The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(14)

Aye, since the alternative was to dine in there with her, away from everyone’s watching eyes.

“My lady will take a meal there. Or she might prefer a tray as well?”

Her eyes widened, making the blue flash as brightly as blood against freshly fallen snow.

“My lady,” she said mockingly, “prefers to dine in the hall.”

“No.”

Both Edith and Magge watched their exchange, which was unfortunate but unavoidable.

“I’ve been charged with your safety, my lady. And I don’t believe—”

“I’ll have the cellar prepared,” Magge said as she ambled away, not waiting for an answer. “For two.”

Perhaps his father was right. “The fairer sex held more power than mere men could ever dream of,” he’d often said. He could rule two great households in two countries, but not an aged innkeeper and a petite Englishwoman.

“Very well,” he said. “As for a chaperone—”

“My lady doesn’t require one,” the maid said. All eyes turned to Edith, whose words tumbled from her all at once. “What I mean to say is that she often finds herself in situations . . . that is . . . she doesn’t much care for . . . oh, never mind.”

As if by way of apology, she glanced at Emma, whose smirk was anything but angry.

“Poor Edith. Go up to our room; I will be fine.” Emma turned to him. “Shall we, then?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow in an obvious challenge.

Garrick glanced at his men, who’d already seated themselves in the great room. He led Emma toward the back of the inn. The door to the storage room was already open. He’d used this room on more than one occasion, having frequented The Wild Boar since he was young. It was normally used as a private meeting space. The smell of thyme wafted from the staircase, preferable to the musty stench of most below-ground rooms.

Magge had already placed a board across two cut-out barrels, and a pair of three-legged stools sat off to the side, awaiting their use. As she lay a linen tablecloth on top, Garrick’s eyes began to adjust to the dim light. The cellar had been sufficiently transformed, but it was still darker than abovestairs despite the tallow candles that had been lit throughout the room. It was only when Magge winked at Garrick before making her way back up that he felt the full impact of their arrangement. This kind of intimacy was exactly what he’d intended to avoid.

So much for avoiding the lady. Tomorrow he would be better prepared.

Emma had begun to shrug off her hooded cape, and his arm moved forward automatically to take it from her. He placed it, along with his own, atop a set of wooden crates.

A noise from above drew their attention. It was not Magge who was coming down the stairs, but a serving girl who placed a tray laden with food and drink on the board. Before Garrick could even offer his thanks, she was gone.

“Shall we?” Emma moved first, sitting prettily on one of the stools after fanning her riding gown out beneath her.

He sat on his own stool, watching her face, so full of expression.

“You didn’t tell Lady Sara we’d already met,” she observed.

Garrick poured them ale from the pewter pitcher. “You had the opportunity as well, my lady.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Emma. I thought we’d established as much in the stables.”

“That was before I knew—”

“Knew what?” Her question, asked innocently enough, brought a rush of desire as fierce as the edge of a Saracen’s blade.

Knew you were his sister. Knew you were untouchable.

“Before I knew your identity,” he said.

Garrick shifted his attention to their modest meal. Two trenchers, roasted rabbit, and an unidentifiable soup that look edible enough.

“An earl.” She shook her head in apparent distaste. That was a first.

“You don’t approve?”

Something in her expression answered him before she uttered a word. “I’m sitting in a storeroom with you, am I not?”

He glanced around the room. “You could not have dined in the hall.”

“I disagree.” She took a drink, her eyes peering at him from above the rim of the mug.

By God, she is lovely.

“I heard from the men earlier that you’ve been to Acre?”

He didn’t comment on the change of topic. “Aye. I have.”

“What was it like? Did you meet the king?”

“It was bloody and hot. Not unlike King Edward.”

She laughed. Not the kind of laughter he was used to hearing from a lady but loud and unselfconscious. It was the kind of laughter that made a man want to join in. Even Edward would not have been immune, though he was not the sort of man to laugh at any kind of joke that featured him as a punch line.

The thought made him oddly uneasy. Edward was known to enjoy the company of beautiful women.

“Tell me how you came to be at Kenshire, Lady Emma.”

When she took a bite of rabbit, he spied, for the briefest of moments, the pink tip of her tongue as it darted out to catch the spiced meat.

“’Tis a short tale, really. When Clan Kerr took Bristol, my brothers and I went to live with my Uncle Simon and Aunt Lettie. They could hardly support us all, so Geoffrey and my other uncle, Hugh, took to reiving while my other brothers complained about staying behind with me. Then Sara’s father sent for Hugh, and Geoffrey went along . . . and, well, you know the rest. Everyone in England has probably heard the story.”