"Just Emma," she corrected him. "Emmalin is only when I'm in trouble." The earl grinned, but started again.

  "Emma," he said. "I promise I will be gentle." She nodded and they stood, he leading her to the bed.

  5.

  He was true to his word, being as gentle as he could with his new wife. Emma laid on her back and stared at the ceiling over his shoulder as he moved over her, trying to ignore the odd sensations she felt where he grazed her skin with a feather-light touch. He peppered kisses along her jaw, but she didn't return them. What was the point indulging in a lie? He didn't covet her or desire her as men lusted after women; he was merely doing his duty as husband. Nothing more.

  She wriggled beneath him, wishing he would stop lingering over it. The earl grinned and kissed her sweetly on the corner of her mouth.

  "Impatient?" he asked playfully.

  She sucked in a breath to keep from opening her mouth with a reprimand. She knew enough about the business from her aunt to hold back her reproof and keep the scowl from showing on her face. It wasn't the time to start arguments with her husband. She would only have to endure it until she birthed an heir. It was torture waiting.

  "This might hurt at first," he warned in her ear. "But it won't always."

  Emma didn't understand what he meant, but mentally braced herself. He shifted, gently nudging her legs open and sliding between them. She gasped, clutching at the earl's shoulders and trying to push him away. It was wrong, she thought, and dug her nails in to make him stop. But he ignored her.

  Finally he rolled off of her and onto his back with a sigh. Finished, Emma closed her legs and moved to get her nightgown from the floor, but was stopped by his hand on her waist.

  "Tarry a little," he bade her.

  "I only wanted my nightgown," she told him, resisting his embrace.

  "You don't need it," he whispered, and pulled her more firmly back to the mattress until her back was against his chest, their legs entwined, and his heavy, muscled arm over her waist and nuzzled beneath her breasts. "It's difficult the first time for women," he whispered to her. "But I promise it gets better. I can show you so much pleasure."

  "Just in the bedroom?" she asked. "Or are their other pleasures to being your wife?"

  "I'd like to think there are many," he replied with a chuckle. "I can show them all to you."

  6.

  Earl Garrick didn't leave her bedroom like Emma thought he would, instead falling asleep beside her, his arm still wrapped around her, effectively pinning her in place. At least he didn't snore, she thought wryly.

  She waited for some time after he fell asleep to be sure he wouldn't wake too easily then carefully lifted his arm up by the wrist and sliding out from beneath it. She picked up the nightgown from the floor but didn't put it on, instead carrying it to the closet for a more practical garment. She still wanted to escape out to the fields one last time.

  She quickly donned her old dress, not bothering with underclothes, and rooted around for her pair of boots, hoping her mother hadn't ordered them thrown out. She found them buried beneath several pairs of dyed slippers, which tumbled away as she tugged the black boots free and carried them to the chair so she could put them on.

  The earl was a lighter sleeper than she expected, however, and the noise woke him. Finding his wife out of bed, he sat up and found her blinking at him with wide, guilty eyes and fully dressed.

  "Where are you going at this hour?" he asked. "Off skinny dipping again?" he teased.

  "No," she scowled. "I only—" she hesitated, not sure anymore if it was wise, sneaking out of Montrellis on her wedding night. It could create quite the scandal if anyone were to discover....

  "Well?" he pressed.

  "I only wanted to lay under the stars," she admitted with a sigh. "One last time, before I'm a countess and can't do such things."

  "You're already a countess," he pointed out. "But if that's all you want, then I'll go with you."

  Emma stared. She hadn't intended to take the earl with her. She wanted to be alone, not escorted by the earl. But he didn't seem to care or notice her hesitancy, getting out of the bed and reaching for his breeches. Emma stared at her naked husband for a moment, his perfectly sculpted body making her all the more embarrassed by her own less-than-perfect one. He was pulling his shirt over his head when Emma snapped back to the present, shoving her foot into her boot and letting it thud to the floor.

