The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “I was so scared,” she admitted. “And Garrick insisted I not look upon the dead, although I did peek. Everyone seems to think Garrick’s uncle may be responsible.”

  Sara sighed. “He certainly may be. A horrid man.”

  “You know him?” Though she was unable to hide the surprise in her voice, Emma somehow refrained from asking more questions. There was so much she wanted to ask about Garrick—his family, his earldom, and Sara’s friendship with him—but she didn’t dare.

  “I’ve never met the man, but I overheard my father and Garrick’s father having a conversation about him once. They didn’t speak highly of the man, and his attempts to undermine the natural succession of the earldom doesn’t speak highly of his character.” She sighed. “It matters not that Garrick is English. The title is his mother’s by right. Why his uncle can’t accept that fact . . . well . . . I suppose ’tis not so unusual.”

  She knew what Sara was thinking. Her dear sister-in-law had almost been harmed by a cousin intent on murdering her for the sake of her title and land. Thank goodness Geoffrey had been there to protect her.

  “But I do know his mother,” Sara said.

  “What is she like?” Emma asked, too quickly.

  “Fierce,” Sara said, thankfully not appearing to notice Emma’s eager response. “Determined. The only man along the border meaner than the Baron of Inverglen is the Earl of Magnus, the man she sought out for an alliance. His reputation is known well, even here.”

  “It is?”

  “Aye. The relative peace we’ve experienced along the border these last years has lulled everyone into a state of unpreparedness that worries me at times. But when the border was less stable, if there was one man in the North all wanted as a friend and feared as a foe, it was Magnus.”

  Garrick’s future father-in-law. Or the man who would have been his father-in-law. What would such a man do if his only daughter was jilted? Would he truly allow Garrick out of the marriage contract? Or would it mean war?

  Oh dear.

  “Enough talk of overeager men and their insecurities. Tell me, more importantly, about these rumors I’ve heard about you and a certain man who’s taken a liking to you.”

  Emma’s stomach flipped. “Sara, I can—”

  “I’ve not met Graeme de Sowlis, but I’ve heard much about him from Catrina.”

  Graeme?

  Emma felt so flummoxed she almost gave herself away.

  “Well?”

  She shook her head, unsure of how to respond.

  “Do you fancy the man?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.”

  Sara appeared to think on that.

  “Well, then perhaps we should invite him to Kenshire to get to know him a bit more. What do you say?”

  Invite Graeme to Kenshire?

  “Uh—”

  “Think on it.” Sara jumped to her feet. “Do you smell that? Cook has managed to find cinnamon.” She took in a deep breath. “I do love that woman.”

  “Aye,” Emma agreed as Sara walked away, presumably to find the source of the smell.

  Graeme. Magnus.

  This meeting at Clave couldn’t come soon enough. Emma needed to speak with Garrick. She required answers that only he could give her.

  18

  Geoffrey, look!”

  As they made their way across the cobbled pathway toward Clave Castle, Emma continued to point out evidence of the sea water that had swept through the area just a short time earlier. She reached down to give Nella a bit of encouragement.

  “Seaweed. So very fascinating.” He grinned down at her from his taller steed.

  “Mock all you like, brother. But have you ever seen anything like it?”

  Despite his casual tone, Geoffrey looked around them with an expression so similar to her twin’s that Emma couldn’t resist smiling. She knew what it meant without asking—Geoffrey was impressed by what he saw.

  “You look so much like Neill right now.”

  They’d reached the shoreline, or where the shoreline would soon appear, and began to climb up toward the gatehouse.

  “Is that right?”

  “Aye. Or at least you look like the carefree boy Neill was, and less like the big brother who fought so hard to keep our family safe.”

  “That is all I’ve ever wanted to do, Em.”

  Despite his occasional high-handedness, Geoffrey really did care about keeping her from harm’s way. If he was a mite overprotective since their parents’ death, she could hardly blame him.

  And her twin was no longer the sweet boy she remembered. His reputation continued to grow at the tournaments she could never attend.

  “I miss him,” she said, knowing there was naught Geoffrey could do about it.

  “As do I,” he said. “But he promised to visit this summer.”

  Emma hadn’t seen him since his accolade, and now that he was officially a knight, she feared he was falling prey to the “tourney call,” as Geoffrey called it. But he was always quick to remind her that he and Bryce had both done it and lived to tell the tale. Seeking validation and glory from one tourney to the next, each win sweeter than the last. But she remembered the wounds they’d suffered, the scares they’d given her mother and then, after Bristol was taken, their aunt, every time they left to compete.

  Emma tried not to think on it. Instead, she concentrated on the circular stone structure that rose above them. Garrick was somewhere inside there. She would finally get to see him again.

  She’d hardly slept the night before. After waking early to ensure Geoffrey would not leave without her, Emma had donned her favorite gown, a pale blue one that matched her eyes. Sara had visited her in her chamber, and her behavior had made Emma wonder, if only for a moment, if she knew the truth. Sara had looked at her oddly, opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again.

  “Beautiful,” she’d finally said.

