pint. Things he hadn’t seen for a long time.
‘Aye. You have my word.’
‘And why,’ she asked, ‘should we trust your word?’
Silent, he gave no answer. Trust could only be earned, not promised.
The baron squinted at him and motioned Clare to the stairs. ‘Leave us, daughter.’
‘But, Da—’
‘You asked for time alone. Give me the same.’
He wondered, as she picked up her dagger and turned towards the stairs, what she’d wanted from those moments alone with him. And whether she’d got it.
Carr leaned against the stone wall, his eyes searching the dark hillside. ‘Why are you here, Fitzjohn? The truth.’
‘I was born here. And now I’ve come home.’ Or at least, he’d come looking for home again. ‘England wasn’t …’ He let the word drift, then shrugged. ‘It wasn’t that.’
An owl hooted and then was silent, giving its prey no more warning.
‘If I let you stay, Fitzjohn, you must know that if anything suspicious, anything at all, happens while you’re here, I won’t ask any questions. I’ll just kill you.’
That was progress, Gavin decided. ‘Do I scare you that much?’
‘You don’t scare me at all.’
‘No?’ He scared the daughter, though she tried not to show it. ‘I’ve a dangerous reputation.’
The old man gave a snort. ‘Well, so have I. And I’ve had longer to earn mine.’
They both grinned then. And he felt a kinship with the man, something he’d never felt on either side of the border. He wondered what his life might have been like, if he’d had such a father.
‘Well, if you’re as clever as you are dangerous, you’ll put me to work doing something more than sweeping the mews and hooting at owls.’ He watched the man’s face for clues and saw none. ‘You could use a seasoned man.’
‘You
