The Earl's Entanglement Read online

“If you feel it’s necessary, I will of course accept them.”

  “You’ll take extra caution with Lady Emma.”

  He resisted balling his hands into fists. “Of course.”

  “I trust your visit to Linkirk was productive? How is your mother?”

  “As one would expect of a woman recently widowed.”

  “And your future wife?”

  “She did not make the journey.”

  Graeme raised his brows. “Poor Garrick. If it’s any consolation, I hear Magnus’s daughter is much prettier than he.”

  “Ah, well then I look forward to our wedding,” he said.

  Graeme laughed like a man who was not being forced into marriage. “You’ll not reconsider?” he finally asked. “’Tis a sure agreement?”

  “As long as your intentions toward Lady Emma are honorable.”

  Graeme’s jaw clenched, but Garrick didn’t care if he’d gone too far. Her safety was more important than his host’s sensibilities.

  “That you ask is an insult.”

  “You’ve noticed her extraordinary beauty.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I have eyes, Clave.”

  “And she is unwed.”

  “My clan would not be pleased.”

  “But they would support you.”

  “You already have your answer.” Graeme smirked as if he didn’t suspect Garrick’s feelings for her.

  Again, Garrick’s jaw clenched. His instincts had been correct. Which was the reason he should join them this evening to ensure the chief’s behavior was beyond reproach. But the thought of watching a courtship between the two sickened him.

  “Aye,” he choked out.

  With that, Graeme patted him on the back and left the chamber.

  Another knock just moments later announced a serving girl carrying a wooden tray laden with food and drink. He took it, offered his thanks, and promptly began to drink.

  Pacing the room, he ignored the food and reconsidered his position. He should go down there. He needed to ensure her safety.

  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.

  “You said I was neither available nor desirable,” he pressed.

  His eyes narrowed, giving him a predatory appearance. Nay, not predatory exactly. Just consuming.

  “And you are betrothed.”

  “Aye, my lady. ’Tis an unfortunate fact.”

  Unfortunate?

  “As for being desirable, I don’t believe it matters under the circumstances.”

  Blast it! She’d just admitted she desired him. Which was not much of a revelatio
n at all, of course.

  “Perhaps not,” he said. “But that’s not what I refer to.”

  Now she was confused. Emma had only come here to apologize. And she’d done that, so it was time for her to—

  “You said one other thing to Alex and Clara.”

  Emma tried to swallow again, but her throat was too dry. The tightness in her chest was getting worse. Why did he have to be so blasted good-looking? So self-assured yet intense.

  And what else had she said? Emma couldn’t remember. She’d told Clara—

  “You said there was nothing to fear from me.”

  Oh. That.

  “But you already know that isn’t true.”

  “It’s not?” She refused to believe him. Emma had no idea what the stirring deep inside her meant, but it was certainly not fear.

  “It’s not. And I mean to show you why.”

  To hell with restraint.

  There was only so much of it to be had, and Garrick had used up his share during that hellish meal. While it was true he had no desire to see Emma and Graeme together, it may have been preferable to imagining it.

  He stopped thinking. He broke every rule of his training, both on the battlefield and off, and pulled Emma into the room. Closing the door behind her, he restrained himself enough not to kiss her at least. Instead, he gave in to another impulse and reached up to touch the hair that lay across her shoulders.

  “Beautiful.” Silky, as he’d imagined. “Are you nervous?”

  “Nay.”

  “You’re not afraid of me, Emma?”

  “Nay,” she said, her voice both strong and sensual.

  “I am,” he said. “Afraid.” He’d never spoken such a raw truth in his life.

  “Why?” She tossed back his earlier question.

  “Because this cannot be.” He dropped the strands of hair, which fell back onto her gown.

  “Then why did you pull me in here?”

  Rather than wait for an answer, Emma reached up and placed her palm on his cheek. His body jolted as if it had been asleep for a lifetime. Her touch branded him.

  She held her hand there for a moment longer and then moved her thumb just slightly. With that simple touch, so innocent and slight, his cock hardened as if she’d just offered to climb atop him.

  God’s gates.

  Nay, he’d never be allowed entry to heaven. But if hell had gates . . .

  “For the same reason I kissed you before.”

  Emma dropped her hand, and they stood there staring at each other. Every instinct told him to reach for her, pull her toward him. Kiss her, ravish her. Make love to her until she moaned with every pleasure he could show her. But there was a thin ribbon of restraint left in him yet.

  “Why did you allow yourself to come inside?” he asked.

  “You know why.”

  Oh God. “Emma, this is so wrong. More so than the kiss I stole in that darkened corridor. I am to be married. You are an innocent under my protection. Not deserving of this treatment from me. If we were to be discovered here . . .”

  “You’re right,” she said. “About everything, save one.”

  If only that one thing were the state of his matrimony.

  “I am deserving of this. Have you ever desired a woman before?”

  Had he? Garrick wasn’t sure.

  “Aye,” he managed.

  “Then how is it wrong for me to desire a man?”

  It was not wrong that she should desire him. It was wrong that he should act upon it. But rather than say as much, he found his body moving toward her.

  “One kiss.”

  She nodded.

