Bedamned to the writ. She could return to Sir Cressingham, reveal the location of the rebel hideout, then claim they were attacked by thieves and she’d managed to slip free without time to steal the writ. But would he believe her? Never had she failed in a mission.
Before the neatly stacked stones housing the well, she hung her head at the thought of Patrik, at the anger and hurt he would feel once he learned the truth. It was unrealistic to suppose that somehow he would not learn she was a mercenary, or discover her role in his life. With his connections, he would find out.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. Bedamned!
“Lass.”
Sir Alexander’s deep burr had her stiffening. “Go away.”
Muscled legs came into view. “I meant no harm in my questions.”
She glared at him. “No? Did you not intend to pry? Are you not used to bruising your way through until you find what answers you seek?”
At her angry retort, admiration glittered in the rebel’s eyes. “I have been accused of being a wee bit forceful.”
Emma narrowed her gaze. “You are the most frustrating man. Your wife must be a saint.”
“She is. And aye, he is a bloody pain in the arse,” Sir Duncan agreed as he walked over and stood by her side. “But he loves Patrik as much as he wishes him dead.”
Overwhelmed by these men, she stepped back. “I am going to stay beside Patrik.” She started off.
“Lass.”
At Sir Alexander’s voice, she turned.
He nodded toward a full water pouch near the base of the well. “You came for water, did you not?”
At the touch of humor riding his voice, she scowled, swiped the pouch and strode toward where Patrik lay.
As she hurried off, Duncan crossed his arms. “What do you think of the lass?”
Alexander grunted. “She loves him.”
“Aye, ’twas my thinking as well.” Duncan rubbed his chin. “Did you see how she stitched up his cuts?”
“Her hand has done that work before.”
“Neither did I miss how she has guided the conversation away from herself.”
Unease crept through Alexander. “Something about the lass has me on edge.”
His younger brother smiled, dropped his hand to his side. “I think ’tis your anger at Patrik spilling over.”
Somber, Alexander shook his head. “When I was hitting Patrik, do you remember how she jumped on my back and tried to choke me?”
“Aye.”
“Surrounded by three knights, most women would have screamed. Yet, the lass did not hesitate in her attack, her hold upon my neck true.” Alexander grimaced. “An untrained lass knows not such defense.”
Duncan stilled. “What are you saying?”
Alexander studied Cristina as she knelt beside Patrik. “I am unsure,” he said at last, “but until I am confident she can be trusted, I am keeping an eye on the lass.”
A tense silence settled between them. After a long moment, Duncan laid a hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “Patrik is back.” He swallowed hard. “Can you believe it?”
Emotions squeezed as if a fist in Alexander’s chest. “I am afraid to believe it. Almost as afraid as I am of my wife’s reaction when she learns Patrik is alive.”
Chapter 13
The stench of burning wood and death tainted the air as Emma worked alongside Marie, aiding the injured Scots. On edge, she glanced to where Sir Alexander helped Fergus reclaim any surviving goods from the charred home, their grim outlines framed in the afternoon light.
A shiver rippled through her. Since her confrontation with Sir Alexander this morning, she’d kept her distance. How had she ever believed Patrik unlike his brothers? In appearance mayhap, but his sharp mind and intelligence matched the other MacGruder brothers. Each was determined, fierce in his passion and utterly dangerous.
At the firm pad of boots upon earth, she glanced to her side.
Fatigue coated Lord Grey’s strong face, along with concern. “How does Sir Eoin fare?” he asked Marie as she worked alongside Emma to bind his knight’s wound.
“A deep gash or two,” Marie replied. “’Twill heal within a sennight.”
“Excellent.”
Marie secured a final knot upon the bandage, stood, wrung her hands. “My lord, we have little food left to offer you and your men.”
“’Tis unnecessary.” Lord Grey scanned the field with a slow sweep. “You and your family will travel with us to my home. Go to your husband, gather what you wish to take.”
Relief swept her face. “’Tis generous of you, my lord.”
“Go. We will soon depart.”
“Aye, my lord.” She hesitated as if wanting to say more. Then, scooping up Joneta, Marie headed up the slope toward the crosses.
“God’s teeth,” the earl breathed, “I told the lass to go to her husband.” He started after her.
“Do not,” Emma said.
Lord Grey whirled. Piercing green eyes riveted on her. “Do not?”
The authority in his voice assured her few dared question him. Emma stood. “Her children are buried there. She is but going to say good-bye.”
Shrewd eyes glanced at the woman’s departing figure. “I see.”
