“Aye,” he hissed, his anger finding a foothold. “Nothing she said was the truth.” Including her feelings for him, and that hurt the worst.
“Think you, you are innocent?”
At the bite in Nichola’s words, he met her gaze. Shame washed through him as he recalled his own deception when Alexander had first brought Nichola before them as
his captive
. Patrik had spoken to her with respect disguising his outrage; he’d plotted to keep her and Alexander apart. When that had failed, he’d abducted Nichola with the intent to take her life.
Humbled, Patrik shook his head. “Nae. Emma’s path is one I, too, have trod.”
Thick silence filled the chamber as his brothers witnessed his shame.
“Will you forgive her?” Nichola asked.
The oddity of her question struck Patrik, but he would offer her truth. “Forgive her? How, when I know not if I can ever trust her again?”
“And that,” Nichola said, her voice breaking, “is exactly how I feel.”
Alexander drew his wife against him, stroked her hair as her quiet sobs filled the chamber. “Go,” he murmured. “You have said enough.”
She broke free of his hold, faced Patrik, her gaze fierce. “No, I must know why you took an arrow aimed for Alexander, why you saved his life?”
Emotion clogged his throat. “Be-Because Alexander is my brother, the father of a beautiful son, husband to an incredible woman whom I wronged.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away. “Patrik?”
At Nichola’s nervous whisper, he tried to speak, but heaviness weighed upon him as if a hand pressed against his chest, and his entire body seemed as if on fire.
“Patrik?”
Through the haze of pain, Nichola’s voice seemed more frantic. Patrik tried to speak, to make his mouth work, but naught would come. A sense of doom filled him, a heartache that swamped his every thought. Tired, he was so tired. Thankful, he gave in to the sheer exhaustion, closed his eyes and succumbed to the blackness.
Alexander cursed. “He has passed out.”
Nichola laid her hand upon Patrik’s brow. “He has a fever.”
The healer’s words rumbled through Alexander’s mind. He met his brothers’ worried gazes, turned to his wife. “Nichola, await me in our chamber. Please.”
She hesitated. Then, as if understanding that he needed to speak with his brothers in private, she left.
As the door closed, Seathan stepped to Alexander’s side. “Patrik’s fate is not your burden to bear.”
“By my sword, he took the bloody arrow meant for me.” Guilt seared him as he faced his brothers. “As did our father in my youth, and he died to protect me. Now, we know not if Patrik will live.” He closed his eyes, opened them. “By my sword, twice it should have been me lying upon my deathbed.”
Anger flared in Duncan’s eyes. “Patrik has not died.”
“Nae,” Alexander rasped. “We have that.”
Patrik shifted, sweat lining his brow. He tossed his head back and forth. “Cristina.”
Alexander knelt at the bedside, placed his palm against Patrik’s brow. Fiery heat met him. “Patrik.”
His brother’s words were garbled.
“I will send for the healer,” Seathan said.
“What will she do?” Alexander stood, furious he could do naught but let his brother burn up with fever, let him die. “She has given him herbs to ease the pain. ’Twill take time and a miracle to heal his wounds.” Silence descended upon the chamber.
“Cristina?” Patrik whispered.
Alexander muttered a curse as he strode to the door.
“It will be good for you to be with Nichola,” Seathan said.
At the door, Alexander turned. “’Tis not who I am going to see.”
“Who then?” Seathan asked.
“Emma.” Alexander slammed the door in his wake and strode to her chamber, unsure whether he was angrier at Patrik for taking the bloody arrow for him or at Emma for being in league with his enemy. At Emma’s chamber, he shoved open the door, strode inside.
Empty.
He scanned the corridor. With a guard at the bottom of the turret, she could not have escaped. Blast it, where was she? An outrageous thought came to mind. Anger stewed. Nae, she would not dare!
Alexander bolted down the hallway, then took the stairs to the tower chamber two at a time. God help her if he found her within.
Above, the door stood open.
He stormed through the entry, his mind blazing hot.
Framed within the sheen of sun, the lass lay upon his grandmother’s bed asleep. Curled within her hand lay Patrik’s halved stone.
Bedamned! He stalked over. He should rip the gemstone from her hand. She was English and had no place in their home!
“A belief Patrik once held about Nichola as well.”
