Marie laughed. “Never do I know what my daughter will say.” She turned to Cristina and her expression grew somber. “These days, rarely do we see anyone aside from the English. ’Twill be nice having another woman to talk to. Come inside when you are ready.” She entered her home.
Cristina’s fingers worried the side of her tattered gown. “Do you know them?”
“Nae.” He caught her hand, rubbed his thumb along the soft curve at her palm.
She pulled away, shot a nervous glance toward the doorway. “Then how can you trust them?”
He caught her hand again, held firm. “They are Scots. ’Tis our way to help each other without question.” A fact she should know. Then again, Cristina had said she’d never heard of the fey. Saint’s breath, the lass was a confusing mix. “Come.” He drew her with him as he entered the crofter’s hut. The rich scent of simmering venison greeted them as did the fragrance of onions and herbs.
The woman smiled. “We are having stew. Fergus killed a roebuck yesterday. Lucky you are.”
“Aye,” Patrik agreed, but Cristina’s face had paled. Why? Outside, he’d believed her withdrawal was due to her embarrassment at the ragged state of her gown as well as his having informed Fergus and Marie of the English knight’s attack. But then, she’d floundered beneath the attention of the little girl.
Until this moment, they’d traveled alone. Now, he suspected there was more to her awkwardness. After the fractured life of the orphanage, had Cristina’s husband kept her secluded, not allowed her to meet or befriend others?
It would explain much. ’Twould seem her husband’s attention was little more than that of a rutting boar. Her innocence in the art of making love proved he’d neither given her proper attention, nor ensured that she found her pleasure.
What other cruelties had the lass endured beneath her husband’s hand? ’Twas fine with him that the bastard lay rotting beneath the earth. A man who treated a woman so poorly deserved no better.
They would remain here but one night. Another gown would give her confidence, but mayhap the next few hours around a family would show her another side of life, one with laughter, sincerity, and kindness. He wished he could give her more, but on the morrow their time together would end.
The thought of leaving Cristina left an emptiness in his heart. His heart? Nae, that he could never give. Too many challenges lay ahead. Even without the uncertainty of war, his personal life remained a mire.
He grimaced. Mire was an understatement when he thought of his relationship to the men he desperately wished to reclaim as brothers. Did the possibility of rebuilding a bond with the MacGruders exist?
Patrik gave an inner shake. Now was not the time for such musings. “I will go and help your husband with the wood. ’Tis thankful we are for the night’s lodging.”
A blush spread across Marie’s cheeks. “The pleasure is ours.”
With a nod, Patrik left.
The woman wiped the sweat from her brow, set the cloth on a nearby peg to dry. She shot a worried glance at Emma. “How fare thee?”
She spoke of the supposed near rape. “I am fine.” The lie twisted in Emma’s gut.
Marie nodded. “Come, let me give you the gown.”
“I appreciate your generosity.”
“Nonsense, ’tis an offer I am happy to make.” The sturdy woman dug through a stack of gowns folded neatly within a trunk. “Here is the one I was searching for.” She withdrew a soft green gown embroidered with gold threads at the neck. “My mum gave this to me when I was younger.” A smile curved her mouth as she laid her hand upon her stomach. “After several babes, it no longer fits, nor do I believe it ever will. I was going to use scraps of it to begin sewing a blanket, but I would much rather see it worn.”
The beauty of the garb stunned Emma. Never had she owned anything so regal. “I will be traveling. A gown so fine is far from befitting such use.”
“’Tis better than sitting in the dark and collecting regrets.”
Emma longed to touch the intricate weave, the beautiful workmanship. “If you are sure?”
The woman’s smile widened. Marie held out the gown. “Try it on.”
Moments later Emma ran her hand along the delicate embroidery, following the pattern of leaves.
“I was right, the gown is a fine color for you.” Marie sighed. “To think I once fit into it, but I doubt I ever looked so well.” She paused. “Would you mind if I fixed your hair?”
Emma hesitated. Never had a woman paid her any attention, unless as a child to be scolded.
“I have embarrassed you,” Marie said. “’Twas not my intent.”
Touched, Emma gave her a shy smile. “No, ’tis only that I am without words to repay your kindness.”
