The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(28)

Emma is as safe with Graeme de Sowlis as she is with any man.

Then he should ensure . . . what? That they weren’t making plans to wed even now? As if he had any right to stop such a thing. He himself would be wed before long.

Garrick tore off his mantle and surcoat, all but the cream linen undershirt, and continued to pace back and forth. He had to get out of this chamber. And go where? Darkness had fallen. All of the castle’s inhabitants would be at the meal.

The last time he’d felt this cornered, Garrick and four of his men had been cut off from Edward’s forces. Alone, they’d faced a relentless attack on all sides.

Garrick’s father had been killed three days earlier, and guilt and grief had turned him into someone he was not. Whereas he was usually a controlled fighter who relied on his training for victory, he’d acted the part of a savage that day, exactly what their royals had accused the Saracens of being. Except he had never been convinced the enemy deserved that epithet.

Later, he had heard one of the other survivors tell the story to the men who’d rescued them. To hear him tell it, Garrick alone had killed nearly all of their attackers. That he could not remember any such thing scared him still.

He replaced the goblet on the tray, his hands shaking with the memory of that day.

When someone knocked on the door moments later, Garrick pulled the heavy wood toward him forcefully, swinging it open as if it were a piece of parchment.

Garrick opened his mouth to send the intruder away, but the words never left his lips.

Emma.





11





Well, if she was going to do it, she might as well do it right.

Emma had just returned from the evening meal with their kind, gracious host. They’d spoken of her visit at Dunmure and Graeme’s history with Clan Kerr. The chief had only fond words about Catrina, which made her think that perhaps Alex had the right of it—the pair had never been a love match.

Graeme de Sowlis was an easy man to speak with, and she found herself laughing at his tales of past antics, some of which rivaled some of her own.

Aside from not being English, he was the perfect potential suitor for her, someone about whom her brothers would surely have no complaint. If she was protected, they were happy. It was a refrain she’d heard from Geoffrey on more than one occasion. But Emma wanted more than just protection. More even than easy companionship and shared humor.

Emma relaxed when she realized Garrick wasn’t coming. But as the evening wore on, she began to feel badly about her treatment of him. Aside from that kiss, which he’d apologized for on more than one occasion, he’d acted honorably in the face of . . . well, if she were being honest, her animosity. He owed her nothing.

Though Sowlis had nothing but kind words for the earl and his family, he’d given her escort nothing but scowls. Something told her that she was the reason. Did he sense that Emma forgot to breathe every time the earl ventured into the room?

It couldn’t possibly be Garrick’s fault that the very power and confidence she claimed not to want in a husband nonetheless attracted her like a blacksmith to molten iron. Mayhap she should apologize to the man. Of course, this was neither the time nor the place for such a gesture. She could, and should, wait until the morning. But patience had never been a favored virtue of hers. So before she thought too long on it, Emma stopped at his door instead of her own. She knocked on the door and stared at the iron pattern of lines crisscrossing it, which made it appear more ornamental than practical.

It swung open so fast she hardly had time to prepare her greeting.

She swallowed. This had been a bad idea.

His face was no longer cleanly shaved. Eyes flashing, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked half-wild. White hot desire pooled inside her, threatening to suffocate her. Emma couldn’t speak even if she’d remembered what to say.

“Lady Emma.”

His voice, low and seductive, beckoned her inside, despite everything.

“I’m sorry.” She’d finally remembered her intention.

“Sorry?”

“For avoiding you. For acting so foolishly to someone who only meant to help me.”

His hand lay high on the door, propping it open. Her gaze fell to the opening in his shirt, but she immediately caught herself and looked back up to his face.

“You’ve been avoiding me?” he asked. She knew by his hint of a smile that he teased her.

“Mayhap a bit.” She’d said she was sorry, which was all she’d really come here to say. It was time to leave. But why didn’t her feet listen?

“Why?” If anyone ever accused her of being overly direct, she’d point them in the earl’s direction.

“Because . . .” How precisely should she answer that?

“Because I am neither available nor desirable?”

Oh God . . . he had heard them. Every last lying word.

“No. I mean, aye. What I mean to say is . . .”

“You were wrong about one thing.” The light inside his chamber flickered as he spoke.

She didn’t know if the guest chamber next to him on the other side was occupied, but she lowered her voice just in case. “Which one?”

She knew not why she’d spoken at all. She already knew the answer. He was most definitely not available—his betrothal to the Scottish earl’s daughter ensured it—and he knew she desired him. She’d allowed him to kiss her after all . . . nay, she’d kissed him back.