Unease trickled through Patrik. He lifted his gaze to his brother’s assessing one. “And what name did Bishop Wishart use?”
Cobalt eyes pierced him.
A long second passed.
“Dubh Duer.”
Chapter 14
The creak of wood accompanied each rattle as the wheels of the wagon stumbled through another rut. Emma caught the side of the weathered wood, her other hand upon Patrik’s shoulder to lessen his jolt. Fractured moonlight spilling through a thick layer of clouds exposed the whiteness of Patrik’s face.
The pace Lord Grey had set was grueling despite the thick of the night. With English knights soon to return to where their troops lay slaughtered, the rebel lord’s move was prudent. Emma certainly did not wish to remain and risk any of Sir Cressingham’s returning knights recognizing her.
She laid her palm across Patrik’s brow, frowned when heat met her touch.
“How does he fare?”
At Sir Duncan’s voice, Emma turned. Carved within the swath of moonlight, the brother she’d learned was the youngest rode within a hand’s pace of the wagon.
“He is finally asleep, but his skin grows warmer with each passing hour.”
Duncan frowned as he scanned his brother sprawled atop the bundled clothes. “We are but a few hours from Lochshire Castle. Until we arrive, ensure he has plenty of water.” He nudged his mount into a canter, headed toward where Lord Grey led his men.
She prayed they’d soon arrive. With Patrik’s loss of blood, he’d continued to worsen throughout the night. Each passing hour nursed her fear, and his delay in responding to her questions stoked it further. Duncan’s earlier announcement that they’d sent a man ahead to alert the healer to their arrival underscored his concern.
Gently, she angled Patrik’s head up. Emma held the water pouch against his mouth, helped him take several sips. With care, she laid him back, then sagged against the slats. Each turn of the wheel, each creak of the wagon, fed her nerves.
In the distance, wisps of purple etched a subtle outline of the mountains around them as they continued to climb.
Dawn.
Please God, let them reach Lord Grey’s home soon. Emma stilled. What was she thinking? She didn’t have the luxury of remaining to tend to Patrik. She must escape before they entered the MacGruder fortress.
The writ!
Torn between duty, abandoning her mission and being on the run the rest of her life, she glanced around.
Marie slept near the front of the wagon, Joneta curled against her side with her thumb tucked into her mouth. Fergus rode ahead with Lord Grey’s men. Aside from the knight leading the horses that pulled the wagon, no one else rode nearby.
With ease, she could slip away with the writ before anyone noticed. Guilt swamped her at the thought of stealing the missive from Patrik’s limp body. She should be relieved. Had she not worried about how she would retrieve the document?
But with her feelings for Patrik running so deep, the taking of the writ meant betrayal. As if revealing the rebel tunnel beneath the mountain to Sir Cressingham or the hideout behind the falls did not offer the same?
The wagon jerked, rumbled on. Clouds severed the shards of moonlight and the struggling dawn, casting the forest into an ominous abyss.
Queasy, shrouded in darkness, Emma pushed to her knees. Did she truly have any other choice? If she remained, once Patrik learned the truth, he would hate her.
Hand trembling, hating herself for this damning act, she reached toward Patrik’s tunic to where she’d seen him slip the document beneath.
He groaned.
She pulled back. Another shaft of moonlight flickered through the forest, making his outline a shadow against blackness. God in heaven, why was she hesitating ? He was unconscious; ’twas not as if he was going to catch her. She again reached out, again hesitated.
Emma fisted her hand. She hated this feeling of helplessness, of not wanting to hurt Patrik. But she must retrieve the writ now and escape. Once they were inside Lochshire Castle’s gates, a healer would remain by Patrik’s side and any opportunity to claim the missive would be lost.
Damn the entire situation! Refusing to think further, she lifted Patrik’s tunic. Fingers trembling, Emma slid her hands beneath.
It wasn’t there.
