The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “Then why are you so calm?”

  His mother dropped his hands and looked up to the ceiling. “We will need to offer him something valuable. The man is richer than his king. I’d give him my share of Linkirk if I could.”

  “Mother, Linkirk is your ancestral home. The title is—”

  “Nothing more than that. A title. You are my son. My living, breathing son who means more to me than a thousand titles and castles.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “You love her?”

  “Very much.”

  “And she loves you?”

  “She does.”

  “What is your plan? To speak with Magnus after the meal?”

  He reached for his mother and pulled her into his embrace. Emma had tried to tell him, to make him see reason, but he’d not been ready to listen.

  “I love you, Mother,” he said, a catch in his voice.

  “I love you too, son.” She pulled back and smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was already thinking, plotting. Planning.

  He was ready.

  “Emma?”

  She’d been dreaming of Garrick. Part of her wanted to get up, knowing his touch was simply her mind’s cruel trick. But most of her wanted to go back to sleep and forget that the Earl of Magnus and his daughter currently resided at Clave and that she’d forsaken her claim to Garrick.

  Sara’s voice penetrated the fog of sleep. Opening her eyes, she was surprised to see her chamber fully lit. The sun had risen.

  “I missed mass,” she said.

  “And the meal,” Sara replied. “When Edith told me you wouldn’t stir, I began to worry.”

  Emma pulled her covers closer, not making any attempt to get up. The bed sagged where Sara sat beside her.

  “No gown this morn?” Emma asked.

  Sara looked down at her loose shirt and modified breeches. “Would you like to join me for a ride?”

  Normally, she would do so without hesitation. Today, she simply wanted to go back to sleep. “No, thank you.”

  She turned from Sara’s look of pity and stared at a tapestry on the wall, looking at the blues, reds, and yellows. The vibrant colors did not match her mood.

  “I did the right thing,” Emma murmured.

  “Perhaps.”

  “You even said you might have done the same.”

  “Emma, I don’t know what I’d have done for certain. But I do know you should follow your own path. Not mine. Or your brother’s. Yours.”

  “I tried to do just that. Going to Clave . . .”

  “What happened there?”

  Emma sighed. She sat up, knowing she couldn’t stay abed all day. “Garrick found me in the stables. We . . .”

  A flush crept up her neck to her cheeks. “I am a virgin still,” she managed.

  “I’d not tell your brother.” Sara smiled. “Though, as you know, he’d have no cause to censure you.”

  Emma knew better than to respond to that particular statement. She continued, “But then he told me she was there.”

  “She?”

  “His betrothed. She and her father, Magnus, came with Garrick’s mother from Scotland. Presumably to protest the proposed delay, although I never actually asked him.”

  As much as she hated to say the words aloud, Emma wanted Sara to know everything. “He had not yet spoken to his mother, and I could sense he was hesitant to do so. That’s why I left.”

  “I see.”

  “I ran. Well, I told him to marry her . . . and then I ran.” What were they doing right now? Had they already set a wedding date? Was Garrick thinking of her?

  “Geoffrey told me about Graeme.”

  Graeme. How could she have forgotten about that? “He’s a good man,” Emma said, her voice flat.

  “Emma, perhaps you should take some time to think about the offer. After what happened with Garrick—”

  “Nay,” she said. Too quickly, she added, “I’m ready to marry.”

  “You say it as if you’re being sent to the gallows. No one is forcing you. I just think—”

  She shook her head. “I’m ready,” she repeated. “Graeme is honorable and loyal.”

  She sighed. “’Twill be as good a match as any. Better than most.”

  “But he’s only just offered. You have time.”

  “Geoffrey is sending word, or has done so already. ’Tis done.” She tried to smile, hoping to ease the lines of worry on her sister-in-law’s face. Regret was a needless emotion for either of them. It no longer mattered what she wanted. She’d made a decision, come what may. “’Tis done.”

  Emma jumped from the bed, prepared to start the day. “It seems we’ve much to do,” she said, trying to summon some enthusiasm. She’d face this day, and all the ones after it, with the same strength and grace as Sara. “I’ll need a gown, I suppose. Do you think a tailor could be found this time of year? And these trunks—” She pointed to the two large wooden chests at the foot of her bed. “Shall I take—”

  “Emma, wait.”

  “I’ve not been married before. Will you help me prepare?”

  “Of course, but—”

  She pulled Sara from the bed with both hands and tried to smile. It felt more like a grimace. “Then come. We’ve a wedding to prepare for.”

  Though her feet felt as if they were made of iron, she forced them to move.

  I will not think of Garrick. I will not think of Garrick.

  Sara looked as if she wanted to say something but changed her mind. Emma held back hot, stinging tears, trying to put thoughts of the earl out of her head.

  27

  Garrick!”

  He heard the shout behind him, but Garrick would not slow down. He urged Bayard and his gift forward, ignoring Conrad . . . or at least attempting to.

  “Garrick.”

  When he shifted to look back, Bayard instinctively slowed just enough to allow Conrad to reach him.

  “If you plan to marry the Waryn girl, getting yourself killed en route will not help your cause.”

