Beneath his calm delivery, Patrik heard the threat. His brothers would allow him within Lochshire Castle, but he had not yet earned their trust. Nor could he not blame them.
“Rest. I will tell Seathan you are awake.” Alexander kicked his mount. Hooves clattered on stone as he rode ahead.
Patrik sighed. All of his brothers married. The news yet another harsh reminder of time passed, and of precious moments lost. Yet somehow within the mayhem of his life, he’d found Cristina. He sobered. Found her mayhap, but with his life given to reclaiming Scotland’s freedom, he must let her go.
Needing to touch her, he clasped her hand, surprised to find it cold. Patrik glanced over.
Face pale, she stared at Lochshire Castle.
“What is wrong?”
“It is imposing,” she whispered as if to speak the words out loud would unleash a spell.
Memories of the first time he’d beheld the Norman stronghold replayed in his mind. It was a home forged by unforgiving men, powerful lords who’d helped carve Scotland’s destiny. Instead of nervousness, pride had filled him. But, he’d arrived at this formidable castle as a lad accepted, not a woman whose life at every turn lay shattered.
“You will be welcome,” he said.
“Will I?” Nervous eyes remained unconvinced.
“Lord Grey returns,” a sentry’s voice boomed as they approached the drawbridge.
Pride as well as apprehension filled Patrik. His brothers knew he lived, but he’d yet to face Nichola.
Hooves echoed like thunder as Seathan’s knights rode across the drawbridge. The forged walls closed, arched to the sky to scrape the rain-darkened clouds. A breeze swept past, rich with the scent of water.
Darkness encased them as the wagon rolled beneath the gatehouse. Then a dismal light exposed a crowd of men and women converging within the bailey to welcome their lord and his men.
But not a man who’d tried to kill his brother’s wife.
Anxiety built, stealing his ability to move—he could only feel, regret the tragedy of that day a year past, regret the actions of a man driven by hate who’d understood his error too late.
Patrik swallowed hard. When the people of Lochshire Castle discovered he lived, please let them find it in their hearts to offer forgiveness. That his brothers allow him to return was the first step, but little more. Whatever transpired now would reveal whether Lochshire Castle would ever again be his home.
“Seathan!” a woman called.
The warm English accent had Patrik turning.
A slender woman, her amber-gold hair braided in a delicate plait, with a gold circlet framing her head, ran toward his eldest brother. In a deft move, Seathan dismounted, drew the woman in his arms and caught her in a fierce kiss.
Seathan’s wife—the English noble Alexander had spoken of.
Patrik waited for the roll of anger, the bitterness he’d always felt when it came to the English. As he watched the Englishwoman in his brother’s arms, Patrik found naught but regret. Because he’d allowed bitterness to guide his actions, he’d missed coming to know the woman who had stolen Seathan’s heart. If she had won his brother’s respect, she must be an incredible woman indeed.
The wagon slowed to a halt. Several knights began unloading their meager belongings, while two others helped Marie and Joneta to the ground.
“Isabel!” Duncan jumped from his mount and sprinted toward a beautiful woman, her face framed by hair the color of aged whiskey. His youngest brother caught and whirled the woman around. With her face alight with laughter, he captured her mouth, the deep bond between them further evidence of the time Patrik had lost.
“Alexander!”
At the familiar, lyrical English accent, Patrik stilled. Nichola. While he’d lain in bed recovering, he’d replayed his poor decisions, how his hatred had prevented his mind from seeing the good within her.
Now,
his destiny
arrived.
Would she indeed be able to forgive him? With a prayer on his lips, Patrik turned.
Auburn hair slipped from Nichola’s finely woven braid as she rushed toward Alexander, her smile full of love, the joy of a marriage strong.
Knights reunited with their families, squires led horses toward the stable, and children danced at their mothers’ sides waiting to see their fathers.
Everything around Patrik faded. In gut-wrenching fascination, he watched for the moment Nichola noticed his existence, for the instant when the joy upon her face shattered.
The crowd parted as Nichola ran to her husband. As she neared, in a smooth move, Alexander leaned down and swept his wife up on his steed to claim her mouth.
“Patrik.” Cristina’s voice echoed as if a league away. She didn’t understand the enormity of this moment. Couldn’t.
“You are their family,” Cristina said.
Throat dry, he shook his head. “After what I have done,” he whispered, “I am nothing.”
As if to back his words, Alexander broke the kiss, whispered in his wife’s ear.
