The Earl's Entanglement (Border Series Book 5)(7)

Garrick and Sara laughed the entire day, imagining a marriage that would have been preposterous to them.

She was the only woman he’d ever truly felt connected to in a way that had nothing to do with carnal pleasures. He could talk to her as if she were a sister, and when he noticed the extra attention paid to her by one of Richard’s retainers, Garrick encouraged the match. Sir William was both honorable and kind, but Sara regarded him much as she did Garrick, more of a brother than a potential husband. The look of devastation on William’s face when he was ordered away by Sara’s father was one Garrick would never forget.

It was the look of a man in love, an affliction Garrick himself had always hoped to avoid, and he had thus far been lucky in the endeavor. Now, though, as he prepared to enter into a loveless marriage, he regretted that he’d never met a lady he would willingly take to wife.

A light snow began to fall, intruding upon his thoughts. With any luck, the storm would not bring enough accumulation to hamper their travels in the morn. He looked up, but the sky was too dark to determine anything more than that they’d arrived at Kenshire just in time.

The evening meal must be upon them. The courtyard, normally bustling with activity, even in the winter months, was mostly empty but for a lone servant who hardly looked his way. Since visitors to Kenshire were common, Garrick was not surprised at the lack of attention, but when he reached the stables and dismounted to open the heavy, arched door, he was surprised to find it empty. He held his horse’s reins in his black glove, pulling them more tightly around his fingers.

Kenshire’s marshal and head stablehand were never far from their charges. Could something have happened to Eddard in his absence? He walked inside and stopped when he spied a flash of green on the floor of the furthermost stall, the one normally reserved for sick horses.

Bayard protested next to him, so Garrick pulled him fully inside, closing the door against the cold. He had just finished tying his reins to the stone hitching post when the source of the green garment emerged and called out a greeting.

Holy hell.





4





Eddard?” Emma stood and began to pick pieces of hay from her gown. Velvet. She should have thought better of sitting beside Nella, but it was hard to regret it. She’d do anything to make her comfortable. Anxious to speak with Eddard about the mare’s condition, she bolted from the stall.

And froze.

Not Eddard, but a stranger.

A handsome, intimidating, and . . . goodness me . . . a very handsome stranger.

Words stuck in her throat as he stared back at her.

It was his eyes she noticed first.

The room was dark, and she couldn’t see their color from this distance, but the intensity of their gaze sent a shiver down her spine. His dark hair had a distinct wave to it, even a bit of a curl in places, making his otherwise foreboding countenance just a bit more approachable, but his jaw was shadowed by a few days’ growth, which almost nullified the effect.

The stranger-knight was easily the most attractive man she’d ever had the good fortune to look upon. That is, he would be if he deigned to smile. At the moment, he did not seem inclined to do so.

“You are not Eddard,” she said.

“Nay, I am not.” Well, of course he wasn’t.

Nella snorted behind her. Did she sense it too? When he spoke, the ground itself seemed to move beneath them. His voice was low and deep.

“Who are you?”

His lack of a response may have been due to the impertinence of her question. But there was no one here to introduce them, and he was the visitor, not she.

By all that was holy, this man was . . . intense.

“Where is the marshal?”

So he refused to give his name. Very well. She would do the same. “I’m not sure. ’Tis odd that neither he nor the stablehands are here.”

Though visitors to Kenshire were not unusual, the late hour of his arrival was somewhat strange. Before she could think it over, she found herself saying, “What are you doing here?”

Even for her, the question came out all wrong. She’d been accused of being direct before. Mayhap too much so. Her words had been outright rude this time, but he could at least offer a name.

“I’m here to visit Lady Sara.”

She was about to respond when he began to stride toward her, growing larger and larger as he neared. Emma wanted to back away, but she’d not show fear.

Not now. Not ever.

“I assume you’re here for the same purpose?” he asked.

“To visit?” Ah, yes. “Aye, I am here to visit Lady Sara as well.” In a way it was true—only her visit had lasted years.

He stood close enough now that if she reached out a hand, Emma could touch him. Her hand rose an inch or two unbidden before she convinced it to return to her side.

“Garrick,” he said. And that was all.

So not a knight? She peered around him to look at his horse again. The massive destrier was undoubtedly a knight’s horse. But the familiar greeting, much too familiar since it must be clear she was a lady, proclaimed him something else. Mayhap a merchant?

But then what of the horse?

“I rode ahead of my companions,” he said.

Oh, but that voice . . .

“Emma,” she blurted.

“Lady Emma,” he corrected.