The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)

by Cecelia Mecca

  When a commotion at the gate caught her attention, Emma abandoned the stables in favor of inspecting what was happening at the gate. When she saw Peter, the steward, emerge from the keep and head in that same direction, Emma knew something was afoot.

  She heard the approaching horses before she saw the men on horseback. Though she couldn’t see their faces from this distance, Emma could make out the quality of their mounts. Visitors. Nobles. Her mind raced with possibilities faster than her feet could carry her to the gate. She didn’t see Bayard, but who else would be calling on such a day? They had few visitors this time of year.

  The group rode into the inner courtyard just as Peter caught up with her.

  “Do you know who it is?” she asked breathlessly.

  The steward was barely visible beneath his enormous cloak. “I do, my lady.”

  Without elaborating on that most vexing answer, he raised his hand in greeting.

  Emma’s heart thudded harder with each passing moment, but as the small riding party came closer—she counted five men—she could still not make out any sign of Garrick. The men were all swathed in heavy cloaks and garments, but surely she would know him even from a distance. She drummed her feet against the ground, looking . . .

  Their leader pulled down his hood, and Graeme de Sowlis stared back at her.

  What in the devil was he doing here? She had told her brother she was not interested in the man, and besides, Sara had promised to put off a visit. Had Geoffrey gone behind their backs to make the arrangement? Why was he so eager to marry her off to a Scotsman?

  “Good day, Lady Emma,” Graeme said, jumping from his horse. “I had not expected such a welcome.” He looked up at the sky. “In the courtyard.”

  A maidservant, rushing toward the castle to escape the cold, bumped into her, nearly knocking her down.

  “Pardon, my lady,” the girl mumbled. Then she looked up at Graeme—and very nearly walked into Peter because she couldn’t seem to avert her gaze.

  Emma didn’t blame the girl. The chief, taller even than her brothers and Garrick, was indeed very handsome. His hair, which he kept shorter than most men, appeared darker today, but normally the dark blond gave him a boyish look that was completely at odds with his demeanor.

  Straightforward. That was the best word she could think of to describe him. Well, straightforward and kind. All in all, a worthy catch for someone who didn’t dream of another man.

  “A common occurrence?” she asked as he dismounted.

  His wink gave her the answer.

  Peter ordered their horses stabled and, as was his custom, took charge of the men. Playing the part of the unwitting host, she escorted Sowlis into the great hall of Kenshire Castle.

  Her brother appeared almost immediately, and the cad didn’t look the least bit surprised. Of course he wasn’t surprised. No doubt her wretched brother had arranged the whole thing.

  “Welcome to Kenshire. You made it here without incident, I trust?”

  The men clasped hands, and Faye, Sara’s maidservant—who’d hurried into the hall after Geoffrey—took Graeme’s mantle from behind.

  “None at all. Thank you for the invitation,” Graeme said, confirming her suspicions.

  I am going to strangle Geoffrey.

  Graeme walked further into the room, the hall opening up before him. He looked all around, turning in a circle, and whistled. “I’ve heard rumors of this place, but they do Kenshire no favors. The tapestries are magnificent.”

  The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps filled the air, and Sara, who’d just entered the room, said, “Thank you,” a tad breathlessly.

  Emma could tell from Sara’s expression—and the fire in her eyes—that she was just as surprised by their visitors. For his part, her brother appeared quite cheery.

  “I’ll have Faye show you to your room. Unless you’d like a tour of the castle first. It is quite magnificent.” Geoffrey smiled at Sara, who, to Graeme, must seem the vision of a perfect hostess.

  “I would very much enjoy that.” He turned toward Emma. “Perhaps my lady would care to accompany us?”

  It was a simple question asked in expectation of a simple, and affirmative, answer. Yes. But if she encouraged him now, it would only be more difficult to deny him later.

  “My apologies, I was just on the way to speak with the stable master when you arrived. Do enjoy your tour.”

  He did not appear at all displeased. The same could not be said for her brother.

  Well, perhaps he should have consulted her first about this visit!

  “My lady. Your ladyship,” Graeme said to Sara.

  When they walked away, Emma stole to the side of the hall with Sara.

  “Faye,” Sara said, “you will check on his men and speak with Cook about the meal.”

  Faye didn’t move.

  “Faye?”

  The woman’s eyes darted across the room, settling on the doorway through which the earl and the chief had just disappeared. “Cook already knows.”

  “Good,” Sara said. Emma was sure she didn’t want to involve the servants in her disagreement with Geoffrey. Their disagreement with Geoffrey.

  “Thank you, Faye. That will be all. Oh”—Sara stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm—“have you heard from Hugh?”

  Faye had married Emma’s uncle Hugh not long after Geoffrey and Sara became husband and wife. Emma was glad for them and knew Faye was anxious for Hugh to return from Elmhurst Manor. But Hugh’s help fortifying Elmhurst was much needed.

  “Aye, my lady. He says ’twill be a fortnight, at least, until he returns.”

  “Thank you for your understanding,” Emma said. “I know you must miss him, but Lettie and Simon are very grateful for his assistance.”

