He closed the door, barred any path to escape. “This is my family. I will protect them by whatever means necessary.” He leaned forward until he was a handsbreadth away, his words laden with threat, his hazel eyes fierce with intent. “I would kill for them without hesitation.”
She angled her jaw. “As I.”
“And I am to believe you?”
“I have given you little reason to,” Emma agreed. “But I swear to you, I offer no threat.”
Lord Monceaux crossed his arms, his expression grim. “Words easily given, but do they hold truth?”
She remained silent. What could she say? In his place she would feel the same anger, hold as much doubt. Emotion scraped her soul. His family was all she had dreamed of: people who cared, people who would lay down their lives to protect each other.
For a long moment, he studied her. “For the first time since Patrik’s supposed death, my sister has begun to heal.” He paused. “Because of you. Because you spoke to her of what none of us dared.”
“What, that Patrik desperately regrets his attempt on your sister’s life? Do you not see, he cares, would do anything to regain his family?”
He exhaled and his warrior’s frame eased. “If asked before Patrik reappeared, I would have disagreed. Now, having watched him, witnessed the sincerity of his actions and his words, I agree. Regardless of my feelings, ’tis what my sister believes that is important.” Lord Monceaux paused. “Had you not confronted Nichola, she would have clung to her belief of Patrik’s intent, her hurt and fear blinding her to the truth or the ability to ever fully recover.”
“Do not paint my actions as valor,” Emma said. “My words to Lady Nichola were for Patrik. The horrors of witnessing the English slay his family stole his childhood. That same loathing guided his decisions toward your sister. His actions were wrong, an error he admits. I believe he should be given a chance to reclaim his family.”
The baron arched a curious brow. “And what of you?”
Caught off guard by his question, by her need for Patrik, and her longing for a chance at happiness she could never have, she shook her head. “I will find my own way.”
“In England?”
The coolness of his question left little doubt of his suspicions. “No, never will I return.”
“Where will you go?”
She arched a brow. “If I am allowed to leave Lochshire Castle?”
Shrewd eyes studied her. “You know who I am. Considering your past actions, how can either the MacGruders or I believe you?”
A fate she’d earned. “How long will I be kept here?”
“I do not know. For now, too much lies at stake to allow you freedom.” The baron stepped back. “A guard will remain at the bottom of the turret. Do not try to leave.”
As if she could slip away without learning Patrik’s condition?
“Go to sleep.” The baron strode out and closed the door.
Alone, Emma’s legs threatened to give way. Exhaustion and guilt weighed heavy upon her as she stumbled to the bed. She yearned to go to Patrik, to remain by his side, but the brothers refused to allow it. Heart aching, she knelt before the bed and folded her hands in prayer.
A tear wobbled down her cheek, dripped upon the bed. She sniffed. “Please, let Patrik live.”
Warmth pulsed in her pocket.
Shaken, she withdrew the halved stone. It glowed within her palm as if a gift.
A gift?
No, she’d stolen what was not hers to take. Another wrong she must right. On shaky legs she pushed to her feet, crossed to the door and inched it open.
The corridor stood empty.
If she tried to leave, a guard blocked the entry to the turret below, but she had access to the upper chamber. Fatigue weighted her steps as she made her way up the turret.
The first light of dawn welcomed her to the chamber.
