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Gillian waved her hand in front of him, but Aidan was too engrossed in his thoughts to form a response. They sat in the hall, the evening meal being cleaned around them. Graeme had already left the head table to address the steward’s concern over an accounting error that could have waited for tomorrow. As always, the hall was just a bit quieter without Allie’s presence, though she and Reid would no doubt be back before long.

But Graeme never liked leaving problems unsolved. He had difficulty sleeping unless all was well, at least for the moment. Their mother had been the same way, and whenever their father had left on a counter-raid or for battle, he and his brother had refused to leave her side, knowing she’d never sleep if left alone. The memory of being curled up by her side as a laddie would never leave him, no matter how much time passed.

The illness had taken her five years ago, but the loss felt so fresh some days, as if he’d only just learned of her death.

“Aidan?”

He shifted his focus to his sister-in-law.

“Aye?” And then he stood, suddenly worried. “Are you ill? Do you—”

“Nay, nay. Sit,” she said. “I seem to go longer and longer without the need to have a chamber pot by my side. I was speaking of Lady Clarissa.”

Clarissa. More than a day had passed since he’d arrived at Highgate End with his new ward. He’d returned to the Prison Tower after his meeting with Graeme, who’d informed him about the next steps of Douglas’s plan, only to find Gillian with Clarissa. Much to his chagrin, his sister-in-law had waved him away, assuring him she was well taken care of for the night.

This morning, unable to stay away, he’d introduced Clarissa to Lewis, the baker, and the secret path beneath the Prison Tower that led to the bakehouse. He wasn’t sure if she or Lewis were more delighted at the arrangement. She could work alongside him, if she liked, and Clarissa had wasted no time expressing her excitement. He’d given her a key and advised her to lock the door behind her. Though the doors of the tower normally remained open, he wanted to keep Clarissa’s presence as secret as possible.

“She is lovely,” Gillian said, repeating herself.

“I’m sorry, Gill.”

He took a swig of ale and wondered if it was too soon to visit her. Gillian’s maid knew a mystery woman was in residence, as did Fiona, an older servant who doted on his sister-in-law and had been serving Highgate for as many years as he’d been alive. Between all three women, it would be a wonder if Clarissa had any privacy or rest if they did discover her identity.

“I hope you will not be upset with her,” Gillian sat back in her chair, “but Allie told me of your discussion about the annulment before she left.”

He took another swig. “As I suspected she would.” In fact, it was easier that way. He had no desire to tell the tale again. “But much has happened since I left for Sutworth.”

Gillian raised her brows. “Clearly.”

She stopped talking when a servant walked by them.

“How long do you think it will be before Father Simon sends word?”

They’d agreed to elicit the support of Clan Kerr’s priest, their own too new to Highgate for Aidan’s liking. Though Gillian thought it absurd that he did not fully trust their priest, he was not taking any chances. He’d sent Malcolm, a trusted warrior who did not ask questions, to Brockburg to seek out Allie and explain the latest developments in Clarissa’s situation. Aidan had no doubt Father Simon would help them, and that he would do so as efficiently, or more so, as Sutworth’s priest.

In fact, that was exactly what bothered him. Malcolm would return any moment, beginning another countdown to Clarissa’s new life as a child of God. As absurd a notion as anything he’d ever heard. Aidan had told his brother as much, but Graeme had reminded him she could not stay here. Any who harbored Theffield’s daughter would pay for their interference tenfold.

“Knowing him as I do,” he said, sighing, “I do not expect it to be long.”

Gillian leaned in toward him. “I spoke with Graeme last eve,” she whispered. “And I know you feel, and she feels, there is no other way. But I’ve been thinking—”

Aidan groaned, knowing where this conversation was heading. “A dangerous prospect.”

She swatted his arm. “Be serious. I’ve been thinking . . . of course if Theffield caught a Scotsman hiding his daughter, he would be quite angry.”

Aidan laughed. He was unable to help himself. “Quite angry? Gillian, you don’t know the man. He would be infuriated enough to start the war that Caxton has been seeking.”

Gillian did not seem concerned by the possibility. In fact, her attitude reminded him quite a bit of Allie’s.

“Aye, well. As I said, he would be quite angry—”

Aidan rolled his eyes.

“But what of asking the Waryns for help in hiding her?”

This was one of the things he loved most about Gillian. She was both smart and resourceful, not unlike the woman he loved, who had thus far successfully avoided succumbing to one of the most powerful men in Northumbria.

“I’ve thought of that,” he said, “and the Earl of Clave as well.”