Joneta nodded, her curls bouncing with delighted innocence.
Hand trembling, Emma withdrew the writ. She pressed the bound leather within the child’s hand, and then curled her fingers over the top. “Hide this. For now, tell no one. After the bells of Vespers, bring this to Sir Patrik.”
Excitement shone in the girl’s eyes. “’Tis a gift?”
Emotion swamped her. “Yes.” But in his anger at finding the writ gone, Patrik would only see that she’d betrayed him. A situation too late to repair. Mayhap it was for the best.
“I know,” Joneta exclaimed, “it is like the story of the fairies!”
Her mind a muddle, needing only to escape, Emma nodded, far from understanding the child’s ramblings. “Promise me. Swear you will show no one and not deliver it to Sir Patrik until after the bells of Vespers.”
“I swear.” Green eyes swirled with excitement as Joneta slipped the writ beneath the folds of the blanket covering her doll. The girl hesitated. Delight crumbled to sadness upon her face. “Why are you leaving?”
“’Tis complicated.” An understatement.
“Will you return?”
She shook her head. “I do not believe so.” Emma embraced the child in a fierce hug, wishing times were different, that she could share her life with Patrik. “Never will I forget you.”
A tear rolled down Joneta’s cheek. “I do not want you to go.”
“I would like to stay as well.” Emma wiped away the child’s tear. “But we cannot always have what we wish.”
She sniffed. “Like when my mother buried my brother?”
Emma’s heart broke. “Yes.” On shaky legs she stood. “I must leave, but know that I will miss you terribly. And, after you give Sir Patrik the writ, tell . . .” She fought for control. “Te-Tell him that I love him.”
Somber, Joneta nodded.
Before she broke down, Emma went to where a line of clothes dried, removed an old cape, donned the garb. With the unhurried steps of one who worked within the castle, she walked to the bailey. It was crowded with people, some loading supplies for the rebels camped outside while others secured ropes over loads already piled. Near the gatehouse, men and women were walking alongside wagons topped with bags of food. Keeping her head bowed, Emma fell in amongst the group.
As they moved past the drawbridge, plumes of dust spewed from the wheels, shrouding her and the others in a haze. Emma wiped her eyes, thankful for the concealing haze. Each step was laden with fear, each step one closer to escape.
Once the party reached the shore, amidst the roll of wagons, snorts of horses and the wave of knights continuing to arrive, Emma quickly slipped away. At the edge of the forest, within a dense copse of trees, she came upon a squire tying a mare to the bough of a small tree.
With practiced ease, she knocked out the squire, hid his body within a dense thicket and covered him with the stolen cape. With the number of knights nearby, the squire would be safe until he came to.
With quiet, hurried steps, she led the horse farther into the dense tangle. At the top of the steep slope, through the swath of fir trees, she took in Lochshire Castle, where Patrik still slept, where but a short while before they had made love, and where, if only for a little while, she had found love.
The horse shifted, and she released the bough. Thick needles of pine swung back and severed her view. A fitting reminder that her time here was past.
Now, to reach a port.
With ease she swung up on the mare. The fragrant bed of needles and earth absorbed the clomp of hooves as she wove through the forest. When she reached a clearing, she urged her mount into a canter without looking back.
“Patrik.”
At Seathan’s gruff voice, Patrik forced his lids open. Orange-red rays of the fading sunset tumbled into his chamber, the scent of the summer evening and roasting venison a wonderful mix. A memory gnawed at his mind, something important he must remember. He searched, but it fell away.
“Patrik,” Seathan repeated.
“I am awake,” Patrik grumbled as he waded through his mind’s haze, clawing for the thought. He glanced over at the table, froze.
The writ was gone.
Memories poured through him of trying to go after Cristina, then blackness. He’d passed out. Patrik glanced over, found his brothers and Griffin in ominous silence at his side. No words were necessary; the upset on the men’s faces matched his own.
“She took it,” Patrik whispered.