  He relented, if only to cease Conrad’s incessant admonishments for him to slow down.

  Now on Caiser land, Garrick couldn’t get to his love quickly enough. He would have made the trip the previous night if not for the rising tide, which turned Clave into an island twice a day.

  “I’m anxious to get to know the woman you’d have started a war to wed.”

  “And nearly did,” Garrick replied.

  He’d expected Magnus to fly into a rage when he approached him the previous evening, and indeed, the Scotsman would have attempted to cleave off his head had he not been armed. Magnus had charged at Garrick, bellowing as only a warrior going into battle could do. His roar had echoed off the stone walls of his solar, servants from as far away as the great hall likely overhearing the exchange, and if Conrad had not been present to intervene, it would have gone very badly for him. And then a miracle had happened.

  “What do you suppose Magnus would have done had his daughter not declared her pregnancy?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, angling Bayard around a brood of hens that had wandered onto the road. The dry, hard earth beneath Bayard’s hooves allowed for a faster pace for which Garrick was grateful.

  “You’ve the luck of the devil, my friend.”

  Garrick didn’t believe in luck, but given Conrad’s superstitious nature, he’d not argue.

  Just when it seemed certain Magnus would attempt to end his life, Alison, who’d stood quietly to the side up until that point, burst into tears. Garrick had asked for her to be there, a decision that would prove fateful. Her father’s face practically turned purple when she blurted out that she’d no wish to marry Garrick either. She was in love with another, although she refused to give her father his name. Of course, Magnus did not care what she thought and said so.

  But when she burst out, “I am with child,” she had her father’s attention.

  “Do you suppose Magnus will forgive her?”

  “I’d like to b
elieve so,” he said, grateful for Conrad’s attempt to distract him. Garrick had spent a sleepless night preparing his speech to Waryn. For the first time since he’d met Emma, he allowed himself to imagine their future. Making love to her, waking up to a woman who would bring life back to Clave.

  “I’m sorry I’ve not supported you in this.”

  He glanced over at the man he’d known for most of his life. Conrad, rarely serious, looked back at him, his lips set and expression grim.

  “You were right not to,” he said.

  “I won’t pretend to understand it. To risk so much for a woman.”

  He’d have said the same before meeting Emma. Someday, perhaps Conrad would be fortunate enough to learn just how far a man would go to be with the woman he loved.

  They fell silent until Kenshire Castle came into view. The air changed as they skirted the village and approached the coast. Garrick had always preferred to travel during the winter months. Some shied away from the bitter cold, but the roads were safer with fewer travelers.

  “I’ve never become accustomed to this view,” Conrad said.

  They’d come here often as boys, but Garrick agreed. He’d seen much during his travels, but Kenshire was still one of the finest castles in England.

  “Have you thought of how her brother might respond to your offer?”

  Garrick had thought of little else since realizing he was free to wed Emma. Once Magnus had stormed from Clave, taking his disgraced daughter with him, Garrick had sought out his mother. Though she agreed that a match with Emma Waryn may present further problems for Linkirk, especially if his uncle wasn’t brought to justice, she was joyful that he’d found love. Garrick and his mother decided to leave his uncle’s fate in the hands of the wardens. He’d “trust in the process,” as Emma had said.

  Garrick also realized he’d be asking for the earl’s only sister’s hand in marriage. Emma may want him, but if her brother did not, he would have a tough go of it.

  “I’m grateful Edward trusted me to negotiate with his enemies. Compared to that, surely one former reiver will not be a problem.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Garrick wanted to take them back. For Kenshire Castle loomed large in front of them, and very soon, he’d find out just how much of a problem the earl would present.

  “What of Lady Sara? At least she knows you well.”

  Garrick picked up speed, wanting to be there now. “Aye,” he yelled back to Conrad as he passed him. “Which is precisely why I am worried.”

  28

  Emma had avoided everyone since her talk with Sara the evening before. She’d skipped the evening meal, much to Edith’s and Sara’s dismay.

  No one truly believed she had a headache.

  Emma had tossed and turned all night, only to wake still thinking of the masked man on horseback from her dream. He’d ridden toward her with no markings on himself or his horse, but Emma had refused to retreat. Instead, she’d charged directly toward him, unsure of how she would defeat an armed knight. Then he’d pulled off his mask, revealing himself as a messenger from Kenshire.

  Realizing it had been but a dream, Emma rose from her bed, added a log to the fire, washed her face and hands, and promptly crawled back into bed.

  Ultimately, it was not prodding from Sara or Edith that finally forced her to rise, but her own mother. After her father had caught her in her attempt to attend the Tournament of the North and sent her home with a severe scolding, Emma had expected her mother would also want to have a strict word with her. And though she’d managed to avoid her for a spell, her mother had eventually found her at Bristol Sprout, a waterfall not far from the manor. But rather than berate her as her father had done, she simply told her to “keep fighting like a knight cornered in battle. As a woman, you’ll be forced to do so until the day of your death.”

  Of course, she’d not known at the time her mother would be forced to fight to her death.

  What would she say to me now? Likely that hiding in my bed is no way to get what I want.