  “At least I don’t have him tellin’ me what to do. A fine man, but a mite stubborn, if I do say so myself. Beggin’ your pardon,” Faye said with a fond grin.

  Emma laughed. “All Waryn men are quite so. Please, no apologies for saying it aloud.” She turned to Sara. “Speaking of Waryn men . . .”

  Faye bobbed a curtsy and moved on, for she was as wise as she was patient.

  “I thought you didn’t tell him?”

  “What could he be thinking?”

  They spoke at once, but Sara answered first. “I did not. But your brother is smart, and my guess is that he knows about you and Garrick.”

  “’Tis possible. Garrick did ask to speak with me privately the day we left Clave.”

  “And Geoffrey allowed it?”

  Emma nodded. “So perhaps he—”

  “Oh dear. Emma, you need to speak with him.”

  “About Garrick? Sara, you know him. He will—”

  “Be understanding, I’m sure.”

  They looked at each other, and Emma found herself laughing despite the dire situation.

  “Oh, dear sister,” Emma said, using her best Geoffrey voice. “Why ever did you not tell me you’ve fallen in love with a man betrothed to another? What a fine match. Well done.”

  “Shh . . .”

  Emma had as much desire to tell Geoffrey about Garrick as she did to spend her days learning to embroider. But she had no choice. She couldn’t ask Sara to deceive him on her behalf, and neither could she put off a discussion of Graeme any longer.

  “I will speak to him this evening,” Emma said.

  Sara nodded. “I should be there—”

  “Nay, you’ve done enough for me. I will speak to him alone.”

  “That poor man, traveling here in such wretched weather for naught.”

  “’Tis your brother’s fault for encouraging it,” Sara said. “Though you must admit the man is quite handsome.”

  “Aye, very much so. Graeme de Sowlis would make a fine husband indeed. For someone else.” Emma reached for Sara and hugged her. “Thank you for your help.”

  Sara glanced across the hall, and Emma followed her gaze. Faye had reappeared in the entrance to the kitchens and was waving for Sara to join
her.

  “Go. I shall see you at dinner.”

  Emma was so distraught that she was halfway to the stables before she realized she’d forgotten her cloak. She stopped, considered going back for it, but decided against it. She’d really only needed an excuse to avoid Graeme’s tour of the castle. Besides, she wouldn’t be there long. A quick visit with Nella and she’d escape to her rooms, avoiding Graeme before dinner.

  “Good day, Reginald,” she said to the squire as she stepped into the stables. He was unsaddling Geoffrey’s horse.

  “Lady Emma,” he said. “Your brother asked that I exercise him. Have you seen my lord?”

  “My brother is with his guest,” she said, watching Reginald as he finished his work and left. She smiled. He really had begun to take on Geoffrey’s mannerisms.

  “The lad seems to appreciate a fine piece of horseflesh,” a voice said from behind her.

  It couldn’t be. She spun around to confirm what her mind already knew. “Garrick?”

  22

  Garrick was here. At Kenshire.

  Standing just in front of her.

  She spun around, checking to be sure they were alone. Sure enough, no one was about.

  When she turned back to look at him, he was leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed as casually as if he stood in his own hall at Clave Castle.

  “Emma, you really should learn to better prepare for the cold,” he said. With that, he uncrossed his arms and began to take off his cloak.

  She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms, but something held her back. It was the way he looked at her. She shivered. “Why are you here?”

  He held out the mantle to her. “Because you are.”

  She walked toward him, turned, and allowed him to place the warm covering over her shoulders. And then he wrapped his arms around her. Even through the thick material, she could feel the power of his arms, firm and secure.

  “What is Graeme de Sowlis doing at Kenshire?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Is that why you’ve come?”

  “Aye.”

  Again, she attempted to turn around. Again, Garrick stopped her.

  “Why?” he asked. He sounded pained, the raw emotion in his voice stopping her from giving a glib answer.

  “He was invited by my brother without my knowledge.”

  Garrick pushed the hood away from her neck, allowing him better access. His breath was warm against her flesh.

  “How did you get in here?”

  In response, he kissed her neck. Though it was the gentlest of touches, it sizzled through her body, her response to him as instantaneous as always.

  He finally turned her around and captured her lips with his own. Garrick’s mouth slanted over hers, his tongue turning the fire between them into an inferno. It licked at them, engulfing her body as she struggled to get closer to him.

  How had he come to be here?

  Did she care?

  If they were caught . . . if Geoffrey found them like this . . . if Garrick started a war . . .

  She ceased caring about any of the very real obstacles that stood between them. Nothing mattered but the man who held her, cherished her with his body and soul.

  “When I learned he was riding toward Kenshire,” he murmured against her lips.

  “How did you know? How did you get in here?”

  He held her head between his hands. Desire pooled in his eyes. He wanted her, and she wanted to give herself to him. More than anything.

  “I do not want Graeme de Sowlis,” she said. “I want only you.”

  He groaned, capturing her lips once again. “Oh God, Emma. I need you.”

  She pulled away but didn’t break eye contact. “Don’t leave.”

  But she knew he was not going to listen. She felt him holding back. Knew, instinctively, their time together was already coming to an end.

