Page 43
“Did he know you?”
“Aye. They knew well my identity.”
“The blood.” He pointed at Garrick’s mantle. “It’s not yours?”
“Nay.”
“My lord fought like Saladin himself. Killed most of these men,” Henry de Crecy, his captain, bragged.
He should have known better. Garrick was proud of his men, but individual feats had no place in battle.
“Sir Henry—”
“Apologies, my lord. It’s just that I’d never seen anything like it, not even in . . ..” Henry finally realized Garrick was still not pleased and stopped talking.
“Do you think these are the raiders you’ve been hearing about?” Garrick asked, turning back toward Graeme.
The chief shrugged. “Possibly. I’ve never seen any of these men before, but they don’t appear to be reivers. What reason could they possibly have to attack you?”
As if a spark had lit inside him, Graeme looked up abruptly, meeting his eyes.
“Nay. He wouldn’t,” Garrick said.
“You’re sure?”
Garrick’s uncle hated him as much as he’d hated his father before him. But to murder him? And that wasn’t all. He’d have to kill Garrick’s mother to claim the title. To be caught performing such a treasonous act risked everything, and the man was hardly destitute or driven by desperation. The man’s wife, Garrick’s aunt, had received one-third of her father’s lands—just as all the sisters had. The only thing his mother had claimed beyond that shared inheritance was the title. Would a man really go so far just to be called earl?
Garrick didn’t like his own answer.
“Can you spare men to Linkirk? To send a message to my mother? Just to be safe?”
He would send one of his own, but Garrick wanted the remainder of his retinue intact to best protect Emma.
“Of course. And I will send others with you to Kenshire.”
“That isn’t necessary, Graeme.”
“It may not be. But they’re coming anyway.”
Graeme looked behind him and Garrick followed his gaze. So he’d sent them for Emma. “I need to get her to the abbey.”
“Of course. I will take care of this.” Graeme gestured to the bodies that littered the dirt road in both directions and the two men that had been taken captive.
Garrick stuck out his hand and Graeme took it.
“Thank you.”
“Garrick, I’m sorry this happened here—”
“’Tis not your fault. You saved me and my men. And Emma.”
The flicker of emotion in the man’s eyes—interest and protectiveness and speculation—was painful to Garrick. It made him recall the chief had pulled Emma aside for a short conversation before they’d left that morn. What had he said to her? Garrick released his hand, doing his damnedest to shove the thought of a courtship between Emma and Graeme from his mind.
“If you learn anything—”
“I will send word.”
Garrick moved back to Emma, who still looked shaken.
