The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “Quite.”

  A sudden thought occurred to Emma, and she sat up so quickly she felt dizzy for just a moment. “Edith!”

  “Aye, my lady?”

  “He did not ask to marry me.” She rushed to explain. “Of course he cannot. He is still betrothed. But he did not promise to marry me if he succeeds in breaking off the betrothal. Mayhap—”

  “He said he loved you?”

  “Aye.”

  “And that he would delay his wedding?”

  “Aye, but you don’t understand. ’Tis not just a wedding. His uncle resents that Garrick’s mother inherited the title. And that his father, before he passed into the afterlife”—Emma crossed herself—“was the Earl of Linkirk. He could cause trouble. ’Tis why his mother encouraged this alliance with the Earl of Magnus’s daughter.”

  Emma did not like Edith’s expression. She’d expected excitement or interest, but she saw only doubt.

  “So, you see, ’tis quite a tangle.”

  She jumped out of bed, no longer wanting to look at the doubt on her friend’s face. “Come, I must speak with Sara at once.”

  “My lady,” Edith said from behind her.

  Something in Edith’s tone enticed her to turn around.

  “If what you say is true . . .”

  “Aye, Edith, ’tis true. But Garrick knows better than—”

  “My lady.”

  Her tone sent a shiver straight to Emma’s core.

  She knew at once what Edith would say. The voice in her own head, the one trying to push aside thoughts of how Garrick made her feel and memories of how sweetly he’d pledged his love sounded much the same as Edith’s.

  “Do you think it’s wise to tell Lady Sara?”

  “Of course. I share everything with her. She is—”

  “Your sister-in-law, but also the Countess of Kenshire. As the countess, what do you believe she’ll say?”

  Emma had planned to tell Sara everything, hoping it would ensure she was included in Garrick’s invitation to Clave, and then . . .

  Oh dear.

  Sara would say that there was no way Garrick could break the betrothal without facing repercussions. This could change the course of Linkirk’s history. It could force neighboring clans, like Clan Kerr and Graeme’s people, to take sides.

  Emma wanted to be angry with Edith. She wanted to rail at her, at the Earl of Magnus and his daughter, and at their whole sorry situation.

  But she would not, of course. It was no one’s fault that she’d allowed herself to fall in love with a man who was promised to another.

  No one’s fault but her own.

  “Have you gone stark raving mad?” Conrad asked. “What are you still doing here?”

  He should never have told Conrad the truth.

  Garrick had returned to Clave, the torturous ride from Kenshire one of the longest of his life, despite the fact that it was but a few hours away. He’d arrived before the tide could wash away the footpath leading from the shore to the castle gates, allowing him and his men safe passage before the rising tide turned Clave into an island once again.

  Looking out of the window of the same solar where he’d taken advice from his friend before his fateful trip to Scotland, Garrick tried to remember the man he had been then.

  A son without a father. An earl, a man with as much power as any in Northumbria. But not enough, apparently, to control his own destiny.

  “Garrick, think on it. You cannot break this betrothal.”

  “’Tis done, Conrad.” Or it would be soon. He’d already sent a contingent of men from Kenshire straight back to Linkirk to change the date of the wedding and summon his mother back to Clave. They’d been less than pleased with the prospect of returning to Scotland so soon, especially since they were less than a day’s ride away from home, but he hadn’t dared send a sole messenger.

  Conrad sat with his legs and arms crossed on the wooden chair Garrick’s father had often occupied. His friend was a very different man from the former earl. Their loyalty and ferocity in battle, whether on the field or in a tournament, had united them. But any similarities between the two ended there.

  “Why are you smiling?” Conrad asked.

  Garrick couldn’t resist. “You are unique, Conrad.”

  “And you are a dead man.” Never one to circumvent an uncomfortable topic, much like Emma, his friend was direct and possibly correct. He knew what his decision might cost him.

  “I’ve no choice,” he said, trying to explain.

  “Of course you have a choice. Marry the Scottish lass.”

  “I cannot.”

  As was his custom, Conrad was not intimidated by a look meant to silence him. “You must.”

  “I love her, Conrad.”

  His friend’s eyes widened as large as two round shields. Earls did not marry for love. Even baron’s sons, like Conrad, married for advantage.

  But he could not do it. Not now that he knew Emma was out there, that he could love in such a fierce manner.

  “She is . . .” He thought back to last eve. “Extraordinary.”

  “Garrick, if she were the Queen of England, it would not—”

  “What is the one thing that annoys you most about me?”

  Conrad snorted. “That you cannot visit the garderobe without a plan? That you overthink everything until you—”

  “She is just the opposite. Emma is . . .” How could he explain her best? “She doesn’t think, she acts. And everyone around her is better for it. Aye, she’s beautiful, but—”

  “And now you’re a bard.”

  “There’s something there. Before I knew who she was. Something, Conrad, I’ve never experienced with a woman. Like a pull to—”

  “Start a war with your mother’s relatives?”

  Garrick clenched his fists. “You are a singular ass.”

  “Why did you agree to the betrothal?”