Nichola froze. Her fingers clasped his shoulders and a shudder rippled through her lithe form. Then, with time-wrenching slowness, her face lifted, turned toward Patrik, her amber eyes dark.
As if time had been erased, the past tumbled back.
The exact day.
The exact hour.
“No!” Nichola tried to jump to the ground.
Alexander held tight. “Steady, lass,” he urged, shooting Patrik a warning glance.
“Get him out of here,” Nichola demanded.
The surrounding crowd fell silent. Murmurs swept through the onlookers.
“He will harm no one,” Alexander stated.
“He will!” Nichola struggled to jump to the ground.
Alexander held tight.
“He will try to kill me. What of our son? He cannot be trusted!”
Her angry words sliced Patrik’s soul. A son? Alexander had not told him about a child. What else had he withheld? The last fragment of hope for Nichola’s forgiveness blackened to wisps of ash.
She jerked, fought to pull away. “Release me!”
Alexander caught her face. “I am taking you inside. Trust me, wife, you are safe.” Tenderness guided his movements as he dismounted.
No! Panic shot through Patrik as Alexander set his wife on the ground and started toward the keep. This was his only opportunity to plead for forgiveness. Once Nichola went inside, she would never allow him to see her again. Though she might never forgive him, he had to try.
“Nichola!” Patrik’s raw voice cleaved the silence like an ill-honed sword.
Alexander’s eyes cut to Patrik.
Pain screamed through Patrik’s body as he shoved himself up. Battered wood gouged his knees, but he crawled to the wagon’s end. In a mind-blurring move, he lowered himself to the ground, steadied himself upon the worn earth.
Cristina scrambled to the ground, caught his arm. “Patrik, what are you doing? You have lost too much blood. You—”
“Stay here,” he said, keeping his gaze on Nichola. Cristina didn’t understand the importance of this one moment. He broke free of her hold.
“I will go with you,” Cristina said.
Eyes glazed with anger and a hint of fear, Nichola watched him.
“No. This I must do alone.” On shaky legs, Patrik stepped forward, clenching his teeth against the pain. People swam into a blur before him. Through sheer determination, he took another step.
Alexander tensed, his body angled to protect as he held Nichola at his side.
A murmur wove through the crowd. One by one, those within the keep fell into a hush, focused on Patrik. Eyes, harsh and condemning, watched him. Whispers cursed his every step.
Patrik accepted their wariness, understood their anger. Had he stood in their place, he would have done the same. Sure of nothing, he pushed forward.
Chapter 15
Several steps away, vision blurring, Patrik halted, gasping for breath. “Ni-Nichola.”
Nichola straightened, her eyes burning hot. “Stay away!”
Pain slammed Patrik’s head. “I-I need to talk to you.”
“By God’s eyes!” Alexander stepped before his wife. “Enough!”
Seathan walked to Alexander, slanted a worried look at Nichola at her husband’s side. “Now is not the time,” he told Patrik.
Panic clawed through Patrik. “Nichola, pl-please, listen to me.”
Face pale, Nichola shook her head. “Leave us.” Roughness coated her words, betraying a loathing so great it would stain the pews of a church. Angry tears slid down her cheeks as she faced her husband. “Swear to me you will keep him away from our son!”
“Nichola,” Alexander started.
“Swear it.”
She believed he’d harm her or her child? Patrik’s heart broke, his guilt and regret for his actions twofold. “I wo-would not harm yo-your son nor you, ever.”
Nichola turned. The contempt scarring her face tore Patrik’s soul.
Seathan stepped between them. “Alexander, take Nichola inside.”
“Aye.” Alexander shot Patrik a hard look. Like a wolf guarding its mate, he drew her close, strode toward the keep.
Duncan moved to Seathan’s side, his icy expression underscoring where his loyalty lay.
Loss smothered Patrik, a curtain so black he struggled to draw a breath. Had he not brought enough tragedy to those he loved? Though many despised him, none more than he himself. More fool was he for having entertained the notion of somehow finding forgiveness.
Blackness threatened. He fought for consciousness, braced his feet to remain standing. “I-I need but a horse and I wi-will go.”
A horse? The stubborn, mule-headed oaf. Emma moved to Patrik’s side and glared at Lord Grey. “Tell me, will you have your brother’s death upon your conscience ?”
Patrik caught her arm. “Cristina.”
“He is barely standing.” Emma tugged her arm free of Patrik’s weak hold. “Tell me, will you allow your brother to leave?”
Piercing green eyes bored into her.
She held her ground. Patrik’s life was at stake. Without a healer, he would die. Even with proper attention there were no guarantees.