  Garrick reached for her then. When he wrapped his arms around her, he groaned as if he were already inside her. She fit perfectly against him, their bodies melding together as if they’d been made for each other. Garrick lowered his head then and captured her lips with his own. He wanted her more than he wanted to breathe. When he opened his mouth and she followed his lead, Garrick groaned again, the feeling of her hesitant tongue touching his too poignant to ignore. He delved deeper, trying desperately to get even closer. Maddened by the taste of her.

  Garrick’s hands gripped Emma’s gown at her back, pressing her more tightly to him. Their fervent pitch increased. He backed her against the door, her hands no longer around his neck but clinging to his hair. She pulled, her grip tightening as his tongue swirled in her mouth, mimicking another notion. Her mouth was soft and wet against him, her breasts pressed so tightly to his shirt that Garrick could almost feel her nipples through the fabric.

  He wanted more.

  He broke the contact, moving his lips from her mouth to her throat. She lifted her head as he licked and kissed a trail lower and lower. His tongue teased the soft spot between her breasts just near the fabric that kept him in check. He wanted to tear it off her, take her into his mouth, and give her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed of.

  He was going to ravish her.

  Garrick pulled away, his breath coming as quickly as hers. He’d been about to do something beyond foolish. Something that didn’t bear consideration. She stood against the door, her hair tousled every which way, her lips swollen with his kiss.

  He wanted to be inside Emma. And he’d very nearly made it happen.

  She was as passionate as he’d expected. Untamed. Unabashed.

  Utterly perfect.

  “Emma, oh God. I nearly . . .” He couldn’t say the words aloud. She was his charge, and rather than protect her, he’d nearly taken her.

  “What was that? It wasn’t just a kiss.”

  Goddamn right it wasn’t. “I don’t know what that was, Emma.”

  “But you’ve—”

  He shook his head, trying to make her understand.

  “Emma, I don’t know what that was,” he repeated. “When you look at me. When you touch me . . .”

  He turned and ran his hands through his hair.

  Damn.

  “So that’s it, then.”

  Garrick turned back around. Emma attempted to tame her hair.

  “It?”

  “That is what makes Sara and Geoffrey look at each other so. ’Tis why Clara risked her life to protect Alex.” She shrugged. “Well, now I know.”

  He really shouldn’t tempt fate, but Garrick took a step toward her anyway.

  “You don’t.” He tried to explain. “That was more. It was . . . something. I’ve never . . .” He’d never felt that way before.

  “Do you think it will be like that with Magnus’s daughter?”

  It was as if she’d taken the pitcher of wine and dumped it on his head.

  “No, I don’t.” He knew with a certainty he didn’t question that it wouldn’t be like that with anyone else. Ever.

  “And if I were to marry Graeme?” She wasn’t saying it to be malicious. Garrick knew her better than that. It was simple curiosity, but by God, he would have strangled the Scots chief if he stood here now with her. If she ever kissed him like that . . .

  “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  She shrugged “I don’t know. It’s just—”

  He reached her in one stride. Garrick took her face in his hands and looked her directly in the eyes until she returned his gaze. He waited, watched. Lost himself in the blue depths in which he could almost see his own reflection. She would know one thing before they parted.

  “Emma Waryn, listen to me. And listen well. Neither you nor I will ever feel that way again in our lives. With anyone.”

  Garrick had enough experience to know the truth of it.

  And despite knowing their futures were headed down different paths, he wanted to do it again, lose himself in her willingness to embrace life, consequences be damned.

  He dropped his hands. He couldn’t stand this close to her. “Go.”

  He turned. And waited.

  “Emma. This can’t be. Go.” Another few moments, and he’d disappoint his mother. Break two promises. Possibly start a war.

 
Thankfully, all of that was averted when she opened and closed the door with nearly the same force as he had used earlier.

  What the hell just happened?

  12

  He felt the change before the men surrounded them.

  It was as if the very air they breathed had gone sour. When he’d fought alongside Edward, who’d been stupid—or brave—enough to ride beside the men on the front lines, his king had praised his instincts, proclaiming they’d saved them all more than once. And now those instincts were telling him danger was near.

  He shouted to his nearest man.

  “Ride back to Sowlis. Now. Avoid the road. Tell him we may be under attack.”

  Though the other men who’d heard him looked around as if to question his sanity, the knight to whom he gave the order did not. Trained well, he spurred his horse around and fled.

  “Surround her!” he shouted, the quick glimpse he caught of Emma terrifying him more than any battle in his life.

  His men did so just as the first sounds of horses’ hooves reached their ears. Within minutes, more than twenty, perhaps as many as thirty men—double their own number—charged toward them from the rear. Garrick had already moved into position at the front and strained to see the banners of their visitors. None. No markings to name them friend or foe.

  Which made their situation much worse.

  Though they were not fully armored, the attackers did wear maille, which meant they’d come prepared to fight. If these were reivers, they were well-armed ones. Although they were outmanned, Garrick would not have been overly worried, except for one thing.

  He couldn’t look back at her now, but if these bastards so much as came near Emma, he was certain he’d lose his grip on control and send every one of them to hell.

  “I am Sir Garrick Helmsley, sixth Earl of Clave and third Earl of Linkirk,” he shouted.

  “Then you are the man I’m here for,” said their leader.

  “We’ve no quarrel with you. Nor with your men.” Garrick took off his gloves as he spoke—the only preparation he dared to make. To reach for his sword would be to invite battle, though it did appear that such a conflict might be inevitable.

  A bird’s call echoed over the sound of Bayard’s snort. He must calm the situation.