  In a rare display of seriousness, Conrad uncrossed his arms and legs, and sat forward, his elbows propped on his knees, his expression somber.

  “Garrick?” he pressed.

  Why? He’d asked himself the same question so many times in the past weeks.

  “Because you encouraged it,” he shot back, still standing at the window.

  Conrad didn’t respond. He merely quirked an eyebrow, silently communicating that Garrick had a better answer.

  “Why? You know exactly why! Because the alliance will secure Linkirk. It will tighten our ties to our northern neighbors, convince those who are not yet convinced that peace along the border is possible.”

  Conrad cleared his throat.

  “Dammit, Conrad. What do you want me to say?” His skin tingled as beads of sweat began to form around his temples.

  He knew the answer Conrad wanted. But he was still loath to think about it. Because it was the one thing, the only thing, that was keeping Emma from being his.

  “Garrick?”

  “To appease my mother.”

  He let the words hang in the air like a morning fog. He had agreed because it was what his mother wanted. And after his father had been killed because of him, it was the least he could give her.

  You did not kill your father.

  He’d begun to believe her. Because he wanted to believe her. But his father was dead, and he had now set a path in motion that would ruin his mother as well. She would be forced to return to England. She would lose the one bit of comfort she had left.

  “Bollocks, Conrad. What have I done?”

  17

  He would make it right. Somehow he would make it right. Somehow he’d find a way to fix this without giving her up.

  After his discussion with Conrad, Garrick did what he’d always done growing up on an island that wasn’t an island. He waited until the water receded and walked the path from the castle gates to the shore, over and over again, taunting the rising tide as if conquering it meant conquering life itself. Every time he made it safely to the rocky beach at the foot of the castle, G
arrick felt renewed.

  His mother hated the practice. Especially now, during the winter months, when the frigid waters could kill a man as easily as a sword in the gut. But the tactic helped him think. And while the castle housed only his knights and sworn swordsmen, their wives and children, and Clave’s servants, some of whom had been with the family since his birth, it still felt too crowded to suit him.

  When Conrad had left the solar, delivering him a final pat on the back on his way out, Garrick had allowed himself a moment of pity before shrugging it off. His father would have faced this challenge as he had faced any other.

  Audentes fortuna iuvat.

  Those words were inscribed on the wall behind the lord and lady’s table in the hall and engraved in both his shield and his father’s. It was more than a family motto. His father had lived by it. Garrick had sought to do so as well.

  And if fortune truly favored the bold, he would make Emma Waryn his wife.

  When he finally made his way to the great hall the next morn, weary down to his bones, Mable immediately told him, “My lord, if I might say such a thing, you look . . .”

  She rarely held back her words.

  At two and fifty, Mable was everything her husband had been before her, and more. Her husband had served Clave as steward under both his father and grandfather. They’d all been shocked when the much older man had married Mable, a serving woman who’d already been widowed once. Ten years later, she’d become a widow once again. But his father had taken a chance and named her steward, and she’d never given him reason to regret it.

  Garrick would do anything for this woman and her two sons. Despite her surly disposition, which his mother pardoned as the natural result of “doing the job expected of a man,” she was a woman of deep loyalty and feeling. He would never forget that she’d comforted his mother after his father’s death.

  Though her hair had gone gray, Mable had an unwavering gaze that was unaltered by age. Most of the residents of Clave were either terrified of her or adored her as if she were their own mother.

  “I need to send a message,” he said, sitting down, alone, for the morning meal.

  In his youth, he’d wanted to sit among his men, but his father had never allowed it. Even though the high table was raised less than an arm’s length above the others, it was set apart from Clave’s retainers as clearly as if it were in a different room altogether. Today he was grateful for the distance.

  “To whom, my lord?”

  He handed her the missives, not wanting to wait until after the meal when they typically conducted business of the day. “I’ve called a meeting for ten days from today. Clave must prepare.”

  Mable, who could read and write courtesy of the same tutor who had instructed Garrick as a boy, looked at the outside of each scroll.

  “Nine lords and their families,” he said.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “The attack I mentioned. This is a small council to discuss it.”

  “And establish yourself as our new earl,” she correctly surmised.

  Most of the men on that list would accept his new role with ease. At least two of them, hesitant allies of his father, would need to be convinced.

  “At once, my lord.” Mable did not move to leave.

  “Is something amiss?”

  “There are rumors.”

  “Of?”

  “’Tis said by some of the men that you’ve changed the wedding, that you’ll not wed till spring.”

  “That is correct,” he said without clarifying. Though he’d hoped the envoys he’d sent back to Scotland would refrain from sharing the contents of the message with others, it had perhaps been too much to hope. He should have known better.

  Mable was waiting for him to elaborate when their attention was drawn to the entrance of the hall.

  Conrad had made his entrance. He’d have some company at the dais after all.

  “’Tis said the Lady of Brookhurst is wanting her son home at once,” Mable said, looking at his friend and shaking her head.

  “Curious,” he said. “Would you be anxious to have such a man at your side?”

  Mable’s cackle followed her as she walked away, leaving him in the company of the only brother Garrick ever had. An imperfect one, to be sure.