  His next words proved her correct. “I can’t stay. I shouldn’t be here at all. But I had to see you. Had to be sure.”

  “I promised to wait for you.”

  “I love you, Emma Waryn. I will find a way for us to be together. But for now . . . I have to go.”

  “You’re really leaving?”

  He reached for her cheek, his ungloved hand running down her face. “I cannot be found here now, not with Graeme in attendance. But I had to see you.”

  “Garrick, you never answered me.”

  “I’ve scouts everywhere, on account of my uncle. When I heard Graeme was making his way to Kenshire, I snuck inside.” He didn’t smile. “Announcing myself would be as good as a declaration for you—”

  “A declaration you cannot yet make.”

  “My mother will be at Clave any day. I must speak with her first.”

  “To get her permission?”

  “Nay. To give her the courtesy of knowing that I intend to start a war.”

  “But surely—”

  “It was my uncle.”

  She blinked.

  “The attack. The men were hired by my uncle. All the more reason that my mother should be safely in England.”

  “Your uncle? Are you sure? How could he?”

  Garrick tightened his arms around her.

  “Aye, we’re sure. The border lords’ reach is wide. After the council, it was only a matter of time before someone learned the truth. The men were mostly Scottish, but one that was captured, an English mercenary . . .”

  Emma didn’t like the look in his eye. “Garrick?”

  His jaw clenched.

  “You spoke to him,” she asked.

  “Aye.” This . . . this was the crusader. The warrior. The knight trained to kill.

  “What will you do?”

  Garrick sighed. “I will tell my mother about the attack and my uncle’s part in it. I will break the betrothal, attempt to pacify Magnus without making a bitter enemy. And my uncle . . .”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “He will pay for his actions.”

  “And Linkirk?”

  He didn’t answer. Garrick didn’t care about his Scottish title. From what she had seen, he cared only for Clave, but his mother was another matter altogether.

  “I have to go,” Garrick said.

  “Garrick, are you sure what you’re doing is wise?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “To break the betrothal, knowing about your uncle’s role in the attack? He will never rest with you as the Earl of Linkirk, and if you’re married to an English lady, you’ll have no claim—”

  “Except a legal one. Emma, the title is not his by right.”

  “But I will be responsible for—”

  “You’ll be responsible for nothing. Emma,” he said definitively. “This is my decision. If my uncle was truly willing to go to such lengths knowing the betrothal was imminent . . . he’s become careless. Foolish. And you—”

  “Will be the ruin of your family.”

  He shook his head. “Nay, my uncle Bernard made the choice to destroy our family.”

  “But Magnus?”

  The look on his face told her he was less hopeful than he pretended to be. There was a very real chance this would end in war, one way or another. Emma felt as if someone had reached inside her and torn her heart from her chest. “Garrick, you need to be sure. I love you. I can’t imagine another week, nay, another day, without you. But I will not live with the knowledge that I was responsible for tearing apart your family.”

  She nearly collapsed under the weight of her own words, but it needed to be said . . . and she had not yet finished.

  “Do not promise me anything.”

  “Emma, what are you saying?” Garrick’s expression, one of disbelief, nearly made her change course.

  “Speak to your mother. Open your mind and heart to what’s right. And make the decision you need to make. Not for me. Not for your mother. But for yourself.”

  The words stuck in her throat like a dollop of molasses, but she would not take them back.<
br />
  “Emma?”

  “I did not ask Graeme to come here. I neither wish to marry him nor plan to encourage him. But while I hope with all my heart we’ll find a resolution that sees us together, I won’t depend on it.” She took off his cloak and handed it to him. “I love you, even with all of your earlishness.”

  He looked at her oddly, but she didn’t know how else to explain herself.

  “But now I ask for a different promise.”

  “Emma. No.”

  “That you will make the right decision. For yourself.”

  “Emma.” His tone was one she was sure he’d used on his men many times, but she wouldn’t allow it to sway her.

  “And consider my earlier advice. Allow the wardens to handle your uncle.”

  She had said what needed saying, and now she needed to leave. Immediately. Emma broke away, ran to the stable doors, and tossed them open. No one was about. She ran through the courtyard, past the entrance of the keep, and around to the back. She ran until her chest hurt, until she knew Garrick had not followed her.

  Panting, she stopped beside the kitchens. Smoke billowed into the sky, its stench mixing with the smell of dirt and cold. She watched it climb into the air and disappear. If only she could do the same. The thought of sitting at dinner, entertaining their guest after what had just happened . . .

  What had just happened? Garrick had come for her. Risked himself to see her. And he’d felt so good, so perfect in her arms.

  But when he’d told her of his uncle . . .

  His mother’s life, threatened. The mercenaries who’d attacked them, dead or soon to be that way, even if Garrick did listen to her. Their time would come on the Day of Truce. This was real. It wasn’t some tale told on a tapestry or a bard’s song to entertain its noble guests. Garrick was risking everything for her, and she couldn’t allow it, not unless he made the decision with open eyes.

  What had she said? That he should make the best decision for himself?

  What would he choose?

  Emma tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter. That she’d spoken from the heart but also used her head, something her eldest brother was forever encouraging her to do.