Fragmented rays of sunlight streamed from a fracture within the immense ceiling and spread out in a magnificent shimmer, exposing a huge cavern punctured by spears of rock arching to the ground. Color infused the grand stones, from the deepest brown to a myriad of oranges.
Along the edge of the cavern lay a pool, a mirror to the magnificence, its stillness reflecting an identical image of the immense beauty above.
“The water is warm.”
Sir Patrik’s soft burr rolled over her. She turned to find him standing at her side, and heat swept her cheeks. She was too aware of his presence, drawn to a man who invited naught but danger.
“Warm?” she repeated, the nervousness within her voice very real.
“Natural springs lie below the pool. No one knows the why of it.” Patrik paused. “After this day, you would be wanting to bathe.” In the soft light, he saw that red flushed her cheeks. Embarrassment? Of course. He released her hand, stepped back. “You will have complete privacy.”
The flush on her face grew. “My thanks.”
“Should you need me, call. I will be nearby standing guard.”
Cristina’s expression grew serious. She stared at him a long moment. “I am not sure why, but I believe you will protect me.”
Touched by her words, more so than was wise, he nodded. “Take the time you need. I will set out some food. You will not see me, but I will be nearby.”
“But—”
“Lass, we are both tired and hungry.”
She searched his face. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“This day has been a trial to you as well. You should bathe first.”
He stiffened, disliking the warmth her thoughtfulness infused in him. Too long had passed since anyone worried about him. “I will bathe once we have eaten.” Patrik stepped back.
“My thanks,” Emma replied, analyzing the myriad of emotions flickering through his expression. Surprise. Retreat. Coldness. She focused on the latter, intrigued by the rebel’s complete withdrawal. His shifts of emotion were slight, so faint, had she not watched for them, she would have missed them altogether.
A complex man indeed. When she believed she was beginning to see the real man, to understand him a bit, he withdrew. The violence he’d experienced as a boy, hiding as he’d watched his family slaughtered by the English, may have crafted the hatred blackening his soul, but something more had deepened the hurt within.
The information she’d gathered about Sir Patrik, though helpful, was far from complete. Logic assured her the gaps in his latter years would yield the insight she sought.
Discovering what haunted him wasn’t part of her task. Yet she found herself curious to know, drawn by the complexity of this intriguing Scot. On the outside a warrior who held his own, a man who intimidated the fiercest competitor, yet deep within, a man of intense passion.
Sir Patrik turned on his heel and strode around a large pillar.
Emma glanced at the still pool, then toward the ceiling spiked with enormous hanging rock, shimmering in the wash of light. Drawn, she walked over. At the edge, she turned. Along the outer fringe, the wondrous expanse of sunlight faded into complete blackness.
Silence.
Anxiety flickered through her. Had he left her alone? “Sir Patrik?”
“Aye?” His deep burr echoed from behind the pillar.
“Naught.” Embarrassed, she turned toward the water. It seemed to beckon her, lured her to enter and relax. As if for her being at peace had ever been possible ? She removed her gown. Water rippled as she waded into the mirrored pool.
Warm, silken luxury embraced her with each step, the sand a soft balm against her aching feet. Emma eased into the velvet depths and a sense of complete relaxation swept over her. It was as if her troubles were cleansed from her mind and nothing existed but this moment.
On a sigh she savored the sparkles of the sunlight on the rock around her, the shards of colors cast from their play like magic.
Magic?
A smile touched her lips. The thoughts fatigue spun. Never had she held any belief in magic or anything so whimsical. Life within an orphanage had taught her that neither hope nor magic existed.
