“My thanks. If your wife can spare it, she will be needing a gown.”
The Scot arched a brow.
A muscle worked in Patrik’s jaw. “English knights tried to rape her. I killed them.”
“The bloody bastards deserved to die.” He nodded. “A gown she will be given.”
“My thanks.” Patrik turned and slipped into the cloak of trees.
Heart pounding, Emma eyed the sturdy woman at the doorway of the crofter’s hut, her pale golden hair braided down her back, her weathered skin at odds with the smile in her eyes. She’d found no solid reason to give Patrik as to why they couldn’t remain with the Scots overnight.
“Welcome to you. My name is Marie,” the woman said, but the warmth in her voice far from put Emma at ease. This night, she had intended to escape. Surrounded by a family ’twould prove a near impossible feat, especially since she must first relieve Patrik of the writ. Curse the entire situation.
The woman tsked. “Sorry I am at hearing about the English curs who attacked you. I have a gown for you.”
Emma nodded. “My thanks.” A movement from the edge of the doorway caught her attention.
Red hair, bright like a flame, tumbled across the cheek of a young girl she guessed to be five summers. Wide green eyes stared out, a mix of curiosity and shyness.
Emma’s heart melted.
At the bump against her leg, the woman glanced down and smiled. She caught the child’s hand, drew her forward. “This is my daughter, Joneta.”
Clutching a bedraggled doll, the girl stared up at Emma in awe. “Are you a fairy from the Otherworld?”
Unused to children, Cristina fumbled for an answer.
“Aye she is, lass,” Patrik stated as he strode past Emma and knelt before the child. “And who might this bonny lass be?”
Delight sparkled on the girl’s face, overtaking her shy smile. “Joneta.”
He winked. “And a bonny name to match.”
She giggled, and then peered at Emma. “Did she indeed come from the Otherworld?”
“I am not sure,” Patrik replied, “but I suspect so. I found her beneath a lily.”
Her eyes widened further. “Truly?”
“Aye,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “And now that I have found her, I am thinking of keeping her.”
Patrik’s eyes met Emma’s. The truth in them stole her breath.
The girl squirmed in her mother’s hold. “Can I see the fairy?”
“Her name is Cristina,” Patrik said as he stood. “She is a shy one.” The panic in Cristina’s eyes caught him by surprise. The lass had taken a man’s life without hesitation, yet when confronted by a mere child, she stood frozen. His heart softened. ’Twas shame of her tattered gown. Except through the eyes of a child, the torn bits of gown indeed appeared like the magical dress of the fey.
“Joneta,” her mother said. “Go and finish sweeping the floor.”
The girl pursed her lips. “Are you staying the night?” she asked Patrik.
“If you will be having me,” he replied.
She clasped her hands behind her back, rocked to and fro. “And her?”
The imp would steal the stoutest man’s heart. “Aye.”
With a squeal of delight, the lass rushed inside, her flame-red hair bouncing in her wake.