  "You can't wear that," she said, gesturing to his fancy silk pants and fine linen shirt. He smirked at her playfully and she blushed at the implication of her words. "I mean," she sighed. "You have to change. Do you have anything...not fancy?" she asked.

  "Um..." he hesitated. Emma rolled her eyes at him.

  "You're going to get your clothes filthy," she said.

  "What exactly are you planning on doing out there?" he asked dubiously. "Rolling in the dirt?"

  "No," she snapped, shoving her other foot into her boot. "But you can't have any fun if you're worried about spoiling your pretty pants," she told him.

  "Fine," he sighed. "I can change. The rest of my clothes are in my room," he said, pulling on his own shoes, which were just as fancy as his breeches. Emma wrinkled her nose at them.

  "I hope you have boots in your room too," she noted. The earl chuckled.

  "Come on, then," he said, his hand on the handle of the door.

  "You can't change alone?" she scoffed.

  "You have to tell me what to wear, apparently," he said with a smirk. Emma sighed, but stood and followed him.

  It was strange, sneaking down the corridor with her nobleman husband to find a proper set of rags to dress him in so he could sneak out of Montrellis with her. He seemed eager enough for the adventure, however, which both surprised and amused Emma. He probably drank too much at the feast, she figured, and wouldn't remember any of it in the morning.

  Earl Garrick lifted the handle to his bedroom carefully and waved Emma inside. The guest room was one of their finest, recently updated with new curtains and a fine porcelain wash basin. Emma understood then what he meant when he said her parents hid their money problems well. They did a lot to Montrellis in preparation for the wedding and the arrival of their esteemed guests.

  At the foot of the bed sat the earl's trunk, which he immediately crossed over to and started rifling through its contents, pulling out a plain linen shirt followed by a decent pair of brown breeches.

  "Will this do, then?" he asked with a grin, dangling the pants in front of her.

  "Is that the worst you have?" she asked dubiously. The fabric was clearly of high quality and she hesitated to let him ruin them. "Nothing...serviceable? In a sturdy cotton or wool?" she prompted.

  He shook his head. "I'm a nobleman, not a peasant. I have no use for common clothes."

  His tone held an edge of arrogance that bothered her. Of course he would be arrogant, she reprimanded herself. He was raised to be superior to everyone else.

  "You've never plowed a field with your people or helped mend a wall? Never worked up a sweat training with your men?"

  He scowled at her accusations. "Of course I train with my men," he retorted hotly. "But I didn't think I would have use for my working clothes on my wedding night."

  "Then you don't have to go," she scowled back at him. "I'll go alone, as I planned."

  "You're not sneaking away alone," he said firmly. "Anything could happen to you."

  "Unlikely," she scoffed. "Nothing ever happens around here," she sighed, plopping into a chair by his cold fireplace.

  "Except farmers with shotguns," he reminded, "And gamekeepers who are light sleepers."

  "That was a long time ago," she moaned. "I'm much more careful now. I avoid Grennal's place."

  "And the stream as well?" he asked with a smirk.

  Emma didn't reply immediately. The stream was one of her favorite midnight haunts, but she no longer swam near Grennal's house, choosing instead a more secluded spot downstream by a copse of trees that hid her better.

  Earl Garrick didn't push for an answer, kicking off his shoes and undressing to don the brown breeches and simple shirt. He managed to fish a pair of boots from the bottom of the trunk as well, though, like the breeches, they were of fine leather that Emma hated to see scuffed and tarnished. But if he insisted on coming with her, it was his own loss.

  When he was finished getting dressed, Emma modestly averting her gaze as he did so, the earl held out his arms for her perusal and approval.

  "That will do," she shrugged, standing. "Follow me, then," she said.

  She opened the door and stuck her head into the hall. There was no sign of anyone so she stepped out, waving for him to follow her. She started down the corridor but stopped when she realized the earl hadn't followed.

  He hooked his thumb in the direction behind them toward the main stairs, a confused look on his face. She chuckled softly and shook her head.

  "Trust me," she whispered. "We want to go this way." She didn't wait for him, hurrying down the hall toward the servants' stairwell. After a few moments, she heard him follow.

