“’Tis not of your concern.”
Hurt etched her face. “I see.”
She didn’t, but that could not be helped. Well he knew of his responsibility, the importance of his delivering the writ to Bishop Wishart. He’d lost over a day of travel, time he could ill spare, but he had no regrets.
He held out his hand. “We must go.”
She ignored his offer, stood. Leaves and twigs littered her hair and if possible, made her more alluring. “Please, tell me what is going on.”
Silence.
“Patrik?”
Her soft plea prodded him further. ’Twas his penance for kissing the lass. What had he been thinking? Nay, thinking was exactly what he hadn’t been doing. If he had, he would have led her away untouched. Neither did her taste lingering in his mouth help a wit.
“Come.” Patrik turned and headed north.
The rustle of leaves echoed as she followed. “What is in the bound leather?”
“Leave it.” He despised the coolness of his tone; his anger was at himself.
“Have I somehow upset you?”
He spun on his heel.
Cristina halted, her face pale, at odds with her lips swollen from his kiss.
God, how he wanted her. “I should not have touched you. ’Twas wrong.”
Her brow dipped in confusion. “What does your kissing me have to do with the missive?”
“Naught.” He drew in a slow breath, released it. “I am making a mess of this.”
She hesitated. “You did not enjoy kissing me?”
Blast it. “Nay, lass, I took great pleasure from the kiss. Far too much.”
“As I.” Wariness crept into her eyes as she cast a glance toward where he’d stowed the leather-bound document. “Are you wanted?”
Patrik gave a rough laugh. “As a rebel, aye. Longshanks wishes my head upon a pike.”
Red slashed her cheeks. “I—”
“Cristina, the missive I carry is of great import. Should it fall into the wrong hands”—he shook his head—“God help us all. ’Tis why I must see to your safety posthaste. As long as you are with me, you are in danger, more than you could ever believe.”
“Is that why you were nearby yesterday when the knights almost . . .” Her breath hitched and she looked away.
Patrik turned her to face him. “I will protect you.”
Emotion swamped Emma at his selfless offer of protection. Sir Cressingham would be pleased. ’Twould seem she had earned Patrik’s trust, a necessary accomplishment to fulfill the remainder of her task.
“Your vow is unnecessary,” she said.
“I wish I could do more.” He pulled a twig from her hair, tossed it aside. “But you cannot matter to me, lass. I have secrets, more than those within the document I carry. I can make no promise to any woman. Yet with you I have. More unsettling, I find no regrets in my heart.”
She ached at his tenderness. He spoke from his soul, while she wielded naught but lies. “I ask for no promise.”
A sad smile touched his face. “Not with words, but I see the question in your eyes.”
