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Garrick refused to accept the finality of his words.

“A bride, perhaps. But certainly not a Scottish one. Nor one I haven’t met.”

He hated Conrad’s shrug.

“I asked for your counsel, and you joyfully condemn me to life with a foreigner.”

Garrick had already known before sending for Conrad. He had known the moment the messenger handed him the missive. His mother had hinted at this, and now that his father was dead, the only way to secure his Scottish inheritance was to take a bride—one whose power was greater than his uncle’s.

Conrad had simply confirmed the life sentence he’d expected. Now that he’d returned, it was his duty to Clave Castle, to his mother, to the earldom, to bring home a suitable bride.

“Having a bride does not preclude enjoying comely women in your bed,” his friend said, clapping him on the back as if his words offered anything by way of comfort.

Garrick stared out the window for another long moment. Just a few months earlier, he’d stood next to his father contemplating a very different view. The Crusades had been tearing apart families for years, and now the bloody battle had woven its way into his life in the worst way possible. “I’ll not dishonor my wife that way.”

“Well then, old friend, why are we standing here? You have a wife to claim. And a mother to console. And if you’re to be married soon, Clave’s village is waiting. I will stay here, but you should take James with you.”

James, the young knight who had been sent years ago to foster with Garrick’s father, much like Conrad, hadn’t left. James’s father had betrayed the crown by betraying Montfort in his rebellion against King Henry, Edward’s father. The knight had lost his inheritance, as many had because of the uprising, but Garrick did not hold the son responsible for his father’s transgressions.

“I do believe Clave can manage without you,” Garrick said.

“But can The Golden Fox? Which reminds me, do you think it wants patrons this early? Being that you’re to be married soon.”

“I did not say I was marrying the Scottish woman.”

Conrad pulled him toward the door. “You didn’t need to.”

* * *

“Sara, would you please speak to him?”

Emma looked from her beloved sister-in-law, the Countess of Kenshire, to her stubborn brother. He was arranging his wife’s pillows, as usual, fixing them into just the right position. If only Bryce and Neill could see the former border reiver fussing over his wife as such . . .

Emma looked down and smiled at the littlest Waryn in her arms, his face round and perfect.

“Geoffrey, I agree with your sister. There are plenty of men who could escort her.”

Emma could have kissed Sara. But Geoffrey still didn’t seem to be convinced.

“If she were traveling in England, I’d agree. But across the border? Nay, not without me. Or one of the boys.”

It was that very attitude that made Geoffrey so exasperating. He thought her very much a “girl” even though she’d been a lady for some time now. Nor would her brothers enjoy hearing themselves called “boys.”

“Well, neither of the boys are here, and you can’t leave Sara and the new babe, nor would I want you to do so. Which means I’ll not be able to see Clara when she needs me most.”

The twitch in Geoffrey’s jaw told her he was becoming impatient.

Good.

“Emma.”

Oh, that tone. It made her feel like a child all over again.

“You can see Clara in the spring, before the babe arrives. Why you need to go off to Scotland in the middle of winter—”

“Shh,” she said, rocking Hayden, whose eyes had just popped open. “We’ll speak on this later.” He would not relent at this moment, so prolonging the argument would not further her case. The best strategy was to talk with Sara. “Didn’t Peter say you were needed in the solar?”

The steward had interrupted their conversation twice in the lord and lady’s private chambers—a privilege afforded only to a servant of his position.