Chapter 12
Emma stared in disbelief at Patrik, who lay sprawled on the ground. “They believed you dead?”
“Aye,” Patrik rasped, “a fate I deserved.”
Her entire body quivering, she glanced at the massive warrior looming over Patrik.
A muscle jumped beneath the scar carved across the knight’s left cheek.
His mistaken belief that Patrik had died mattered not to her.
He was severely injured and had lost too much blood.
Whoever this knight was, he would not touch Patrik again.
Furious, she struggled to break free. “One would think men Patrik believed would help us would be pleased to find out that he lives.”
Firm hands held her tight.
“Let me go!” she demanded.
The warrior above Patrik turned. Cobalt eyes held hers, narrowed with evaluation. He nodded.
Without hesitation, the men’s strong grip loosened.
Free, she rushed to Patrik’s side and knelt. Fresh bruises lay atop those darkening to an ugly purple. She glared at the fierce knight whose gaze held hers without apology. “Touch him again and I will kill you.”
Surprise flickered upon the warrior’s face; then shrewd eyes studied her, his mouth tightening another degree.
Patrik gave a rough cough, shoved himself up on his elbows, trembled. “Alexander, the lass who is threatening to kill you is Mistress Cristina.”
The intimidating knight’s eyes cut to Patrik. His nostrils flared. “How can you be alive? I saw you die!”
A shiver cut through Emma as she tended to Patrik’s shoulder. “How could he have watched you die?”
Regret settled on Patrik’s bloodied face. He scanned the men before him. “Th-The lass knows nothing.”
Nothing? She tore a strip from her gown, secured it atop a deep wound. What in God’s name was going on? “If you have not noticed,” Emma said, amazed at the control of her voice, “Patrik is seriously injured. With so much blood lost, I am unsure how he still breathes.”
The knight introduced as Alexander offered little compassion.
Anger flared within her at the knight’s silence. “I know you not but—”
“Brothers,” Patrik whispered. “They are my brothers.”
“Brothers?” Her hands stilled upon another torn strip of her gown. His name was Patrik Cleary, not MacGruder. Sir Cressingham had told her so, as had Patrik when they’d first met. How could they be brothers?
Fighting for calm, she noted a resemblance between the three newcomers, but little to Patrik. But, with no man disagreeing, it must be true.
God in heaven! The MacGruders were known, feared by the English. And Patrik was their brother?
“My full name,” Patrik said, “is Patrik Cleary MacGruder. After th-they believed me dead, I no longer used the surname MacGruder.”
“The arrow you found in the cave?” she asked.
“’Tis Duncan’s,” Patrik replied.
The blond-headed man gave her a curt nod.
“Brothers?” The fierce knight grunted. “He deserves not the claim.”
Emma narrowed her eyes at the fierce warrior, her shock smothered by anger, regardless of his name. “He should not talk.”
“He is lucky talk is all he receives,” the formidable knight stated.
“Cristina, me-meet Sir Alexander,” Patrik whispered.
The black-haired man’s hard eyes fixed on her. He nodded.
The noble strode forward, his green eyes clear, their intensity unnerving. “Seathan MacGruder, Earl of Grey.” He nodded at Patrik. “Aye, you have the right of it; he should not be speaking.”
Words failed her. God in heaven! This powerful Scottish lord and personal advisor to William Wallace, a man as well respected as feared, was Patrik’s brother? Aside from those who led the rebellion, only two men had ever attained such a revered status, Wulfe and Dubh Duer.
Except Wulfe and Dubh Duer were men who shielded their identity behind the fable of a name. From Sir Cressingham she knew Patrik was Dubh Duer. Whispers claimed Wulfe was an English lord who had joined the Rebel cause.
Heart pounding, Emma fought for calm, focused her attention on cleaning, then covering yet another of Patrik’s wounds.
Had any of the men recognized her from one of her previous missions into Scotland?
In her outrage, had her English accent slipped out?
No, if his brothers had any suspicions, with their brutal frankness, they would have confronted her by now.
She took a calming breath, moved on to Patrik’s next injury. They knew not that she worked for Sir Cressingham.
Sir Cressingham.
Her vow to the treasurer of the English administration seemed a blur. Her plan to gain Patrik’s confidence, discover who within King Edward’s circle betrayed him, take the writ, slip away, and erase Patrik from her mind had sorely gone awry.
Emotion swelled in her throat. But then, she’d not known love.
In love with a Scot. In love with the man she was paid to betray. Could she indeed follow through on her mission? If not, what of Sir Cressingham’s fury? What of the men who he would pay to hunt her down? But, if she did, what of Patrik’s outrage when he learned the truth?