  The door to the stairwell was painted so it blended with the walls around it, half covered by a hanging tapestry of some great battle. The purpose of the door was so servants could quickly go to and from their tasks without the inconvenience of being seen, but it was rarely used anymore at Montrellis which made it the perfect route for sneaking around.

  The stairwell led out in the kitchen, which was empty, and out into the vegetable garden. The earl followed quietly behind her, even stepping on the same stones as she picked her way through the garden without leaving footprints, a trick she learned from a particularly ornery cook. The garden wall was built rougher than the rest of the fortress walls and was considerably shorter, making it easier for her to climb over. She used the same spot in the corner of the garden every time where there were plenty of hand-holds and a climbing vine to help her grip.

  Once at the top, she sat straddling the stones and tilted her head to the sky, closing her eyes to let the moonlight wash over her, forgetting her new husband still standing on the ground. She leaned back on her hands, opening her eyes but still not offering help to the earl. After a few minutes and some grunting, he swung up onto the wall beside her.

  "Clever," he praised. "How did you figure all this out? How to sneak out like this without being seen?"

  "Trial and error," she shrugged. "The hardest part was the wall," she admitted. "I had to find the right spot to be able to get back and forth easily. After I figured that part out – easy-peasy-pie."

  "That's a lot of work for a midnight swim," he pointed out. "You must really hate Montrellis."

  "It's not that I hate it," she sighed. "I just...I feel I don't belong sometimes. I feel trapped in some other bird's nest." She shifted her gaze from the stars to her husband. "You probably never feel that way," she said softly. She didn't give him a chance to reply, moving to climb down the other side of the garden wall.

  7.

  Emma made her usual trek to the stream, not paying any heed to whether the earl followed or not. It was a good ways on foot, but after the incident with the farmer, she never stole a horse again for her night adventures. She was only walking a few minutes when the earl jogged to catch up with her.

  "You don't stop for anyone, do you?" he joked.

  "I stop for Lily," she admitted honestly.

  "The little girl from the wedding?" he asked. "Is she your sister?"

  "Cousin," she corrected. "But she's like a sister to me. Loveable and frustrating all at once."

  "Certainly sounds like a sister to me," he laughed. "Mine is constantly chiding me for one reason or another, and yet I would do anything for her."

  "You have a sister?" Emma asked curiously, looking at him in the moonlight.

  "I do," he nodded, bending to pick up a rock and tossing it into the air a few times before throwing it as far as he could. Emma followed the arch, but lost sight of it in the dark. "Her name is Analissa. She's elder by two years."

  "Why didn't she come with you to see you married?" Emma asked. "Surely she'd want to see her baby brother's wedding." The earl winced when she called him the baby brother and Emma laughed. It was odd how casually they could converse with each other.

  "She wanted to," he replied. "But her husband wouldn't let her as she's expecting their first child."

  "How exciting," Emma smiled. "Are you looking forward to being an uncle?" she asked.

  "I am," he nodded. "You get all the fun bits without the messy parts," he chuckled.

  "Oh, I'm sure you'll still get some messy parts," Emma told him. "I remember when Lily first came to Montrellis as a baby. I was only ten or so at the time, but Lady Killian – my aunt – insisted on teaching me everything about caring for a baby."

  "At ten?" Earl Garrick asked curiously. "Why?"

  "I think she thought it would be good practice for me," Emma answered. "For my own children," she added softly. "I think, though," she said, "It's made me love Lily more, caring for her along with her mother like I did. It was a hard time for my aunt. She'd just lost her husband and her home. I think she was glad for the help. And, along the way, she became like a second mother to me."

  "Your mother never helped?" he asked. "With your aunt and the baby?"

  "No," Emma shook her head, laughing at the thought. "My mother thinks she is a duchess and thus above all of that. She hired a nurse when she had me and never had any other children. She's not exactly...the mothering type," Emma admitted. "She has other strengths."

  "So I've seen," the earl agreed. "She is certainly a stern sight to behold."

