Pulse racing, Emma caught the shadows of the English knights racing down the path.
“They went this way,” a man yelled.
“How can you be sure?” another snarled, “I can barely see.”
“We will split up,” the first man said. “Sir Henry, take four of the men and follow the path south. They could not have gone far.”
Footsteps echoed as the men hurried past, then the slap of leather upon earth faded.
Silence echoed like a tomb as the events of moments before replayed in her mind. She’d meant to stay hidden. But when she’d peered out and saw the knight striding toward her, she’d exposed herself with the intent of distracting the warrior to give Patrik time to finish off the other three knights. But the knight had come too close, the bloodlust in his eyes assuring her of his intent to kill her.
Then, the other knight had attacked Patrik, and she’d been left without a choice. Her years of being a mercenary had taken hold. No thought, pure reaction.
Except, she’d never meant for Patrik to see.
Questions. He would have them. How could he not? He’d witnessed her killing a man with deft precision. How would she answer them?
Patrik shifted at her side, his dagger ready if they were discovered. Little did he know that with her honed skill, her blade was just as lethal.
Slowly, his body relaxed. “They are gone.”
Unsure what to say, Emma remained silent.
He glanced over. “Are you well?”
“Yes.”
“We must remain hidden until the knights have returned to their camp,” Patrik whispered, “then we will backtrack and take a different path.”
His body vibrated with tension, and she could well imagine the questions in his mind. It would behoove her to dictate the direction of their discussion.
“I learned to handle a knife as a child.” Her quiet words fell into the night, the moon slipped into the sky, filling the forest with an eerie glow.
“I did not ask.”
“I know, but I need to explain.” She found his acceptance of her more important than she would ever have believed. “Growing up in an orphanage teaches a child many things about life, including the dangers.”
“Who taught you how to handle a blade with such skill?”
“Father Lawrenz.”
“A priest?”
“He was worried about me.”
Patrik turned toward Cristina, finding only hints of her face within the shadows. “What happened to cause a man of God to teach you to wield a blade?”
Silence grew around them, broken by the cry of a distant owl. “Few care what happens to an unwanted child. The safety of those cast within an orphanage is but an illusion.”
The image of Cristina as a child came to mind. A girl without a family, without anyone to love her. She’d found salvation within the teachings of a priest.
In his youth, Patrik had had his family, his early years rich with warm memories. And when his own family was murdered, he’d known the love and support of the MacGruders, men whom he had once called brothers. But Cristina had known naught but cruelty and loneliness.
And soon, he too, like everyone else in her life, would leave her to fend for herself.
Still, the image of her sinking the dagger into the knight’s lower back haunted him. Few held such expertise with a weapon. A priest may have taught her to use a knife, but Patrik wondered whether a man of the cloth had imparted such skill.
He took in the woman before him, a woman who at every turn proved herself not the person whom he believed her to be. But then, she knew not the truth about him either. Whatever her secrets, he doubted they could be as dark as the actions ofDubh Duer.
