Chapter 2 #2
“Sir Patrik?”
At the fear in the lass’s whisper, he set aside his worrisome thoughts. “’Twill be fine.” He drew her against him, found her shaking. After the horrific events of the day, she would be in shock.
Although the situation was dangerous, he tread upon familiar ground. Too well he knew the twisted entertainment of the bastards. Anytime he drew English blood ’twas a day to celebrate.
Men’s voices on the other side of the stone grew louder.
She stiffened against him.
“They have but entered the cairn,” Patrik whispered to offer assurance.
“They will see where you have slid the stone.”
“Nay. The entry to the tunnel is well hidden. After a quick check within the blackness, they will believe that if we indeed hid inside, we remained but a short time.”
Long moments passed. The murmur of angry voices echoed from the other side, a muted curse, grumbles of dissent, then finally, blissful silence.
Patrik released a sigh.
“They are gone?”
“For now. When they find no other tracks leading away, they will return. By then, we will be long gone.” And the rebels’ secret passage would remain safe from English eyes.
He hesitated. After saving the lass this day, would she expose the escape route?
Under the circumstances, he believed not. Still, he would watch her.
Patrik released her and stood. “Wait here.”
“What are you doing?”
“If the knights return with torches, I must ensure that any trace of our passage within the cairn is erased.” With quick, efficient movements, he slid his hands up the wall until he felt the candle and the mound of dried grass placed there.
He withdrew his dagger and flint. In seconds a flame sprang to life. Patrik lit the wick.
Yellow light from his candle flickered, then grew in the blackness, exposing the time-worn walls, the layer of uneven dirt around them and the tunnels beyond.
She gasped. “There are numerous tunnels.”
“Aye.” He smothered the fire, then replaced the remaining tinder for future travelers. “Anyone entering must know the route or they will become lost.”
Beneath the flickering light, her face paled.
“Do nae worry, lass. I am well familiar with the passages.” She appeared far from convinced. “Stay here. I will be but a moment.”
He shoved the stone aside, quickly retraced their steps and swept away any sign of their passage. Thankful to have finished the task, he slid the stone into place.
Candlelight flickered in the gloom, the soft, pungent scent of the tallow melding with the musty air. He extended his hand. “Come.” Cristina stared up at him, the wariness on her dirt- and flame-smeared face easy to read. “Unless you wish to remain here?”
She scrambled to her feet. The tattered gown hung on her like a crude joke, a harsh reminder of her perils this day, and a sober warning to be gentle with her.
Well he knew of the hurt within, of the time needed to find stable ground when one’s life lay destroyed.
Memories of the MacGruders, whom he’d once claimed as family, of a surname he no longer used, to keep hidden, rose to the forefront of his mind.
He stowed the hurt, the ache of three brothers lost, fellow rebels who for the year past believed him dead.
A belief for the best.
His thoughtless actions had severed their tie, had destroyed a bridge that could not be rebuilt. But that knowledge did not end his desire to be with his adoptive family. Bedamned. Why did he think of his past, or wish for bonds lost? The memories would invite but further misery.
Patrik focused on the woman, on what for this moment he could control. “We are safe.”
Skeptical eyes studied him. “Why did you save me?”
He frowned. “Is the reason not easy to understand?”
“The English roam Scotland, butchering in the name of their king. No one is safe to interfere in their actions, regardless of the brutality served.” She hesitated. “You could have easily ignored my situation.”
“Why would I have left you at the mercy of those who have none?” Patrik studied this woman who looked as if created by the fey, but viewed the world with a warrior’s eye.
“I assure you, not every Scot would have cared about a woman alone. Not all men live with honor.”
Eyes as angry as cynical watched him, searched his as if seeking a sign of deception. Saint’s breath, someone had hurt her terribly, beyond that of the violence served this day. “Any who would turn from a woman in need is a coward, or in bed with the English. Neither of which I tolerate.”
At his words, her body relaxed. “I share your dislike of traitors to our country.”
He nodded. “Aye, they will soon learn they have made a grave error. Those true to Scotland will fight until our country is free.”
A smile flickered, then faltered upon her face. Cristina lowered her eyes, then looked up from beneath thick lashes. “Without your aid . . .” Her body trembled. “I am sorry.”
“Do not be. You have suffered much this day.”
“I—” She shook her head.
Bedamned! Patrik stepped over and drew her against him, the touch, the softness of her body a foreign luxury, one he’d long denied himself.
He ignored the awareness, the needs she inspired and held her close.
The lass needed comfort, to find belief in good, to understand that not all men were bastards driven by carnal lust.
He stroked her hair. “Let the tears come, lass. They need to be shed.”
After a long moment, on a shaky sigh, Cristina stepped from his hold. Tears glistened in her eyes, but none shimmered upon her cheeks. “I am sorry. Long since have I learned crying solves nothing and betrays weaknesses held.”
A belief of his as well. Then again, she was a lass. He gave her a gentle smile. “It has been a trying day.” Aye, the lass had endured much, but before him she held her own. Who was this woman? Though she was a lass, she reminded him of himself.
Neither could he understand why she was alone in a forest thick with the English. “Come.” Patrik started forward. His questions would be answered. Too much lay at risk to allow them to go unasked.
They strode by a rough column of stone that speared the low ceiling, one of many cluttered within the maze of caverns. The uneven splay of dirt upon the floor played accomplice to the time-worn cylinders, awkward pillars that crafted eerie shadows in the candle’s flickering light.
He inhaled the cool air, infused with the faint scent of tallow. “Once we depart the tunnel, I will take you to friends.”
Her steps at his side slowed. “Friends? Can I not go home?”
His chest squeezed tight. Of course. With her beauty, Cristina would have long since wed. “Worry not, my friends will ensure you are reunited with your husband.”
In the muted light, the flicker of flame exposed her distress. “My hu-husband?”
“What is it?” From the fresh pain within her voice, the stiff set of her frame, he knew.
And prayed he was wrong.