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Graeme laughed like a man who was not being forced into marriage. “You’ll not reconsider?” he finally asked. “’Tis a sure agreement?”

“As long as your intentions toward Lady Emma are honorable.”

Graeme’s jaw clenched, but Garrick didn’t care if he’d gone too far. Her safety was more important than his host’s sensibilities.

“That you ask is an insult.”

“You’ve noticed her extraordinary beauty.” It wasn’t a question.

“I have eyes, Clave.”

“And she is unwed.”

“My clan would not be pleased.”

“But they would support you.”

“You already have your answer.” Graeme smirked as if he didn’t suspect Garrick’s feelings for her.

Again, Garrick’s jaw clenched. His instincts had been correct. Which was the reason he should join them this evening to ensure the chief’s behavior was beyond reproach. But the thought of watching a courtship between the two sickened him.

“Aye,” he choked out.

With that, Graeme patted him on the back and left the chamber.

Another knock just moments later announced a serving girl carrying a wooden tray laden with food and drink. He took it, offered his thanks, and promptly began to drink.

Pacing the room, he ignored the food and reconsidered his position. He should go down there. He needed to ensure her safety.

Emma is as safe with Graeme de Sowlis as she is with any man.

Then he should ensure . . . what? That they weren’t making plans to wed even now? As if he had any right to stop such a thing. He himself would be wed before long.

Garrick tore off his mantle and surcoat, all but the cream linen undershirt, and continued to pace back and forth. He had to get out of this chamber. And go where? Darkness had fallen. All of the castle’s inhabitants would be at the meal.

The last time he’d felt this cornered, Garrick and four of his men had been cut off from Edward’s forces. Alone, they’d faced a relentless attack on all sides.

Garrick’s father had been killed three days earlier, and guilt and grief had turned him into someone he was not. Whereas he was usually a controlled fighter who relied on his training for victory, he’d acted the part of a savage that day, exactly what their royals had accused the Saracens of being. Except he had never been convinced the enemy deserved that epithet.

Later, he had heard one of the other survivors tell the story to the men who’d rescued them. To hear him tell it, Garrick alone had killed nearly all of their attackers. That he could not remember any such thing scared him still.

He replaced the goblet on the tray, his hands shaking with the memory of that day.

When someone knocked on the door moments later, Garrick pulled the heavy wood toward him forcefully, swinging it open as if it were a piece of parchment.

Garrick opened his mouth to send the intruder away, but the words never left his lips.

Emma.

11

Well, if she was going to do it, she might as well do it right.

Emma had just returned from the evening meal with their kind, gracious host. They’d spoken of her visit at Dunmure and Graeme’s history with Clan Kerr. The chief had only fond words about Catrina, which made her think that perhaps Alex had the right of it—the pair had never been a love match.

Graeme de Sowlis was an easy man to speak with, and she found herself laughing at his tales of past antics, some of which rivaled some of her own.

Aside from not being English, he was the perfect potential suitor for her, someone about whom her brothers would surely have no complaint. If she was protected, they were happy. It was a refrain she’d heard from Geoffrey on more than one occasion. But Emma wanted more than just protection. More even than easy companionship and shared humor.