Weariness poured through her. She needed to calm down, to think of a strategy, her strength in the past. After battling the two English knights to save Joneta, then finding Patrik seriously wounded, her thoughts were running wild.
“Lass,” Lord Grey said, his deep burr ripe with concern. “Are you well?”
Heat stroked Emma’s face. She knotted the last strip of cloth. “Well, but exhausted.” Far from the truth, but tiredness indeed fed the nightmares strangling her mind. Her limbs shaking, she stood, gave a brief curtsy. “My lord.” A tugging at her gown had her glancing down.
Arms raised, the child’s terrified eyes met hers.
“Oh, Joneta.” Emma lifted the girl into her arms. On a cry, the child pressed her head against the curve of her neck and hid her face. Heart aching, she stroked the girl’s curly locks. Emma met the noble’s gaze. “She is afraid and needs to be with her parents.”
Lord Grey nodded. “Her mother is frantic to see the lass as well.”
Sir Duncan stepped forward. “They can ride with me.”
“Nae, you will be carrying Patrik,” Sir Alexander stated. “They will ride with me.”
Emma shot the arrogant Scot a cold look. “My thanks, Sir Alexander, but given a choice of riding with you, I would rather walk.”
Amusement flickered on Sir Duncan’s face, and Sir Alexander’s expression darkened. The ominous Scot glared at where Patrik lay, then his gaze slid to her. “’Twould seem he has found a woman who deserves him.”
“I am not his woman.” She angled her jaw. “Patrik saved my life when several English knights were about to rape me.”
Sir Alexander’s face paled. “Forgive me. ’Twould seem I have allowed anger to guide my words.”
Flustered by his apology, she shook her head, clung to her first coherent thought. “You did not know.”
“Enough.” Lord Grey walked over, knelt before his brother. “We will talk more once Patrik is cared for.” He slung Patrik over his shoulder, stood, then strode to his steed.
Emma accompanied Sir Duncan to his mount with Joneta in her arms. At least she rode with the gentler man.
Gentle?
Far from it. Though his voice rumbled with mindsoothing ease, his body was honed for war. She scanned the three warriors. Each man alone was a threat, but together they were a force few could overcome.
And they were Patrik’s brothers.
Each moment in these men’s company invited danger. But she wished to remain at Patrik’s side to ensure he lived.
Look at her acting like a love-struck fool.
Where was the mercenary who had plotted to meet Patrik, who had set up a false rape with English knights to gain the rebel’s trust?
A shudder rippled through her. She existed, but the woman of before lay buried beneath emotions that had no place in her life.
Joneta’s tiny body trembled in her arms. Emma held her close, understanding her grief, the wetness of her own tears staining her cheeks. She wiped them away. The inability to have Patrik’s love was a penance paid, a penance that would forever haunt her.
Wind caressed the grass as Sir Duncan’s mount broke from the trees, the scent of earth tainted by dregs of smoke.
Emma scanned the hill. Beyond the crosses, flames licked the exposed timbers. No one attempted to put out the fire. Why would they? With the charred outline of the proud timbers but a skeleton, any chance of saving the home was long since lost.
As they neared the scorched remains, Marie came running toward them.
Sir Duncan drew to a halt.
Emma’s chest tightened as she passed Joneta to the frantic woman.
Marie drew her daughter tight against her chest. Tear-filled eyes lifted to meet Emma’s. “You saved my daughter’s life.” Distress creased her brow as she caught sight of Patrik. “Oh God!”
“He is alive,” Lord Grey stated.
Relief swept Marie’s face as she gestured to her side. “Bring him to the well. ’Tis where they are treating the other men who are wounded.”
Lord Grey kicked his mount toward where his knights worked to tend their own. Patrik’s body was limp against him.
Sir Duncan and Sir Alexander followed.
As they pulled up, two knights hurried to their lord’s steed. Recognition dawned on both men’s faces. “’Tis Sir Patrik,” the closest man gasped.
“Aye,” Lord Grey stated. “He needs to be tended immediately.”
Both men bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Nae.” Sir Alexander dismounted, and stepped before the men. “I will care for him.”
Stunned, Emma watched as the dangerous Scot took Patrik into his arms with infinite care, and then strode off with his brother.
Sir Duncan swung down.
“Are you not surprised Sir Alexander is caring for your brother?”
With a shrug, Sir Duncan reached up and lifted Emma to the ground. “Nae. Once Patrik is healed, they will be going at it again.”
“Going at it?” she asked in disbelief. “You mean they will again fight?”
“Aye, but once healed, Patrik will give as good as he gets.” Dimples flickered in his face. “ ’Tis what brothers do.”
Her mind spun. “Sir Duncan?”
“Aye?”
“What did he do to make Sir Alexander so angry?”