With a sigh, she scooped a handful of sand and rubbed it against her skin, doubting she would ever feel truly clean. However incredible, the beauty of this chamber could not erase reality. This was yet another day, one to achieve a goal and once it was accomplished, to walk away.
Somber, Emma finished, then waded to shore. She pulled on the tattered gown, a stark reminder of her role, of the dangers she had yet to face, and of the penance for a poor decision made.
“I am finished,” she called out, her voice revealing none of her inner turmoil.
Solid steps echoed in the cavern. Sir Patrik walked into the swath of scattered light. He halted, his expression dark.
She tensed. “What is wrong?”
Wrong? Patrik smothered the unwanted surge of desire. The lass knew not that she stood with the prismed light as a backdrop. The rays framed her slender outline with lust-stirring clarity. And her damp garment clung to her full curves, a body that would make a grown man beg.
“I have placed oatcakes and cheese on the other side of the rock. Eat while I bathe.” He ignored her surprise at his abruptness as he strode past. With his body hard and aching, he was not fool enough to remain by her side and allow her to notice his interest. She’d endured enough this day without adding to her worries.
Irritated at his unexpected desire, he strode to the merge of sand and water and stripped. Tossing his garments in a tumbled heap, he dove into the deep end of the pool. Warmth churned around him, embraced him as he swam the entire length. He surfaced, turned and swam hard toward the opposite bank. The lash of water and burn of muscle did little to lessen his body’s need.
Reaching the end, he stood, cursed as Cristina’s alluring image remained emblazoned in his mind.
Warmth touched his chest.
Surprised, he glanced down. The halved malachite hanging around his neck glowed. He frowned and strode from the water. Was nothing to make sense on this blasted day? Why was he even wearing the gemstone ? ’Twas not as if he still belonged to the MacGruders. With his betrayal a year past, he’d given up the right to use their name or to be called their brother.
Except the memory of a proud day long past stirred in Patrik’s mind. A time when he’d stood beside Seathan, Alexander, and Duncan. Seathan, who was now an earl. Lord Grey. A smile touched his face, faded. Proud he was the day Seathan claimed the title. But the day was bittersweet because their father, the man who had adopted him, now lay cold beneath the earth.
A hard passing. He knew their middle brother, Alexander, carried guilt for it because the arrow that downed his father had been meant for Alexander.
Neither could Patrik forget the youngest brother. Duncan had lost both parents, his mother dying during his birthing, but he hid his grief behind a veil of cheer.
Patrik gripped the gemstone, a gift presented to him, as it had been to each of the brothers by their grandmother when they were knighted. Each halved gemstone was unique, each a badge of honor. After his betrayal, it was an honor he no longer deserved. Bedamned. He should toss it into the water.
His fingers squeezed tight; then he let his hand fall away. He could nae sever the final tie to his past.
Exhausted, he dried himself, tugged his tunic over the gemstone, then, as if a man sentenced, strode toward where the lass was eating.
He rounded the corner and halted. On the blanket he’d spread out, with the food he’d left for her gone, Cristina lay curled in a ball, asleep. Gentleness washed through him. ’Twas not her decision to appear in his life, to be forced along this dangerous path, or to have spawned the uninvited attention of the English knights.
Instead of lusting after her like a randy ass, he should remember she was scared, alone, and needed his protection.
Patrik sat at her side. In silence he ate, ignoring the silken wash of chestnut hair spilling around her face and the lingering urge to draw her against him. Once he’d finished eating, he stowed the remainder of the oatcakes and cheese within his leather sack and set it aside.
Fatigue washed over him. Aye, rest would serve them both well. The morrow and hard travel ahead would come too fast. With one last glance at the lass, he laid another blanket nearby and closed his eyes.
The body lay slumped before her. Vestments cloaked the lifeless figure like a macabre shroud. A scream built in Emma’s throat, but it would not come.
She tried to step back. As if weighted by stones, her feet refused to budge.
Blood spilled from beneath the finely spun cloth to curdle against the dirt and grime staining the ground.
Of its own volition, her trembling hand reached out and lifted the vestment.
Unseeing eyes stared out of Father Lawrenz’s pale face. Grotesque bruises marred the skin of the priest, the only man she had ever trusted, the only man who had ever shown her compassion, the only man who had taught her of faith.
No! She stumbled back, looked down. His blood smeared her hands, dripped through her fingers to pool at her feet.
She screamed.
“Cristina!”
“No.” She fought to break free of hands that held her tight. “Let me go!”
