Alexander’s bellows as he’d run after his brother still echoed in Patrik’s mind. As did the howls of laughter of the knights within the great room, then Duncan’s yell from outside as they’d heard a loud splash. Pride on his face, Alexander had hauled Duncan inside, the younger brother drenched from head to toe.
With his heart heavy, Patrik reached within his pocket, touched the tip of Duncan’s arrow, which he’d kept from the campfire beneath the falls. They’d missed by hours.
Mayhap ’twas for the best. How would he have explained that he lived? And if he had, would Duncan have forgiven him for his attempted murder of his brother’s wife? At the time, he’d allowed his actions to be ruled by hate, at the expense of those he loved. Too late he’d learned that life wasn’t always so clear-cut, and even the noblest intentions could destroy.
“Would you like more to eat?” Marie asked as she held out a slice of bread.
“Nay,” Patrik replied. “The fare was excellent. My thanks.”
“I am full as well,” Cristina added as the woman turned toward her.
“Never have I seen two people eat so little,” Marie tsked.
Red brows rose in mirth as Fergus laughed. “See what the lass puts me through? Forever she is assuring me I should be eating more. The reason I spend so much time cutting logs.”
A scowl carved Marie’s expression, a soft censure filled with naught but love.
Cristina smiled, her face relaxed and golden within the hearth’s glow, and Patrik savored her happiness. The color of the gown drew out the green in her eyes, and he appreciated the intricate braid woven in her hair.
“Will you go hunting on the morrow?” Marie asked her husband.
Shadows flickered across Fergus’s face as his eyes met Patrik’s. “Nae. Before dark, I caught sight of a band of English beyond the burn.” He turned to his wife. “On the morrow, you and Joneta will stay near the house.”
And he and Cristina would take heed in their travels as well, Patrik vowed.
The chair scraped as Fergus stood, then nodded to Patrik. “After your day of travel and with another ahead, you and your wife will be wanting sleep.”
Wife? Patrik opened his mouth to correct the man, but the words fell away. Stunned by how right the crofter’s words sounded, he stared at the woman who had made him feel more than any other lass.
Joneta snuggled her doll at her side, and Cristina smiled, her simple gesture stealing Patrik’s breath. What would it be like to spend each evening with her, to share the strife of the day, or after finishing the chores, to take her to their bed?
The image of her round with his child whispered through his mind, the glow upon her face, the bond formed between them that none could break.
“The loft is where you will be sleeping,” Fergus said, fracturing his thoughts.
Curious as to how Cristina would reply to the Scot’s offer, Patrik ignored her flustered expression.
At Patrik’s silence, heat burned Emma’s cheeks. Why did he not decline the generous offer? They were not wed.
Uneasy, she arched a brow at Patrik, and he gave her a warm smile. The braggart. Fine then. Emma shook her head at the burly Scot. “We will not take your bed.”
“You must,” Fergus said. “We would be taking offence if you did not accept our offer.”
Why did Patrik not say something? Emma sent him another panicked look. “We—”
“Would be thankful,” Patrik finished.
Fergus nodded, then strode to the door and turned. “I will see to the sheep before I head myself to bed.” The door settled behind him with a solid thunk.
Marie sent Emma a knowing smile. Humming, she rose and began clearing the table.
Emma leaned closer to Patrik. “What are you thinking ?” she whispered. “We cannot take their bed.”
Patrik stood. “I will be helping your husband.” With a wink, he headed out the door.
God in heaven. Emma gathered the last trencher. With her hands as full as her thoughts of the oncoming night, she followed the woman outside.
Shame filled her. However wrong it might be, she would not admit the truth either. If she did, she would lose her one last precious night with Patrik.
