Page 21 of The Earl’s Entanglement

With that, he stood. Emma had no choice but to do the same. Confused by his last statement, and still unsure of their plans for the next day, Emma mutely followed Garrick up the stairs and waited as he hunted down the innkeeper. The sound of laughter prompted her to peer into the great room.

Oh my!

The serving maids, in various states of undress, appeared to be doing more than serving ale.

“You see why I insisted,” Garrick said, returning.

She ignored that.

“You’re sure Edith will be safe? I will speak to her tonight to ensure she feels comfortable with the arrangement.”

“Your maid is quite safe,” he said. Something about the way he said “your maid” almost prompted her to ask if she was safe. But then Emma thought better of it. Perhaps she didn’t want the answer to that particular question.

* * *

“Do you need a break, my lady?”

Garrick’s men had been trained well. They rode through the snow, which had started earlier that morn and continued throughout the day, and though their leader stayed to the front of the group, the others were very solicitous of her well-being, and they’d asked her more than once if she needed a break. The answer was always, “Thank you, but no.” When they finally did stop for a quick midday meal, a red-headed knight who was nearly as tall as Garrick but much leaner tended to her mount.

She missed Nella. Though her beloved horse had no longer been feverish yesterday morning, she’d been too recently ill for such a long journey.

After their repast, they navigated around Dod Law before heading due north on a path that would take them across the border and nearly straight to Dunmure Tower. Straight to Clara. Emma had been to the border before, but this was the first time she would be staying in Scotland for an extended visit.

As the day wore on, snow began to accumulate on the ground beneath them. Though the wide-open fields didn’t lend themselves to shelter, they did encourage a faster pace. As soon as the incline flattened out, Emma maneuvered herself until she rode alongside their riding party’s leader. If she couldn’t navigate a bit of snow, then she’d not rightly earned her reputation as the best rider at Kenshire.

She’d tried, and failed, not to glance his way throughout the early part of the day. Anyone watching them would immediately know Garrick was in charge. He held himself up a bit straighter than the others. Though she couldn’t see it now beneath his cloak, Garrick wore a thick, padded gambeson, the kind favored by her brothers. His nasal helm, certainly not an unusual sight, somehow looked more ominous on him than it did on others she’d seen wearing them. If she had not spent a lifetime among fearsome men, perhaps she would have thought better of provoking the Earl of Clave.

“Your slow pace is because of me,” she called to him above the clomping hooves of the more than a half dozen destriers behind them.

“Slow pace?”

She could have told him of her intentions, but her borrowed mount, a strong Spanish jennet, was no match for a charger bred to overtake his opponents. A warning was an advantage she couldn’t afford to give.

Emma spurred her mount forward, and she didn’t hold back. The snow was soft and powdery, safe enough to gallop across even at this pace. It flicked up beneath them in every direction, the distant sound of hooves alerting her that she wasn’t alone. Nella loved when the snow kicked up and hit her belly, and she laughed aloud thinking of the joy it brought her and her beloved horse every time they rode this way. Falling into a steady pace, she spied the thicket of trees a long way off in front of them. Could she hold off Lord Clave for that long?

Likely not.

But Emma would try her best.

The rhythmic sound of her horse’s hooves lulled her into a confidence that she should have known would be tested. She was alerted to Garrick’s presence by the loud snort of his horse behind her. She didn’t dare spur her mount to a faster gallop with the snow, so it was not a surprise when the shadow over her shoulder became a mounted knight in front of her. That he didn’t stop made Emma laugh again. She’d thought he would be angry, but instead he was playing her game.

He turned his head just slightly to gauge her position. She was gaining on him. Could she possibly overtake him again?

Alas, not today. He reached the edge of the woods and dismounted in what looked like one fluid motion. She reached him and did the same, pulling her hood back above her head with one hand and keeping the horse’s reins wrapped up in the other.

“How did you do that?” she said, referring to his dismount.

“How did you?” he asked.

Training, of course.

Garrick pulled off his helmet and led his horse into the thicket. As they walked, the dimming sunlight began to fade, the canopy of the trees hastening the day’s descent into semi-darkness. A lone bird called to them, or perhaps to his family. When Garrick moved off the road and tied his horse to a tree, she did the same. He reached into his saddlebag, pulled out a handful of oats, and divided it between the horses, who promptly ignored their handlers.

“Where did you learn to ride like that?”

She hadn’t expected the admiration in his voice. Anger, perhaps. But not admiration.

“My youngest brother. And my twin. He was born with the ‘gift,’ as Eddard calls it.”