A young man inside the entry bowed. “My lady.”
The countess nodded. “Master William, please leave us. After a short while you may return.”
“Yes, my lady.” The young man hurried out.
“He serves the healer and remains to ensure Patrik’s fever does not return,” Lady Linet explained. “I hope you think me not rude, but there are duties I must see to.”
“I understand,” Emma said, thankful to see Patrik, more so to have time with him alone.
“Do not stay too long. Patrik needs to rest.”
“I will not, my lady.”
With a smile, the countess turned and walked down the corridor.
On edge, Emma slipped inside and closed the door. When she caught sight of Patrik asleep in his bed, she stilled. Bruises marred his handsome face, his paleness told her the fever had indeed taken its toll. But he lived, and for that she was grateful. Aching to speak with him, she remained silent. After all he had endured, she could not wake him.
With quiet steps, she walked to the bed and sat in a chair at its side. Hand trembling, she laid her palm against his cheek. Cool. Thank God. She stroked his stubbled skin.
If only she did not have to leave him. Her hand stilled. What if she told Patrik the truth? She removed her hand. No, he would never forgive her intended betrayal. It was best if she left.
“I will miss you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But you would never understand.” She swallowed hard. “I cannot stay.” Heart aching, Emma leaned forward, pressed her mouth gently upon his lips. “I love you.”
Her entire body trembled as she stood. Emma stared down one last time at the man she loved, at the man who would forever hold her heart. Mayhap it was best if he slept.
Cristina’s emotion-torn words echoed in Patrik’s mind like a gift. She loved him. He ached to tell her that he loved her as well, to draw her to him and make love, except her softly whispered intent to leave severed his reply. And after agreeing to his brothers’ plan to discover Cristina’s loyalties, he had no choice.
The soft sound of steps alerted him she was leaving. “Cristina?”
She turned, her face pale, her eyes still bright with unshed tears.
“I did not hear you.” The lie sat upon his tongue like curdled milk.
“You were asleep when I entered. I did not want to disturb you.”
He held out his hand; she walked over and laid her trembling fingers within his. “What is wrong?” But he knew, damn her—she was going to leave.
“I was worried about you,” she said.
“Sit beside me.”
Cristina glanced at the door. “I should not.”
“We will not be bothered.”
“You look better.”
“Clean, you mean. The bruises will fade.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. “You are crying?”
“I-I have been worried about you.”
“There is no need now, is there, lass?”
She sniffed. “No. Forgive me, I am being foolish.”
If only it was so simple. “Are you sure there is nothing more upsetting you?”
For a split second panic flashed in her eyes. Then a brittle smile wobbled on her face. “No, I am just tired.”