Anger churned within Lord Grey’s eyes, but surprisingly, respect as well. He nodded to the two nearest knights. “Take Sir Patrik to his chamber,” he ordered, his gaze never leaving her.
“Blast it!” Patrik wove. “I need not—”
“Now!” Seathan’s voice boomed.
“Aye, my lord,” the closest man said. Two knights hurried to Patrik’s side.
Weak, his wounds having begun to bleed, Patrik was half led, half carried to the keep.
Relief swept through Emma. Thank God. She started after him.
“Mistress Cristina.” Lord Grey’s voice wrapped around her with cold finality.
Heart pounding, she faced the powerful lord. Silence descended between them like a guillotine. “I wish to be with Sir Patrik.”
The earl crossed his arms. “A healer awaits him.”
And she understood. “You never were going to allow him to leave Lochshire Castle, were you? You just wanted him to suffer, wondering if he will ever again be accepted.”
A muscle worked in Lord Grey’s jaw. “He is my brother.”
She hesitated. “And he is fortunate to have you.”
“I doubt he would concur right now,” Lord Grey replied, “nor will he for a long while. He has much to overcome.”
True, but regardless of the challenges, Patrik’s brothers would not dismiss him out of hand.
“Go,” the earl called to those around him. “Welcome our knights home. Those without families, see to the wounded.”
Whispers interwove the soft sound of footsteps as the people within the bailey dispersed.
“Duncan,” Lord Grey said. “Oversee the wounded and ensure all are tended.”
“Aye.” With a wary glance at Emma, the youngest brother clasped his wife’s hand and drew her with him.
In the distance laughter filled the air along with the excited yells of children. As if everything was normal.
Emma nodded to the earl. “I owe you an apology, my lord. ’Twas improper to challenge you. But, to protect Sir Patrik, I would do so again.”
He arched a brow.
Emma pushed forward. “Though you are Patrik’s brother, I thank you for caring for him when he himself does not expect it, or feel he deserves it.”
“And do you feel he is deserving?” a woman at Lord Grey’s side asked.
Caught up in the tension between Patrik and Lord Grey, she’d failed to notice this regal woman who stood beside the lord of the keep. Heat rose up Emma’s cheeks.
“Mistress Cristina,” the earl said, his voice somber, “my wife, the Countess of Grey.”
Emma gave a brief curtsy. “My lady.”
Lavender eyes studied her, the intelligence within potent. She was a match to her powerful mate, yet another daunting link within the MacGruders.
“Yes, I believe Sir Patrik is deserving of acceptance and more. Since he tried to kill Sir Alexander’s wife, he has lived in shame.” Emma paused. “He regrets his betrayal with his every breath.”
“You seem sure,” the noblewoman stated.
Emma lifted her jaw. “Never have I met a man more honorable.”
“Patrik means much to you.” Though softly spoken, conviction weighed heavy in the countess’s words.
Feelings Emma could not deny, but her love for Patrik was private, a fact even he did not know. Tiredness slid through her, wiping away the sharp wit she desperately needed.
“Sir Patrik is a deeply caring man,” Emma said. “A man who has made errors, mistakes he regrets and sincerely wishes to repair.”
“Patrik saved Mistress Cristina from English knights several days back,” the earl said.
Temper flared. “Do not attempt to explain away my feelings as gratitude. It takes little effort to see the incredible man Sir Patrik is. His loyalty, honesty, and integrity.” Exhausted, Emma fought to rein in her anger. “Do you think ’twas easy for him to stay away, to be apart from the family, the people he loves? He has paid a great cost for his poor decisions.”
Lord and Lady Grey absorbed her outburst with quiet interest.
“In the meager time you have known him,” Lord Grey said, “you have learned a great deal about Patrik, more than most, a fact that intrigues me.”
Emma bet it did. They were insights she’d not meant to give, but neither would she allow him to disparage Patrik.
The silence hummed with tension, a wordless challenge.
After a curious glance at her husband, the countess gave Emma a kind smile. “Mistress Cristina, you must be exhausted. My husband, I will take her to a chamber to rest.”
Lord Grey’s mouth tightened.
The earl wanted her nowhere near his wife, which suited Emma’s plans fine. “It is unnecessary, my lady. I need but water, bread, and cheese and I will be on my way.”
Surprise flashed across her face. “You are exhausted, your fine gown ruined, and neither can I allow you to travel into the dangers outside the castle walls alone.”
If only Lady Grey understood the dangers she’d already faced, that she was one of England’s top mercenaries, her kindness would bcome hatred.
