At the fear in the lass’s whisper, he set aside his worrisome thoughts. “’Twill be fine.” He drew her against him, found her shaking. After the horrific events of the day, she would be in shock.
Although the situation was dangerous, he tread upon familiar ground. Too well he knew the twisted entertainment of the bastards. Anytime he drew English blood ’twas a day to celebrate.
Men’s voices on the other side of the stone grew louder.
She stiffened against him.
“They have but entered the cairn,” Patrik whispered to offer assurance.
“They will see where you have slid the stone.”
“Nay. The entry to the tunnel is well hidden. After a quick check within the blackness, they will believe that if we indeed hid inside, we remained but a short time.”
Long moments passed. The murmur of angry voices echoed from the other side, a muted curse, grumbles of dissent, then finally, blissful silence.
Patrik released a sigh.
“They are gone?”
“For now. When they find no other tracks leading away, they will return. By then, we will be long gone.” And the rebels’ secret passage would remain safe from English eyes. He hesitated. After saving the lass this day, would she expose the escape route? Under the circumstances, he believed not. Still, he would watch her.
Patrik released her and stood. “Wait here.”
“What are you doing?”
“If the knights return with torches, I must ensure that any trace of our passage within the cairn is erased.” With quick, efficient movements, he slid his hands up the wall until he felt the candle and the mound of dried grass placed there. He withdrew his dagger and flint. In seconds a flame sprang to life. Patrik lit the wick.
Yellow light from his candle flickered, then grew in the blackness, exposing the time-worn walls, the layer of uneven dirt around them and the tunnels beyond.
She gasped. “There are numerous tunnels.”
“Aye.” He smothered the fire, then replaced the remaining tinder for future travelers. “Anyone entering must know the route or they will become lost.”
Beneath the flickering light, her face paled.
“Do nae worry, lass. I am well familiar with the passages.” She appeared far from convinced. “Stay here. I will be but a moment.”
He shoved the stone aside, quickly retraced their steps and swept away any sign of their passage. Thankful to have finished the task, he slid the stone into place.
Candlelight flickered in the gloom, the soft, pungent scent of the tallow melding with the musty air. He extended his hand. “Come.” Cristina stared up at him, the wariness on her dirt- and flame-smeared face easy to read. “Unless you wish to remain here?”
She scrambled to her feet. The tattered gown hung on her like a crude joke, a harsh reminder of her perils this day, and a sober warning to be gentle with her.
Well he knew of the hurt within, of the time needed to find stable ground when one’s life lay destroyed. Memories of the MacGruders, whom he’d once claimed as family, of a surname he no longer used, to keep hidden, rose to the forefront of his mind. He stowed the hurt, the ache of three brothers lost, fellow rebels who for the year past believed him dead.
A belief for the best.
His thoughtless actions had severed their tie, had destroyed a bridge that could not be rebuilt. But that knowledge did not end his desire to be with his adoptive family. Bedamned. Why did he think of his past, or wish for bonds lost? The memories would invite but further misery.
Patrik focused on the woman, on what for this moment he could control. “We are safe.”
Skeptical eyes studied him. “Why did you save me?”
He frowned. “Is the reason not easy to understand?”
“The English roam Scotland, butchering in the name of their king. No one is safe to interfere in their actions, regardless of the brutality served.” She hesitated. “You could have easily ignored my situation.”
“Why would I have left you at the mercy of those who have none?” Patrik studied this woman who looked as if created by the fey, but viewed the world with a warrior’s eye.
