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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.