The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)

by Cecelia Mecca

  She should not be surprised Clara knew of such things. Her friend, who had spent years running from possible political revenge in England, was very much involved in the politics of her clan and the happenings at the border.

  “So I’ve heard,” Emma said.

  Clara took her hand and squeezed it. “Then you know without it, Clave’s uncle will almost certainly gain enough support to start a clan war. One he will not likely win. But a war nonetheless.”

  “I suppose I didn’t know that.”

  “Emma, look at me.” If her friend was attempting to make her feel better, it wasn’t working.

  “When Clave’s father died, his uncle wasted no time in attempting to take back the earldom. All know it. His mother came to Scotland to protect her son’s rights. And if there is a war, we will be forced to take sides. Clan Kerr can no longer remain neutral. Not with our alliance to Kenshire and the Waryns.”

  “I understand,” Emma said.

  “So if you are upset about losing the Earl of Clave to Lady Alison, then we shall find you another reason to be sad. Or, even better, one to be happy.”

  Lady Alison.

  Forget about Lady Alison. And, more to the point, forget about Lord Clave.

  “You know how I feel about men like that,” Emma said, forcing a glib expression. “I’ve taken too many orders from my brothers to spend the rest of my life taking more.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “So he kissed me. And perhaps I wanted him to. But it matters not.”

  “Good.”

  “Lady Alison can have him.”

  “Aye, and all his earlishness with it,” Clara said.

  Emma pushed away thoughts about that, that perfect, knee-melting kiss, and hugged her friend again. “’Tis good to see you Clara. I feared my brother would never allow me to leave before spring.”

  “And you, Emma. Now let’s go see what trouble we can muster.”

  10

  Two weeks and a day after she’d arrived at Dunmure, Clara and Emma sat in the same alcove as they had on the first day. Two weeks of sharing and laughter that Emma would cherish always.

  “Everything is ready for him.”

  Emma looked up, wishing Clara could come with her. “I’ll miss you desperately.”

  “Can you imagine? The next time we meet, I’ll have a wee one for you to greet.”

  “Oh, no you will not. I will return before she’s due to arrive.”

  “Emma, ’tis not an easy journey. There’s no need—”

  “That’s quite enough. I’ll decide whether there’s a need.”

  The door creaked open. “He’s here.”

  Emma looked at Alex, a man just as tall as Garrick but with shorter, lighter hair. Though he would no doubt make for a fearsome enemy, the Scots warrior had only smiles for his friends. He’d been nothing but kind to her on her extended visit. Emma had always liked Alex. Perhaps because she’d sensed from the start how much he cared for Clara, although the course of their relationship had been complicated by Clara’s disguise. She’d pretended to be a lad, a squire, for years to escape possible retribution for the role her father had played in the revolution against the king. Finally, Alex’s love and her friends’ encouragement had allowed her to live as herself, unafraid and proud.

  From observing the two together, Emma knew Alex was as charmed by Clara’s quirks as she was. He plotted with their cook to make at least one of her favorites at every meal, not a difficult feat as she had many of them.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said to neither of them in particular.

  By now, Alex knew of her “indiscretion,” and he had not hesitated to offer his opinion, which was—unsurprisingly—much the same as Clara’s. Luckily, she’d nearly gotten that kiss out of her mind. Instead of thinking about it every waking minute, she only did so when other thoughts didn’t occupy her.

  Well, it was a start.

  But she didn’t look forward to their return journey, especially since Edith had sent word that she’d be returning to Kenshire instead. The short rest at the inn had not been enough to hearten her for the journey. Emma was surprised her brother hadn’t made an appearance at Dunmure. He would not be pleased to think of her traveling alone with the earl.

  But it hardly mattered. Garrick was now a betrothed man.

  She stood with such force the bench would have likely toppled if it weren’t for Clara still sitting on it. “I’m ready,” she announced.

  If she had to leave Dunmure, she would do it on her terms. Which she would inform the earl about as soon as possible. They would not be alone together during their journey for any reason. She would eat with his men, and not alone like a woman accused of witchcraft. After their return to Kenshire, there would never be any need for her to see him again.

  “Emma, what are you planning?”

  “Planning?” She pulled Clara up to join her. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Alex . . .”

  “Aye, wife?”

  He pulled Clara to him by the hand, and the happy couple looked at Emma as if she were about to do something foolish. Just the opposite, in fact.

  “Lady Emma,” Alex said in the exact same tone her brothers used when they intended to order her about.

  “Alex Kerr,” she countered. “I am a grown woman who is well aware that Garrick Clave is neither available nor desirable. As such, you’ve nothing to fear.”

  All three of them turned to the open door when a loud cough announced the presence of the very man Emma had spent two weeks trying to forget.

  Sod it, as Catrina would say.

  “My ladies,” Garrick said. “Pardon the intrusion, but I was told I could find you here.”

  Clara and Alex began talking at once, but Emma simply stood there, attempting to breathe normally—or at least pretending that she could. He was much more handsome than she remembered.

  Emma managed to gather herself enough to follow Garrick and Clara out of the room.

  Alex, who’d hung back, whispered to her, “I know that look, Emma.”

