Chapter 10
Patrik leaned back at the table, the easy conversation making him yearn for the times he’d supped with his brothers. A memory came of Duncan swapping Alexander’s ale for wash water as they had broken their fast, and of how Alexander had spewed the lot. Without any hesitation as to who would pull such a prank, Alexander had rounded on Duncan, but the youngest brother had already bolted for the entry.
Alexander’s bellows as he’d run after his brother still echoed in Patrik’s mind. As did the howls of laughter of the knights within the great room, then Duncan’s yell from outside as they’d heard a loud splash. Pride on his face, Alexander had hauled Duncan inside, the younger brother drenched from head to toe.
With his heart heavy, Patrik reached within his pocket, touched the tip of Duncan’s arrow, which he’d kept from the campfire beneath the falls. They’d missed by hours.
Mayhap ’twas for the best. How would he have explained that he lived? And if he had, would Duncan have forgiven him for his attempted murder of his brother’s wife? At the time, he’d allowed his actions to be ruled by hate, at the expense of those he loved. Too late he’d learned that life wasn’t always so clear-cut, and even the noblest intentions could destroy.
“Would you like more to eat?” Marie asked as she held out a slice of bread.
“Nay,” Patrik replied. “The fare was excellent. My thanks.”
“I am full as well,” Cristina added as the woman turned toward her.
“Never have I seen two people eat so little,” Marie tsked.
Red brows rose in mirth as Fergus laughed. “See what the lass puts me through? Forever she is assuring me I should be eating more. The reason I spend so much time cutting logs.”
A scowl carved Marie’s expression, a soft censure filled with naught but love.
Cristina smiled, her face relaxed and golden within the hearth’s glow, and Patrik savored her happiness. The color of the gown drew out the green in her eyes, and he appreciated the intricate braid woven in her hair.
“Will you go hunting on the morrow?” Marie asked her husband.
Shadows flickered across Fergus’s face as his eyes met Patrik’s. “Nae. Before dark, I caught sight of a band of English beyond the burn.” He turned to his wife. “On the morrow, you and Joneta will stay near the house.”
And he and Cristina would take heed in their travels as well, Patrik vowed.
The chair scraped as Fergus stood, then nodded to Patrik. “After your day of travel and with another ahead, you and your wife will be wanting sleep.”
Wife? Patrik opened his mouth to correct the man, but the words fell away. Stunned by how right the crofter’s words sounded, he stared at the woman who had made him feel more than any other lass.
Joneta snuggled her doll at her side, and Cristina smiled, her simple gesture stealing Patrik’s breath. What would it be like to spend each evening with her, to share the strife of the day, or after finishing the chores, to take her to their bed?
The image of her round with his child whispered through his mind, the glow upon her face, the bond formed between them that none could break.
“The loft is where you will be sleeping,” Fergus said, fracturing his thoughts.
Curious as to how Cristina would reply to the Scot’s offer, Patrik ignored her flustered expression.
At Patrik’s silence, heat burned Emma’s cheeks. Why did he not decline the generous offer? They were not wed.
Uneasy, she arched a brow at Patrik, and he gave her a warm smile. The braggart. Fine then. Emma shook her head at the burly Scot. “We will not take your bed.”
“You must,” Fergus said. “We would be taking offence if you did not accept our offer.”
Why did Patrik not say something? Emma sent him another panicked look. “We—”
“Would be thankful,” Patrik finished.
Fergus nodded, then strode to the door and turned. “I will see to the sheep before I head myself to bed.” The door settled behind him with a solid thunk.
Marie sent Emma a knowing smile. Humming, she rose and began clearing the table.
Emma leaned closer to Patrik. “What are you thinking ?” she whispered. “We cannot take their bed.”
Patrik stood. “I will be helping your husband.” With a wink, he headed out the door.
God in heaven. Emma gathered the last trencher. With her hands as full as her thoughts of the oncoming night, she followed the woman outside.
Shame filled her. However wrong it might be, she would not admit the truth either. If she did, she would lose her one last precious night with Patrik.
Candlelight stroked Cristina’s body, guided him as Patrik slowly took her over the edge. He covered her mouth and claimed her every moan, savoring her each shudder as she rode out her release. Then he drove hard and found his own. Bodies merged, he rolled over, drew her to his side and pressed a soft kiss upon her mouth.
“You are amazing,” he whispered, then kissed along the curve of her jaw.
“And you,” she whispered on a half groan, “are insatiable.”
He nipped along the curve of her breast. “Only with you.”
Beneath the flicker of flame, the shimmer of pleasure in her eyes faded to worry.
The playfulness of the moment fell away. Patrik pushed back the wisps of hair shielding her face. “What is wrong?”
“’Tis foolish.”
“If it places sadness within your eyes, it is not.”
Cristina’s gaze softened, but she remained silent.
He stroked his thumb along her cheek. “Tell me.”
“Did you see the three crosses upon the hill?”
“Aye.”
“Each is for a babe lost.”
He stroked her cheek. “’ Tis tragic indeed, but sadly common, a reality of the life we live.”
“But they have graves,” she whispered, her words rough.
“They do,” he agreed, confused by her words.
“And a mother, a mother who loved them very much.” Tears misted in her eyes. “Do you not see? Never will they be forgotten. In an orphanage, there is no family.” Her breath shuddered. “And within the cold walls, when children die they are forgotten, discarded as if trash.”
