“They have mounts,” Cristina gasped as she leapt over a tumble of low brush.
He cleared the thicket, close on her heels. “Aye.” And would easily catch up to them. Familiarity with the land was their only hope. Turning to the right, he led her through the tangle. “Hurry.”
The leather of their flat-soled shoes slapped against the earth as they ran. After several moments, the dense foliage of the forest gave way to a field dotted with tufts of fresh grass, brave buds of flowers, and sweeps of heather.
Cristina jerked her hand free.
Patrik whirled, his breath coming fast. “We cannot stop.”
She stared at the roll of hills leading to the formidable ben, the mountain but one of many to the north. “The brambles before us would not hide a field mouse.”
“And what the English will be thinking as well,” he agreed. “But I know of a place to hide. Trust me.”
Trust him?
Sir Patrik’s piercing hazel eyes held hers. He was a warrior, from his muscled arms to his carved cheekbones and deep baritone voice. A man used to giving commands. A man many feared.
A man she, too, would be a fool to dismiss.
She turned in the direction they’d come and scoured the concealing woods. Shadows littered the dense foliage, numerous places where they could hide.
A shiver crept through her. Why was he exposing them? If anyone scanned the field, they would be seen. No, it was too late to question her decision. She’d committed herself to the journey long before this day.
She turned toward the handsome Scot, a man as intriguing as he was dangerous. A man who, if he learned the truth—that her real name was Emma Astyn, a woman acclaimed as one of England’s top mercenaries—would kill her.
Chapter 2
Rebellious sandy hair framed the eyes of a warrior as Sir Patrik watched her, those of a man confident in his decisions, those of a man who killed without hesitation. The beard shadowing the rebel’s face lent another layer to his dangerous aura, that of a man unbending, a man served many an injustice, and a man who had sent many an opponent to Hades. The blood spilled upon his sword this day but a pittance to the legendary Scot.
Dubh Duer.
A dark hero indeed if half of the legends detailing Sir Patrik’s exploits proved to be true. Emma shuddered at the stories told, at the tales of his complete ruthlessness when he set out to achieve a goal.
Dubh Duer’s real name had eluded the English, but the man who had hired her, Sir Hugh de Cressingham, King Edward’s treasurer of the English administration in Scotland, was a man as determined as viciously inventive in achieving his goals.
After losing many a knight toDubh Duer’s blade, Sir Cressingham had publicly declared he would catch, torture, then kill his Scottish foe, a man other Scots admired, a man whose name was sparking rebellion in addition to that of another formidable Scot, Sir William Wallace.
On an attack against another powerful Scot, Sir Andrew de Moray, English knights had captured several followers of the rebellious Highland leader. To Sir Cressingham’s delight, one of the rebels had broken beneath his cruel torture. On the promise of sparing the man’s family, he had revealed with his dying breath thatDubh Duerwas Sir Patrik Cleary.Dubh Duer—a Scot who hid in the shadows, a rebel who had integrated himself with Sir Andrew de Moray and the Bishop of Wishart.
Distrustful of the bishop’s loyalty to England from the start, a man who was one of the original Guardians of Scotland, Sir Cressingham had made it his personal task to catch Sir Patrik, as well as unveil proof of Wishart’s perfidy.
King Edward believed Scotland’s resistance was but mindless spurts of resentment, easily quelled, and had turned his attention toward the war with France and the development of the Flemish alliance. The king offered little response to Sir Cressingham’s warnings of Scotland’s growing unrest.
Furious with the English king’s dismissal and learning someone close to the king was smuggling military information to Wishart, Sir Cressingham had employed Emma. Then, he’d learned that the runner used for the covert messages wasDubh Duer.
With gleeful malice, Sir Cressingham had ordered her to befriend Sir Patrik, retrieve the writ he carried as well as discover who was sending traitorous information to the bishop. Once she’d gained the information, she was to ensure the rebel’s capture.
Confident in her abilities, lured by the amount of coin offered, Emma had credited the viciousness ofDubh Duerto fable and accepted the mission. She had learned the hard way never to let emotion sway her. After crafting the Scottish name of Cristina Moffat along with her character’s tattered past, she’d used her secret contacts to discover Patrik’s whereabouts. Now, faced with the daunting man whose life she’d chosen to infiltrate, the enormity of Emma’s task slammed home.
A challenge, but not an impossibility.
She nodded. “You lead, I will follow.” Never must he learn that Sir Hugh de Cressingham had hired her or her true identity. Once Sir Patrik lowered his guard, she could discover where he hid the writ, and with cloaked questions, the name of the traitor to England who’d spawned the missive.
With confidence, the dangerous Scot turned and led her up the steep incline at a brisk pace. They topped the crest; then he guided them toward a large rock jutting from the wash of green.
She stared in disbelief. “We are to hide behind this boulder?”
“Nay.”
