“She’s not going anywhere alone,” Garrick bellowed.
“Let me escort her back.”
Nay, he needed to do it. If he let her go now, she would think—
“You are needed here,” Conrad said. “Unless you’d like to start a war this very day. She’ll be safe with me. Go back, speak to your guests. Mollify them. Do whatever you must, but do not abandon them. Not like this.”
Garrick watched her mount and looked back up to the castle. Though part of him hated Conrad for being right, he knew there was no denying that he was in fact correct.
“Go,” he finally said, watching the wetness become water.
His friend didn’t waste a moment. Garrick watched as Conrad ran to the stables and emerged on horseback a moment later, following Emma.
Hurry.
He knew the tide well, and if they were to make it across safely, there wasn’t a moment to lose. But he should not have worried. Garrick had momentarily forgotten about Emma’s skills. Conrad, an expert horseman himself, had difficulty catching her. He would eventually, but she wouldn’t make it easy. And Conrad would have to wait for the next low tide to return unless he took a boat and left his horse behind on the mainland.
As they became smaller and smaller, Emma’s words came back to him.
They’ve been here for more than a day.
She was right. So why had he not spoken to his mother yet? He’d told himself last eve that they were tired from travel. But he hadn’t sought her out first thing this morning either.
Why?
Because he was about to devastate her. And he didn’t wish to be responsible for breaking his mother’s heart.
Again.
25
He was no longer following her.
Emma looked back to be sure. He was indeed gone.
Emma’s heart had leapt at the sight of the man trailing her on horseback. At first glance, she’d thought it was Garrick, and irrational hope had filled her up. Only upon reaching the shore had she realized it was Sir Conrad, and not Garrick, following her.
Not wanting to speak to him, or anyone, she’d ridden on as fast as she could, relenting only for a short respite once she reached Caiser land. But Brookhurst had hung back, thankfully, and now he was gone.
Finally, after what had seemed like days, Kenshire Castle came into view.
“Lady Emma,” said Reginald, who had been speaking to a groom.
She stopped Nella in front of the stables. Worry was etched on Reginald’s face, but he did not comment on her excursion. If only she could be so lucky with her brother.
“Good day,” she said. Though it was no longer daytime. Without the sun, the frigid January air turned uncomfortable, especially after a long day’s journey. She hadn’t been warm all day, and she could not wait to feel the heat of a fire on her hands.
And her backside.
She smiled, remembering a day from her childhood. After spending too much time in the saddle, she’d returned to Aunt Lettie and Uncle Simon’s manor, promptly made her way to the fireplace, and turned around, sticking her backside nearly into the flames. Bryce had caught her like that and still teased her about it.
“You look happy, my lady.”
Her smile dropped. Trying not to think of Garrick, Emma concentrated instead on Reginald, who, she suddenly realized, looked as miserable as she felt. “Is all well, Reginald?”
Where were the stablehands?
Reginald extended his hand, so Emma gave him the reins. “Nay, my lady.”
And this was just one of the many reasons she liked the lad so much. Good manners dictated that he should respond in the affirmative, but Reginald always spoke his mind. Geoffrey encouraged him to do so, and she was glad for it.
“Your brother is none too pleased with me.” Reginald reached up to calm Nella, who was pawing the ground anxiously. She knew food and rest were just moments away.
“Why?”
Reginald looked down at his feet and shrugged.
“Reginald?”
Nella let her frustration be known.
“I had best be getting her inside,” he said.
Emma stared after him in confusion, vowing to speak to her brother about it later.
The courtyard was nearly empty, and by the time Emma stood at the front door, darkness had fallen in truth. Pushing the door open, a guard greeted her.
Should she flee to her bedchamber?
Nay, there was no escaping him for long, so she entered the great hall, stopping at its entrance to watch the frantic preparations for dinner. Weaving her way through the maze of servants and trestle tables, she sought out the warmth of the fire in the far corner of the room.
“You must be freezing.” Sara’s voice lacked any anger or recrimination.
Emma looked up and couldn’t help but stare. “You look beautiful.”
Indeed, her sister-in-law had begun to wear some of her old gowns; the wardrobe made for her while she carried Hayden had been packed away for now. Dressed in a perse blue gown with no adornments save a gold belt, she looked quite different than when Emma had last seen her, in her boys’ breeches.
“Thank you.” Her response was always the same. While Emma tried to explain why she looked a certain way, Sara never did so. She accepted compliments the same way she did criticism. With poise and grace.
“My hands are most especially cold.” She glanced over Sara’s shoulder and peered around the hall.
“He’s preparing for dinner.”
“Is he angry?”
“Worried,” Sara corrected.
Emma rubbed her hands together, resisting the urge to turn around. If she truly did stick her bum in the fire, it would have the servants’ tongues wagging for weeks.
“You said in your note that you ‘had to know.’”
“’Twas a successful trip then,” she responded, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.
Sara stuck out her hands as well. As they warmed themselves by the fire together, a flurry of activity behind them, she and Sara remained silent.
