The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(51)

Oh God, she hoped so. Because the alternative was unthinkable.



The Northumbrian council of border lords had been a success. They’d discussed the attack, and those closest to the border had agreed to inquire further on his behalf. His English allies had all pointed their fingers firmly north. In this, Garrick was hesitant to disagree—he’d heard the man’s accent, after all—even though he knew blaming the Scots was a much too common deflection.

The council had also agreed that the unprovoked attack pointed to a bigger problem. Though the Day of Truce, a once-a-month meeting between Scottish and English nobles at the border, had been established more than thirty years earlier, peace never felt assured in the borderlands. Raids were still more common than anyone would like. But it was only recently, since just before Garrick had left for the Holy Land, that circumstances had begun to change.

Establishing himself as the new Earl of Clave, strengthening alliances—Garrick would have considered it an exceptional day if it weren’t for his inability to think beyond the woman seated just in front of him at dinner. The one who set his blood on fire. Emma was the reason he had called the council, in truth, and she was about to find herself at the center of an extremely uncomfortable scene if Lord Davenhill did not cease his appalling behavior toward her.

“You’re staring. Again,” Conrad said. His friend, seated beside him at the high table, had taken it upon himself to continually admonish him for all of the glances he’d been giving Davenhill.

With so many prominent men and women present, Garrick had left the seating arrangement to the very competent Mable. Of course she’d put the earls and their families closest to the high table, which meant Emma was seated directly below him. The moment she entered the hall for supper, Garrick had known the evening would be a very long one.

Dressed in a deep red gown, its neckline and sleeves trimmed in the same gold as the belt that hung loosely around her hips, Emma had entered the room to the stares of nearly seventy noblemen and women. Everyone had looked at her, including Conrad, and some had not deigned to hide their appreciation.

Her brother, clearly accustomed to his sister’s impact on men, had stayed close until they sat, a most welcome gesture. Even now, he gave Lord Davenhill a look that would send most men cowering into a corner. But the cocksure widower continued to flirt mercilessly, undeterred by the angry stares angled at him from two directions.

“I don’t like him.”

“Clearly,” Conrad said, pushing a mug toward him. “Drink. Before you do something you’ll regret.”

He tore his gaze from the scene before him. “Regret smashing in that bastard’s face? Have you forgotten the rumors that he beat his first wife?”

“Alas, he also shares a border with Clave and is a favorite of the king. He’d make a poor enemy.”

Garrick grabbed the mug Conrad had shoved toward him. “But I do see the appeal.”

Garrick couldn’t even manage the goodwill to smile.

Conrad continued, “The Earl of Kenshire is not a man to be trifled with. Judging by his expression, a brawl may break out yet, even if you don’t start it.”

Garrick resisted the urge to look. “Good.”

He ignored Conrad’s exaggerated sigh of frustration.

“So ’tis not enough for you to start a war in Scotland?” Conrad asked. “You’ve a mind to have one here as well?”

“I haven’t started a war.”

“So what exactly have you done? And don’t say ‘nothing.’”

Thus far he’d avoided speaking to his friend about Linkirk, but Conrad was not put off so easily. “I may have postponed the wedding. And I’ve asked Mother to return to England.”

“And?” Conrad waited.

But there was nothing more to tell. “And I will speak to her upon her return.”

“Dear God, Garrick. Please tell me you’re not relying on an appeal to the woman who stands to lose her inheritance if you back out of this agreement.”

“Conrad,” he warned.

“Garrick, please tell me Linkirk’s future does not rest on a discussion with your mother. You must—”

“Not now.”

Conrad, surprisingly, fell silent.

The meal finished, guests began to move from their benches to other parts of the hall. The harpist Mable had found in Clave’s village continued to play, lending a harmonious atmosphere to the gathering. In his estimation, it was a scene his parents would have been proud of. If only he could enjoy it.

He looked, unable to stop himself.

Emma was staring straight at him.

Garrick stood, grabbed his pewter mug, and walked toward her. He heard Conrad’s expletive, but his friend underestimated him. Garrick was capable of composing himself, even if he wanted nothing more than to eliminate Davenhill’s grin with the back of his hand.

“My lady,” he bowed. “My lord,” he said to her brother.

Seemingly grateful for the excuse to leave the table, Geoffrey stood and offered a hand to his sister. “A fine evening indeed,” he said, guiding her away from the table.

Garrick avoided Davenhill’s gaze. The baron was likely furious with him for removing his entertainment for the evening. Good.

“I trust your meal was enjoyable?” Garrick asked as he led the way toward a brazier in the corner.