The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(33)

“I could tell they felt badly about it. None ever mentioned the horse race.”

On the third day of the tournament, a horse race, the largest one in England, determined the “jewel of the crown.” The winner could pick any horse he desired from the royal stable. Even though the king no longer attended the tournament, their representatives continued to do so, taking with them some of the finest horseflesh in the world.

She’d dreamed of being there, of seeing such fine animals race. Her daring had its limits—she’d never imagined herself in such a race, but she’d longed to be around it. Maybe to have one of her brothers enter so she could have someone to cheer for.

“They apologized every year, of course. But all of them agreed, Neill included. It was no place for me. ’Twas too dangerous.”

“But you must have been young—”

“The same age as Neill.”

“Your twin?”

“Aye.”

Emma closed her eyes and tried to imagine, as she had so many times, what it must have been like. The horses everywhere, the excitement of the race.

“Father loved me,” she said. “And my brothers love me still. Geoffrey will be enraged when he finds out what happened today. He’s spent a lifetime trying to protect me . . .”

“Emma?”

“Aye?” She had been trying to forget his face. To forget that the warm body behind hers belonged to him. But that was impossible to do when his voice, so intimate and familiar, was whispering in her ear.

“What does this have to do with you not being married?”

She’d gone and rambled again. It would have been best if she’d never tried to explain. “I want what Geoffrey and Sara have,” she said. “And my brother Bryce and his wife. But . . .”

“But?”

Emma watched as a single snowflake dropped onto the horse’s head. It dissolved, ceased to exist. Forever.

“I want to go to that tournament more.”

It was the best she could do. He likely didn’t understand, but what did it matter? He didn’t have to.

“And Graeme?”

“He is a clan chief.”

“Which, I take it, is a bad thing?”

“Well, of course it is. He’s accustomed to leading men. Giving orders. The exact kind of man—”

“You don’t want to marry.”

Aye. But she’d given him permission to court her anyway.

This time the silence between them stretched out for so long she thought perhaps Garrick had fallen asleep. But of course he had not.

“Maybe you can have both.”

It took her a moment to understand what he referred to.

Emma turned around. Bad idea. Garrick was looking at her with such concentration he probably didn’t realize he was biting his lip. But she couldn’t take her eyes from that. He had such lovely lips. If only she could—

“He is a good man. An honorable one. Aye, he’s a clan chief, and likely as protective as your brothers, but that doesn’t mean he won’t give you independence.”

“Would you?”

Blast it! She hadn’t meant to reveal more of herself to him.

“Nay.”

His response was so quick, so terse, that she didn’t doubt him for a minute. Garrick would have her locked up in her bedchamber if they were married. Well, that might not be such a dreadful thing—

“But then, it’s not me you’re considering for a husband.”

She turned back around. Of course not. You are already betrothed, oh great lord of England and Scotland.

Blasted earl.

“Pity.” He said it so softly, Emma thought for a moment she’d misheard it. But when he tightened his grip again, his hand shifted up just slightly to rest beneath her breasts.

An accident?

Nay.

A flutter began in her stomach and moved down to where she sat upon the horse, her legs wide open and her thighs touching his under their cloaks.

Three more days of this torture.





13





Garrick ignored his captain.

He trusted the man. Had put his life in his hands during more than one battle. Having fought the same enemy under the same intelligent but often misguided king, they understood each other on a deep level.

But at the moment, ignoring him was preferable to listening to him.

“Lord, if I may be so bold,” his captain had said after pulling him aside in the entrance to The Wild Boar, “shall I tell Magge you’ll not be dining in the storeroom tonight?”

Two days. For two damn days he’d avoided her as much as possible given that he could not bear to let her ride alone after the attack. And after one more day they would find their own futures, separately. He with a Scottish wife he’d never met. She at Kenshire, or perhaps as the wife of a Scot herself. Their connection, their kisses—he may have been right to tell her there was something very special about them. Hell, he knew it was true. But it mattered little compared to his desire to secure the Scottish earldom peacefully, and to accept his mother’s inheritance without broken alliances or bloodshed. He would keep his mother safe. A feat which would have been easier had she agreed to come back to England with him.

“I will tell her,” he finally grumbled to his captain.