Did he? Could the earl truly understand Marie’s need to say farewell to those she’d given life to, her children now entombed within the earth? A maternal need she would never before have considered. She remembered Lord Grey’s interaction with his brothers, how without hesitation he’d helped Patrik, and his concern for each within his command. Yes, the earl was a man who understood family, a man who cared about his own, a trait infused in Patrik as well.
“You are a kind man.” Emma stilled. She’d not meant to say the words aloud.
The earl lifted a dark brow, his intense gaze as potent as his brother’s.
“How soon before we depart?” She prayed her question would guide his thoughts elsewhere, but as if sensing her intent, he studied her a moment longer.
At the echo of hooves, Emma turned to find Sir Alexander riding toward them. God in heaven. One brother to face at a time was enough.
“Stay,” Lord Grey said as she started to step back.
A shiver slid through her. “I have tasks to complete.”
“They can wait.” It wasn’t a request.
Sir Alexander reined his mount to a halt. “All of the men have been tended to.”
“Excellent,” Lord Grey replied. “Pass word we will depart for Lochshire Castle posthaste.”
“Aye.” Sir Alexander’s shrewd gaze rested upon her, then flicked to his brother. With a curt nod, he kicked his mount away.
Thank God he’d left.
“Alexander’s heart is in the right place, but at times emotions guide his actions.” Lord Grey paused. “It does not make him harsh but caring.”
Emma held his gaze. “A brother would see it as such.”
A dry smile touched the harsh lines of his mouth. “Mayhap Alexander was right—you are a perfect match for Patrik.”
She remained silent. They knew not that she loved Patrik. But it would take little to expose a secret they must never learn.
“From where do you hail?” Lord Grey asked.
Though the question was easily asked, he sought information, a ploy she’d often used. “Why?”
“I am curious. I detected an accent and was but trying to place it.”
Throat dry, Emma fought for calm. When she’d yelled at Sir Alexander earlier, her false burr must have slipped. “I have traveled much.”
“Mayhap that is the reason I cannot determine from what region you come.”
But he’d try. With his sharp mind, he’d mull over the fact until he unlocked the secret. By then, she would be far away.
“You will accompany us to my castle as well. This country is unsafe for a woman alone.”
Unsafe? Remaining with the brothers presented a far greater threat. But she’d stirred the earl’s interest and could not afford to draw his attention further. “You are generous, my lord.”
“Am I?” Challenge lurked beneath his question.
Fine, let them not coat their words. She angled her chin. “I asked not for your protection.”
“A fact I am well aware of.”
“Yet you give it regardless. Your words held not an offer, but a command.”
Respect glittered in Lord Grey’s eyes. “Had I asked you to travel to my home, you would have refused.”
“I find little use for men who wield their power to satisfy their curiosity.”
“Patrik is my brother. You are important to him, which makes you important to me.”
Important to Patrik? There she had her doubts. “I am but a woman he saved.”
“And a woman he cares for as well.”
She tamped down the surge of anger. It would earn her naught and but increase the earl’s curiosity. Like Patrik, he was not a man to manipulate.
“When I first met you,” Emma said. “I believed you little resembled Sir Patrik.”
He arched a dark brow. “And now?”
“With the ample amount of arrogance you each display, you are indeed brothers.”
“He is arrogant, a fact you would do well to remember.” He swung upon his steed. “Prepare to leave.” Lord Grey cantered off.
“The arrogant braggart,” she muttered.
“And a man only a fool would dare to cross.”
At Patrik’s weak words, emotion swept her. She knelt by his side and brushed away strands of hair from his bruised face. “You are awake.” And he looked pitiful, but thank God he was alive. “Here.” She held the leather water pouch to his lips.
After several swallows, hand trembling, he pushed the pouch away. “I will take your words to Seathan as a compliment as well.”
Heat suffused her face. “You would.” Her heart squeezed at the weariness shrouding his features, the deep lines edged with pain.
“How . . . How long have I slept?”
“Most of the day,” Emma replied, “not that your shifting about is what I would consider sleep.”
Patrik eyed the ball of orange in the sky and grimaced. “Seathan must be worried to be departing so late.”
A worry well placed. “The English will return.”
“Aye, and this time with a larger contingent.” Lines of strain carved his face as he sat. “When King Edward learns of this day’s attack, ’twould not surprise me if the bastard follows Arnulf ’s twisted path and orders more Scots hanged.”
Emma remained silent, well aware of the English judge Arnulf of Southhampton’s recent despicable act. Panicked by the Scots uprising, the English judge had requested that all leading Scots attend an eyre-court in Ayre. As the Scots had entered the building they were seized, gagged, and strung from the rafters. To Southhampton’s glee, over three hundred and sixty Scots had fallen prey to his ploy.
