The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “My father told me ye rode hard, my lady.”

  Eddard. Of course.

  Emma threw her arms around her startled maid. “You are the finest lady’s maid in all of Northumbria.”

  Edith disengaged herself and got to work, but Emma noticed her slight grin as she pulled away.

  “Not in all of England?” Edith nodded to the corner of her chamber, where the tub had been placed in its usual position, and the other servants began to fill it with their wooden buckets of hot water. Emma loved baths nearly as much as she loved riding Nella.

  “In all of the world,” she clarified.

  Emma noticed a pin in Edith’s cap as she bent down to place the lemon-scented soap next to the tub.

  “What a beautiful pin. I don’t believe I’ve seen—”

  Edith’s hand went to the ivory sticking out of her hair, its cream color pale against her sunshine-colored locks.

  “I heard ye spoke with his lordship.”

  For some reason, Edith didn’t want her to know about the pin. So be it. She’d tell her when she was ready.

  “Again,” the maid corrected.

  Emma watched as additional buckets were brought into the chamber.

  “He refuses to allow the trip. And though I’ll never willingly admit it to him, it appears my visit will have to wait until spring.”

  Edith arranged, and re-arranged, the soap and drying cloths. She liked to keep her hands busy, even if there was nothing to be done. Much like her father. The marshal seldom sat still and even more rarely took an extended break, even if ordered to do so.

  “Why do ye need to visit now before the babe is even born? Wouldn’t ye rather meet the babe?”

  Her brother had asked her the same question, but Clara’s fear of childbirth wasn’t for her to share. Her friend was so strong and brave. She’d survived the loss of her ancestral home and the murder of her father by escaping and posing as a boy, a squire, at times completely on her own. But Clara, who seemed so fearless, had once confessed to an almost “irrational fear of childbirth,” though perhaps it wasn’t so irrational given that her own mother had died that way. While she was overjoyed by the idea of impending motherhood, she would no doubt appreciate a visit now more than later.

  Emma just wanted to give her comfort. Tell her of the many wonderful births Sara had witnessed while helping Adele deliver babies. Long ago, back when Clara was staying at Kenshire, she’d made a promise to her friend. She’d pledged to look out for Clara’s interests, now and always, although it seemed as if a missive would have to suffice for now.

  She turned to give Edith her back. “When I am lady of my own—”

  “Oh dear,” Edith interrupted as she unlaced her ties. “My father asked me for assistance after I finish helping you prepare for the evening meal.”

  “And what, pray tell, does that have to do with me being the master of my own domain?”

  “Just that it will be dark before long, my lady. And no disrespect, but when you begin such musings . . .”

  Though she trailed off, Emma knew what Edith had intended to say. “You’ve heard it all before.”

  “Many, many, many . . .”

  “Okay,” Emma said, stepping from her gown. “But ’tis true. I’ll no longer—”

  “Have a brother telling you what to do. Ye’ll have a husband for that instead.”

  Emma made a sound that elicited a giggle from her friend. “The precise reason I don’t have one yet.”

  At least it was one of them.

  Although Geoffrey could be a mite protective at times, Emma was well aware that she had as much freedom at Kenshire as she was like to have anywhere. And she really did adore the castle and its grounds. It had not quite been two years since she’d moved from her aunt and uncle’s modest manor to one of the greatest castles in all of England. At first, she’d been intimidated by its size and grandeur. But now, this was home. And if the worst she had to endure was an overabundance of love from the man she was lucky to call brother, so be it.

  Still, that didn’t mean she intended to give up just yet.

  She smiled as she stepped into the steaming hot bath. She really should stop goading Geoffrey, but it was just so much fun. And she had a surprise ready for him this evening.

  Garrick rode ahead of his men, with whom he’d begun to reacquaint himself over the past few weeks. Three years had passed since he’d sailed to Tunis with Edward after King Louis had failed to capture the city. Boys had become men. Clave had thrived under his mother’s leadership for the past few months until she returned to their holding in Scotland. Though his home was much as he’d left it, Garrick was not the same man he’d been. Years of training for battle and playing at war in tournaments had hardly prepared him for the carnage of war.

