Flames flickering within the hearth greeted Emma as she opened her eyes. On a yawn, she glanced out the window. Stars splashed the sky, shimmers of light as if a thousand wishes cast.
Stars?
The hand-spun blanket tumbled down the bed as she shot upright. She’d slept the entire day! By now she’d meant to be long gone.
And what of Patrik? Had he succumbed to fever? Was he recovering and lost deep within a healing sleep?
A plate of food sat upon a nearby table. Guilt crowded her as she stood, stowed the fare in a small sack and secured it beneath her gown. Before she departed, she must know how Patrik fared, see him one last time.
Heart aching, she walked toward the door.
Stopped.
Lady Linet’s careful refusal to allow her to see Patrik echoed in her mind as did Lord Grey’s whispered words to his wife. No, if she sought permission to see Patrik, she would not be welcome. So she would not ask.
After Patrik’s previous attempt to kill Sir Alexander’s wife, would his chamber be guarded? Or, had his apology this day swayed Lord Grey? If any, ’twas her chamber that should be guarded.
Emma walked to the entry. Hand trembling, she inched open the wood door.
Torchlight illuminated the corridor, the flicker of flames falling upon mounted tapestries along with ancient weapons of war. Not a guard in sight.
She blew out a relieved breath, then stilled. Why was there no guard? The brothers did not trust her. Or did they believe she could not escape?
A claymore secured upon the wall directly across from her chamber caught her attention. A finely carved figure graced its leather-bound hilt. Intrigued, she stepped closer. Not a figure.
A fairy.
Delicate wings were spread open as if to take flight, the woman’s face impish, her eyes captured in an expression of pure delight. The delicate carving should seem awkward atop the brutal weapon. But against all sense, the fairy’s presence seemed right.
A shiver ran through her. Emma touched the hidden dagger secured against her thigh. Fortunately she did not need the claymore. Not that she would be foolish enough to try to procure this family heirloom. Though desperate, she was far from a fool.
The bells from the chapel pealed with a somber ring.
What was she doing wasting precious time? She needed to find Patrik, then slip away. The steps winding up the turret came to mind. Had they left no guards on this floor because he was installed above?
Unsure of anything, she glanced one last time toward the opposite end of the corridor. Not an echo or a whisper of movement anywhere. With quiet steps, she reached the turret and began her ascent.
A window above revealed the night sky, the shimmer of stars seeming brighter than usual. She blinked. They remained intense. Emma frowned, certain fatigue played with her mind.
Several steps up, a sturdy oak door came into view. Fixed upon forged brackets, a bar straddled the wooden expanse.
Patrik! They’d locked him inside. At least they hadn’t cast him in the dungeon.
Chest tight, she hurried up the steps. At the door, with a quick glance behind to ensure no one was coming, she quietly lifted the bar, then rushed inside.
She came to a standstill.
Moonbeams swirled within the single arched window, silvery strokes that sifted to illuminate the chamber as if at the wave of a hand. Near the back wall stood a bed graced with a hand-stitched coverlet, a unique blend of yellow and . . . With a frown she crossed the room, ran her hand over the finely spun fabric.
Silver.
No, silver embroidery would cost an enormous amount, possible only for kings. Or was it a gift from the crown? The sword below with the fairy on the leather-bound hilt came to mind. Odd, she sensed the two were related.
Unsettled, she took in the chamber. Nearby, an ivory-framed mirror lay upon a small table. A cross pendant sat askew upon the time-worn wood as if awaiting its owner, its chain trailing atop a simple gold ring. Upon the far wall, a finely crafted tapestry depicted a forest scene, one notably similar to the piece hanging in the turret below. Once again, fairies peeked through the breaks in the leaves.
Never would she have pictured Lord Grey allowing such a whimsical chamber in a fortress designed for war.
As she continued to scan the chamber, a sense of peace swept over her, a contentment so complete she could have lain upon the bed, closed her eyes and slept. Odd, never in her life had she felt so accepted, so relaxed.
At an echo of laughter Emma glanced up. Caught within the strokes of a brush upon the ceiling, fairies played above her. They seemed vaguely familiar. She glanced at the tapestry, then back up.
Duplicates.
Upon the ceiling, the artist had recaptured the playful images woven within the tapestry. Except, whoever had crafted the imagery above had allowed their creativity free rein. Instead of mere eyes, or a hint of wings, entire fairies appeared.
Understanding dawned. Of course, this room belonged to a woman, someone important to the brothers. It explained the unexpected whimsical feel. This was a place where dreams abounded. And more important than the wealth within was the feeling of love.
Love.
Emptiness filled her, an ache for what she would never have. Emma rubbed her arms. However much she yearned to stay, to lie upon the bed and wish her troubles away, she must leave. The morrow would bring but more complications, more questions that she could never answer. First, she must find Patrik.
“He is two doors down from the chamber given you.”
At the woman’s lyrical voice, Emma whirled.
Within a chair near the hearth sat an elderly woman regarding her with wizened eyes. Flames danced within the fireplace, and she held a half-completed embroidery within her hand.
“I-I did not see you when I entered.” Nor the fire. Wouldn’t she have noticed the flicker of flames upon her arrival?
“Your mind is troubled.” A smile warmed the old woman’s face. “Worry not, Patrik is out of danger.”
Whoever she was, the brothers must have informed this woman of her and Patrik’s arrival, his wounds, as well as any changes in his condition.
“My thanks.” Emma worried her thumb over the tip of her fingers. “My apologies, I wished to see him and thought he was here.”
Warmth caressed the woman’s smile. “Patrik sleeps. On the morrow, he will fare better, but this night he should rest.” The matronly woman set aside her delicate handiwork. “And what of you?”
