Page 101

Her smile dropped. Trying not to think of Garrick, Emma concentrated instead on Reginald, who, she suddenly realized, looked as miserable as she felt. “Is all well, Reginald?”

Where were the stablehands?

Reginald extended his hand, so Emma gave him the reins. “Nay, my lady.”

And this was just one of the many reasons she liked the lad so much. Good manners dictated that he should respond in the affirmative, but Reginald always spoke his mind. Geoffrey encouraged him to do so, and she was glad for it.

“Your brother is none too pleased with me.” Reginald reached up to calm Nella, who was pawing the ground anxiously. She knew food and rest were just moments away.

“Why?”

Reginald looked down at his feet and shrugged.

“Reginald?”

Nella let her frustration be known.

“I had best be getting her inside,” he said.

Emma stared after him in confusion, vowing to speak to her brother about it later.

The courtyard was nearly empty, and by the time Emma stood at the front door, darkness had fallen in truth. Pushing the door open, a guard greeted her.

Should she flee to her bedchamber?

Nay, there was no escaping him for long, so she entered the great hall, stopping at its entrance to watch the frantic preparations for dinner. Weaving her way through the maze of servants and trestle tables, she sought out the warmth of the fire in the far corner of the room.

“You must be freezing.” Sara’s voice lacked any anger or recrimination.

Emma looked up and couldn’t help but stare. “You look beautiful.”

Indeed, her sister-in-law had begun to wear some of her old gowns; the wardrobe made for her while she carried Hayden had been packed away for now. Dressed in a perse blue gown with no adornments save a gold belt, she looked quite different than when Emma had last seen her, in her boys’ breeches.

“Thank you.” Her response was always the same. While Emma tried to explain why she looked a certain way, Sara never did so. She accepted compliments the same way she did criticism. With poise and grace.

“My hands are most especially cold.” She glanced over Sara’s shoulder and peered around the hall.

“He’s preparing for dinner.”

“Is he angry?”

“Worried,” Sara corrected.

Emma rubbed her hands together, resisting the urge to turn around. If she truly did stick her bum in the fire, it would have the servants’ tongues wagging for weeks.

“You said in your note that you ‘had to know.’”

“’Twas a successful trip then,” she responded, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

Sara stuck out her hands as well. As they warmed themselves by the fire together, a flurry of activity behind them, she and Sara remained silent.

Emma refused to think about what he’d done to her before their fight. As many times as the image of him kneeling below her came into her mind, she shoved it away. He’d given her pleasure without asking for any in return. She knew enough from Edith to understand the selflessness of his actions. She’d just begun to summon the courage to ask how she could please him in return when—

“What happened?”

She looked up, grateful to see Geoffrey walking toward them. She would tell the tale once and be done with it. “I know it was not the wisest of ideas to ride to Clave—”

“Alone. Unescorted. Emma, do you have any idea—”