And he understood. Given her youth, the idea of someone caring about a lost child was foreign, but the concept moved her. All her life, she’d been alone, her marriage but a farce, her husband a man who’d taken advantage of a desperate lass. Never had she truly been loved.
Patrik claimed her mouth in a soft kiss, aching, wishing he could give her more.
Cristina broke away, questions haunting her eyes. “Why did you not tell Fergus we are not wed?”
He stroked her silky skin. “’Tis selfish, but I wanted to make love with you in a bed. On the morrow, we will reach my destination. There we will part.” Silence stretched between them. He pulled the last length of hair from her braid, splayed it across the feather pillow. “Do you forgive me for allowing them to believe that lie?”
A slash of red touched her cheeks. “I should not.”
Patrik arched a brow. “Neither did I hear you tell them the truth. Why is that?”
“It is unimportant.”
He chuckled. “Lass, it would seem you are as guilty as I.”
“It is not funny.”
“Nae,” he said, reaching down to slide his finger through her slick warmth. “It is far from a matter of jest.” At her soft moan, he teased her, stroked her until her body shuddered. “I cannot again so soon,” she gasped as he increased the pace. With pleasure, he proved her wrong.
Emma shifted, and bumped against Patrik. In the darkness, broken only by the near-gutted candle, she snuggled against his muscled warmth and embraced the memories of how they’d made love throughout the night. Too easily she’d grown used to his being at her side, to his protection, to the simple discussions that were anything but.
How easy would it be to give in, to ache each day for the night, to share with Patrik her every wish, her every dream, and her every desire? She stilled.
God in heaven, she loved him.
Her breath left her in a rush, the enormity of her realization stealing her every thought. Emma fought the panic, and more shocking, found need, a desperate ache that only Patrik could fill.
Tears welled up as she stared at a man who’d become too important, a man who should be her enemy, but against all odds had stolen her heart.
Except, he didn’t love her. Regret scraped her throat. At least one of them had sense. But he cared for her, dangerously so. No, she wouldn’t linger on his feelings for her, allow her mind to imagine a future between them, or the thought of children. But, for the first time in her life she wanted to.
Her heart aching with what never could be, Emma peered through a slit in the wall to the outside. Darkness clung to the sky, but hints of purple announced the oncoming day.
Regardless of what she wanted, this wasn’t her life, ’twas naught but a temporary part played.
One now ended.
Sir Cressingham awaited her delivery of the writ along with the information she’d gathered. However much betraying Patrik hurt, if she did not bring the Scottish treasurer what she’d promised, he would brand her a criminal and she would live the rest of her life on the run.
Emma withdrew, embracing the numbness, doubting she would ever feel whole again. With care, she searched for the leather-bound document amongst the heap of clothes at his side.
“Mmmm.”
She froze.
Patrik shifted, his arm reaching to where she’d lain moments before.
Her heart tore. Even in his sleep, he sought her.
Long seconds passed. A frown worked his face; then his body relaxed and he again began to snore.
With the oncoming dawn, his mind was beginning to wake. She must hurry. Pulse racing, Emma felt along the folds of his clothes.
A soft bump against Patrik’s thigh had him frowning. The haze in his mind began to clear. Cristina. Images of her body as he’d claimed her poured through him like warmed oil, of her exploration, of how she’d blossomed beneath his touch. He smiled. Aye, soon they’d leave, but he’d make love with her one last time.
He shoved the remnants of sleep aside and opened his eyes. Outlined by the candle flame, Cristina knelt beside his hip. God’s teeth, the lass would be the death of him, but aye, he’d die a happy man.
Her hand reached out.
His body hardened, ached for her touch, for the immense pleasure to come.
Instead, she reached past him and lifted his trews.
What in Hades? Patrik came fully alert.
With methodical thoroughness, she searched his garb. What was she looking for? He remembered her interest in the writ when it had fallen out of his pocket along the path.
Darkness edged his gut. “Cristina.”
She jumped, her gasp that of the guilty caught. With a nervous laugh, she settled back upon her knees. “I did not know you were awake.”
Cold silence settled between them, at odds with his erotic thoughts of moments before. “What were you searching for?”
“A tie to secure my hair.”
A lie, one betrayed by the nervousness in her voice. “I want the truth.”
“The truth?” she repeated, hurt and surprise etched upon her face. “I told you.” She hesitated. “Patrik, what is wrong? You are not making any sense.”
“On that we agree,” he replied, and prayed his suspicions were false.
“Mommy,” Joneta’s voice echoed from below, “I think they are awake.”
“’Tis early and you will not be waking them,” Marie said in a low voice.
“But the sun is coming up.”
“Shhh,” her mother replied.
“Get dressed,” Patrik whispered to Cristina, his voice gruff. “We must leave.”
“No, wait.” She shuffled beneath his garb, then lifted a thin strip of leather from beneath a leg of his trews. “Here, I found it.” In the meager light, wariness creased her face. “I am not sure what is going on, but I am innocent of whatever it is you think I have done.”
He stared at the simple tie, grabbed his braies and dragged them on.
“Patrik? Please, you are scaring me.”
Bedamned to this entire situation! Annoyed with himself, he grabbed his trews. Her claim rang true. After the incredible love they’d made through the night, why had he assumed the worst? And why did he still feel as if something was amiss? Nevertheless, the lass deserved an apology.
He reached out, thankful when she came into his arms. Her body trembled against his, and his guilt rose. He pressed a kiss upon her brow.
“Sorry I am, lass. I am on edge.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “This day I will reach my destination.”