“When we found the lass,” Alexander replied, “she was in the forest with the crofter’s child. Patrik was with her, but trees shielded him from our view. When I saw Patrik—” Memories stormed Alexander’s mind. He clenched his fists, the taste of anger still fresh. “—I lost my head, jumped off my mount and began to beat him.” He shook his head. “A fact I am not proud of, but all I could think was how he’d tried to kill Nichola.”
Red slashed Griffin’s cheeks. “Understandable.”
“Nay, you do not understand,” Alexander said, wanting him to comprehend the wrong he’d committed. “I cared not that Patrik’s sparring with the English had left him seriously injured, or that he staggered before me, or that his body lay bruised and stained with his blood. I attacked. Brutally. At that moment, I wanted Patrik dead.” He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them. “God’s teeth. I tried to kill my own brother.”
“You did,” Griffin replied, his voice somber, “what any man in your position would have done. What I would have tried as well.”
Alexander fisted his hands at his sides. “That does not make my actions right.”
“No,” Griffin agreed, “but it makes you a man, one who loves his wife, one who stops at nothing to protect what is his.” He paused. “What about the woman?”
His body still trembling with emotion, Alexander unfurled his hands. “After I began hitting Patrik, instead of screaming as most lasses would, Mistress Cristina jumped upon my back and started to strangle me, her grip sure.”
“After the years the English have ravaged Scotland, torched its towns and slaughtered its people,” Griffin said, “why would you find a woman who knows how to protect herself odd?”
“I should agree,” Alexander replied, “and I find myself trying to dismiss my worries. But en route to Lochshire Castle, I caught her trying to slip away.”
Seathan’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you not tell me this before?”
“What? That I saw the lass climbing toward the back of a wagon holding Patrik’s water pouch? That at my words she jumped as if a thief caught?” Alexander grunted. “I should have allowed her to climb from the wagon and gained proof of my suspicions. Now, I have naught to base my claim upon but her reaction and the feeling that something about the lass is amiss.”
“Mayhap,” Seathan said. “But instinct often saves a warrior’s life.”
Alexander glanced at Patrik. “Curious I will be to hear his thoughts on the lass.”
“As I.” Duncan frowned. “Remember when Patrik stood within the bailey apologizing to Nichola, how he was barely able to stand? Remember how the lass defended him like a she-wolf would her cub?”
“She is knowledgeable as well,” Alexander added, “and speaks as if schooled. She claims no lineage, but whatever she is, it is far from common.”
Griffin arched a brow. “You believe she is of noble birth?”
“When we first found her,” Seathan explained, “she wore a gown befitting gentry. She explained the dress was a gift and she but a commoner.”
“I am confused,” Griffin said. “Aside from Patrik saving her life, what significance does this woman hold?”
“The lass,” Alexander grumbled as he eyed his brother-in-law, “is in love with Patrik.”
Flames flickering within the hearth greeted Emma as she opened her eyes. On a yawn, she glanced out the window. Stars splashed the sky, shimmers of light as if a thousand wishes cast.
Stars?
The hand-spun blanket tumbled down the bed as she shot upright. She’d slept the entire day! By now she’d meant to be long gone.
And what of Patrik? Had he succumbed to fever? Was he recovering and lost deep within a healing sleep?
A plate of food sat upon a nearby table. Guilt crowded her as she stood, stowed the fare in a small sack and secured it beneath her gown. Before she departed, she must know how Patrik fared, see him one last time.
Heart aching, she walked toward the door.
Stopped.
Lady Linet’s careful refusal to allow her to see Patrik echoed in her mind as did Lord Grey’s whispered words to his wife. No, if she sought permission to see Patrik, she would not be welcome. So she would not ask.
After Patrik’s previous attempt to kill Sir Alexander’s wife, would his chamber be guarded? Or, had his apology this day swayed Lord Grey? If any, ’twas her chamber that should be guarded.
Emma walked to the entry. Hand trembling, she inched open the wood door.
Torchlight illuminated the corridor, the flicker of flames falling upon mounted tapestries along with ancient weapons of war. Not a guard in sight.
