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He kissed her nose. Her cheeks. Her eyelids. With every soft touch of his lips, Emma could feel the answer to the two questions foremost on her mind.

He still wanted her. He still loved her.

“Garrick, how—”

“We can’t talk now,” he said, already letting her go. “I must get back. After the meeting,” he said. “At the meal, I need you to know, no matter what is said—”

“What do you mean?”

“No matter what is said—by me or your brother or any of the others. Emma, look at me.”

She was trying to concentrate, but his touch was distracting. She was finally in his arms after dreaming of it for so long.

“I love you. Do you hear me?”

Aye. I do.

“Remember that. And I will come to you tonight.”

She’d hoped for as much, and yet . . . “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

He bit his lip, a simple gesture that banished any thoughts of whether or not it was a good idea.

“I think ’tis the best idea I’ve ever had. Promise me you will remember?”

He was worried about something.

“I will. But what—”

“I have to go.” He squeezed her hands, and just as quickly as he had come, Garrick left, closing the door behind him.

Emma moved back to the window and unclasped the wooden shutters. She peeked out, allowing herself to imagine, just for a moment, a life here at Clave. As Garrick’s wife. Could Garrick even make such a thing happen?

Oh God, she hoped so. Because the alternative was unthinkable.

* * *

The Northumbrian council of border lords had been a success. They’d discussed the attack, and those closest to the border had agreed to inquire further on his behalf. His English allies had all pointed their fingers firmly north. In this, Garrick was hesitant to disagree—he’d heard the man’s accent, after all—even though he knew blaming the Scots was a much too common deflection.

The council had also agreed that the unprovoked attack pointed to a bigger problem. Though the Day of Truce, a once-a-month meeting between Scottish and English nobles at the border, had been established more than thirty years earlier, peace never felt assured in the borderlands. Raids were still more common than anyone would like. But it was only recently, since just before Garrick had left for the Holy Land, that circumstances had begun to change.

Establishing himself as the new Earl of Clave, strengthening alliances—Garrick would have considered it an exceptional day if it weren’t for his inability to think beyond the woman seated just in front of him at dinner. The one who set his blood on fire. Emma was the reason he had called the council, in truth, and she was about to find herself at the center of an extremely uncomfortable scene if Lord Davenhill did not cease his appalling behavior toward her.

“You’re staring. Again,” Conrad said. His friend, seated beside him at the high table, had taken it upon himself to continually admonish him for all of the glances he’d been giving Davenhill.

With so many prominent men and women present, Garrick had left the seating arrangement to the very competent Mable. Of course she’d put the earls and their families closest to the high table, which meant Emma was seated directly below him. The moment she entered the hall for supper, Garrick had known the evening would be a very long one.

Dressed in a deep red gown, its neckline and sleeves trimmed in the same gold as the belt that hung loosely around her hips, Emma had entered the room to the stares of nearly seventy noblemen and women. Everyone had looked at her, including Conrad, and some had not deigned to hide their appreciation.

Her brother, clearly accustomed to his sister’s impact on men, had stayed close until they sat, a most welcome gesture. Even now, he gave Lord Davenhill a look that would send most men cowering into a corner. But the cocksure widower continued to flirt mercilessly, undeterred by the angry stares angled at him from two directions.

“I don’t like him.”

“Clearly,” Conrad said, pushing a mug toward him. “Drink. Before you do something you’ll regret.”

He tore his gaze from the scene before him. “Regret smashing in that bastard’s face? Have you forgotten the rumors that he beat his first wife?”

“Alas, he also shares a border with Clave and is a favorite of the king. He’d make a poor enemy.”