  “Speaking ill of your best friend again, Lord Clave?”

  “’Tis an early morning for you,” Garrick said. “You’re just in time to help me plan a council meeting.”

  “At Clave?” He popped a morsel of cheese into his mouth.

  “Aye.”

  “And invited Kenshire, I assume?”

  “Aye.” He tried to ignore the sound of Conrad loudly chewing.

  “And kept the invitations to the lords and ladies of each family, I assume?”

  He forced himself to look directly at his friend as he said, “Nay.”

  Conrad sighed. “You invited their families.”

  “Aye.”

  “Including Lady Emma.”

  His silence was affirmation enough. He no longer wanted to discuss it. If anything, his resolve had been strengthened by his restless night.

  If he could not go a day without her, how could he possibly spend a lifetime without seeing her smile? Without knowing Emma Waryn, both her luscious curves and her beautiful soul, as only a husband could do? It was unthinkable.

  Impossible.

  Garrick would make this work.

  He had no other choice.

  It was never going to work.

  Sara couldn’t leave the babe, and since the attack, Geoffrey had been more protective than ever. When Emma approached him in the great hall after he received the missive, the one she only knew about from Sara, her brother refused to so much as consider the possibility.

  “Until we know who was behind the attack, I think it’s best you remain here.”

  Lord, save her from older brothers.

  “Besides, haven’t you had enough excitement for the moment?” he continued. “What could you possibly hope to achieve at Clave?”

  They stood in front of the mantel in Kenshire’s great hall. This winter was more bitter than most, and the crisp air seemed to have permeated the stone walls of the castle, forcing everyone closer to the fires that burned in every occupied room.

  “Achieve?”

  Only two days had passed since she’d last seen Garrick, but it was two days longer than she would have liked. She spent most waking moments remembering their brief time together, the intimate moments that seemed so otherworldly now that she’d resumed her regular habits. How had it happened so quickly?

  “A gathering of pompous old men sitting around trying to solve the border problems,” he quoted her. Emma couldn’t help but smile at Geoffrey’s poor imitation of her voice.

  “I do not sound like that at all.”

  Although the words were familiar.

  “By your own criterion, there will be no marriageable men in attendance. This crowd is much too ‘titled’ for my baby sister.”

  Geoffrey was quite familiar with her thoughts on men with titles. Although he considered her reasoning absurd—he and her other brothers had only been a mite protective, to hear him tell it—he nonetheless accepted that her goals were different than most women’s. He, of course, disagreed that she’d been coddled as the younger sister. They were only trying to protect her, after all.

  “But he invited families as well,” she tried.

  “Peculiar, that.”

  Emma didn’t comment.

  “It’s less than a half-day ride. What trouble could I possibly get into on Caiser land?”

  That seemed to give him pause. Maybe she could convince him after all? Although it hardly mattered. Emma was going, with or without her brother’s permission.

  “No retort?” a soft voice asked from behind them.

  Emma turned, grateful for her sister-in-law’s support. “Good day, Sara.”

  “Good day, Emma.” She walked to Geoffrey and leaned up for a quick kiss
. “Husband.”

  Emma followed Geoffrey’s gaze behind her. The hall was empty but for a handful of servants moving trestle tables into place for the midday meal.

  “Faye is with him. Sleeping again.”

  Apparently satisfied, Geoffrey finally answered.

  “You could get into trouble in your own bedchamber,” he said. Emma’s heart pounded. Her brother’s statement was truer than he realized.

  Sara gave him a chastening look and a slight nod, and to Emma’s shock, he relented.

  “Fine. But you ride next to me. And will remain at Clave until we return.”

  Spirits soaring, Emma grinned at Sara. “And where else do you believe I would go? Clave is, after all, an island.”

  “With the exception of twice a day during low tide.”

  “Oh, aye,” she said. “When I can make a dashing escape, riding swiftly to the shore where I—”

  “We’ve been invited to stay the night,” he interrupted.

  Emma froze. Sara had not mentioned that. She’d been wondering how it would be possible to steal a moment alone with Garrick, and now it seemed she’d have ample opportunity.

  “Oh, there’s Peter. Finally. If you’ll excuse me.” Geoffrey left her and Sara alone together before the enormous mantel.

  “Emma? What is amiss?”

  Her sister-in-law knew her well. For the past two days, Emma had vacillated about whether she should confide in Sara. Still undecided, she’d taken to avoiding her instead.

  Emma shifted her weight. “Amiss?”

  Today, Sara looked every bit the countess in her simple cream day gown, her hair in a jeweled filet. It made it more difficult to withstand her penetrating stare.

  “Emma?”

  “Sara?” she teased. She was just not ready to tell her all. In truth, Edith had scared her.

  “I would never presume to ask you to reveal what you don’t wish to tell,” Sara said finally. “Shall we?” She gestured to the chairs in front of the mantel.

  Once they were both seated, Sara turned to her and asked, “I know you’ve told the tale of the attack before, but are there other details you can remember?”

  The memories still assailed her, but she’d much rather talk about that than discuss her feelings for the earl.