  He shook his head to rid himself of the images. The war is over. You’re here riding through Northumbria, and it’s cold enough to freeze a pigeon’s nest. Though the cold winter day did little to slow their pace, it certainly made for a more uncomfortable journey. Garrick had become accustomed to the mild winters in Acre. At heart, though, he was still a Northumbrian, and the climate was no deterrent to reaching their destination.

  “My lord,” one of the men called to him.

  He turned, light just beginning to fade from the sky.

  “I’m told we are to stop already?” James asked. The knight had a keen intellect, and the worry in his voice was reason enough to pause. As Garrick slowed, the eight men behind them did so as well. He’d not have taken so many retainers but for Clave’s marshal, who’d reminded him, as if he’d needed reminding, he was now an earl.

  “Aye. Is something amiss?”

  James squinted in the direction of Kenshire Castle. They were not far from Clave’s closest neighbor now, but they were not yet close enough to see evidence of it. On a clear day, perhaps they might have been able to see the castle from this distance, but a heavy fog lay across the ground, masking everything but their immediate surroundings.

  “’Tis said the Lady Sara is unwell after the birth of her first child. Perhaps we should continue and stop at Kenshire on our return?”

  Garrick glanced back at the men waiting patiently behind him. It would appear James had also raised his concern to them. These last weeks in England, Garrick had been so engrossed by the implications of his new position—the heaviness of his father’s death—that he’d not kept abreast of the latest gossip, which circulated Clave like a hound having spotted his prey.

  Was Lady Sara unwell?

  The last he’d seen of her, she was not a countess but the only child of one of the greatest men in Northumbria. Richard Caiser and his father had been staunch allies and friends of Clave. Garrick had fond memories of Sara, having been raised in such close proximity. Even so, they had both been glad when their fathers’ talk of a marriage alliance had been rejected by the king.

  The news of Sir Richard’s death and Lady Sara’s subsequent difficulties, and marriage, had reached his ears, however, and he regretted that he had not been in England to help protect her. He would offer his condolences—and apologies—immediately.

  “Nay, James. Though your concern is appreciated, it is unnecessary. If Lady Sara is unwell, our visit is timelier than I thought.”

  James nodded as he steadied his mount, who’d become restless beneath him.

  “I told the men as much, but we wanted you to be aware.” The knight looked at Garrick as if he had more to say.

  “What is it, James?”

  And then he realized. James was treating him with the deference due to an earl. Garrick had not yet become accustomed to either the title or the changes that went along with it.

  “How long have you served Clave?”

  James raised his sparsely bearded chin. “Ten years, my lord.”

  “And how long have you known me then?” Garrick calmed his own mount as he moved closer to the young man.

  James looked as if he feared giving the wrong answer.

 
; “Seven years, my lord.”

  “Seven years.”

  The men became anxious behind them. Garrick could see them begin to stir, their horses pawing eagerly at the ground. All were impatient for the fire-warmed hall of Kenshire Castle and the hospitality they were sure to find there. But this was as important discussion as any and could not wait.

  “Tell me of the Garrick Helmsley you’ve come to know, save the last three years that I’ve been away?”

  Again, James drew his brows together, but he did not hesitate to answer this time.

  “I know Garrick Helmsley to be strong and loyal. A man who would fight and die for the men and women in his service. A man who loves his mother.” Garrick made a face at the flood of treacle-like comments, and James, taking the hint, did add his overlord’s faults then. “And the ladies. Some would say overmuch.”

  At that last statement, James appeared as if he would lose his last meal. But when Garrick nodded encouragement, he continued.

  “A man whom all are terrified to fight, but with whom none are terrified to speak.”

  Finally, a look of awareness crept across his features. Garrick could only hope it was a lesson he’d not be forced to teach over and over again. He couldn’t abide to be treated the part of a lord, especially not when it came to that.