Nervousness slid through Emma. “What of me?”
“’Tis late to be about, especially for a lass in an unfamiliar castle.” She arched a brow. “Will you return to your chamber this night and find your bed?”
“As you said, it is late. Where else would I go?” But her words fell out too fast, and the food stowed beneath her gown gave evidence of her guilt. Emma caught a glimpse of sadness in the woman’s eyes, as if she knew her thoughts. Impossible.
“Indeed, where else would you go,” the elderly woman agreed. “But beware, secrets are spun in the dark of the night, secrets crafted with innocent intent, but in the end, secrets that could destroy.”
“Sir Alexander has little liking for me,” she said, aware this woman’s beliefs could only have come from him.
Sadness settled upon the elder’s face, aged lines that hinted she’d braved many challenges throughout the years. “Alexander is a lad who bears the hard weight of youth as guilt.” She paused. “As do you.”
Shaken, Emma stepped back. What was going on? This woman could know nothing about her. “It is late.”
“For some the hour grows long,” the woman said, “but the gift of time remains if you so choose.”
If only the choice was so simple. Her time for truths had long since passed. “I am indeed tired,” Emma said. “I am sorry to disturb you.”
“You did not disturb me.” She picked up the embroidery, and Emma caught the outline of wings upon the delicate cloth. The woman smiled. “This was but a task to entertain me until your arrival.”
Shaken, Emma took another step back. “How did you know I would—”
“God’s teeth, what are you doing here?”
At Sir Alexander’s furious voice, Emma spun. Heart pounding, she faced the warrior. “I was looking for Patrik.”
The scar across his left cheek jumped. “Were you?” He scanned the chamber and his scowl deepened.
“I was speaking with . . .” Heat stung her cheeks. She’d forgotten to ask the elderly woman her name. Emma turned. Stilled.
“Who?” Suspicion carved Alexander’s voice.
“An elderly woman. She was sitting before the fire with her embroidery when you arrived.” Emma stared at the empty chamber, her panic growing. Where was she?
Anger tightened his face. “There is not a stick of wood within the hearth.”
As if she could not see that? God in heaven, where had the woman gone? “There was a fire. I swear it.”
Sir Alexander snorted in disbelief. “Truth, you were outside your room. When you heard me coming up the turret, you ran and hid in this chamber believing you were safe.”
“ No.”
“Why do I find myself not believing you?” His gaze cut past her, widened. “By my sword!” He strode past her.
Emma turned.
Near the bed, Sir Alexander stared at a bowl. Inside, sat two halved gemstones. Framed within the rough exterior of one half, she recognized the pale green sweep of color, a shade that darkened to a deep, tumultuous olive hue at its center. A gemstone identical to the one Patrik wore around his neck; a gemstone that had warmed within her hand when she’d touched it. The stone was a potent reminder of the love she and Patrik had made.
On unsteady legs, she moved closer, studied the other halved gem at its side. Though similar in size, this gemstone held a mixture of gray and stark yellow. Never had she seen such an unusual mix.
Sir Alexander whirled, his face pale. “I will take you to your chamber.”
With cold silence he guided her from the chamber, but his emotional turmoil was clear. Before she stepped from the room, a flicker of light from the ceiling had her glancing up. Sadness creased the fairies’ faces that had shimmered with happiness moments before.
Sir Alexander wanted her away from this chamber, and she was not about to object. As she started to walk through the entry, Emma glanced at where the mate to Patrik’s halved gem lay. She stumbled. It was glowing!
As if the hounds of hell chased her, she hurried through the door. Sir Alexander need not escort her out of this room. Never had she been so afraid in all of her life.
His mind still racing from finding Cristina in his grandmother’s chamber, Alexander strode along the wall walk, too upset to go to his bed. As he passed a crenellation he paused, staring past the granite that framed the moonlit view beyond.
The image of the second halved stone within the bowl scraped through his mind as well as Cristina’s claim to have seen an elderly woman. The lass knew not who had lived there, but he did—his grandmother. By God’s eyes, it could not be.
“Alexander?”
At his wife’s concerned voice, he turned. Nichola walked toward him, their son cradled in her arms, his eyes wide and wondrous. A sense of completeness infused him. He walked over, laid his hand upon his son.
Soft, tiny fingers clasped his thumb. A smile wobbled upon chubby cheeks along with a bright-eyed smile.
“A fine son you have given me.”
Love caressed her face. “A son who now has cousins to play with.”
Alexander shrugged. “With twin daughters, ’tis a good thing Duncan was always won over by the lasses.”
She chuckled. “And they have stolen your heart as well.”
Alexander shrugged. “Mayhap.”
The smile in Nichola’s eyes faded. “What is wrong, my husband?”
He withdrew his hand from his son’s hold, turned to stare across the moonlit loch. Alexander was struck by the memory of he and his brothers lying upon the distant shores after Duncan and Patrik had stolen his garb. The chase, Duncan’s cries as he’d fetched Alexander’s clothes from the brush, and then the wine they’d drunk as they lay upon the bank.
“Alexander?”
“There is another halved stone in my grandmother’s bowl.”
“What? Why would you go up to your grandmother’s chamber?”
He turned. “As I was heading to bed, I saw a light in the turret.”
“No one has been in the chamber?”
The nerves in her voice left him further on edge. “Aye, after Linet’s foray into the room a few months ago, the chamber was left with the door shut and barred.”
“But you said you entered the tower chamber?”
He blew out a deep breath. “Aye, the door was open. When I entered, I found Mistress Cristina standing before an empty chair, talking.”