At the whisper of his grandmother’s voice, Alexander whirled. Heart slamming against his chest, he scoured the chamber. It stood empty, but a fire blazed within the hearth that had lain empty moments ago. He’d heard her voice, as if the words were spoken to him with a smile.
Shame filled him. Aye, when Patrik had first met Nichola, he’d believed she had no place within their home or Alexander’s life. Had not Emma risked her life to save Patrik by returning to Lochshire Castle? He swallowed hard. Like Patrik, he was wrong.
“I understand,” Alexander said to the fairies on the ceiling. “But that does not mean I like it.”
A sparkle flickered within the eyes of the fairy wearing the dark green gown, and then faded.
The flames within the hearth disappeared.
He muttered a curse. “Mistress Emma.”
She shifted.
Blast it. However tempted he was to haul her up, Alexander gently touched her shoulder.
Emma’s eyes flew open. Confusion, then recognition flared. “Sir Alexander!” She shot from the bed, her eyes wide with panic. “I did not mean to stay here. I but came to return Patrik’s halved stone.”
He scowled. “The one in your hand?”
Mistress Emma looked down and red slashed her cheeks. “I will return it now.”
By the sword, he was making a mess of it. “The stone does not matter. Patrik has a fever. We know not whether he will live.”
Her face paled. “God in heaven, I must see him.”
The desperation of her words did not move him. But if her presence helped Patrik, so be it.
“Please, I beg of you—”
“You do nae have to ask.” Alexander grimaced. “’Tis why I came.”
Chapter 21
Fear slid through Emma as Sir Alexander escorted her down the turret, erasing the last wisps of sleep. No, Sir Alexander was wrong. Patrik would live. Though well she knew life offered no guarantees.
Grim-faced, the fierce Scot strode down the corridor.
Outside the chamber, he stepped aside, motioned her forward.
Emma entered. The cloying scent of blood filled the air, accompanied by the stench of illness.
Lord Grey stood beside his brother’s bed along with Sir Duncan, desperation ravaging their faces.
Shaken, her gaze riveted on Patrik; sweat slicked his face as he shifted within his bed and began to ramble. “My lord?” Her voice trembled.
“Patrik has been asking for you. We hoped—” Lord Grey shot Sir Alexander a grim look. “We hoped your presence would calm him.”
A futile hope indeed. “No, my lord. After the lies I have told him, I am the last person he would wish to see.”
Sir Alexander grunted. “My belief as well, but in his delirium he asks for you.”
“For me?” The displeasure on the men’s faces assured her the fierce knight’s claim was true. On unsteady legs, she crossed the chamber.
“A guard will remain outside if you have need of anything,” Lord Grey said. “If Patrik’s condition changes, we are to be informed.”
God in heaven. “After all I have done, you would entrust me with Patrik?”
“We do this for our brother.” With a grim look, the earl and his brothers strode out. The soft thud of the door echoed in their wake.
Struggling to keep hold of her emotions, Emma sank onto the chair. “Patrik?”
He tossed his head back and forth, and garbled words fell from his lips.
“Patrik, ’tis Emma.” Fingers trembling, she laid her hand atop his. Warmth invaded her palm, a wash of unhealthy heat. Terror slid through her. “Patrik.” Please God, let him hear her. “Patrik, I am here.”
A frown creased his brow. “Cristina?”
“Yes,” she replied, her heart breaking. He wanted Cristina, a woman he believed was honest, a woman with whom he’d found peace. Not Emma. Not the traitor. Fine then, if ’twas Cristina he wanted, that she would give him.
Ignoring the call of sleep, Emma spoke of their journey, of the laughs they’d shared. After the first few moments, he calmed. As he lay there, the rightness of this moment filled her. How easy it was to envision sharing the months, the years ahead. Time she had lost because of her betrayal.
A cloud slid over the sun and cast the room into dismal shadows. The church bells began to toll.
She counted each ring. Sext, time for the prayers at midday. Prayers? How dare she think of God after the numerous lies she’d told Patrik. But if she asked Patrik for forgiveness, would he give it?
A tear slid down her cheek.
No, she’d earned nothing but Patrik’s hatred. Long moments passed. Though it would change naught, she found it important to offer Patrik her confession.
Golden rays filled the room as she took his hand, clasping it within her own. “I know not how to begin. Many a lie I have told you since our first meeting.” She blew out a breath. “A meeting I planned.”