Yes, when King Edward learned of Lord Grey’s men overpowering his meager English contingent, he would indeed give orders to slaughter more Scots, even if it means torching entire villages as he had in Berwick.
Sickened by the thought, she focused on Patrik, on a man determined to win his country’s freedom, regardless of the cost. “You must remain still. You have lost too much blood to be moving about.”
He settled into a more comfortable position. “And I will lose more with the travel ahead.” He reached out, pushed a wisp of hair from her face. “I should have told you about my brothers before this day, that they believed me dead.”
The regret in his voice moved her. “Why? We are but two people whose lives have crossed.” She fought to smother her emotions. “Two people who in the end will go their own way.”
“Will we?”
An ache built in Emma’s chest. “Yes,” she whispered. “It can be no other way.”
He lifted her chin. “Can it not?”
Emotion storming her, she broke free.
Patrik caught her hand. “Cristina.”
Guilt slid through her. “Leave it be.”
“I cannot. Bedamned, do you think that I wished this? That I wanted to find you? It makes no sense; a relationship with anyone at this point in my life is nae a notion I can entertain.”
His heartfelt words shook her further. Feeling too much, Emma tried to pull free.
He held tight.
“It will never work.”
“Why, because you will not allow it?”
She welcomed the rush of anger. “Yes.”
Silence fell between them.
Nerves trembled through Emma as she met his gaze. “Now what?”
As if he bloody knew? Patrik dropped his hand, unsure whether he was angry at himself for pushing her or frustrated that Cristina wouldn’t even consider their future. God knew when they made love, the feelings she inspired matched none he’d ever experienced.
Why was he pressing her? Had he not warned himself throughout their journey that a relationship between them was not possible? At least one of them had more brains than an ass.
Weariness settled over him. “Now what?” Patrik repeated, “I know not.” Aye, he was wrong to push her, to voice his desires. “My brothers will want an explanation of why I am alive—it is the least they deserve.”
Emerald eyes watched him. “Sir Alexander said you tried to kill his wife.”
The pain of that day a year ago squeezed in his chest. Consumed by hatred, by a brutal past, he’d focused on Lady Nichola’s nationality, had overlooked the genuine woman within. She was fair, honest, and loved his brother, Alexander.
Cristina shook her head. “No, you have already talked too much. You need to rest.”
The excuse tempted him to remain silent, but he was not a coward. “It is true. I tried to kill Alexander’s wife, Nichola, because I was trying to protect him.”
“Protect Sir Alexander from a woman?” Disbelief and confusion cradled her words.
He nodded. “As odd as it seems, because the lass is English.”
“English?” Her face paled. Frowning, she glanced toward where Alexander rode. “I-I cannot believe he would wed an Englishwoman.”
Patrik grunted. “If asked prior to meeting the lass, my brother would have agreed. Alexander had traveled to England to abduct her brother, a wealthy lord. When he arrived at their home, her brother was away. With the rebels desperate for coin and believing the siblings close, Alexander abducted Lady Nichola instead.”
“He married
his captive
?”
The shock on her face matched his own when he’d realized Alexander was falling in love with the lass.
“Aye.”
“But why did you hate her? ’Twas not her fault she was English.”
Patrik sighed. “Aye, a lesson I learned too late.” He’d realized that truth during the months it had taken to recover from his near-fatal wound. He took Cristina’s hand, drew it to his chest. “When I was eight summers, my family was attacked by the English. I managed to escape.” And had damned himself for having survived ever since.
“You lost your entire family?”
He swallowed hard, still haunted by the spilling blood, the screams of his family as they lay dying. “Aye.”
“Did you know the MacGruders before?”
“My father saved the life of the MacGruder brothers’ mother in a raid,” Patrik explained. “After my parents were killed, when the MacGruders learned of the murders, they adopted me as their own, gave me their last name. I included my own as well, Patrik Cleary MacGruder. Or, did until this year past.”
Face pale, she shook her head. “Oh God, I am so sorry.”
He curled his fingers over her hand. “Since then, many years have passed.”
“But one does not forget.”
Her somber words echoed between them. Aye, having grown up in an orphanage, then marrying a loveless bastard who’d taken advantage of her tattered emotions, she would understand the misery of loss.
“But,” she said, “that does not explain why your brothers believed you dead.”
“It does not.” He swallowed hard, regretting his actions. “Caught up in his feelings for Lady Nichola, who was then Alexander’s captive, my brother ignored my warning that because she was English, she was unworthy of his love. So, I arranged for Lady Nichola to believe she could escape. That night, when she slipped from Lochshire Castle, I followed with the intent of preventing Alexander from ever marrying the lass.”