“Wake up. You are having a dream.”
A man’s concerned voice beckoned to her from a distance. Panic riding her hard, she struggled against the pull and jerked her eyes open.
In the murky light, Sir Patrik stared down at her.
Chapter 4
Another tremor rolled through Emma as she stared up at Sir Patrik. Beneath the flicker of candlelight, she glanced over and studied her fingers, which moments before within her mind had dripped with blood. ’Twas a dream, naught more.
“Are you all right?”
Mouth dry, she turned toward the Scot. The worry on his face stole her breath. “Yes, I . . .” Emma stiffened, withdrew from his touch, shaken to find she missed the gentleness of his hands, a quiet strength that promised protection. God in heaven, she could tell him nothing.
“Your husband?”
“My husband?”
“You dreamt of his death?”
Of course Sir Patrik would think that. A husband who didn’t exist. Deception tasted ill upon her tongue. No, not deception, a fable crafted to gain his trust, a fact she must remember. Her time here was but a job to be done, a mission to be accomplished. After, she would move on to the next job, never to think of this rebel again.
And if she believed she could simply erase this intriguing Scot from her thoughts, she was a fool.
Sir Patrik slid the back of his hand over her cheek, his gaze tender.
Emma steadied herself, fought to smother the awareness, sensations no man had ever inspired. ’Twas the plans gone askew yesterday that yielded these unwanted feelings, and learning that however cold or dangerous, Sir Patrik was a man loyal in his beliefs. A way of life she well understood, a path she ruthlessly followed. Except his loyalty was to a country he loved, while hers was only to herself.
What would it be like to have passion for what you fought for? To care for those you loved so much that to protect them, you would sacrifice your life?
“Cristina?”
Cristina. A woman who didn’t exist. A potent reminder this was but a farce. Damn Sir Patrik for making her wish for other than what she had. Her life suited her. Each decision was ofherchoosing. And when she was done, she would walk away. No loss. No regrets.
At the thought of leaving him, an ache built inside, a yearning of unexpected force. “Go away.”
“Ignoring the hurt but prolongs it like a fire banked. ’Tis opening the door to the pain, working past the hurt that makes it fade.”
His thoughtful words left her feeling more of a fraud. “Can you not see that I do not want to talk? That I wish to be alone?” Alone she was good at. Alone was safe. Alone she spoke no more lies.
“Aye,” he replied, “and I see the hurt, that of a lass who holds her misery too deep, mires herself in grief and forgets to live.”
Emma cast him a hard look. “Leave me alone.”
“And if I did, I would be like everyone else.”
The sincerity in his voice sliced to her soul. Her anger faded. Damn him for being so noble. He believed her grief was due to a husband lost, a family destroyed, when it was her realization that her life held naught but the promise of emptiness.
“I am tired.” Her quiet words echoed between them.
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I never took you for a coward.”
She angled her jaw. “You know me not.”
“Nay? I know you are a woman alone, a woman afraid, and one who sleeps with troubled thoughts, but also a woman brave enough to hold her own when most would crumble.”
Uneasy, she rubbed her thumb against the tips of her fingers. He saw too much, made her feel more than was wise. “Do you always interrogate the women you save?”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth, one too alluring, one that should have seemed out of place with the brutal life he led. Instead, it made his all too handsome face more appealing.
