The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(34)

It would seem Magge had taken it upon herself to secure private rooms for him and his captain as well as for Emma. She had prepared the storeroom as well, assuming he would request the same arrangement as before.

Impossible.

After ensuring Emma was shown to her room, where Magge would retrieve her later, he and his captain retired to theirs to clean after the long journey. As soon as he was done with his ablutions, he hurried downstairs to find the innkeeper.

“Magge,” he called out as he wandered into the great room, which was just beginning to fill with patrons for the evening. She was nowhere to be found.

Until a plump form sidled alongside him.

“Magge takes care o’ her favorites, she does.”

“The very reason The Wild Boar thrives.”

Whereas other innkeepers around these parts often resorted to brute force or bribery to keep their establishments safe, Magge accomplished the seemingly impossible with only her wiles and reputation. She could be a mother or a seductress. An innkeeper or a brewer. Magge could be whatever her patrons desired as long as they kept their fights away from the inn. English, Scottish—it mattered not to her.

“I appreciate the extra care—”

“Well, ye be an earl in two countries now.”

She didn’t care about any of that.

“I’ll have the real reason, love.”

She shrugged, looking past him at one of her serving girls. “I liked your father.”

He laughed. “Of course you did. Everyone did.”

“And yer just like ’im.”

How many times had he heard that before?

“Now go see how nice I made it for you an yer lady. A shame her maid ne’er made it to you,” she said with a wink.

She pushed him toward the door that led to the storeroom.

“Magge, this is not—”

“Well, ye gonna make her eat in there?” She gestured to the great room, where a serving maid’s bosom nearly toppled onto the guest she served. “Go now, it’s all set up for ye.”

He could lead a few hundred men into battle, but this one woman, twice his age or more, shoved him down the stairs with no difficulty.

When he reached the bottom, Garrick knew why she’d insisted on the arrangement. The room appeared much as it had before, but the tallow candles had been replaced with beeswax ones. A gift, most likely, since no innkeeper could afford such a thing. Many noble households could not.

Again, two barrels held a plank that served as a makeshift table, already weighed down with roasted venison, bread, apples, and cheese. A pitcher of ale and two mugs sat next to the food. The space was warm, but not too warm, thanks to its location directly next to the kitchens.

“Nay, I’m sure ’tis not necessary,” a voice above him said. “I’m glad to take the meal—”

“Hush now, you, or I’ll tell your brother ye didn’t listen to ol’ Magge.”

She’d just begun to descend the stairs. Garrick could see the bottom of her deep green riding gown. The same one that had been pressed against him all day.

“You know my brothers?” Every time Emma spoke of one of her brothers, her voice took on a softer tone, something that made him smile.

“I do. Most especially the older two scamps who love to tease and torment your poor ol’ host.”

Emma chuckled. “That sounds like them. ’Tis their good fortune to have a sister who does no such thing.”

“Ha,” Magge cackled. “That’s not what they be tellin’ me. An I look forward to your youngest brother’s return.”

Apparently giving in to the inevitable, just as he had, Emma continued to walk down the creaking wooden stairs. Every step was sweeter than the one before it. First he saw the slim waist that he’d held in his arms. Then the breasts he longed to touch and tease. Then the tips of the black hair he’d touched first with his fingertips.

Emma. So beautiful she could hardly be real.

But she was.

And she froze at the sight of him.

Garrick nodded to where Magge presumably still stood at the top of the stairs.

Emma smiled, a conspiratorial smile that made Garrick’s stomach twist into a knot.

The door to the storeroom finally closed. Was Magge tempting fate on purpose?

“I suppose we should eat,” she said. “We’ve been given little choice in the matter.”

He had no appetite for anything but her.

Garrick stood and pulled out her makeshift seat. The silence was punctuated by muffled sounds from abovestairs. They did eat, or at least Garrick tried his best. How his friend Conrad would laugh at him if he saw him now. The great Lord of Clave, hardly able to eat because of a woman.

He was utterly and completely . . .

What? Lusting for her? Nay, it was something more.

“I can’t stop thinking of those men,” she said quietly. Battle. A safe topic.

“You’ll likely not rid yourself of the image for some time.”

“Do you? Rid yourself of the image of the men you’ve killed in battle. After so many—”

“The number matters not. I still think of the first man who ever met the end of my blade.” He took a swig of the beer Magge brewed herself. “I was but ten and two. My father and I traveled to York for a tourney. I remember being worried about the squires’ joust, my first. Instead, I should have worried about the mercenaries on the road intent on proving themselves against mounted knights. Though my father instructed me to run, I could not. This was what I’d been training for. The man I felled was twice my size, but I knew how to overcome poor odds.”