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“I see.”

“Will there be trouble?” Sara had clearly detected a layer of meaning beneath his words that had eluded Emma.

She chanced a glance at Garrick, wishing immediately she hadn’t. He was looking at her; his eyes, mesmerizing, made it difficult for her to focus. Her eyes darted back to the glass. So these flowers . . .

“I go to ensure there is none.”

“You know Kenshire is behind you. Always.”

Garrick lifted his drink in salute. “As Clave is for Kenshire.”

Emma knew very little about Clave beyond that it was partially in the sea, only accessible by foot during low tide. She could not recall anything else of their southern neighbors, but if the earl was an ally, why had he not assisted Sara in her claim to Kenshire after her father’s death? Dozens of questions crowded her tongue, none of which she could afford to ask lest she reveal her interest in the earl.

“Wait!” Sara exclaimed.

“No, Sara . . .” Geoffrey said next to her, somehow knowing what she was about to say. Emma did not. Her thoughts were still swirling around Clave and Kenshire and her sister-in-law’s early struggle to retain her title.

“Linkirk is not far from Dunmure Tower, is that correct?” Sara asked smartly.

Emma looked from her sister-in-law to her brother, and then to Garrick. Linkirk. Near Dunmure?

“Aye, it lies directly south of Dunmure, my lady.”

“Sara . . .” Geoffrey’s tone was a warning, one she did not heed.

“What wonderful news, Garrick! You see, Emma’s dear friend Clara, Alex Kerr’s wife, is with child.”

Oh no . . .

“And Emma has been desperate to get to her. You see, they’ve grown quite close. But my husband—” She turned to look at Geoffrey. “He does not want to leave the babe.”

If Emma guessed correctly, Sara’s glance was sharp. But likely no sharper than the expression Geoffrey was leveling at her in return.

“Babe?” Garrick asked.

“Sara and Geoffrey have a baby boy,” Emma said, so proud to call herself an aunt. “Hayden.”

Garrick raised his cup again. “Congratulations, my lady. My lord. That is wonderful news indeed.”

They all drank to the young heir’s health, but the wine no longer felt comforting to Emma. For she knew what Sara intended to ask of Garrick. And though she desperately wanted to visit her friend, the thought of being escorted there by the earl was . . . disconcerting. The effect he had on her was completely out of her control.

“He trusts no one to accompany her there, save himself,” Sara continued. “But if you are passing through . . . Of course, Emma could find no safer escort than yourself, Lord Clave.”

She’d used his title intentionally. For there was no way Geoffrey could argue Emma would not be safe in the company of an earl, let alone an old friend of Sara’s, and his retinue.

Emma finally gave in to temptation and glanced at Garrick. What would he say? What could he say? Sara had left him little choice.

His face, as impassive as ever, gave no indication of his thoughts. Instead, he raised his goblet for a third time, inclined his head just slightly, and said, “I would be honored to escort Lady Emma to Dunmure, my lady.”

Emma whipped her head back to Sara and Geoffrey. Her sister-in-law beamed. Her brother scowled. She didn’t know who she felt more inclined to agree with. But it didn’t really matter. Sara had asked. He’d accepted. She’d appear a fool to shy away from the arrangement after her weeks of begging and cajoling her brother.

And then, as if Sara could hear her thoughts, she said, “Wonderful. Then ’tis settled.”

Emma raised her own goblet this time. “To Scotland.” She downed its contents in one great big gulp.

6

Garrick, mounted and waiting for Lady Emma to join them, tried to still his horse. He and Bayard had been together for long enough that Bayard could sense his moods, and there was no doubt that he was ill at ease—all the more so after his conversation with Sir Geoffrey earlier that morning.