  She made a face. “Of course you do,” she shot back. “’Tis the same look you gave Clara, and she gave you in return, when you thought no one was looking at Kenshire. And though I can’t very well see my own expression, I’d imagine ’tis very much at odds with my insistence that Garrick means no more to me than the stones beneath our feet.”

  Mayhap it was due to Alex and Clara’s strong bond, but Emma found it easy to confide in him. Talking with Alex was just as comfortable as talking with her brothers. Nay, more so, for he was not quite as protective of her.

  “Emma, stop.”

  She did, allowing the earl to be led away by her friend.

  “I’ve been thinking about Sowlis.”

  “You and Clara seem to think an awful lot about him. ’Tis something you have in—”

  “Marry him.”

  “What?”

  She would not have been more surprised if Alex had dropped a war hammer on her toes.

  “He is a good man. I’ve known him for years.”

  “Aye, because your sister was to wed him. And everyone seems to forget the man didn’t exactly—”

  “He and Catrina were friends. Toren refused the match because he’s a stubborn arse. But it’s a good thing he did. Both he and my sister will now admit they were never truly in love. They were merely accustomed to the idea of their match. And Graeme . . .” He looked toward the hall and then back at her. “A more honorable man does not exist. He might be pressured to marry a Scottish lass, but—”

  “Alex, this is madness.”

  “Nay, it is not. I know you want independence. And that no potential husband compares to your brothers—”

  “My brothers?”

  “’Tis why you’ve denied so many, is it not?”

  “Alex Kerr—”

  “I don’t blame you. Though I despised them once, I do not any longer. Just the opposite, in fact. But Garrick Clave is not for you. And if there
’s any truth to what he says about Graeme—”

  “He was just warning me away.”

  “And he did so for a reason. If there is interest there, Graeme is powerful enough not to need permission. Clan Scott will accept you. It’s a good match, one your brothers will condone. Think on it. Spend some time with him to see if you will suit.”

  Think on it. Marrying a clan chief, moving to Scotland . . . “I could see Clara often.”

  “Aye, you could.”

  Emma shook her head. “Alex, I must go.” She smiled, grateful for his concern even though she’d not heed his advice. “Thank you.”

  “I care about you, Emma. Enough to have had an interesting discussion with your protector. I believe he—”

  Alex stopped since they’d arrived in the great hall, where Garrick stood waiting with Clara.

  She took a step toward him and stopped when her legs wobbled.

  “Everything is ready, my lady,” he said, indicating they should leave. Now.

  Earlish. Very much so.

  Trying not to notice the perfect contours of his face, Emma went to Clara and wrapped her arms around her dear friend.

  “I love you,” Clara said. “Take care, little sister.”

  Though her friend was just a few months her elder, the endearment had stuck.

  “Love you back,” she said.

  Clara leaned in to whisper in Emma’s ear. “He is quite cute.”

  Leave it to her friend to offer that truth even when it was impossibly useless.

  “Aye, he is,” she whispered back.

  She pretended not to see him as she strode over to Alex, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then marched out into the cold. So grand was her exit that it took a moment for her to realize she’d forgotten—

  “Your cloak?”

  Garrick came up from behind her with the offending garment in hand. She’d intended to mount and ride all day without speaking a word to him.

  Blast it.

  She lifted her chin and tried really, really hard not to notice the scent of pine as he reached around her and, not for the first time, covered her against the cold.

  “It seems I’ve made a habit of this.”

  She would not speak to him. She would not speak to him.

  Emma finally looked him in the eyes.

  Oh God . . .

  “So you’re betrothed, then?”

  He finally buckled the clasp and took a step back. Thank heavens. Now if only she could take back her words. She was supposed to act like she did not care.

  Emma’s stomach lurched at his expression before he even answered.

  “I am.”

  She turned away, but not before he saw the look of deep disappointment on her face. A look he had put there. He watched as she mounted and joined his men, riding away from Dunmure. He eventually did so himself, taking the lead, and ignoring the flakes that had just begun to fall. Another blustery January day.

  Aye, I am betrothed.

  Garrick had been greeted at Linkirk by his mother. Still quite beautiful despite her age, she looked no worse off for the tragedy she’d endured. The only difference he could see was a few gray hairs replacing some of the brown ones. She said not a word, their shared grief palpable in the empty hall of her childhood home. Linkirk Castle stood as tall and proud as any along the Scottish border. Not as sprawling as Kenshire, but with enough buildings, including a centuries-old keep, to make it one of the borderland’s greatest treasures.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” she said, walking through the lower corridors at Linkirk, the sadness in her voice pinching at Garrick’s chest.

  “Of course, Mother. Where else would I be?”

  Indeed, where else but in England, where he belonged? He’d often wished growing up his mother would be content at Clave, but Scotland had always sung to her. A song as lilting and lovely as any, she’d often said. He’d visited often enough, at least once or twice each year, but its steward was truly the lord here. Linkirk’s battle scars gave testament to its vulnerabilities. There were no tides to protect it, and it was closer to the border than Clave. But despite the dangers, this was home, his mother often said.

  Either way, it belonged to him as surely as Clave did.

  “Have you seen Uncle?”

