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The brutes hardly knew their own strength and would likely injure the poor woman.
“I saw you warning away the men,” she yelled to him.
“If we want to reach Kenshire by dark—”
“You don’t have time to toss a snowball?”
The men looked at him and then Emma and back again. He’d like to toss her into his bed and be done with it. But a snowball? “Nay.”
He turned and another landed square on his neck, its wetness already seeping into his tunic. Exactly what he deserved for taking off the cloak.
When Garrick spun back around, he found Emma holding her stomach in laughter. More than one of his men wore a smirk.
If she wanted a snowball fight, then by God he’d give her one.
When he lowered his gloved hands into the snow, just enough to form a decent-sized ball, he caught the look of surprise on his captain’s face.
Garrick wasn’t known for his frivolity, after all.
He’d stopped the men because he feared they would accidentally hurt her. Aye, the legs should be safe. He took aim and threw his missile gently, connecting exactly where he’d intended.
By now the others were fully mounted, watching, but Garrick knew it wasn’t over. He didn’t wait for her to come at him this time, but instead bent down to form another ball. He stood, pulled back his arm, and was pelted square in the face this time.
Emma laughed so loudly Garrick was sure the men who’d attacked them in Scotland would hear and come finish the job they’d started.
He reached her in a few short strides, grabbed her arm, which was already prepared to finish him with another snowy bit of ammunition, and held it in the air.
“You, my lady, are a menace.”
“You, my lord, have poor aim.”
Garrick would like to show her how untrue that statement was—and he very nearly told her so—until he remembered the men were watching them from all sides.
“I’m afraid we’ll be forced to call a truce.” He let go of her arm.
“Truce? More like a win for the fairer sex.”
At that simple word, his cock stirred and hardened. Her ability to affect him so was unparalleled.
“Very well, a win. What is to be your prize?”
Though he’d said it low enough for her ears only, Garrick regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. There was only one prize he wanted to give her.
Rather than say something else equally as foolish, he turned and walked away.
They hadn’t spoken since, but he couldn’t stop thinking of that moment. Her laughter. The snow crystals collecting on her long lashes.
“Clave, we need to talk,” said Geoffrey.
Garrick was equally as anxious to speak with the earl.
Without a backward glance, Emma rushed past him toward the stables, leaving them to make their way to the keep.
“How is Nella?” Garrick asked.
“Emma will be pleased to learn she is doing just fine. Whatever ailment afflicted her seems to have disappeared.” If Geoffrey thought it odd for him to inquire after Emma’s horse, he didn’t say so.
Garrick breathed a bit easier at the news. He’d only remembered the horse’s condition as they passed through the gatehouse. Her nervous posture had reminded him. Knowing how much she cared for her beloved horse, he’d hoped, for her sake, the animal had recovered.
