“When I was ten and two summers, I ran away.” At the sadness in Sir Patrik’s eyes, she stiffened. “I need not your pity. I made my way just fine. Then I met Gyles.” Her voice broke as her thoughts went not to an imaginary husband, but to Father Lawrenz. “I did not want to care. I was a tough one, but he ignored my bluster, took time to help me, and incredibly, made me laugh.” And he had died. Murdered for a pence. She swallowed hard. “So yes, I understand bitterness and hate. I know the Bible says to forgive, but for the English who took Gyles’s life, I cannot.”
Images of that fated day rolled through her mind. Of having finished her studies, and her excitement to share with Father Lawrenz her lessons learned. Of how she’d run from the chapel to meet the priest as he returned from his daily round of prayers with the elderly.
She’d taken a shortcut through an alley, and had stumbled upon a heap of black cloth. Then, she’d realized it was a man. In horror, she’d stepped closer. Instead of a drunk sleeping off a long night of drink, she’d recognized Father Lawrenz.
Horrified, she’d seen the blood.
The assignment of faith she’d penned with pride had tumbled to the ground, the page blown away by the stench-filled breeze.
And the fragile hope the priest had given her that she might live a normal life had shattered.
No, never could she forgive whoever had murdered Father Lawrenz.
Or forget.
Sir Patrik remained silent, the understanding in his expression urging her to continue. For the first time in her life, she wanted to share her tragedy, relate her pain to another who’d survived such torment.
“After Gyles’s death, I hurt so much. I ran away, wanted to be alone, wished never to see anyone who reminded me of Gyles or the life we had.” The grief of finding Father Lawrenz murdered filled her, backed her words. “I swore never to care for anyone again. With each passing day, I have grown stronger. More important, I have kept my promise.”
Until now.
“There comes a time,” Sir Patrik said, “when we must look back if we are to heal.”
“Why?” she asked, stunned that after everything he had endured, the rebel would offer such advice, but also intrigued. Never had she expected such depth from the brutal man Sir Cressingham had described.
Doubts of Sir Cressingham’s claims that Sir Patrik was a cold-blooded killer swept through her. As if she should be surprised the Scottish treasurer would lie to achieve his goal? Sir Patrik was no murderer, but a man haunted, an intelligent man who yearned to be whole.
“Why must we look back?” Sir Patrik asked, dragging her from her thoughts. “Because hatred kills one’s soul, denies one the healing time offers.”
“Healing?” Anger crept into her words. “When broken, does one’s heart ever truly heal?”
“I believe it is possible.”
“Then you are better than I. Never will I forget, nor let go of the hate.” He sighed, a long, lonely sound, but Emma held firm. In this she would give him truth. If he turned away from her, so be it. Already he made her feel more than was wise.
“And what has hate served you?” Sir Patrik asked.
“The ability to live, to go on each day.”
“And what of happiness?”
“Happiness? Our country is ravaged by war, those we love butchered beneath the Englishman’s blade, and you dare ask me of happiness?” Emma paused. “Tell me, are you happy? Is anyone?”
Sadness flickered in his eyes. “My questions were asked to guide you from your grief.”
“I want not your help.”
But Patrik caught Cristina’s tremble, and the hint of need that never quite left her eyes. She was afraid. God knew what she’d endured during her time as an orphan, or since her husband’s murder. The English knights’ attack was only the latest of the atrocities she’d survived.
They shared a battered past, each given a second chance. He, the MacGruders who’d adopted him and raised him as their own. She, a husband to heal her soul.
And both had lost the people they loved.
He took in the web of darkness within the cavern, his heart aching. He was nae the person to guide the lass from her misery while his own was still so raw.
“What are you thinking of ?”
The gentleness of her voice lured him to reply but he’d reveal no more. He’d known the lass but hours. Well he understood the dangers of giving trust. What he’d exposed about his personal life disturbed him. Never had he shared such intimacies with a woman.
