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Garrick crossed his arms. “Do you now?”

“Aye, and more than you, to be sure.”

“What did the missive say, then?” Garrick asked.

Conrad didn’t hesitate. “Your mother is on her way to England, spitting mad and ready to box your ears for delaying the wedding.”

All likely true. “And the one from earlier this morning?”

“One of the captured men from the attack is squawking like a chicken now that you’ve turned him over to the warden.”

“Then it appears, my friend, you truly do know all.”

Conrad pretended to consider his words. “Nearly all. Except one thing.” He paused. “How does a man manage to fall in love at nearly the very same moment he pledges his life to another? The timing does seem rather poor, even to—”

“You are an arse, Conrad. And I do believe your own mother has written yet again, asking for your return. I’m highly tempted to send you home.”

“How would you know if Emma appeals when you hardly spoke to her—”

“Did I not tell you? I met up with the Waryns on their ride home.” Garrick’s look would have had lesser men cowering in fear.

Conrad merely grinned. “Nay, you did not tell me.”

“I see. Well, it must have been because I had hoped you would forget about the chit.”

“Conrad—”

“Woman. My apologies. The woman who will be responsible for your downfall.”

They’d avoided the topic of Emma thus far, but it would seem his self-imposed muzzle had been removed.

“In fact, if you weren’t in love with her, I would be very interested to—”

“I will kill you.”

“If, my dear Garrick. If. But of course you are, in love that is, which makes her very much off-limits. Will you give up Linkirk for her then?” his friend pressed.

“You believe I will need to?”

Conrad’s lips flattened. “It was very likely your uncle who was behind the attack. You know it as well as I do. Even if Magnus can be persuaded, or bribed, to let you out of the agreement, your uncle’s pursuit of the title will be relentless. That he even dared the attempt on your life . . . I can only assume he sent those men before learning the betrothal was made official.”

Conrad was just getting started. “Your mother’s childhood home won’t be safe, and it might not be safe for her to return to Scotland. At best, your uncle will continue to plague you. At worst, Magnus will join his cause. Lives will be lost, your kinsmen caught in a battle between siblings, and you—because I know you well—will not allow it to happen. You’ll relinquish the earldom first. And aye, it will devastate your mother.”

Garrick wanted to disagree. To tell Conrad he was wrong, about all of it—or most of it. To explain how it could work, and under which conditions he could retain Linkirk for his mother.

But he couldn’t.

Edward had relied on him to win battles and save lives. He had sent for his mother for a reason. The plan he was about to set in motion would risk her inheritance, at best. Her life, at worst.

A vision of his mother bending over him to smooth an errant hair back into place crossed his mind. Then a memory of her pulling him off the training yard well after the others had finished, begging him to stop, to eat, to see reason. She’d always supported and loved him. And now he would repay her with this. After he’d already taken her husband from her.

Garrick was the worst sort of man alive, and when he looked into his friend’s eyes, he could see his own thoughts reflected there. This would not end well. For anyone.

And yet, what choice did he have? Would it truly be better to spend his life in misery? Bound to a stranger he did not love?

“Let her go, Garrick.”

Nay. Not that. Never that.