Emma refused to think about what he’d done to her before their fight. As many times as the image of him kneeling below her came into her mind, she shoved it away. He’d given her pleasure without asking for any in return. She knew enough from Edith to understand the selflessness of his actions. She’d just begun to summon the courage to ask how she could please him in return when—
“What happened?”
She looked up, grateful to see Geoffrey walking toward them. She would tell the tale once and be done with it. “I know it was not the wisest of ideas to ride to Clave—”
“Alone. Unescorted. Emma, do you have any idea—”
She would not be waylaid. “But as I wrote, I simply had to know. And most of the journey was on Caiser land. I—”
“Could have gotten killed.”
Sara leveled a sharp glance at Geoffrey, trying to silence him, but this was not her fight.
“Geoffrey,” Emma said, trying not to raise her voice. “Not now.”
“Go ahead, Emma,” Sara encouraged her.
She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t say the words aloud. It was over. Had Garrick truly intended to fight for her, he would already have done so. He’d waited for a reason. And for those same reasons, she had to let him go.
“I’m not hungry,” she said, turning away. They called her name, but she didn’t care. She walked briskly, heading out of the hall and through the corridors. She just couldn’t make herself tell them all. She’d been so stupid. To think he would forsake everything . . . for her? Who was she to ask such a thing of him?
“Emma, wait!”
She wanted to keep running, but Geoffrey would only follow her anyway. So she stopped and turned. But he didn’t censure her or continue to lecture her.
Instead, her brother opened his arms and she went to him. Her eyes filled with tears as he wrapped his strong arms around her and patted her back. “The pain will go away.”
She
didn’t believe him but didn’t wish to argue the point either.
“Shh,” he said. Emma allowed the tears to flow then.
For Garrick. For her parents. For everything.
“I know, Emma. I know.”
She shook her head against his chest.
“Aye, I do. When I thought I’d lost Sara for good . . .”
Emma sniffled.
“Love can be as harsh as it is beautiful.”
Despite herself, Emma giggled.
“What is so amusing?”
She pulled back to look at the face that was so similar to her own. Well, at least his eyes. And hair. She wouldn’t want to look like the rest of him, big brute that he was.
“The Geoffrey I was raised with would never have uttered such a thing,” she said.
He didn’t appear overly concerned. “Maybe I’m not that same man.”
Most certainly he was not, and thank goodness for it.
“But neither are you the same girl who amused herself by bringing roosters into the hall or hiding frogs in her brother’s bedchamber.”
Oh, Neill had been so mad.
“I’m sorry, Emma.”
“Sorry? Whatever for?” And why was he not lecturing her?
“You’re a grown woman, capable of falling in love. Marrying. Having children. And yet, when I look at you, I still see a girl. I can hear Father admonishing me to keep you safe.”
“He was a mite overprotective.”
“Perhaps. But he—and I—care only for your safety and happiness.”
Her shoulders sank. “’Tis too late for that.” She refused to say any more.
“Whatever happened today, I think you would do well to consider Graeme’s offer. You know I will support any decision you make, but—”
“I accept.”
She was not meant to be with Garrick Clave. And if she was going to marry a man she didn’t love, why not choose a handsome, honorable one who could be an ally to Kenshire across the border? One who lived close to Clara and a good distance from Clave Castle. She could not continue to live here at Kenshire, knowing that Garrick was close.
“I won’t allow you to make that decision now. Think on it—”
“Allow? Did you not just tell me I am a woman capable of deciding my own fate?”
He didn’t look convinced. “Wait until—”
“I accept his proposal,” she said with as much finality as she could muster. “But if you do not mind, I’d like to be alone.”
She pushed around him and ran—aye, ran—toward her chamber.
So she’d be marrying a Scottish noble after all. Just not the one she loved.
26
Garrick nodded to the maid who scurried past him, away from the lord and lady’s chamber, where his mother prepared for the evening meal. It was not the first time Garrick had the chance to speak to her alone. But the events of the previous day and this afternoon had deeply affected him. Emma had affected him.
When they were together, everything was perfect. He knew what to do, knew the only path forward. But then doubt crept in like the stealthiest of enemies, lying in wait to strike him down.
He’d chided himself for a fool as soon as Conrad had ridden off behind Emma. His friend’s admonishment to stay at Clave, though logical, had torn at his very core. He hated himself for letting her go.
And hated himself equally as much for what he was about to do.
He knocked on the door and walked in as soon as she bid him to enter. “Mother?”
She turned, her hand resting on the material that draped from the top of a decorative wooden pole at the corner of the bed. Silk hung from each of its four corners, the bed an elaborate example of the luxuries they enjoyed at Clave.
He’d give them all up, every one, not to have this conversation.
“Your father always hated these,” she said, running her hand up and down the bright green material. “I never asked him why, precisely, but I can imagine him shoving them away as if they were horseflies.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“As am I.”
He let her misunderstand.
She looked up as if seeing him for the first time. “Is something wrong?”
“Aye.”
