Whoever she was, the brothers must have informed this woman of her and Patrik’s arrival, his wounds, as well as any changes in his condition.
“My thanks.” Emma worried her thumb over the tip of her fingers. “My apologies, I wished to see him and thought he was here.”
Warmth caressed the woman’s smile. “Patrik sleeps. On the morrow, he will fare better, but this night he should rest.” The matronly woman set aside her delicate handiwork. “And what of you?”
Nervousness slid through Emma. “What of me?”
“’Tis late to be about, especially for a lass in an unfamiliar castle.” She arched a brow. “Will you return to your chamber this night and find your bed?”
“As you said, it is late. Where else would I go?” But her words fell out too fast, and the food stowed beneath her gown gave evidence of her guilt. Emma caught a glimpse of sadness in the woman’s eyes, as if she knew her thoughts. Impossible.
“Indeed, where else would you go,” the elderly woman agreed. “But beware, secrets are spun in the dark of the night, secrets crafted with innocent intent, but in the end, secrets that could destroy.”
“Sir Alexander has little liking for me,” she said, aware this woman’s beliefs could only have come from him.
Sadness settled upon the elder’s face, aged lines that hinted she’d braved many challenges throughout the years. “Alexander is a lad who bears the hard weight of youth as guilt.” She paused. “As do you.”
Shaken, Emma stepped back. What was going on? This woman could know nothing about her. “It is late.”
“For some the hour grows long,” the woman said, “but the gift of time remains if you so choose.”
If only the choice was so simple. Her time for truths had long since passed. “I am indeed tired,” Emma said. “I am sorry to disturb you.”
“You did not disturb me.” She picked up the embroidery, and Emma caught the outline of wings upon the delicate cloth. The woman smiled. “This was but a task to entertain me until your arrival.”
Shaken, Emma took another step back. “How did you know I would—”
“God’s teeth, what are you doing here?”
At Sir Alexander’s furious voice, Emma spun. Heart pounding, she faced the warrior. “I was looking for Patrik.”
The scar across his left cheek jumped. “Were you?” He scanned the chamber and his scowl deepened.
“I was speaking with . . .” Heat stung her cheeks. She’d forgotten to ask the elderly woman her name. Emma turned. Stilled.
“Who?” Suspicion carved Alexander’s voice.
“An elderly woman. She was sitting before the fire with her embroidery when you arrived.” Emma stared at the empty chamber, her panic growing. Where was she?
Anger tightened his face. “There is not a stick of wood within the hearth.”
As if she could not see that? God in heaven, where had the woman gone? “There was a fire. I swear it.”
Sir Alexander snorted in disbelief. “Truth, you were outside your room. When you heard me coming up the turret, you ran and hid in this chamber believing you were safe.”
“ No.”
“Why do I find myself not believing you?” His gaze cut past her, widened. “By my sword!” He strode past her.
Emma turned.
Near the bed, Sir Alexander stared at a bowl. Inside, sat two halved gemstones. Framed within the rough exterior of one half, she recognized the pale green sweep of color, a shade that darkened to a deep, tumultuous olive hue at its center. A gemstone identical to the one Patrik wore around his neck; a gemstone that had warmed within her hand when she’d touched it. The stone was a potent reminder of the love she and Patrik had made.
On unsteady legs, she moved closer, studied the other halved gem at its side. Though similar in size, this gemstone held a mixture of gray and stark yellow. Never had she seen such an unusual mix.
Sir Alexander whirled, his face pale. “I will take you to your chamber.”
With cold silence he guided her from the chamber, but his emotional turmoil was clear. Before she stepped from the room, a flicker of light from the ceiling had her glancing up. Sadness creased the fairies’ faces that had shimmered with happiness moments before.
