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“Emma, I—”
“You asked why I haven’t married,” she blurted, not sure why she should tell him anything. It was not as if she needed to explain. And yet the words continued to spill out of her. “Every year for as long as I can remember, my father and brothers would travel south to the Tournament of the North. They’d talk of its splendor. Of my brothers’ victories. Of the prizes and jousts, the melee. And every year, I’d ask to accompany them.”
She thought of standing in the courtyard at Bristol, watching them all ride off without her, their excitement palpable.
“I could tell they felt badly about it. None ever mentioned the horse race.”
On the third day of the tournament, a horse race, the largest one in England, determined the “jewel of the crown.” The winner could pick any horse he desired from the royal stable. Even though the king no longer attended the tournament, their representatives continued to do so, taking with them some of the finest horseflesh in the world.
She’d dreamed of being there, of seeing such fine animals race. Her daring had its limits—she’d never imagined herself in such a race, but she’d longed to be around it. Maybe to have one of her brothers enter so she could have someone to cheer for.
“They apologized every year, of course. But all of them agreed, Neill included. It was no place for me. ’Twas too dangerous.”
“But you must have been young—”
“The same age as Neill.”
“Your twin?”
“Aye.”
Emma closed her eyes and tried to imagine, as she had so many times, what it must have been like. The horses everywhere, the excitement of the race.
“Father loved me,” she said. “And my brothers love me still. Geoffrey will be enraged when he finds out what happened today. He’s spent a lifetime trying to protect me . . .”
“Emma?”
“Aye?” She had been trying to forget his face. To forget that the warm body behind hers belonged to him. But that was impossible to do when his voice, so intimate and familiar, was whispering in her ear.
“What does this have to do with you not being married?”
She’d gone and rambled again. It would have been best if she’d never tried to explain. “I want what Geoffrey and Sara have,” she said. “And my brother Bryce and his wife. But . . .”
“But?”
Emma watched as a single snowflake dropped onto the horse’s head. It dissolved, ceased to exist. Forever.
“I want to go to that tournament more.”
It was the best she could do. He likely didn’t understand, but what did it matter? He didn’t have to.
“And Graeme?”
“He is a clan chief.”
“Which, I take it, is a bad thing?”
“Well, of course it is. He’s accustomed to leading men. Giving orders. The exact kind of man—”
“You don’t want to marry.”
Aye. But she’d given him permission to court her anyway.
This time the silence between them stretched out for so long she thought perhaps Garrick had fallen asleep. But of course he had not.
“Maybe you can have both.”
It took her a moment to understand what he referred to.