She cocked her head to the side, a frown marring her normally affable expression.
“We need to talk.”
She motioned to a stool across from the bed, and they sat at the same time—she on the bed, he on the stool.
“It’s about Magnus. And his daughter.”
She still did not appear concerned. Yet.
He took a deep breath. “I cannot marry her.”
“You cannot . . .”
Garrick had steeled himself for battle many, many times. Disappointing her again was far more difficult. “I am in love with Lady Emma Waryn, the younger sister to the new Earl of Kenshire. I escorted her to Dunmure—”
“I remember you mentioned that when you visited.”
“And we formed an attachment. This is why I delayed the wedding. I never thought—”
She shook her head. “Garrick, you cannot break this betrothal.”
Gentle but firm. His mother’s way.
“I understand the repercussions and am prepared to face the consequences. But I cannot, will not, marry a woman I will resent for the rest of my days.” Garrick forged ahead. “I’ve learned that Uncle Bernard was behind the attack. I also understand that if I do not marry Lady Alison, his pursuit of the title will be relentless. Magnus will likely—”
“Declare Linkirk an enemy.”
“Aye.”
“Garrick, think about your actions. You—”
“Have made my decision.”
He hadn’t made it this morning after Emma’s visit to Clave. Or the day before when Magnus and his betrothed had surprised him in his great hall. Or even when he’d snuck into Kenshire, no easy task, after learning Graeme had traveled there from Scotland.
He’d made his decision that night in Kenshire, in the cold, misty minutes between sleep and awake, with the taste of Emma still on his lips. The feel of her against him, the contentment that came from knowing, or thinking, she lay next to him. In those moments, he’d realized something: the thought of waking fully and not having her next to him, for the rest of his life, was unacceptable.
As he looked into the eyes of the woman who’d brought him into this world, an unbearable memory reared its head—King Edward, bringing him to his father’s dead body on the battlefield.
“I know I’ve disappointed you again,” Garrick said, gritting his teeth against the pain, “and I am sorry—”
“Disappointed me?” Her confusion appeared genuine. “Son, you’ve not disappointed me. Ever.”
That steely tone nearly convinced him of her words. But not quite. While his mother may be willing to absolve him, he knew the truth.
Yet he wouldn’t be the one to say the words aloud, to shed light on his deepest shame.
“Look at me.”
He’d been doing so, though she somehow knew his mind had been elsewhere.
“When do you believe you’ve disappointed me?”
“Can we discuss—”
“Garrick. When?”
He felt his muscles tense as if in preparation for battle. Well, this was a battle of a different sort. “When I killed Father.”
Neither of them spoke. Of course, when she did recover, his mother would tell him he was wrong. Like Emma, she would attempt to convince him that his father had made the decision to leave on his own. That he was no more responsible for his death than he was for a summer storm.
“So you killed your father.” Her tone caught him by surprise. Rather than deny the truth, she stated it factually. “Let me see . . . you talked him into joining you on one last adventure. To use the skills he’d trained his whole life to gain. And because of it, I no longer have a husband, Clave and Linkirk have a new earl, and your father can no longer offer the advice you so crave from him.�
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“Aye,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Then you knew the man not at all.”
What was she saying?
“I was his wife for many more years than he was your sire. And I loved him. Nay, not at first, for our marriage was arranged, but those first months were nothing compared to the years of love we shared. And do you know how he felt about me? About you?”
Of course he did. “Father loved us both.”
“Aye, Garrick, he loved us both. Very much. Just slightly more than he loved his men and the defenses he built, though perhaps we were on equal footing with the victory of battle. He craved battle. Needed it as much as he needed to eat or breathe. Your father, like you, was a knight. A trained warrior devoted to his God, his family, his people, and when it suited him, his country. My efforts to keep him here were futile. He’d never accept my terms. To wait at Clave knowing he could have been fighting side by side with the boy who had become a man in his image?”
Her shoulders slumped, but she looked at him with flashing eyes. “To consider it for even a moment desecrates the memory of one of the greatest knights—earls—in all of England. Certainly the greatest border lord, who was proud to have spent so many years of his life devoted to securing the border.”
Garrick didn’t know what to say. He’d assumed—
“You’re wrong, son. So very, very wrong. You did not kill your father any more than I did.” She shook her head. “Disappointed in you? A man who puts the needs of his men above his own. Who has more discipline in his right arm than Conrad has in—”
“Mother.”
She enjoyed teasing Conrad nearly as much as he did. Though sometimes Garrick suspected she was not teasing.
“Very well.” She stood and walked toward him. “I have never been disappointed in you. And never will be.” She took his hands.
“Are you saying—”
“This is a terrible idea. You said you understand the repercussions, but they will be far and wide. Bernard will be infuriated, and if he was indeed behind the attack, he’ll clearly not rest until my claim has been overthrown unless we can prove it was him. Magnus will declare Linkirk an enemy. He’ll expect recompense, and there is a very real chance he’ll join Bernard in a war against us.”
The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5) Page 21
