The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(13)

“Geoffrey told me of your purpose for this trip,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. There was not much more to say. Sara herself had almost entered a marriage of convenience to maintain her position. She knew as well as he did that such things were sometimes necessary for men and women in their social class.

“When you return Emma, you’ll tell me more?”

He did not want to ask for her aid when he had not been available to help her in her time of need. The reasons for this betrothal . . . the possibility of trouble in Linkirk . . . they were his problems.

“Of course.” And although it did not need to be said, he added, “She will be safe with me.”

“I know she will be, Garrick.”

With that, Sara joined her husband, who’d taken up a position by the door, his scowl still in place, and Garrick mounted his horse. After ensuring all were ready, he nodded one last time to Sara and urged Bayard forward. Two men fell behind to guard the women, and Garrick’s party made their way across the outer courtyard, through the gatehouse, and down the slope that would take them north, away from Kenshire.

Garrick’s plan was simple. He would remain in the lead, limit his interaction with the ladies, and focus on the only thing that mattered—getting them to Scotland without incident. He just hoped the lady’s maid was as comfortable on horseback as her mistress.



“What do you mean she can’t continue?”

They’d stopped for the night at one of the most well-established inns along the border. The Wild Boar had been known for its neutrality as long as Garrick could remember. Arguments between Scots and English were not tolerated within its doors. It was as safe a place as any to stop for the evening. Modest but clean and comfortable.

Emma, whom Garrick had successfully avoided all day, had cornered him at the entrance to the stables.

“Look,” Emma said, pointing at her maid, who was indeed walking in a pained manner that implied she’d never ridden a horse before.

They stepped aside to allow one of Garrick’s men past them. Night had just begun to fall, and Garrick was ready for a fire, a hot meal, and a cold mug of ale. Raised in Northumbria or not, the weather had taken its toll on him after a long day of travel.

“Can we discuss this inside?”

He hadn’t intended for his voice to sound so harsh. But if it scared Lady Emma away from him, he could justify the tone.

“I suppose,” she said, her lack of movement at odds with her words.

They stepped forward at the same time, Garrick bumping into her shoulder. She rubbed it, and he restrained himself from asking if she was hurt. Were she another woman he fancied, and were he not nearly betrothed, Garrick would have used it as an opportunity to touch her arm, offer words of comfort. Every instinct told him to soften his tone. To smile at her in hopes she’d return the gesture.

Instead, he moved forward again, forcing her to trail after him. It would be best if he seemed indifferent, if she thought him rude.

The innkeeper found him as soon as he stepped inside.

“So you are in charge of this rabble, then?”

Magge would earn a pretty coin for the evening courtesy of this “rabble.”

“I am, Mistress Magge,” he said.

“Lord Clave!” Her face split into a huge grin. Ah, so she hadn’t recognized him at first sight.

“Do I look so different, then?”

The plump, aging woman, her apron as clean as the king’s drying cloth, grabbed his cheek and squeezed it. His father had always thought the woman impertinent, though Garrick rather enjoyed her straightforward, if not bawdy, manner.

“Just a bit older is all. Get these men food and drink immediately,” she said to a nearby serving wench, the girl no older than Emma’s young maid. “Who’s that yer hiding, my lord?” She peered around him.

Garrick turned just as Emma removed her fur-rimmed hood. She allowed the dark material to slide through her gloved fingers, revealing a mass of black tresses that pooled around her in waves of silk. Perhaps he just imagined it, but all conversation seemed to cease around him. More than one head turned in her direction. It was as if she became the center of every space she entered, simply by virtue of being herself.

“A private dining room, if you please?”

He had not intended to ask for such a luxury, but neither was Garrick accustomed to traveling with someone like Emma. Of course she would attract attention in the inn’s bustling great room.

“Of course, my lord,” Magge said. Normally, she would have laden the words with innuendo, unable to restrain herself, but something about Emma must have given her pause.

“Lady Emma and her maid will dine in private,” he said.

“Dine?” The maid appeared from behind him, her cheeks red. “Oh, Emma, please don’t make me sit. I’ll miss the evening meal, every meal for the rest of my life, if you’ll allow me to lie down for a spell. My lady, I—”

“Of course, Edith.”

Her voice was soft, but her tone was strong enough to be the Queen of England’s.

“Mistress, a tray for my lady would be most welcome.”

Magge looked from him to Lady Emma. He nodded.

“Then ye’ll not be needing the private room?”

Emma looked at him. She would attract too much attention in the great room. Could he be so churlish as to suggest she eat alone?