Her heart ached as she told how she’d plotted with the English knights, how she’d used Patrik’s hatred of the English. She had realized that, caught up in his outrage at a Scottish woman being raped, he would save her without question, his protectiveness wiping away his normal wariness of a stranger.
“Except, I was not supposed to fall in love with you.” Warmth slid through her at the memories of his touch. And, shame. “Patrik, I was never married. Gyles never existed. Nor was I a virgin, because in my youth, I was raped.” She steadied herself, pushed on. “The man whom I cherished was Father Lawrenz, a priest I met while living in the orphanage. He was a beacon of light and for the first time in my life, I had begun to believe good existed, and from the lessons he taught, believed that I could build a life, mayhap even find love.” She swallowed hard. “One day as I had hurried to meet Father Lawrenz, I cut through an alley. I found him dead. Murdered for a pence.”
Dark memories assailed her, but she shoved them away. She fought not to drown in the horrors of her past.
“At that moment, as he lay before me within a puddle of his own blood, hope fled. I realized that no one would protect me but myself. And I vowed never to care for anyone again, ever. A vow I kept—until you.” She wiped away a tear. “And though you may not believe it, I have dreams. Dreams that before I met you I would not have dared.”
A smile wavered upon her mouth as images shimmered in her mind. “I wish to help orphans, to show them that good exists, to teach them as Father Lawrenz did me, as well as give them hope.” Her smile fell. “I understand dreams of our life together, of our children, never will be.” She fought for composure. “But for a moment, however fragile, I held them. For that I thank you.”
Her entire body trembling, Emma leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss upon Patrik’s mouth. “I love you, Patrik Cleary MacGruder. Though you will not remember my words, I give them to you.” Exhausted, she leaned back, sniffed. “Look at me. I am supposed to be sharing stories to make you sleep, yet I ramble as if an old woman lost.”
She was hungry for sleep, but for Patrik’s sake, she forced herself to stay awake. For the remainder of the day, she shared tales she’d heard from bards as well as those of intriguing sights seen in her travels.
Beneath the orange-red rays of sunset, Patrik’s pallor remained the same, but that he continued to sleep, to give his body much-needed rest, bolstered her hope.
A scrape of the door had Emma turning.
Lord Grey entered, gestured for her to remain seated. “How does he fare?”
“He still sleeps, my lord.”
The earl scanned his brother’s face, nodded. “You are exhausted. My family will take turns sitting with Patrik throughout the night. You are free to return to your bed.”
Emma’s throat tightened. Once Patrik regained his health, if that miracle occurred, he would demand that she leave. “If possible, my lord, I would like to remain.”
The powerful noble studied her a long moment, glanced at Patrik, who quietly slept. “Though I hesitate to allow you such favor, for this night, if your presence allows him to rest, mayhap ’tis for the best.” With a solemn nod, he departed.
Humbled, she swallowed hard. She would savor this time, for there would come no other.
Hours passed. With the night seeping into the sky, Patrik began to shift about.
Emma lifted the blanket from where he’d cast it off, tucked it around him with a gentle hand. “Rest now.”
“I . . .” Eyes closed, Patrik began to shift, his words undecipherable.
“Lie still,” she urged.
His body jerked; his eyes moved quickly beneath his lids.
“Patrik, please remain still. You will loosen your bandages.”
He twisted on the bed.
Emma glanced at the door. Should she send for his brothers? If she did, she would never see Patrik again. Desperate, praying it helped, she sat upon the bed, then lay beside him.
A muttered curse stumbled from his lips; he turned his head, then slowly, he began to settle.
She snuggled closer, his warmth enveloping her. When he remained sleeping, Emma closed her eyes with a thankful sigh and succumbed to the exhaustion weighing upon her mind.
Sunlight flooded her lids and Emma winced. With a start she opened her eyes. Morning sun filled the room. She sat up. God in heaven, she’d slept beside Patrik the entire night! She glanced toward the door. What had his brothers or their wives thought? Or, had they seen her?
Emma laid her hand upon Patrik’s brow. It was still too warm, but dry. The fever had subsided, and his face held a tinge of color. Thank God. At the slide of the door, she scrambled from the bed.
A slender woman with whiskey-colored hair stepped inside, followed by Lady Nichola.
“My lady.” Emma tugged to straighten her rumpled gown, gave up. “I . . .” How did one explain the obvious? Warmth slid up her cheeks. “I fell asleep.”