  Fight like a knight cornered in battle.

  How did a knight cornered in battle fight? He would strike harder, but she’d already done so. Hadn’t she risked everything to ride to Clave? She couldn’t very well go back to the man who’d made it clear he would not fight for her. Who hadn’t even tried to go after her.

  But perhaps she’d been a tad rash to tell Geoffrey she would marry Graeme. It certainly would be difficult to live in Kenshire if Garrick was to be wed at Clave, but perhaps all was not lost? Even if it were, why rush into marriage with someone she did not love? The chief would be a perfect match for some lucky woman . . . just not for her. And didn’t he deserve a chance at love too?

  Emma jumped from the bed. She had to stop this wedding. She changed quickly, donning a simple undertunic and sideless surcoat, but jumped at the sudden knock on her door.

  “Emma?”

  Geoffrey’s voice.

  Emma pulled the brush through her hair a few times more and called him inside.

  “Oh,” he said, startled. “I was told you were still abed.”

  “Sulking like a young girl,” she finished.

  Geoffrey’s eyebrows pulled together. “You don’t sulk, Emma.”

  “Mayhap I did when you and Father trotted off to see the finest horseflesh in all of England without—”

  “This again?” He sat on her bed and stretched his legs out in front of him.

  “Aye, this again. Every single year—”

  “Emma, I’m not here to talk about the tournament.”

  Of course not. In fact, this was as good a time as any to inform him of her change in plans. “I can’t marry him.”

  She waited until his hearing caught up with her words.

  Aye, now he understood. His bright blue eyes darkened as they tended to do when he became angry.

  “Emma, I asked if you were sure. You cannot—I knew I should not have listened to you.” When he raised his voice, Emma crossed her arms. “Why did you not wait? I told you—”

  “Aye, you asked if I was sure. I was. But now I am not. Have you never made a mistake before?”

  “This is not some simple mistake. This is a man’s life we’re discussing.”

  “You think I don’t understand that? ’Tis his life, and mine. But I was upset, and—”

  “Emma—”

  “Stop saying my name like that!”

  “Like what?” His hands balled into fists, and something about his posture—angry yet restrained—reminded her of her father. She missed him so very, very much. She’d even be happy to be rebuked by him. Her eyes welled with tears.

  “You look exactly like Father just now, all blustery and—”

  “I do not bluster.”

  They both knew quite well that he did, in fact, bluster.

  “I am sorry that you’re in pain,” her brother said more softly, getting to his feet. “I’d take it from you if I could.”

  And she knew he meant it. Always.

  Panic tickled at her. Could it truly be too late? Had she doomed herself with her own impetuousness? She wanted Geoffrey to offer another idea, but his only answer was to reach out and smooth down her hair.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, standing. “I need to think.”

  He must have assumed she planned to stay in her chamber, for when they both attempted to walk to the door, she collided with the stone wall that was her brother.

  They walked from the room together, Emma heading to the only place that she truly felt at peace.

  Emma opened the door to the stables and was greeted by nearly every groom at Kenshire, or so it seemed. They stood in a circle, a horse at the center of their gathering. As she walked toward them, she attempted to get a better look.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  They all turned toward her at once.

  “Is it Nella?” She rushed forward. “Is she . . . Oh my!”

  They parted for her to get a better look, and Emma gasped. Th
e magnificent pure white horse was not one of theirs. It had a long, broad neck that tapered down to a strong, massive chest. She stared at its thick mane and moved closer. Docile, despite being completely surrounded, she didn’t flinch when Emma ran her hand down her sleek flank. She looked down to the horse’s completely unblemished legs.

  “Whose is it?” she asked no one in particular.

  Eddard answered.

  “Yours,” he said.

  She straightened. “Mine?” she asked in bafflement, tearing her gaze away from the beautiful creature.

  “Back to work,” Eddard said to the others.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She arrived just moments ago. The messenger only said ’twas a gift for Lady Emma Waryn.”

  “Where is this messenger?” She looked around but saw no one unfamiliar.

  “I sent Reginald to escort him to your brother. I also sent word to you, but—”

  “Who would do such a thing?” She knew enough about horses to know this one was worth a fortune. “Pure Spanish?” she asked.

  Eddard nodded. “Aye.”

  Emma’s hand froze. Graeme? Could it be a wedding gift?

  Nay, of course not. He would not have even received the message yet. At the moment, she was still unattached.

  “I thought perhaps you might know, my lady. There was no message, just ‘a gift for Lady Emma.’ He did also say, ‘Since she could not go to them, I brought one to her.’”

  She did not wait for the rest—if, indeed, there was more. She ran to the door of the stable, looking out, hoping to see him, needing to know she was right.

  Garrick had sent the horse to her. He’d gifted her with the finest horse Emma had ever seen in her life.

  Why? Did he feel poorly about the way things had ended? Was it his way of apologizing? Or was it possible he’d spoken to his mother after all?

  Emma turned back to catch a glimpse of white as Eddard led her new horse into the back of the stables. She needed to find the messenger, who could verify the gift was indeed from the Earl of Clave. She ran all the way back to the keep and into the great hall. No one.