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“Well . . .” Gillian’s curiosity would surely be her downfall. Why had she opened her mouth at all? “It’s just . . . Sara says you and your siblings truly harbor no ill feelings toward the Kerrs. But . . .”
Oh, Gillian, what have you started?
“’Tis fine.” Emma stopped just before the huge oak door that marked the keep’s entrance. “I suppose it does seem curious that we could befriend the very clan responsible for our parents’ death.”
“And the loss of your home.”
Gillian!
“Aye, and that. But”—Emma shrugged—“we are family now. And neither Toren nor Alex Kerr is responsible for what happened. They’d been ordered to take Bristol by their king. If you knew them, you would more easily understand. Aye, I hated them once. But not anymore. Nothing good can come from hate.”
That answer made her like Emma even more. If only the men who perpetually sought battle along the border felt the same way.
“I hope I would be as forgiving.”
Emma looked as if she wanted to ask her something, but the words didn’t come. Though she could very well let it lie, Gillian had been blunt with her new friend—she owed her the opportunity to do the same.
“If you’re thinking of my father, there is nothing to forgive. He is not forcing me.” They both knew she spoke of her marriage to Covington.
“But certainly you could not want to marry such a man.”
“Want? Heavens, no. But it is my duty.”
Emma opened her mouth and then promptly closed it. And when she offered no more discussion on the topic, Gillian was glad for it.
* * *
“Pardon me saying so, my lord. But you are really tall.”
“So I’ve been told.” Right now, Graeme just wanted a meal. Unfortunately, though he’d ridden straight through the day, he’d missed the opening festivities and, more importantly, dinner.
The serving boy, who seemed to finally remember his duties, ushered him into the entranceway, where he was greeted by Kenshire’s steward. He’d met Peter on his last visit, to see her. “My lord, we’re so glad you could make it. Would you care to join the others in the hall, or shall I have you shown to your chamber?”
Though he couldn’t see the great hall from where he stood, the sound of voices and laughter, along with the gentle lilt of a harp, made its way to them. If he could avoid Emma for the night, he’d gladly take the opportunity.
“It’s been a long day. My chamber, if you please.”
“And I will of course have a meal sent to you.”
Thank Saint Andrew for that. “Will you please share my greetings with the host and convey—”
“You may convey them yourself.”
Graeme turned at the sound of the familiar voice. He bowed. “My lord.”
Geoffrey Waryn, Earl of Kenshire, extended his hand. “There’ll be no formalities between us, de Sowlis. An ally of Garrick’s is one of mine.”
He shook the earl’s hand before turning to greet the man’s companion. The Earl of Clave. Emma’s new husband. He’d detected their feelings for each other on their brief visit to Highgate before they were wed. Ignoring the thoughts, he nodded and said, “Garrick.”
“Graeme.”
These two men, the Earl of Kenshire and the Earl of Clave, were in a position to help him improve the conditions along the border. He would do best to set aside old grudges in favor of their shared cause. Which meant he ought to do the neighborly thing and ask after their wives. Both of them.
“How fares Lady Emma?”
Though he asked her husband, Geoffrey answered, likely still protective of his younger sister. “Very well. Though I do miss her scheming ways every day. Luckily, Clave is but a day’s ride from here.”
“And Lady Sara?”