  Edith had accompanied the group, and just a few hours in the saddle had reminded them all why Emma had ended up traveling to Scotland unaccompanied. For a marshal’s daughter, Edith really wasn’t a passable horsewoman.

  In fact . . .

  “Geoffrey, I don’t believe Edith will make it up there.”

  The incline to the main gate, halfway up to the castle itself, was a steep one. The keep was, quite literally, built from the rocks that surrounded it.

  They dismounted just as a man on horseback came down to meet them. Emma pulled her hood forward, trying to keep the wind from whipping into her face. The breeze rendered a cold day freezing.

  Assuming it was the steward, Emma turned to find Edith being helped off her mount.

  She took a few steps back to talk to her friend, dragging Nella’s reins with her. “How could we have possibly imagined you’d be able to make it across the border?” she teased.

  Edith stood up straight, as if to contradict Emma’s words.

  “I’m just fine, my lady. I—” Edith looked over Emma’s shoulder. “Oh yes, I can see what you mean now. He is quite a bit more handsome than I remembered,” she whispered.

  Part of Emma had already known it was him. She could feel him behind her, and the pull that had always existed between them compelled her to turn.

  Garrick looked at her in a way he most certainly shouldn’t. It was a good thing her face was partially hidden by her hood.

  The hair on his face slightly grown, his jaw set, Garrick exuded power. Dominance.

  Desire.

  He greeted her brother and then strode directly toward her.

  Garrick bowed. “’Tis good to see you again, my lady.”

  He looked to Geoffrey, who nodded distractedly as he talked to one of his men. Having secured her brother’s permission, Garrick held out his arm.

  And she took it, trying to ignore Edith’s sly smile as a groom took Nella’s reins.

  Despite the biting cold and unrelenting wind and the layers of cloth between them, the jolt of his touch strengthened Emma’s resolve. She was exa
ctly where she should be. No one had ever made her feel as such, and she doubted anyone would again.

  Her heart thudded with every step she took toward the keep. So much she wanted to say, but none of it was proper.

  “You made it.”

  She peeked at him and caught a glimpse of the water beginning to edge its way closer to the shore.

  “Of course.” Emma couldn’t contain her amazement. “Clave is . . .” She looked up, beyond the gate that had just been opened to allow them through.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Like it? I love it. ’Tis the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

  When he didn’t respond, Emma looked back toward Garrick.

  “It is now.”

  Emma’s gown was too tight. Nay. The air was too cold.

  She turned away, looking back at the others who followed them up the hill.

  “We’ve much to discuss,” he said in an undertone. Then, turning toward his guests, he gestured toward the entrance, a massive oak door that seemed to spring up from the rocks.

  “’Tis almost as if the rock and castle were one,” Emma said with wonder as she stopped and leaned down to inspect the construction. “Fascinating.”

  Men streamed past her and Geoffrey said to Garrick, “Her interests know no bounds.”

  Indeed, Emma loved understanding how structures were made almost as much as she loved horses. “When was this built?” she asked, standing. Then, remembering something, she spun to look down at the remainder of their party. “And the horses? Where will they—oh.”

  It seemed Nella and the others were being led down a path to their right.

  “The stables are behind the keep,” Garrick said. “Did you imagine she would follow you directly into the hall?”

  The look on his face tugged on her heart. Despite his wealth and position, despite the horrible things he’d seen and done, Garrick retained a playfulness that had endeared her to him from the start.

  “Well, no, I—” She swatted his arm. “You’re teasing me.”

  The others had already made their way inside, Geoffrey and Edith included. But Emma was reluctant to do so. Once there, they would be separated.

  He seemed to hear her thoughts. “We will find a way to talk.”

  Talk.

  He said the word as if it were a curse. The implication that they would do more hung in the air between them.

  “I look forward to it, my lord.”

  For a moment, she thought he might kiss her right there. The way he looked at her drove her mad.

  “After you, my lady.” He gestured for her to enter. If Emma had thought the castle’s outer appearance was spectacular, the entrance hall leading to the great room was as exquisite as any she’d ever seen.

  What Clave lacked in size, being trapped on an island, it made up for in splendor. It seemed as if gold sparkled from every corner, yet it was neither cold nor unapproachable. The Clave coat of arms hung prominently above a raised dais. The high wooden beams that crisscrossed above them shined as if they’d just been freshly cleaned.

  The room was filled with strangers, men and a few women, all unknown to her. But apparently she was alone in that, as greetings abounded between the great border lords. Just as she’d suspected, Garrick was swallowed by his guests the moment he followed her inside, but a strange woman soon approached her. A lady’s maid?

  Before Emma could tell her she’d brought her own maid, the woman said, “Good day, Lady Emma. I am Mable, the steward here. Lord Clave asked if I—”

  “Steward?”

  It was incredibly impolite, but Emma could not contain her surprise. She’d never met a female steward before.

  Mable was apparently accustomed to such a reaction and did not appear offended.

  “Aye, my lady. Would you an’ your lady’s maid care to refresh yourselves from the journey?”

