Chapter 12 #2
Sir Duncan hesitated, then gazed at her thoughtfully. “He tried to kill Alexander’s wife.”
Several hours later, working alongside Sir Alexander as he tended Patrik, Emma had learned little more about why Patrik had tried to harm his brother’s wife. However much Sir Alexander rubbed her raw, however tense their conversation, her respect for him as they worked soared.
Sir Alexander rubbed his face, tired eyes scanning Patrik. “There is little more we can do.”
“His breathing is steady,” Emma said.
“’Tis good he is settling down.” Sir Alexander stretched his back.
“It is. He has lost much blood.”
Sir Alexander met her gaze. “You care for him.”
The confidence in his claim caught her off guard. She shrugged. “I told you, he saved my life.”
Shrewd eyes studied her. “Mayhap, but your tenderness as you helped over the last few hours assures me your feelings for him run deep.”
“How could they not after he risked his life to save mine?”
“’Tis interesting how defensive you become when I speak of your feelings toward Patrik.”
He was right. Frazzled, she’d allowed her emotions to guide her, not a trait of one of England’s top mercenaries. Or, did that woman any longer exist? Sir Alexander’s intense gaze unnerved her further.
“I thought you hated him,” Emma said, needing to change the topic.
Sir Alexander grunted. “Patrik has not seen the last of my fist, but my feelings are not what we speak of. ’Tis yours.”
“Why would they matter to you?”
“Why do you ask?” Sir Alexander countered.
Flustered, she stood. “I answer to no one concerning my feelings, especially you.”
“No one?” Sir Alexander said, his eyes assessing her as if he could see through her every lie.
Emma backed away. “I will fetch water.”
“I took you not for a coward.”
She glared at the dangerous rebel. “Tend to your brother, ’tis what you are good at.” Emma turned on her heel and walked to the well, emotions churning, hating her weakness when it came to Patrik, and despising even more the treachery she had once planned.
Bedamned to the writ. She could return to Sir Cressingham, reveal the location of the rebel hideout, then claim they were attacked by thieves and she’d managed to slip free without time to steal the writ. But would he believe her? Never had she failed in a mission.
Before the neatly stacked stones housing the well, she hung her head at the thought of Patrik, at the anger and hurt he would feel once he learned the truth.
It was unrealistic to suppose that somehow he would not learn she was a mercenary, or discover her role in his life.
With his connections, he would find out.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. Bedamned!
“Lass.”
Sir Alexander’s deep burr had her stiffening. “Go away.”
Muscled legs came into view. “I meant no harm in my questions.”
She glared at him. “No? Did you not intend to pry? Are you not used to bruising your way through until you find what answers you seek?”
At her angry retort, admiration glittered in the rebel’s eyes. “I have been accused of being a wee bit forceful.”
Emma narrowed her gaze. “You are the most frustrating man. Your wife must be a saint.”
“She is. And aye, he is a bloody pain in the arse,” Sir Duncan agreed as he walked over and stood by her side. “But he loves Patrik as much as he wishes him dead.”
Overwhelmed by these men, she stepped back. “I am going to stay beside Patrik.” She started off.
“Lass.”
At Sir Alexander’s voice, she turned.
He nodded toward a full water pouch near the base of the well. “You came for water, did you not?”
At the touch of humor riding his voice, she scowled, swiped the pouch and strode toward where Patrik lay.
As she hurried off, Duncan crossed his arms. “What do you think of the lass?”
Alexander grunted. “She loves him.”
“Aye, ’twas my thinking as well.” Duncan rubbed his chin. “Did you see how she stitched up his cuts?”
“Her hand has done that work before.”
“Neither did I miss how she has guided the conversation away from herself.”
Unease crept through Alexander. “Something about the lass has me on edge.”
His younger brother smiled, dropped his hand to his side. “I think ’tis your anger at Patrik spilling over.”
Somber, Alexander shook his head. “When I was hitting Patrik, do you remember how she jumped on my back and tried to choke me?”
“Aye.”
“Surrounded by three knights, most women would have screamed. Yet, the lass did not hesitate in her attack, her hold upon my neck true.” Alexander grimaced. “An untrained lass knows not such defense.”
Duncan stilled. “What are you saying?”
Alexander studied Cristina as she knelt beside Patrik. “I am unsure,” he said at last, “but until I am confident she can be trusted, I am keeping an eye on the lass.”
A tense silence settled between them. After a long moment, Duncan laid a hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “Patrik is back.” He swallowed hard. “Can you believe it?”
Emotions squeezed as if a fist in Alexander’s chest. “I am afraid to believe it. Almost as afraid as I am of my wife’s reaction when she learns Patrik is alive.”