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“Let her marry a man who isn’t on the precipice of war. One who can keep her safe in a way you cannot do if you break off this betrothal.”

The mere thought made him fist his hands at his side.

“If you love her,” Conrad said, “you need to let her go. This is no way for a young woman to begin her married life. And you know it, Garrick. You know it in your heart, which is why you’ve avoided me since she came here. There’s no other way.”

Garrick frowned, wanting to deny his words.

But there was some truth to them.

* * *

Emma pulled her cloak tighter as she stroked Nella’s sleek black coat. She’d taken her out for a short stroll earlier, careful to avoid the patches of ice that had formed since the last snowfall. The ride had allowed her time to think. To reflect on her recent trip to Clave.

To consider Garrick and their predicament.

She looked at the spot where he’d stood that day. Emma could remember precisely how she’d felt when she had realized it was not some stablehand who’d joined her, but a strange knight. A wickedly handsome one who’d pulled her toward him without speaking. Who had captured her heart, assailed her senses so completely that she’d hardly had time to consider what it all meant.

That she loved him, there was no doubt. Sara had once told her that love felt somewhere between sheer bliss and utter fear. She and her sister-in-law had stood together on the bit of shore by Kenshire, Sara’s favorite spot, on the day Geoffrey was to return from Bristol. Though Emma had been convinced her brother was safe, the panic in Sara’s eyes had not failed to move her. She’d wondered that day if his wife could love him more than she, his sister, did. She’d concluded it was just a different love. One less rational. More desperate.

That was the way she loved Garrick. But would it be enough?

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Emma turned toward the entrance of the stables, expecting to see Sara bundled against the cold. Instead, her breeches peeked out from beneath a cape that was made for riding. Though fur-lined, it was a thinner cloak than she would have expected on such a frigid day.

“Have you already taken her out?” Sara asked.

Nella answered for Emma, the soft snort forcing a laugh from Sara.

“She’s still restless.”

Emma agreed. Perhaps Nella was reacting to her own mood.

“I did, but I’m not opposed to another ride. Nor does Nella appear to be.”

“Before we go . . .”

The stablehand had followed Sara inside, but when she turned to look at him, he fled, closing the great doors behind him. Though Emma hadn’t seen the look that had sent him running, she could well imagine it. This could only mean one thing.

“We’ve not had a chance to talk since you returned last week.”

Sara knew. Perhaps because Geoffrey had told her, or perhaps she’d known all along. Emma was only ashamed she hadn’t said anything earlier.

They spoke at the same time. “I would have told you—”

“You know you can talk to me—”

They both stopped. Sara walked toward her, stopping to greet Guinevere, her horse.

“Who told you?” Emma choked out.

“You did.”

Emma thought back to their conversations and was fairly assured she had not told Sara about her feelings for Garrick.

When Sara smiled, she conveyed both confidence and warmth. A born leader. Lucky that, since Geoffrey needed a partner who would stand up to him. One who was just as strong and self-assured as he had always been. So it would seem Sara had guessed after all.

“When?”