Page 39 of An Unlikely Knight

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she gave him a shaky smile. Even with a reddened nose and shiny eyes, Erin was beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and hold her. He prayed to have the opportunity before having to leave.

The four men went into the library and settled into comfortable chairs after Tristan closed the doors.

By Liam’s expression, it was obvious what he would impart was not good news. Padriag stood, uncorked a crystal decanter and poured whiskey into a glass, downed it and then served himself another two fingers.

When he sat down, Liam spoke again. “Not everything I saw is exact. However, as we have learned my visions always come to be.”

“I don’t want to know. Not now.” Padriag’s voice shook with emotion.

Just as Liam started to speak, Padriag jumped to his feet and stormed from the room, down the short hallway and out the front door. He kept walking without a destination in mind, unseeing past the sudden blurriness. Tears of frustration slid down his face and he made no effort to brush them away.

Despite the renewed strength coursing through him, Padriag was bone-deep weary. Not just tired in body but hollowed out in spirit.

Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the will to continue fighting. He collapsed onto the grass, letting gravity take over, his back pressing into the earth as if hoping it might absorb some of the ache lodged inside him.

Above him, the sky stretched vast and endless, a tapestry of blue streaked with clouds so soft and white they barely looked real. They floated lazily, like they had all the time in the world. A cruel contrast to the relentless pressure building inside him. The beauty of it struck something raw. There were no skies like this in the other world. No scent of moss, or the subtle, grounding blend of sun-warmed soil and wind-whipped grass.

That world felt sterile. Harsh. Hollow.

But here … here was Scotland. And in this fleeting moment, it was the only place in the world he wanted to be. The sounds, smells of moss and pine with just a hint of salty sea, soothed his weary soul. Reminded him of who he was before everything had fallen apart. He clung to that sense of belonging like a man drowning clings to a raft.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Erin said softly, sinking down to lie beside him with deep breaths that hinted she’d run to catch up. Her breath was quick, chest rising and falling, but her presence was a balm. Quiet. Steady.

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his without another word. And thank God for that, because if she’d said anything more, he might’ve broken and, worse than tears, he feared he might actually sob. So he stayed still, letting her warmth seep into him, breathing in the scent of earth and her and peace.

Minutes passed, how long he didn’t know. Time somehow seemed to soften around them.

Then, with a tenderness that struck deep, Erin nestled against his side, her voice soft, gentle. “I cannot imagine what you’re feeling. What you and the others have endured is beyond cruel. It’s not fair. None of it is. And no one blames you for wanting to stop fighting. You must be so very tired.”

He nodded, a slight jerk of his chin. Tired wasn’t even the word. He was wrecked. Drained. And fed up with Meliot’s twisted games. Every time he thought he could rest, something else ripped peace away.

When Erin pressed her lips to his jaw, his eyes fluttered shut. God, it had been torture not to reach for her last night. Pure willpower had kept him from crossing the line, from taking what his heart had long since claimed. But now, with her hand in his and her lips on his skin, the ache in him deepened. If they had made love, he knew—he knew—he would be lost without her.

Her voice came again, quiet but unwavering, threading through the chaos in his soul like a lifeline.

“Just one more fight, Padriag. Not for anyone else but for you. For your freedom. Dig down deep. Find whatever’s left and help us.”

If only it were that simple. If promises alone could carry him through. His body might just have enough left in it. But his heart? His spirit? He wasn’t so sure.

“I don’t know,” he rasped. “I don’t know if I can.”

She turned his face to hers with gentle fingers, her eyes, those green, expressive long-lashed eyes, piercing straight through his defenses.

“You can,” she said, fierce in her softness. “I know you can.”

And in that moment, words were useless. He reached for her, covering her mouth with his in a kiss that was both surrender and plea. She tasted like hope and something sweeter than mercy. Her arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him closer, her kiss full of fire and devotion. She didn’t need to say another word, he felt it all in the way she held him. She’d fight for him. She already was.

Padriag crushed her against him, needing the warmth of her, the weight of her, the realness. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, he soaked it in, desperate for the reminder that life still held something beautiful.

“Fight for me,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear, her breath sending a shiver through him.

Damn if she didn’t make him feel like he mattered. Like he was still the hero of his own story.

“I will,” he whispered back, though the words came hollow and unsure. He wanted to believe them. Needed to. But truthfully, Padriag wasn’t sure if he could.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way.

It was strange to have a woman’s hand in his, but holding Erin’s was like having an anchor that kept him from floating away.