Emma shook her head. “No, I—”
“You will remain,” Lord Grey said. It wasn’t a request. “We all wish to know you better.”
Indeed.
“My husband,” the countess said, “it has been a hectic morn for us all. Go and see your brother, and I will ensure Mistress Cristina is settled within a chamber.”
The earl hesitated.
“Is there something wrong, my husband?”
“See me in private once you are through.”
With a frown, the countess nodded.
The earl gave his wife a hard, brief kiss, whispered in her ear, then strode toward the keep.
Emma exhaled, feeling his departure like a storm evaded. But she had not escaped, merely gained a reprieve. “Sir Patrik’s brothers do not like me, a fact you should know.”
The countess turned. “My husband and his brothers are formidable men, often hard to understand. But they care, love deeply, and would fight for one another to the end. Often, their gruff manner is but a shield.”
“Traits Sir Patrik shares,” Emma replied.
“He would,” she said, glancing toward the keep where they’d carried Patrik, “if he is anything like his brothers.”
The noblewoman’s words held conviction, an unspoken understanding. “My lady, why are you telling me this?”
Her face softened. “Because you care for Patrik deeply, and he is my husband’s brother.”
Emma’s throat tightened. “You know naught of me.”
“Then it would seem we are even. Come. I will show you to a chamber, have a bath drawn, hot food delivered as well as a cup of wine to quench your thirst.”
Emma fell into step beside the noble, feeling a fraud.
“I understand what it is like to be the outsider,” the countess said.
“Because you are English?”
A smile touched her mouth. “One of many reasons. Mayhap in time I will explain. And please, call me Lady Linet.”
“My lady—”
“In time,” the countess interrupted, “I believe we will become friends.”
Sadness weighed upon Emma. Time? However much she wished it, time here was not something she would ever have, nor the friendship offered.
Inside the keep, they passed through the great hall. Cooking meat and herbs simmered in pots hanging above the fires. At odds with that domestic setting, people hurried to tend the injured. A dais lay at the far end, topped by a huge table.
“This way.” Lady Linet entered a turret and started up the spiral stairs. “The chamber you will stay in is on the second floor.”
Torchlight illuminated the hewn stone. The pale gold light illuminated the tapestries hung along the walls.
Emma slowed. “These are beautiful.”
“Gifts from my husband after we wed.”
Within the flicker of light, she studied the intricate weave, the rich colors. “Fairies within a forest. Very unusual.”
“They are. Or would be elsewhere.” A smile edged Lady Linet’s mouth as she pressed her fingers upon the halved stone around her neck.
A similar gemstone that Patrik wore came to mind. Were the pendants a family tradition?
“Come.” The countess started up the steps, the rumble of men’s voices below fading.
By the expression on Lady Linet’s face as she’d stared at the tapestries, she loved Lord Grey. How had an English noble met and fallen for a high-ranking Scottish rebel?
She recalled Patrik’s explanation of how the noblewoman Sir Alexander had abducted for ransom had become his wife. Did Lord Grey’s relationship have a similar beginning? No, none would send a powerful lord upon a knight’s mission. Still, something odd had occurred to allow such a union.
The love she felt for Patrik could never have such a chance.
Somberness settled over her, smothering her questions of how the powerful earl had met his wife. In silence, she followed the regal woman up the steps.
At the second floor, Lady Linet started down the hallway.
Emma paused, glancing to where the stairs wound up to another floor. Naught but an extension of the turret, yet an odd warmth beckoned her. Had they taken Patrik there? Did she somehow sense that was where he lay?
“Mistress Cristina?”
Heat streaked her cheeks. “Forgive me.” Unsettled to have been caught staring, she followed the countess down the hall. En route, they passed a servant carrying water and lads bearing handfuls of wood.
Lady Linet halted a passing lad, gave him instructions to bring a tub and water, and then entered a nearby room. “This will be your chamber.”
A bed was centered against the back chamber wall, a carved stand to one side with an unlit taper, and the wood in the hearth ablaze.
Fatigue washed over Emma. However simply adorned, the chamber looked like a piece of heaven. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Once you have had your bath and have eaten, you will be left undisturbed.” The countess paused. “This eve, if you have awoken, you are welcome to join our sup.”
She doubted that the MacGruders would truly wish her in their presence. “My thanks,” Emma replied, “but I will most likely sleep through the night.”
“The rest will do you good.”
Rest? However much she wished to sleep, using the shield of night, she would make her escape. The food brought for her supper would come in handy as she traveled.