And failed.
Chapter 18
At the entry to the turret, Emma halted and turned back toward Patrik’s door. Guilt swept her. When she’d accepted this mission from Sir Cressingham, ’twas but a mission like so many others in her past. Once completed, she’d walk away, focus on the next without another thought.
Except from the first Patrik had broken down her defenses. He wasn’t the cold, heartless man she’d expected. With each passing day her resistance toward him had crumbled. Then foolishly, she’d fallen in love.
Images of him asleep moments ago swept through her mind. He believed her a woman he could trust, a lie she’d nurtured to achieve a goal. No, worse than a lie, she’d used his outrage of the English to craft a woman he could not deny.
The writ within her hand burned as if afire.
Emma closed her eyes. The bound parchment represented naught but shame, the emptiness of her life. A life she’d worked hard to build. A life she now detested with her every breath. She fought the surge of panic sweeping her at leaving the man she loved, at her ultimate betrayal.
Tears burned her throat as she turned and started down the turret steps. At the tapestry, she paused. A sad smile touched her mouth. Odd, before she’d found the intricate weave out of place within this formidable stronghold. Now, the fairies made perfect sense to her.
Nor would she have guessed such a formidable man as Lord Grey would soften toward a woman who should be his enemy. Yet somehow he had fallen in love with Lady Linet and claimed her as his wife.
It seemed Sir Alexander, too, had overcome incredible odds to makehis captivehis wife. Though she had not yet heard Sir Duncan’s story of how he’d met and married his wife, she guessed it would match his brothers’ unexpected journeys.
Melancholy swept her. Who would have believed that Lochshire Castle, a rebel fortress that should instill fear, instead inspired hope? But however much she wished to be with Patrik, naught could repair her deception.
She glanced up the spiral steps. Or, could she make amends, at least in part?
If she returned the writ before she departed Lochshire Castle, Patrik would not suspect her treachery. Then she could vanish from his life, and leave at least part of her wrongdoing repaired. When he searched for Cristina Moffat, he would find no one.
As for Sir Cressingham, when she didn’t return, he would label her a traitor and put a price on her head. A risk she was willing to take.
After years of playing different roles, she would craft yet another character, invent a new name, and sail to France. Or, mayhap slip away to Spain. Regardless, she could never return to England or Scotland.
She started toward Patrik’s chamber. Though he could never be hers, she prayed that one day Patrik would find a woman who loved him as he deserved.
Echoes of Sir Alexander’s and Sir Duncan’s voices rose up the turret.
God in heaven, she would never reach Patrik’s chamber in time! Neither could she allow them to find her with the writ. Heart pounding, she ran up the tower steps.
The door to the tower chamber stood open and sunlight flooded the room. Emma halted, a chill sweeping her skin. ’Twas as if their grandmother’s room welcomed her.
“I am far from convinced,” Sir Alexander growled.
“Nor I,” Sir Duncan agreed.
They were coming up! She bolted into the chamber and flattened herself against the wall behind the door. Cool stone pressed against her back as she awaited discovery.
Long seconds passed.
The brothers’ voices faded.
Emma sagged back. They’d entered the corridor on the second floor.
A door creaked. Silence.
Were they with Patrik? No, if they checked on him, they would find him asleep and allow him to rest. Regardless, they were too close to try to return the writ. Now what? She must find a way before she left.
On a shaky exhale, Emma stepped from behind the door. The chamber stood empty, with no sign of the old woman who’d spoken with her the night before. As well, the hearth lay black. Neither ash nor a cold ember sat within.
Had she imagined the woman as well? No, she’d seen the elder, had spoken with her. From Sir Alexander’s stunned expression when she’d described the woman, he’d thought her mad.
Fatigue spilled through Emma and she rubbed her brow. Mayhap she was. At this point she was unsure of anything except the fact that she must go, leave Cristina Moffat behind without a trace.
