Drizzle saturated the air and clouds hung low, the dismal setting adding an ominous intensity to the landscape below.
Apprehension swept through her. It was easy to imagine Lord Grey ruling these unforgiving lands, a man backed by his brothers, rebels who cultivated their own brand of respect.
When she’d first met Patrik, she’d thought him intimidating, a man unlike most. Now, she realized his wit, strength, and intensity had been honed by his family. He belonged in this ruthless land, was hewn from its soil, its blood.
Whereas, she belonged nowhere.
Somber, she took in the single road. The only way in.
Or out.
Movement upon the distant wall walk caught her attention. Guards making their rounds, guards who ensured the castle’s protection, who would ensure she did not escape.
Coldness slipped through Emma, and she rubbed her hands upon her arms.
“’Tis Lochshire Castle,” Sir Alexander stated.
Emma stiffened. “’Tis magnificent.” And intimidating—a fact he well knew. She scanned the hewn walls, quarried stone that had taken enormous effort to haul to this strategic location. “It appears of Norman influence.”
He grunted. “You have a good eye. Indeed, ’twas crafted by the Normans, and passed through the generations since.” Pride etched his voice, that of a man backed by family, a man who knew his roots.
Roots at odds with the emptiness she called her life. She settled near Patrik, wished for a taste of such a bond. No, with the mire of her life, the deceit and the lies, such a dream was impossible.
“Are we almost there?” Joneta asked, the girl’s voice groggy with sleep.
Marie sent a tired look toward Emma, then brushed her daughter’s cheek with a tender hand. “Aye.”
As if she were a colt trying out its newfound legs, Joneta shoved herself up and peered out. Eyes wide with excitement, she turned to Emma. “Look, a castle!”
Emma forced a smile.
“It is so huge!” The girl all but danced in the wagon. She scanned the thick woods. “Are there dragons?”
“No dragons, lass,” Sir Alexander replied, the gentleness of his voice catching Emma by surprise. If asked, she would have doubted a gentler side to this fierce knight existed. ’Twould seem his terse manner was reserved for those he did not trust.
On edge, she laid her hand upon Patrik’s brow. Sweat coated his face, pale with hints of a fever. Thank God they would soon reach a healer.
The crest of the hill grew smaller as they traveled down the steep slope, the trees of the forest giving way to fields. At the rough grate of wheels upon stone, she braced herself, aware they traversed the causeway to Lochshire Castle.
“Cristina?”
At Patrik’s gravelly voice, Emma glanced down. Hazel eyes, drugged with pain and exhaustion, watched her.
Her chest constricted with the love this man inspired. She slid a stray lock from his brow. “How fare thee?”
“My th-throat,” he whispered.
“Here.” Water sloshed as she helped him take a sip.
With a cough, he pulled away, dropped his head against the cloth-tied bundle. “How far un-until we reach Lochshire Castle?”
“So you are awake then,” Alexander said.
At his brother’s voice, Patrik turned his head. He grimaced. “So it would seem.”
Alexander grunted. “Sleep and a meal will serve you well.”
They would, but at the moment, neither was his biggest concern. “Nichola will be there.” The words stumbled out, but Patrik needed to say her name, prepare himself for the upcoming meeting, her justif ied anger.
