Weak, Emberley lay there as he cleaned, remembering Erik through Gart’s eyes. She remembered the brother with the dark, blond hair and blue eyes, the clouded memories of an adoring young girl of her only brother.
“It seems like an eternity ago,” she murmured.
“Do you remember what he used to call you?” he asked softly.
She closed her eyes. “Kitten.”
“Do you remember why?”
She smiled faintly. “Because I was never without a cat in my arms,” she said softly. “They would breed in the barn and I would collect armfuls of them to play with. I have not heard that name in years.”
He smiled as he focused on cleaning the blood off her ear. “It suits you. Do you still have cats?”
“Four.”
He snorted softly. “I should have guessed.”
She fell silent as he gently wiped at the dried blood, trying not to cause additional pain to her swollen ear. He thought she had fallen asleep, losing herself in blissful unconsciousness to remove her from her pain, but after several moments she stirred again.
“Gart,” she whispered. “Will you do something for me?”
He stopped cleaning and looked at her. “Anything.”
“Please leave. I do not want you here.”
He lost some of his confidence. “I only want to help. Please let me.”
She shook her head, closing her eyes. “Just… let me be.”
“Why?”
Tears began to pour out of her closed eyes. “Because,” she breathed. “If Julian finds you here, he will kill us both. That is enough of a reason.”
Gart watched her struggle. “He will not kill you and he certainly will not kill me,” he insisted softly. “I can adequately defend us both from your husband.”
Her eyes opened and she looked at him. “Why?” she asked, almost angrily. “Gart, he is my husband. It is his right to do with me as he pleases and even though I appreciate your noble intentions, the fact remains that you have stirred up a good deal of trouble and I have suffered for it. You will leave here in a few days and I will be left with the consequences of your actions. You can easily leave the situation. I cannot. I must stay and bear Julian’s wrath.”
He stared at her, hurt and confused by her words. His chest began to constrict, knowing she was correct but still somehow trying to rationalize it. He set the bowl and rag on the floor and stood up, deeply troubled.
“Do you remember when you were about twelve years of age, you returned from Chepstow in the summertime?” he asked, crossing his enormous arms. “Erik and I were about twenty and one years old, newly knighted and very full of ourselves. We believed we were the greatest knights to have ever lived. Do recall that summer?”
Emberley nodded. “I do. It was the last time I saw you.”
“Do you also remember that you and your silly friends went to swim at the lake one warm August day? What were their names? You know who I mean, the St. George girls.”
In spite of herself, Emberley warmed to the remembrance. “Sorsha and Caroline.”
He made a face. “Sorsha and Caroline,” he muttered with exaggerated distaste. “Caroline wanted to marry me. That is all she would speak of. She followed me around so much that Ihad to hide to avoid her. One time, I was running from her and tripped into the well. Erik had to fish me out.”
Emberley couldn’t help but laugh, remembering that particularly humorous event. “You cannot fault the girl for her good taste.”
He gave her a half-grin, pleased to see that his storytelling was having the desired effect. He had her interest and she was smiling. “If you want to know the truth,” he said, pretending it was a great secret, “I would have much rather have had you.”
The light of surprise came to Emberley’s eyes. “Me?”
He nodded. “You were the prettiest girl in Shropshire.”
She was flattered, bringing a flush to her pale cheeks. “You never told me. You never said a word about it.”
