Cressingham’s knights took but a respite. They wanted him to think, to fear their return and the next round of abuse. A wry smile edged his mouth. ’Twas the third time since last night that they’d hauled him back from another beating. He sobered. The next time they came, he doubted he’d see these walls again.
Regardless, they’d nae drag a secret from his lips. The rebel contact within King Edward’s court would remain safe.
Images of Cristina’s face . . . nay, of Emma’s, rolled through his mind. Hurt beyond what the English could ever deliver battered him. She’d lied, slept with him to gain information for that bastard Cressingham. Like the stories of her past. Lies, the lot of them. Had anything that’d spilled from her mouth held truth?
A fool.
She’d played him, was quick to use his weaknesses to ensnare him in her trap. And he’d fallen, given her his trust, and worse, his love.
He remembered her destroyed look when Cressingham had announced her scheme along with her real name. Nae, ’twas but another act well played. He’d heard of the mercenary Emma Astyn. Her abilities to pull off the most dangerous mission were legendary, and the reason Cressingham had chosen her for this task.
Memories flashed by, the days of her travels with Patrik, the deceit she’d crafted with a woman’s smile, the love they’d made. Aye, ’twas no doubt why she was one of England’s top mercenaries, she would do anything, hurt anyone for a bloody farthing, including profess her love.
Where was she now, congratulating herself after a fine meal and counting the coin made? A part of him wished to accept that she indeed regretted her act, that Emma’s pleas had been real when Cressingham had ordered her hauled away. He swallowed hard, damned himself. When it came to her, he no longer knew what to believe.
Sickened by the swill of lies, he braced himself against the waves of pain. What had she told Cressingham about the rebels? Saint’s breath, she’d seen Griffin at Lochshire Castle. As well, she knew of the rebels’ pathway beneath the ben, and the hideout behind the falls. If he did not warn Seathan, hundreds of Scots could die. And with Griffin’s position exposed . . .
God help them all.
Body shaking, Patrik pushed himself up. His legs gave way, and he crumpled to the floor. Through sheer determination, he pushed to his knees. Sweat streamed down his face, mingled with blood as he crawled to the door. Panting, he clawed to reach the handle. His hand closed upon the rough wood. He held tight.
Tugged. “Open, you bastard!” He again pulled.
It held firm.
Dizziness swamped him and Patrik slid to the floor. Hopelessness descended. “Nae, damn you. I will not give up!” Teeth clenched, he grabbed the door, jerked.
Nothing.
“Nae!”
Head pounding, Patrik lay back. He’d ignored his instincts about Emma, the subtle hints that something was amiss. Blast it, how many times during their days together had he allowed his need for her to trample common sense? Now, due to his neglect, many Scots would die.
Tree limbs scraped the building like clawing fingers. Another soft scratch echoed near the entry. A moment later, the soft brush of branches was repeated.
Numb, he stared at the sturdy wood. The wind was kicking up. A storm must be moving in. A weak, painroughened laugh battered his throat. What did that matter? Here he would die, but his death mattered not. It was the loss of the people who had given him their trust that he could not accept.
Patrik again glanced at the door. Mayhap a chance still existed. After the hours of beatings, the guards would expect him to be subdued. When they again entered, they would nae expect an attack.
With his legs screaming, Patrik shoved himself to his feet. Head spinning, he pressed himself back against the wall.Enter, you bastards.
If a chance existed to warn his fellow Scots, he would take it. He knew it would be his last.
A slight thump echoed from outside.
Patrik frowned. That did not sound like a tree. Guards? Why did they not bloody barge inside as the arrogant bastards had three times before?
The door gave a subtle creak, edged open.
He readied himself to attack.
“Patrik?”
At his eldest brother’s whisper, Patrik almost dropped to his knees. “Seathan?”
“Aye.” The door was shoved open wider. Weak afternoon sun outlined his eldest brother as he hurried inside, with Alexander on his heels.
“Wh-Where are the guards?” Patrik stumbled out.