Tenderness touched Lady Nichola’s face. “That my husband and I saw last night when we came to check upon Patrik. You appeared so exhausted, I had not the heart to disturb you.” Nichola nodded to the woman at her side. “Lady Isabel, this is Mistress Emma Astyn.”
Curious amber eyes studied her. “I have heard much of you and regret we have not been introduced until now. Sir Duncan is my husband.”
Emma recalled seeing the woman within the courtyard when she’d first arrived.
“The healer will be here shortly,” Lady Nichola said.
The reason she’d come was to wake Emma and spare her the further embarrassment of being found in Patrik’s bed. “My thanks.” The last haze of sleep faded, and with that clarity and the unspoken determination upon their faces, she understood. “But you have come to ask questions?”
“I have,” Lady Nichola said. “We know you returned for Patrik, but why did you leave behind the writ?”
Regret swept Emma as she glanced from one woman to the other. “Because I am no longer the person Sir Cressingham hired. Had you of known me over the years, you would not have believed me capable of change. Then I met Patrik.” Tears formed in her eyes; she damned them, fought to push them back. “Lady Nichola, I understand your distrust and dislike for Patrik, but I also understand his reasons. He is a good man. Though battered, his heart is enormous. He does nothing by halves, loves with a fierceness I have never seen.”
Lady Isabel took Lady Nichola’s hand in support.
Alexander’s wife gave her sister-in-law a thankful smile, and then turned to Emma. “I admit having Patrik at Lochshire Castle is difficult, but yester eve he took an arrow meant for Alexander. He saved my husband’s life.” Gray eyes narrowed with conviction. “Do you know why? Because Patrik wanted me to be happy, for Alexander to have his family.” Tears blurred her eyes. “I am not proud of my fear, or of wishing him again dead, but though anger and hurt still well inside me, Patrik has proven that he is sincere.”
Emma stilled. “You will give him another chance?”
“Yes,” Nichola whispered.
The door slipped open. The earl’s wife entered.
Emma curtsied. “Lady Linet.”
“Mistress Emma.” Lord Grey’s wife nodded to the two other women, then glanced at the bed. “How fares Patrik?”
“His fever has broken,” Emma replied.
Relief swept Lady Linet’s face. “Thank God. How do you fare, Mistress Emma?”
“Fine, my lady.”
The scrape of steps had them all looking back. The healer, carrying a basket of herbs, stepped inside. Wizened eyes opened with surprise, then landed on Patrik as he lay sound asleep.
“His fever has broken,” Emma said.
Relief swept the aged lines of the healer’s face. “A good sign. It appears as if he will live.”
Sun streamed across the morning sky like a wash of promises made, of hope given. Emma clutched the hewn stone beneath her hand at Patrik’s window. Hope that Lord Grey had given her. An unlikely source, considering only days before he’d viewed her as his enemy.
But, last eve he, his brothers, and Lord Monceaux had questioned her extensively about the English. After she’d replied to everything they’d asked, and then had informed them of more, the earl had dismissed all within the chamber but her.
Alone, Lord Grey had warned her that after the English secrets she’d exposed, Sir Cressingham would pay handsomely to see her dead. A warning she’d acknowledged. Then he’d surprised her by asking what she wanted to do. Caught off guard, she’d blurted her wish to help orphans. Surprise had flickered in his gaze, but he’d agreed to help.
Sadness sifted through her as she withdrew her hand from the stone. However much she wanted to remain at Lochshire Castle, to be with Patrik, her lies had severed such a choice. Neither could she keep Patrik’s stone, regardless of the grandmother’s wishes, or of her own desire. A sense of loss still filled her without the halved gemstone on her person, but ’twas right to have returned it to the tower chamber early this morning.
The snort of horses echoed from below.
Emma looked out the window. Near the stable, a large bay stood readied, a roan mare nearby. How ironic that Sir Alexander would escort her to the abbey a day’s ride north. She could live there in peace, could fulfill her dreams of helping the children whose lives war had shattered. Except, her heart would remain here with Patrik.
She fought back tears as she took in Patrik sleeping peacefully upon his bed. He’d continued to improve since yesterday morning. With his fever broken, soon he would awaken. ’Twas best if she was long gone before then.
“The horses are ready,” Lady Nichola said in hushed tones from the entry.