  “I am that same man. No more. No less. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Now tell the others we ride to Kenshire. And if you ever hesitate to speak to me or give me news you don’t believe I will like because I am now the Earl of Clave”—Garrick tried his best to keep a straight face—“I will kill you myself.”

  James did not flinch when he replied, “And I will be glad to die for you, Lord Clave.”

  Garrick waited until James passed along the message before he began moving once again. First to Kenshire, and then to Scotland. And, unfortunately, to his future wife.

  3

  Emma stepped out of the tub and used the drying cloth before dressing for supper. Though it was normally a light repast, at times with food remaining from the larger dinnertime meal at noon, tonight was to be an exception. After much fretting over Sara, her brother had finally agreed that she, not he, was best suited to determine the state of her wellness. She would be joining them for the evening meal for the first time since Hayden was born. And Cook could not resist any temptation to create a celebratory meal.

  “My lady, let me help with that.”

  She hadn’t heard Edith enter the room, but she gladly accepted her maid’s assistance. It would have been a chore to put on the deep green velvet gown trimmed with ermine without her. Edith loved to pile her long black locks atop her head, but Emma preferred to wear her hair loose. Today Emma won the battle.

  “Hurry,” she said as she slipped the leather shoes on her feet.

  “You are early, my lady. Why—”

  “Nella felt a bit warm to me this morn. Eddard says there is nothing to fret over, but I want to check on her before the evening meal.”

  “My father did mention it. But he didn’t appear overly worried.” She paused for a moment and then exclaimed, “Oh my . . .”

  Thinking it was about her palfrey, Emma startled. “What? What is it?”

  Edith wiped her hands on the front of her tunic. “You are quite beautiful, my lady. Pardon me for saying—”

  “You scared me so,” Emma said, heaving out an unladylike sigh. “I look the same as I do each day.” She would much prefer to discuss another topic. “Edith, I wonder. Did Reginald give you that pin?”

  Edith shrugged. “Mayhap he did.”

  Emma moved toward her maid and lifted her chin so the younger girl had no choice but to look at her. “So you told him how you feel?”

  Geoffrey’s squire had just celebrated a name day, and at eight and ten, he was beginning to take a more serious interest in courtship. Although gossip rarely reached her ears, Emma had been inquiring on Edith’s behalf. For an outspoken, sometimes bawdy young lady, she was quite reticent when it came to Reginald. Only Emma knew her secret: Edith secretly pined for Geoffrey’s squire. The young man had grown strong and handsome, but her maid liked most the qualities he shared with her brother. Kindness. Loyalty.

  “You know as well as I do the boy is as stubborn as his master. Even if his parents want him to wed another—”

  “I will tell him,” Edith said, but her words were as dismissive as Emma’s had been about her dress. She was far from convinced.

  “Go,” Edith pressed. “My father will still be there if you hurry.”

  Her maid clearly did not want to discuss Reginald, so Emma didn’t push her. Yet. Instead, she winked and picked up the folds of her gown, hurrying out into the corridor. Only when she was a good distance from the room did she belatedly realize she’d forgotten her cloak. Well, no matter. She would be outside but a short time.

  Emma reminded herself to slow down. She could hear Aunt Lettie’s voice. Always running somewhere. You’ll hurry through life if you’re not careful.

  Lettie had become her surrogate mother after her parents were killed in the raid on Bristol Manor, and she often reminded herself to listen to the woman’s teachings. Though Aunt Lettie and Uncle Simon lived simply, they shared an irresistible, contagious passion for life that was not diminished by their home’s perilous location near the border. They’d just come for a visit, as they’d done often, and it was her uncle’s love of horses that brought her to the stable now.

  Exiting the main keep, Emma stopped to look up as bits of snow fell on her nose. Light had just begun to fade from the sky, giving the entire courtyard a peaceful glow, as if the daytime were being gently ushered away by nightfall.

