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They fell silent until Kenshire Castle came into view. The air changed as they skirted the village and approached the coast. Garrick had always preferred to travel during the winter months. Some shied away from the bitter cold, but the roads were safer with fewer travelers.

“I’ve never become accustomed to this view,” Conrad said.

They’d come here often as boys, but Garrick agreed. He’d seen much during his travels, but Kenshire was still one of the finest castles in England.

“Have you thought of how her brother might respond to your offer?”

Garrick had thought of little else since realizing he was free to wed Emma. Once Magnus had stormed from Clave, taking his disgraced daughter with him, Garrick had sought out his mother. Though she agreed that a match with Emma Waryn may present further problems for Linkirk, especially if his uncle wasn’t brought to justice, she was joyful that he’d found love. Garrick and his mother decided to leave his uncle’s fate in the hands of the wardens. He’d “trust in the process,” as Emma had said.

Garrick also realized he’d be asking for the earl’s only sister’s hand in marriage. Emma may want him, but if her brother did not, he would have a tough go of it.

“I’m grateful Edward trusted me to negotiate with his enemies. Compared to that, surely one former reiver will not be a problem.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Garrick wanted to take them back. For Kenshire Castle loomed large in front of them, and very soon, he’d find out just how much of a problem the earl would present.

“What of Lady Sara? At least she knows you well.”

Garrick picked up speed, wanting to be there now. “Aye,” he yelled back to Conrad as he passed him. “Which is precisely why I am worried.”

28

Emma had avoided everyone since her talk with Sara the evening before. She’d skipped the evening meal, much to Edith’s and Sara’s dismay.

No one truly believed she had a headache.

Emma had tossed and turned all night, only to wake still thinking of the masked man on horseback from her dream. He’d ridden toward her with no markings on himself or his horse, but Emma had refused to retreat. Instead, she’d charged directly toward him, unsure of how she would defeat an armed knight. Then he’d pulled off his mask, revealing himself as a messenger from Kenshire.

Realizing it had been but a dream, Emma rose from her bed, added a log to the fire, washed her face and hands, and promptly crawled back into bed.

Ultimately, it was not prodding from Sara or Edith that finally forced her to rise, but her own mother. After her father had caught her in her attempt to attend the Tournament of the North and sent her home with a severe scolding, Emma had expected her mother would also want to have a strict word with her. And though she’d managed to avoid her for a spell, her mother had eventually found her at Bristol Sprout, a waterfall not far from the manor. But rather than berate her as her father had done, she simply told her to “keep fighting like a knight cornered in battle. As a woman, you’ll be forced to do so until the day of your death.”

Of course, she’d not known at the time her mother would be forced to fight to her death.

What would she say to me now? Likely that hiding in my bed is no way to get what I want.

Fight like a knight cornered in battle.

How did a knight cornered in battle fight? He would strike harder, but she’d already done so. Hadn’t she risked everything to ride to Clave? She couldn’t very well go back to the man who’d made it clear he would not fight for her. Who hadn’t even tried to go after her.

But perhaps she’d been a tad rash to tell Geoffrey she would marry Graeme. It certainly would be difficult to live in Kenshire if Garrick was to be wed at Clave, but perhaps all was not lost? Even if it were, why rush into marriage with someone she did not love? The chief would be a perfect match for some lucky woman . . . just not for her. And didn’t he deserve a chance at love too?

Emma jumped from the bed. She had to stop this wedding. She changed quickly, donning a simple undertunic and sideless surcoat, but jumped at the sudden knock on her door.

“Emma?”

Geoffrey’s voice.

Emma pulled the brush through her hair a few times more and called him inside.

“Oh,” he said, startled. “I was told you were still abed.”

“Sulking like a young girl,” she finished.

Geoffrey’s eyebrows pulled together. “You don’t sulk, Emma.”

“Mayhap I did when you and Father trotted off to see the finest horseflesh in all of England without—”

“This again?” He sat on her bed and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“Aye, this again. Every single year—”