“Emma Astyn,” she whispered, testing her name against her tongue. It sounded odd. She gave a rough laugh. So long had she played different roles for her missions, even her real name sounded foreign. Without intending to, she’d severed the ties of her past. No longer did Emma Astyn exist. Did her true identity really matter?
She stilled.
Yes.
Because Patrik had taught her to love, to want a man at her side, and most of all, to wish for the impossible.
Emotion tightened her chest as she scanned the fairies woven within the tapestry and those upon the ceiling. Their faces remained empty, devoid of expression as if the other night her mind had indeed played tricks.
“Riders coming!” a man’s voice boomed from outside.
Emma hurried to the arched window.
A small contingent rode two abreast upon the narrow road leading to the castle. Across the broken sweep of water, knights were setting up camp upon the hillside as more men continued to pour from the dense forest.
Was Lord Grey planning another assault upon English troops? She studied the confident man leading the small group.
God in heaven, Sir David de Moravia!
Her blood chilled. She would never forget her meeting with the Parson of Bothwell, uncle to Sir Andrew de Moray. At the time, she’d played yet another character, but if she met up with Sir David, a man of sharp wit, he would recognize her.
Hooves clattered upon timber as the rebels rode beneath the gatehouse. The bailey flooded with the echo of horses and men as squires ran to take the knights’ horses while those within Lochshire Castle gathered to meet the small party.
The Earl of Grey strode to Sir David de Moravia, his face hard. The leaders clasped hands, and then the earl motioned Sir David toward the keep.
Shaken, Emma stepped back. A glow from the corner caught her attention. The other half of Patrik’s gemstone.
“’Tis yours.”
On a gasp, Emma whirled. The chamber stood empty. No one was here. Her mind was playing tricks. She was tired, overwrought, terrified.
Unsure of anything, she glanced at the bowl. The other half of Patrik’s gemstone pulsed. As if guided by a force, she crossed the chamber. Sadness filled her as she lifted the malachite. Its warmth pulsed against her skin, offering strange comfort.
An ache built in her heart. This was a part of Patrik, a reminder of the love she’d found. Though she would never have him, she could have this. Before she could change her mind, she slipped the gemstone into her pocket and hurried from the chamber.
At the second-floor entry, she peered down the corridor. It lay empty. She held her breath and slipped past.
“Cristina!” a child’s excited voice called as she paused at the opening to the great room.
“Joneta,” Emma said, fighting for a smile. Mouth dry, she scanned the enormous chamber, thankful for the mill of people. “Where is your mother?”
A smile curved the cherub cheeks as she cradled her doll against her chest. “She is outside helping with the wash. Would you like to see her?”
A commotion at the entry caught Emma’s attention.
Lord Grey and Sir David de Moravia strode into the great room.
She couldn’t let Sir David see her! Emma nodded to the girl. “Yes, I would.”
Ignorant of her panic, Joneta smiled. “This way.” The child skipped down a side hallway, then out a back door.
The smell of bread wafted in the air along with herbs and other savory scents as they exited the keep. Beyond the buildings knights clogged her view, their faces weary with travel. Claymores clung to their backs; daggers were secured to their waists. Men prepared for war. Men who would give their lives to win. Men like Patrik.
Joneta turned. “Cristina, are you coming?”
If only she could linger, if only her days could be filled with mundane chores and each of her nights spent in Patrik’s arms.
On an unsteady breath, Emma knelt before the child. “I must go, but I need you to do me a great favor.” She forced a smile. “Will you do that for me?”