  “Nay, nor my sister. They dare not show their faces here after the blasphemies they’ve been spouting.”

  “Tell me.”

  And she did. The moment she learned of her husband’s death, Lady Joan had traveled to Linkirk. The whispers began within a week. Inverglen wanted Linkirk for his own. It should never have gone to the English earl, he said to anyone who would listen, and certainly he and his wife had a better claim to it than the English boy who already had an earldom. The refrain surprised no one now that Garrick’s father was dead.

  “You’ve made arrangements?”

  Lady Joan nodded. “Her father should be arriving any time. The betrothal has already been negotiated. Much of this is a formality. Your uncle will not dare to continue his absurd claim once Magnus’s daughter is family.”

  So it was done.

  He was to marry a woman he’d never met. A woman he wouldn’t meet before the wedding.

  Lady Alison’s influential father, the Earl of Magnus, had arrived the next day with a retinue of men three times larger than the one Garrick had brought from England. A show of force, though Garrick wasn’t sure why such a thing was necessary.

  It became clear after he spent some time with the man.

  Mean. Unrelenting. Powerful. Garrick had interacted with plenty of men like Magnus. Men who felt an unrelenting need to display their wealth and power. He’d fought for one of them in the Holy Land, and there was none more powerful than King Edward—save his father, the King of England.

  Garrick had been home just a few weeks before coming to Scotland, and his only stipulation was that the wedding be delayed until the following month. The earl wasn’t pleased, but he’d agreed to give Garrick time to get his affairs in order.

  “Garrick, we cannot afford a delay,” his mother had said to him later that day, pulling him into the solar for a private conversation.

  “A betrothal is as binding as a marriage. It matters not.”

  He’d told himself the delay was necessary. He needed time to acclimate. To become the Earl of Clave and of Linkirk in truth.

  But is that the real reason?

  The thought had plagued him so much, he’d nearly sent a message to Magnus to recant. But the very idea was preposterous. And unnecessary. As he’d said to his mother, the betrothal was just as binding as a marriage. Breaking such an agreement with a man like Magnus would mean war.

  Then he saw her again, and his question was answered immediately.

  Nay, it was because of her.

  He’d made the betrothal agreement to secure his mother’s inheritance. Signed his name to the papers to make it official. And yet, he’d found himself setting a furious pace to Dunmure this morning. His men must have thought him crazed.

  I am a grown woman who is well aware that Garrick Clave is neither available nor desirable. As such, you’ve nothing to fear.

  He had not meant to overhear their conversation.

  Neither available nor desirable.

  He was not available. But if Emma thought to convince herself she didn’t desire him, she was doing a poor job of it. Garrick knew women nearly as well as he knew his way around a training yard. And every sign told him the feeling was mutual.

  “Shall we stop, my lord?”

  Garrick, deep in his own thoughts, hadn’t realized they’d already ridden for several hours. “If the lady requires it.”

  At sunset, they would likely have to accept Graeme de Sowlis’s invitation. As much as he despised the idea of bringing her back there, Emma’s warmth and security needed to be his priority.

  He stopped and waited, getting only a glimpse of her long cloak between his men. When they continued to ride rather than stopping, Garrick wasn’t su
rprised. Not only was Emma skilled at horseback riding, she was tough. Most other women would have begged for a reprieve by now. But Emma stayed with them regardless of the weather or terrain.

  They pushed hard and were rewarded for their efforts. They arrived at Clan Scott’s land well before dusk, and Garrick sent word ahead to the chief.

  This time, their host stood waiting for them in front of the doors of the great keep.

  The chief looked behind Garrick as they approached.

  He looked at Emma.

  “Come, hurry inside,” Graeme said. “You must be freezing.” He clasped Garrick’s arm in greeting and leaned in to add, “Get inside quickly.”

  The alarm in his voice evident, Garrick looked at him more closely. The man was worried about something. “What is it?”

  “Rumors only. We’ll speak on it later.”

  Since they were clearly secure this deep behind Graeme’s defenses, Garrick could not imagine why the chief appeared so anxious.

  He tried, and failed, not to look behind him at the men. Or, more precisely, at Emma.

  He watched as she joined them at the door, sparing him not a glance. Graeme greeted her as prettily as a man who was courting a lady. Truth be told, an alliance between Waryn and Sowlis made too much sense for his liking.

  Garrick allowed himself to be led to the same bedchamber he’d occupied on the way to Dunmure. Having no desire to witness Graeme and Emma together, he instructed the handmaiden that he’d take the evening meal in his room. Garrick wasn’t surprised when the chief himself knocked at his door not long afterward.

  “You’ll not join us for the meal?”

  “Nay, I will not.” Garrick wasn’t feeling as gracious as he should toward their host. It wasn’t Graeme’s fault that he was in this hopeless, unhappy situation.

  The other man looked at him a bit strangely, but he didn’t comment. He entered the room despite Garrick’s failure to invite him in.

  “There’ve been rumors of a raiding party for the past two days,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  “You’ve scouted for them, I assume?”

  “Aye, of course. The scouts found nothing untoward. But I’d like to send additional men with you, at least until you cross the border.”