  Emma glanced around the room. Another small party had arrived, and this time it was someone Emma recognized. Lord Huntington. Bryce had squired with the man, and though she had no opinion of him, Emma despised his now-married daughter. The woman had rebuked Bryce after learning he was a second son, thereby breaking her steadfast brother’s heart. But no matter. If the woman hadn’t acted so poorly, Bryce would not have met and married Catrina.

  “Of course,” she murmured to the steward, trying not to seek out Garrick in the crowd. She found Edith instead, and the steward led them through a long, well-lit corridor and then up a winding set of stone steps.

  “This is the best chamber, beside the lord’s and lady’s, of course. The view, ’tis—”

  Emma gasped. Upon entering the room, she was immediately drawn to the window. Though its shutters were only slightly open, she could already see why Mable had complimented the room. Even though the flowers were not in bloom, Emma could tell the area below the steep drop-off from her window was an expansive garden. Rocks intermingled with the remnants of plants, all of it leading down to the rocks that lined the coast. Beyond that, there was only ocean.

  “The view?”

  “’Tis mid-tide, my lady. You arrived just in time.”

  “I knew Clave was a tidal island, but to see it happening—”

  Mable moved to the window and closed and latched the shutters. “My apologies for the cold air. I can’t imagine why these were left open. On the other side of the castle, you’d see the causeway is just barely covered with water now. Within the hour, boats will bring the remaining guests.”

  Remarkable.

  “I’ll put my things here,” Edith said, coming up from behind her.

  “Nay.”

  Garrick’s voice, so unexpected, made her jump.

  “Mable, please see Mistress Edith to the servants’ quarters.”

  The steward startled. “Aye, as you please, my lord.”

  Mable and Edith left at once, taking Emma’s wits with them.

  “What are you doing here?” she finally managed to ask. “Garrick, your guests . . . my brother.”

  He closed the door behind him as she spoke, and then reached for her before she could utter another word. She kissed him eagerly, feeling as prey to the emotions and desire churning inside her as the cobbled walkway was to the tide.

  His lips moved over hers, his tongue insistent, and she met every thrust. She pulled him closer just as Garrick broke contact.

  “I had to, Emma. I needed to know.”

  His breath smelled of mint. His scent was exactly as she’d remembered it.

  “Geoffrey—”

  “Will not miss me for a few moments. None know where you are but me.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  He kissed her nose. Her cheeks. Her eyelids. With every soft touch of his lips, Emma could feel the answer to the two questions foremost on her mind.

  He still wanted her. He still loved her.

  “Garrick, how—”

  “We can’t talk now,” he said, already letting her go. “I must get back. After the meeting,” he said. “At the meal, I need you to know, no matter what is said—”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No matter what is said—by me or your brother or any of the others. Emma, look at me.”

  She was trying to concentrate, but his touch was distracting. She was finally in his arms after dreaming of it for so long.

  “I love you. Do you hear me?”

  Aye. I do.

  “Remember that. And I will come to you tonight.”

  She’d hoped for as much, and yet . . . “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  He bit his lip, a simple gesture that banished any thoughts of whether or not it was a good idea.

  “I think ’tis the best idea I’ve ever had. Promise me you will remember?”

  He was worried about something.

  “I will. But what—”

  “I have to go.” He squeezed her hands, and just as quickly as he had come, Garrick left, closing the door behind him.
>
  Emma moved back to the window and unclasped the wooden shutters. She peeked out, allowing herself to imagine, just for a moment, a life here at Clave. As Garrick’s wife. Could Garrick even make such a thing happen?

  Oh God, she hoped so. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

  The Northumbrian council of border lords had been a success. They’d discussed the attack, and those closest to the border had agreed to inquire further on his behalf. His English allies had all pointed their fingers firmly north. In this, Garrick was hesitant to disagree—he’d heard the man’s accent, after all—even though he knew blaming the Scots was a much too common deflection.

  The council had also agreed that the unprovoked attack pointed to a bigger problem. Though the Day of Truce, a once-a-month meeting between Scottish and English nobles at the border, had been established more than thirty years earlier, peace never felt assured in the borderlands. Raids were still more common than anyone would like. But it was only recently, since just before Garrick had left for the Holy Land, that circumstances had begun to change.

  Establishing himself as the new Earl of Clave, strengthening alliances—Garrick would have considered it an exceptional day if it weren’t for his inability to think beyond the woman seated just in front of him at dinner. The one who set his blood on fire. Emma was the reason he had called the council, in truth, and she was about to find herself at the center of an extremely uncomfortable scene if Lord Davenhill did not cease his appalling behavior toward her.

  “You’re staring. Again,” Conrad said. His friend, seated beside him at the high table, had taken it upon himself to continually admonish him for all of the glances he’d been giving Davenhill.

  With so many prominent men and women present, Garrick had left the seating arrangement to the very competent Mable. Of course she’d put the earls and their families closest to the high table, which meant Emma was seated directly below him. The moment she entered the hall for supper, Garrick had known the evening would be a very long one.

  Dressed in a deep red gown, its neckline and sleeves trimmed in the same gold as the belt that hung loosely around her hips, Emma had entered the room to the stares of nearly seventy noblemen and women. Everyone had looked at her, including Conrad, and some had not deigned to hide their appreciation.