Tears burned her eyes, but she pushed them away. This was war. What the English delivered this day but a token of what her betrayal of Patrik would bring. At thoughts of her vow to Sir Cressingham, nausea swirled in her gut.
Joneta buried her face against Emma’s neck, the child’s tears hot against her skin. “I want Mama.”
“I know.” At least the girl’s parents lived. Joneta didn’t yet understand that family was the greatest gift, a treasure neither time nor money could buy. Emma knelt and set the girl before her on a moss-coated rock. In a deft move, she removed the arrow from the doll and handed it back to the child. “We will take you to—”
The thrum of hooves rumbled. Branches cracked.
Emma looked back. She swept Joneta into her arms. “More knights!”
Patrik took in the oncoming riders. His body relaxed. “’Tis the rebels. We are safe.” But as the riders closed on them, his face paled.
If they were safe, then what was wrong? “Patrik?”
“Say naught,” he whispered.
On edge, Emma set the child down. “Joneta, go behind the tree. Hide there until I tell you to come out.”
“Nae,” Patrik said, pain edging his voice, “she is—” He blanched, pressed his shoulder. “—in no danger.”
From the conviction on his face, it was a fact he believed. So why did she detect a hint of dread? Uneasy, Emma lifted Joneta into her arms.
“Do you know them?” she asked, keeping her voice calm for the sake of the child.
A muscle worked in his jaw.
Hoof beats grew closer.
Patrik wove, stumbled back into the shadows and caught himself on a branch.
“Patrik—”
“I am fine.”
He wasn’t, damn him. Emma turned.
Leaves scraped as a massive knight wove through the stand of trees upon a black steed. He drew to a halt. Piercing green eyes riveted upon the child in her arms, then shifted to Emma.
“We were told you would be here,” the man stated, “with a girl.”
The power of his gaze shook her; he possessed an aura of complete authority. Black hair framed the harsh lines of his face, tumbled over well-muscled shoulders. But the professional in her focused on his sword, exquisite in its simplicity, the understated design one crafted by a master.
Emma glanced toward his shield; its design was a blue canton, along with a sword bendways on its point and supporting an imperial crown proper. The coat of arms of the Earl of MacGruder. A shiver ran through her. Was this the noble Patrik had recognized? Did he know the MacGruders? Were they friends? Unsure of anything, she nodded.
Sticks cracked as another warrior, his hair as black as the first man’s, rode up and halted to the left of the formidable knight. A menacing scar ran across his left cheek. Eyes as hard as they were fierce fell upon her, then shifted to the noble at his side.
“I see you have found the lass and child,” the second man said.
“Did you find them?” another man called, his burr a touch lyrical. A third knight rode into view, his blond hair streaked with mud, and his face etched with sweat, blood, and confidence. His steed snorted as he drew to a halt on the right of the noble.
Eyes as dark as the devil’s own watched her. “Aye,” the noble replied.
Emma stepped forward. “The child is fine,” she said, praying Patrik was indeed correct to give these men his trust. “But she is not the one needing your help.”
The fierce knights glanced toward her side, frowned. “Whoever is hidden beyond, step forward.”
Surprised by his request, she turned, then understood. Where Patrik stood, he was partially shielded by the trees.
“Lass, who hides beyond?” the blond-haired man asked, his deep burr firm but soothing.
