Heart pounding, Emma fought for calm, focused her attention on cleaning, then covering yet another of Patrik’s wounds. Had any of the men recognized her from one of her previous missions into Scotland? In her outrage, had her English accent slipped out? No, if his brothers had any suspicions, with their brutal frankness, they would have confronted her by now.
She took a calming breath, moved on to Patrik’s next injury. They knew not that she worked for Sir Cressingham.
Sir Cressingham.
Her vow to the treasurer of the English administration seemed a blur. Her plan to gain Patrik’s confidence, discover who within King Edward’s circle betrayed him, take the writ, slip away, and erase Patrik from her mind had sorely gone awry.
Emotion swelled in her throat. But then, she’d not known love.
In love with a Scot. In love with the man she was paid to betray. Could she indeed follow through on her mission? If not, what of Sir Cressingham’s fury? What of the men who he would pay to hunt her down? But, if she did, what of Patrik’s outrage when he learned the truth?
Weariness poured through her. She needed to calm down, to think of a strategy, her strength in the past. After battling the two English knights to save Joneta, then finding Patrik seriously wounded, her thoughts were running wild.
“Lass,” Lord Grey said, his deep burr ripe with concern. “Are you well?”
Heat stroked Emma’s face. She knotted the last strip of cloth. “Well, but exhausted.” Far from the truth, but tiredness indeed fed the nightmares strangling her mind. Her limbs shaking, she stood, gave a brief curtsy. “My lord.” A tugging at her gown had her glancing down.
Arms raised, the child’s terrified eyes met hers.
“Oh, Joneta.” Emma lifted the girl into her arms. On a cry, the child pressed her head against the curve of her neck and hid her face. Heart aching, she stroked the girl’s curly locks. Emma met the noble’s gaze. “She is afraid and needs to be with her parents.”
Lord Grey nodded. “Her mother is frantic to see the lass as well.”
Sir Duncan stepped forward. “They can ride with me.”
“Nae, you will be carrying Patrik,” Sir Alexander stated. “They will ride with me.”
Emma shot the arrogant Scot a cold look. “My thanks, Sir Alexander, but given a choice of riding with you, I would rather walk.”
Amusement flickered on Sir Duncan’s face, and Sir Alexander’s expression darkened. The ominous Scot glared at where Patrik lay, then his gaze slid to her. “’Twould seem he has found a woman who deserves him.”
“I am nothis woman.” She angled her jaw. “Patrik saved my life when several English knights were about to rape me.”
Sir Alexander’s face paled. “Forgive me. ’Twould seem I have allowed anger to guide my words.”
Flustered by his apology, she shook her head, clung to her first coherent thought. “You did not know.”
“Enough.” Lord Grey walked over, knelt before his brother. “We will talk more once Patrik is cared for.” He slung Patrik over his shoulder, stood, then strode to his steed.
Emma accompanied Sir Duncan to his mount with Joneta in her arms. At least she rode with the gentler man.
Gentle?
Far from it. Though his voice rumbled with mindsoothing ease, his body was honed for war. She scanned the three warriors. Each man alone was a threat, but together they were a force few could overcome.
And they were Patrik’s brothers.
Each moment in these men’s company invited danger. But she wished to remain at Patrik’s side to ensure he lived.
Look at her acting like a love-struck fool. Where was the mercenary who had plotted to meet Patrik, who had set up a false rape with English knights to gain the rebel’s trust? A shudder rippled through her. She existed, but the woman of before lay buried beneath emotions that had no place in her life.
Joneta’s tiny body trembled in her arms. Emma held her close, understanding her grief, the wetness of her own tears staining her cheeks. She wiped them away. The inability to have Patrik’s love was a penance paid, a penance that would forever haunt her.
Wind caressed the grass as Sir Duncan’s mount broke from the trees, the scent of earth tainted by dregs of smoke.
Emma scanned the hill. Beyond the crosses, flames licked the exposed timbers. No one attempted to put out the fire. Why would they? With the charred outline of the proud timbers but a skeleton, any chance of saving the home was long since lost.
As they neared the scorched remains, Marie came running toward them.
