The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(18)

He had been about to kiss her.

And she’d been prepared to allow it.





8





Finally, their destination lay ahead. He’d managed to avoid her at the abbey the evening before, spending the night with his men. Now, after ensuring she was safely installed as a guest at Highgate End, and with any luck, he’d be able to do the same tonight. After he left Emma at Dunmure Tower tomorrow, he would continue on to Linkirk and try to forget about the beguiling companion who’d haunted his thoughts since their unusual meeting at Kenshire’s stables.

Though they’d made it safely across the border, Garrick would not relax until they reached Clan Scott land. Hell, he wouldn’t relax until Emma was delivered to her destination. To think he’d nearly kissed her . . . kissed her . . . yesterday. He’d promised Sara to protect her. And though it had not been spoken of directly, he’d vowed to Geoffrey not to touch her. And yet, had it not been for his men’s arrival, he may have broken that unspoken vow a mere day after giving it.

Kissing Lady Emma Waryn was the worst idea he’d ever had, save for convincing his father to come with him to the Holy Land. When she rode past him yesterday, his heart had nearly stopped . . . until he remembered Emma was an expert horseman. She was an excellent rider, and her laughter—so full of glee—had rung in his ears long after she’d outstripped him. Due to Bayard’s training and his very real practice overtaking enemies when both of their lives depended on it, both horse and rider had used their skills to catch her.

The almost kiss was the exact kind of foolhardy, rash action he’d warned himself against these past weeks. Unaccountably, he’d almost done it anyway, and from the look in her eyes in that moment, she knew it.

Luckily, his men had saved him from such folly.

“We’re on Scott land now, my lord?” said James.

“Aye.” He spied the castle ahead of them. Highgate End. Home to the chief of a clan as old as any along the treacherous border.

Garrick rode ahead and was met, as expected, by Graeme de Sowlis’s men. After a brief conversation, they led him across the lowered drawbridge. His men and Emma followed him into the outer courtyard where the stables were kept. Linkirk had been formally allied with Clan Scott well before Garrick’s father was named earl. Graeme de Sowlis’s ascension to chief was something else Garrick had missed while he was in Acre, serving Edward on a crusade to the Holy Land. He, along with over a thousand men and more than two hundred knights, saved thousands of Christians under siege from Baibars.

Dismounting and handing the horse’s reins to a groom, Garrick followed another servant through the modest gatehouse and into the inner courtyard as his men were led to their own quarters. The main keep, a circular stone structure old enough to need repairs, looked unaltered by the change in leadership. Impressive, foreboding, solitary.

Their traveling party entered directly into the great hall, where their host stood waiting for them. Graeme de Sowlis looked more like a groom than he did a clan chief. More affable than most and as deadly with a bow as any, the famed warrior bowed when he approached.

“An earl in two countries and a celebrated crusader. Sir Garrick? Linkirk? My lord? Which title do you prefer, Clave?”

Garrick took Graeme’s hand, glad to be out of the cold for the night. But when Graeme peered beyond him, his eyes widening, Garrick knew she had entered the hall. Their day apart had come to an end.

“May I present Lady Emma Waryn? My lady, I give you Graeme de Sowlis, chief of Clan Scott and second of that name.”

He could not avoid looking at her now. But when he did, his body immediately responded even as he tried to stop its reaction. She curtsied prettily to Graeme, who bowed. The twisting in Garrick’s gut made him wish they’d stayed elsewhere for the night. According to some, Sowlis had broken as many hearts in Scotland as Garrick had in England before he left on campaign.

A fine time to remember that particular rumor.

Some said Graeme had once been betrothed to Catrina Kerr, now married to Emma’s brother. Others said theirs was a friendship only. Garrick had never asked Graeme for the story, nor did he care to do so.

What mattered now was that Sowlis was unmarried . . . and so was Emma.

Why was such a woman still unattached? Of marriageable age, Emma could not be wanting for suitors—and Sowlis appeared anxious to join their ranks.

“The pleasure is mine,” their host said. And he looked as if he’d meant it. “Fiona will show you to your bedchambers.”

Graeme nodded to a maidservant. The woman took Emma’s cloaks, both of them, and then approached Garrick. Divested of their cloaks and gloves, they followed her down a long stone hallway and up a circular flight of stairs lit with oil wall torches. Garrick attempted not to look at Emma, especially when they stopped in front of her bedchamber.

Garrick cursed under his breath when the woman then led him to his chamber . . . right next door. He hardly noticed the room, his thoughts still on the woman who would be sleeping in the next room over. He could, and should, join his host and the men in the hall for the meal. But would he be able to endure an entire evening in Emma’s presence?

He sat on the bed, lost in thought, until a knock landed on his door. He opened it to reveal their host, looking more like a man befitting his station than he had just moments earlier. Was this for Emma’s benefit?