  "Stern is one way of describing her, yes," Emma said. "She means well, though. In her own way."

  "I'm sure she does."

  "What is your mother like?" Emma asked. She'd seen the woman in passing, but barely spoke two words to her the entire evening.

  "She likes to keep to herself," the earl answered. "Never been one to put up a fuss or reprimand us or anything. The quiet, loving sort I suppose."

  "Very different from what I've known," Emma remarked.

  "I was going to say the same about your family," he chuckled.

  8.

  "This is your secret place, then?" the earl asked, glancing around at the swaying trees and bubbling stream.

  "My favorite place," Emma nodded.

  "And what do you do when you're out here?" he asked curiously.

  "Swim. Climb the trees. Stare at the sky. Mostly do a lot of thinking and dreaming."

  "And what is it you dream about, Emma?" he asked softly, taking her hand.

  She looked at him in surprise then averted her eyes with a blush, pulling her hand free as she went to a nearby tree. It was the best for climbing with its v-shaped trunk and its many sturdy branches. She easily lifted herself into the tree and began to ascend to the top, avoiding her husband's hurt gaze.

  "You didn't answer the question," he called up to her.

  "You never answered mine," she shouted down at him.

  "What question?"

  "About being blackmailed," she reminded. He clenched his fists at his sides in frustration.

  "You are as persistent and stubborn as Ana!" he cried.

  "Thank you!" she shot back. "I'll take that as a compliment!"

  "I assure you, it's not," he snapped. "Now come out of that tree before you fall and break your neck!"

  "I won't fall," she said assuredly. "I've climbed this tree a thousand times."

  "What is so enjoyable about sitting on a branch surrounded by leaves?" he asked doubtfully.

  "Climb up and find out!" she challenged. He grunted what Emma assumed to be a 'no'. "Are you scared?" she teased. "Of a tree?" she laughed.

  "I'm not scared of the tree," he fired back. "Only of falling out of it!"

  "Haven't you ever climbed a tree?" she asked, swinging down to a lower branch and leaning down toward him with a scowl on her face. "I thought all boys climbed trees."

  "Not when they're to inherit a fortune," he volleyed back.

  "Oh, come on, it's no different from climbing the wall," she told him. "You mean to say you followed me all the way out here to chicken out?"

  "I am not chickening out of anything," he grumbled.

  "Then climb the tree," she challenged him again. "You'll want to start on the other side, though," she advised. "It's an easier reach. For beginners."

  As if to prove her wrong, he took hold of the branch she perched on and began to pull himself up. Emma scrambled to a higher branch and watched him, his muscles bulge and tighten as he swung up into the tree and glared up at her like it was all her fault he was sitting there.

  "See? Not so bad," she laughed, and climbed higher.

  "Where are you going now?" he sighed, but followed after her without an answer. She stopped a few feet up, crawling onto a thick branch that extended out over the stream, the limbs above it sparse, allowing her to see the sky. He was close behind her, testing the strength of it before climbing on after her.

  They sat face to face, both of them looking up at the stars, the moon peeking just beyond the tree canopy.

  "It is beautiful," he admitted.

  "Told you," she murmured back.

  "And you do this every night?" he asked, shifting his gaze to her. She shook her head, her eyes still glued on the velvet sky.

  "Not every night," she said. "But often enough."

  "I'll tell you a secret," he said softly, getting her attention. He glanced below them uncertainly at the water. "I don't know how to swim," he admitted.

  "What?" Emma gaped at him. "How is that possible?"

  "The same reason I never climbed a tree," he answered with a shrug.

  "Maybe I'll teach you sometime," she said, the offer rolling off her tongue before she could stop it.

  "Maybe I'll let you sometime," he replied with a grin. "Will you tell me now, then?" he asked. She cocked her head at him, confused. "What you dream about," he prompted.

  "Oh. That. Silly things, really," she shrugged, sliding from the branch and into the stream below with a splash. He watched her aghast from the tree, feeling relief when she resurfaced and climbed toward the shore. A little clumsily, he climbed back down to meet her on the bank.

 

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