  For a long moment, she simply took in the beauty of the scene around her, but a deep breath of the cold air made her cough. Perhaps she could enjoy the new-fallen snow another time. Right now she had to ensure Nella’s condition had not worsened. This morning she’d been eating just fine, and as Eddard had reminded her, keeping a close eye on the palfrey’s appetite was the surest way to determine if there was a problem.

  Kenshire’s stables housed as many horses, Sara liked to say, as Emma could reasonably care for. Their passion for the majestic animals was something they shared. Indeed, Sara even helped with the birthings from time to time, a highly unusual activity for a countess.

  “Eddard?” she called out as she approached the stables.

  Edith had mentioned he was nearly finished for the night, and indeed, when she entered the building, it appeared empty. The familiar and distinctive smell of hay assaulted her nose. Emma peered into each stall, but there was no sign of either the marshal or any stablehands. At least one typically remained and slept in the hayloft, especially if one of the horses was ill.

  The emptiness of the space seemed markedly unusual.

  She made her way to Nella’s current stall at the back and found her trusted palfrey lying down, her forelegs tucked beneath her. The horse was merely resting, so Emma reached out to feel her. The fever felt no worse, but she was still unnaturally hot. Nella moved her head toward Emma’s hand, her black coat in stark contrast to the brown-yellow hay upon which she lay. Emma couldn’t tell if she were simply content or if her sickness was progressing.

  But one thing was for sure. She didn’t want Emma to leave just yet.

  Garrick had ridden ahead of his men, impatient to arrive and wanting to send advance warning of their small retinue’s impending arrival. Admitted easily enough by guards who knew him well even after his absences, he assured them he could find his way without an escort.

  Even after all of this time, Kenshire’s splendor still left him in awe. Unlike Clave, which had been deliberately designed to pack as many buildings and rooms as possible onto the island, Kenshire sprawled out like a cat who had just finished a hearty meal, intimidating enemies and welcoming friends all at once. One of the only features the two estates had in common was their location next to the open waters of the North Sea
.

  He remembered vividly the first time his father had taken him here.

  “If you’re impressed by the castle, my boy, you’ll be even more so by the earl.”

  Indeed, he had been impressed by both—and by Lady Sara, though not in the way a man was bewitched by the lass he’d like to marry.

  Garrick remembered the day he and Sara had learned of the attempted betrothal, years after the king had rejected it, in this very courtyard. It had been a blustery winter day very much like this one. He and the future countess had just come back from a hunt, Sara as skilled with a bow as any man. His father overheard the compliment he gave her and rode up alongside them.

  “A fine woman, Lady Sara, and you would have made an even finer wife.”

  Garrick and Sara laughed the entire day, imagining a marriage that would have been preposterous to them.

  She was the only woman he’d ever truly felt connected to in a way that had nothing to do with carnal pleasures. He could talk to her as if she were a sister, and when he noticed the extra attention paid to her by one of Richard’s retainers, Garrick encouraged the match. Sir William was both honorable and kind, but Sara regarded him much as she did Garrick, more of a brother than a potential husband. The look of devastation on William’s face when he was ordered away by Sara’s father was one Garrick would never forget.

  It was the look of a man in love, an affliction Garrick himself had always hoped to avoid, and he had thus far been lucky in the endeavor. Now, though, as he prepared to enter into a loveless marriage, he regretted that he’d never met a lady he would willingly take to wife.

  A light snow began to fall, intruding upon his thoughts. With any luck, the storm would not bring enough accumulation to hamper their travels in the morn. He looked up, but the sky was too dark to determine anything more than that they’d arrived at Kenshire just in time.

  The evening meal must be upon them. The courtyard, normally bustling with activity, even in the winter months, was mostly empty but for a lone servant who hardly looked his way. Since visitors to Kenshire were common, Garrick was not surprised at the lack of attention, but when he reached the stables and dismounted to open the heavy, arched door, he was surprised to find it empty. He held his horse’s reins in his black glove, pulling them more tightly around his fingers.