“I am unsure.” He remembered his brothers’ talk of the halved gemstone and the woman each had married. Nay, he’d tell her naught. It mattered little as Cristina had left his halved gemstone in their grandmother’s room untouched.
“There is a match to it in the chamber above,” she said.
Alexander’s tale of finding her in the tower chamber echoed through Patrik’s mind as well as his brother’s suspicions. “Aye, the room belongs to our grandmother. When each of us was knighted, she gifted us a halved gemstone. This is malachite. It is said to nourish inner peace.” He remembered his turbulent childhood, his struggles since then. Aye, their grandmother had been wise in her choosing. Even his meeting of Cristina had been filled with strife.
The bells of Terce echoed outside.
Her face paled.
“What is wrong?”
“It is growing late.”
“ ’Tis but midmorning.” At the flicker of panic on her face, he understood. Even after they’d made love, it had changed naught. She intended to leave. Grief tore through him, shattered the fragments of his hopes, dreams he’d dared.
Dreams of a fool.
Anger trampled upon the hurt. His brothers’ suspicions again rose to mind. Nay, he still believed them wrong, believed she would never share rebel secrets with their enemy.
Patrik damned his last role in this heart-wrenching act. On with it, lad. She loves you. After she leaves, you can find her again and help with whatever struggles she is battling. Now ’tis important to prove to your brothers she is a woman they can trust.
On a sigh Patrik shifted, allowed the covers to roll aside, and bumped the rolled leather. The writ fell off the bed and dropped to the floor.
Cristina’s eyes riveted upon the stained bound leather.
With a groan, he picked up the missive, set it upon the edge of the table. He didn’t miss how her gaze lingered upon the writ a moment too long.
Nae, please let me prove them wrong. “Stay with me,” he whispered. At the hesitation in her eyes, hope ignited. She would remain, the writ and whatever its importance discarded.
A long second passed.
Sadness shadowed the warmth within her eyes. “I cannot. Besides,” she said with false brightness ringing in her voice, “the lad sent to sit with you will return any moment.” Cristina pulled the covers away, her naked body gleaming.
Heart aching, he prayed that when she left, it was with an empty hand. But, indeed the time for truth had come. “I am tired.”
“You did over much.”
“Mayhap.” He forced a smile. “But it was well worth any damage caused.” Patrik drew her against him. Angst swirled in his throat. Let him be wrong. He prayed she was just a lass struggling to feel again, not a spy after the writ. On a sigh, he closed his eyes, feigned sleep.
Long moments passed. The clash of knights in practice outside echoed in the distance. A summer breeze kicked up, its silken flow sifting into the chamber to sweep across his flesh.
He didn’t move.
“Patrik?” Cristina whispered.
He remained silent, made not a movement, nothing to betray that he was alert.
“Patrik, are you awake?”
Do not touch the writ, he silently willed. In this let my brothers be proven wrong.
The bed shifted. Coldness brushed his skin where she’d lain. The soft pad of her steps grew distant, then paused. A scrape, then a soft creek. The door closed with a gentle thud.
With a prayer the writ remained, Patrik slowly opened his eyes. Pulse racing, he glanced toward the table, and his heart broke.
The writ was gone.
Outrage mixed with pain. Bedamned, he would catch her. Patrik shoved himself up. Dizziness swamped him. Gritting his teeth, he fought the wave of blackness.
