Frustrated at her wash of emotions, she smothered the upsetting thoughts, the kernels of feeling that made a person weak. She backed against the cool rock. Well she knew the choice in war, the risks taken, as had the knights.
The rebel edged past her, the hewn muscles of his body brushing her arm.
Warmth swept her.
She gasped, moved aside.
He reached over, caught her. “Do not fear me.”
At his soft burr, another burst of warmth swept through her. No, not warmth, awareness. Heart pounding, she froze, stunned. When he’d jumped into the clearing to rescue her, of all the descriptions she’d received, none had prepared her for the impact of the man.
Emma quelled her nerves. Did she not thrive on the tasks others feared? Did she not rush forward when others would retreat? She held not the weakness of caring, or believing that anything but her own decisions guided her life. Too many years had passed since she’d entertained the notion of believing in others.
Or given a damn.
Warm flesh slid over her hand. She tried to ignore the strength in Sir Patrik’s fingers as they curled around her palm. He believed he aided her. With her hatred of closed-in places, in this he did. But no more.
“Come.” He tugged her forward.
“The grass is flattened over here,” a distant voice called with anger.
Hooves rumbled above.
“They will catch us!” she whispered.
“Nay.”
“How can you be so sure? Our footprints on the grass will be seen and followed.”
Ahead of her, Sir Patrik halted. “Wait.” He released her hand. Stone grated. With a grunt, the scrape of stone again fractured the silence.
“What are you doing?”
“A tunnel lies beyond. When they find our entry, we must be within and the entry secured.”
A rebel hideout? A detail she would pass on. “How long is it?” She allowed nervousness to ride her voice, needing him to believe unease inspired her question, which in part was the truth.
“Worry not. I will lead you through it.” Dirt and small stones clattered into the distant opening. Sir Patrik hauled her forward.
A tremor slid through Emma as she half tumbled after him. She refused to think of the spiders or rodents inside, and whatever else lived within this blackened crypt. Thank God they would soon be out of the mind-numbing blackness.
“Wait here,” Sir Patrik whispered.
Stone scraped; he was closing the entry.
Leather padded against earth. Cloth shifted as he moved beside her. His body’s heat enveloped hers. “Say naught.”
“Do you see anything?” a muted voice called from the other side.
Emma jumped.
Patrik laid a calming hand upon the lass. Even if the English searched the burial mound, they would find nothing but stones and the bones of those once loved.
The knights knew naught of the secret rebel passage, a tunnel hewn through the earth into a maze of natural chambers leading to the other side of the ben. By the time he and the lass had reached the northern exit, the knights should be far away, and once he’d left her with friends in a nearby village, he could return to his mission.
He touched the writ secured beneath his tunic and again cursed their delay. Too many lives lay at stake for him to fail.
“Sir Patrik?”
