Chapter 13 #2
He nodded. “As odd as it seems, because the lass is English.”
“English?” Her face paled. Frowning, she glanced toward where Alexander rode. “I-I cannot believe he would wed an Englishwoman.”
Patrik grunted. “If asked prior to meeting the lass, my brother would have agreed. Alexander had traveled to England to abduct her brother, a wealthy lord. When he arrived at their home, her brother was away. With the rebels desperate for coin and believing the siblings close, Alexander abducted Lady Nichola instead.”
“He married his captive?”
The shock on her face matched his own when he’d realized Alexander was falling in love with the lass.
“Aye.”
“But why did you hate her? ’Twas not her fault she was English.”
Patrik sighed. “Aye, a lesson I learned too late.” He’d realized that truth during the months it had taken to recover from his near-fatal wound.
He took Cristina’s hand, drew it to his chest. “When I was eight summers, my family was attacked by the English. I managed to escape.” And had damned himself for having survived ever since.
“You lost your entire family?”
He swallowed hard, still haunted by the spilling blood, the screams of his family as they lay dying. “Aye.”
“Did you know the MacGruders before?”
“My father saved the life of the MacGruder brothers’ mother in a raid,” Patrik explained.
“After my parents were killed, when the MacGruders learned of the murders, they adopted me as their own, gave me their last name. I included my own as well, Patrik Cleary MacGruder. Or, did until this year past.”
Face pale, she shook her head. “Oh God, I am so sorry.”
He curled his fingers over her hand. “Since then, many years have passed.”
“But one does not forget.”
Her somber words echoed between them. Aye, having grown up in an orphanage, then marrying a loveless bastard who’d taken advantage of her tattered emotions, she would understand the misery of loss.
“But,” she said, “that does not explain why your brothers believed you dead.”
“It does not.” He swallowed hard, regretting his actions.
“Caught up in his feelings for Lady Nichola, who was then Alexander’s captive, my brother ignored my warning that because she was English, she was unworthy of his love.
So, I arranged for Lady Nichola to believe she could escape.
That night, when she slipped from Lochshire Castle, I followed with the intent of preventing Alexander from ever marrying the lass. ”
“You planned to kill her?”
“Aye, and almost succeeded,” he admitted, needing to cleanse his soul of his sin.
It was important that Cristina and his brothers understand the reason behind his actions.
He shifted, gasped at the slap of pain. Sweat broke out on his brow, and he wiped his forehead.
“I had but caught up to her when Alexander found us. When I threatened Lady Nichola with a knife, he dove on top of me.”
Her eyes widened with shock. “Your brother tried to kill you?”
At the thrum of hooves, he glanced over to see Alexander drawing to a halt before them. Patrik nodded, faced Cristina. “Alexander was protecting Lady Nichola, a woman he loved. During the fight, my dagger fell to the ground, wedged against a rock. As we grappled, I rolled onto the blade.”
“So that was the reason your brothers believed you dead,” she whispered. Cristina shook her head. “How is it you lived?”
“A fact I would be curious to know also,” Alexander said as he dismounted.
Patrik met his brother’s hard gaze. “The guard sent with my body to Lochshire Castle that day was loyal to me. I must have moved, groaned, something to alert him that I lived. Through the pain, I knew naught of where he rode, nor did I care. Thankfully, I fell into blackness. Later, when I awoke, I learned I was at his cousin’s hut.
The guard explained he’d dug and filled a grave, then informed everyone it was mine. ”
Alexander grunted. “And believing our man loyal, neither I nor Seathan nor Duncan, thought to question his words.” His mouth tightened. “Where is he?”
“Riding beneath Sir Andrew de Moray’s colors.”
Alexander grunted. “And that is where he should stay.”
Patrik said no more. To Alexander, the Scot had betrayed him, even though his act had saved Patrik’s life.
Well he knew Alexander’s ability to carry a grudge.
Would his brother ever truly forgive him?
Did he even deserve such absolution? Unsure of anything, he shoved to his feet.
Pain screamed through his body, and his legs threatened to give.
Cristina scrambled to his side, caught his arm in support. “What are you doing? You must rest until we depart.”
“Which is why I am here.” Alexander glanced at Cristina, his face hard. “You are to ride in the wagon with the woman and child.”
Instead of backing down, she held her own. “With the graveness of his injuries, Patrik should travel there as well. If space is short, I will ride.”
Alexander scowled. “You will not be given your own horse.”
The hardness within his brother’s words set Patrik on edge. “Cristina, go help Marie and Joneta stow the last of their belongings.”
She hesitated. “Patrik—”
“Go.” Patrik nodded. “All will be well.”
Doubt flickered on her face. With a final cool glance at Alexander, she headed to where Marie was packing her belongings into a wagon.
Several long seconds passed. Alexander crossed his arms. “An interesting lass. She claimed you saved her from English knights.”
“Aye. I came across the bloody bastards about to rape her.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “Did you kill them?”
“Aye.”
“Good.”
For a moment, a sense of camaraderie settled between them, a taste of the bond he wanted back.
“Cristina deserves not your anger,” Patrik said. “She sought to protect me when she believed you a threat.”
“She did.” His brother’s eyes hardened. “To let you know, had I wanted to kill you a year past, the deed would have long been done.”
“Yet you allowed me to live.”
“A decision I still question.” Alexander hesitated. “I know not if I can find forgiveness for you.”
Emotion scraped Patrik’s throat. He nodded.
Silence stretched between them.
“Do you trust her?”
“Trust her?” Patrik frowned. “An odd question.”
“Mayhap, but one you chose not to answer.”
His lingering doubts tumbled through his mind: her skill with a blade, her calm during a fight, her search through his belongings. “’Tis not an answer simply given.”
“You bed a lass about whom you hold doubts?”
“Bedamned!” Patrik stepped toward him, wove. He clenched his teeth as he fought to maintain consciousness. “Had I my full strength, I would knock you on your arse.”
“You would try.” Tiredness etched his brother’s voice, at odds with the challenge. He rubbed his brow. “Once you had healed, why did you not return to Lochshire Castle?”
At the reminder of his home, guilt swept Patrik. How many times had he wondered the same? “And if I had, would you have forgiven me, accepted my apology?”
Alexander blew out a harsh breath. “Nay, I would have tried to kill you.”
“And now?” Patrik asked. “Here I stand before you and admit I was wrong.”
“I am thinking.”
However much he admired Alexander’s honesty, it pointed out the chasm between them.
But he had to try to bridge it. “Your anger at me is no more than I feel for myself. The months of lying in pain allowed me time to think, to realize the grave wrong I had committed against Nichola, against you and my family.” He swallowed hard.
“I stayed away not out of fear, but because I could nae understand how you would ever forgive me. I doubt I can ever forgive myself.”
Alexander scanned the field where the men had begun to mount. “I find I need time to decide. As for Nichola”—he faced Patrik—“whether she forgives you is not for me to decide.”
“Fair enough.” And more than he could have ever hoped for. Patrik shifted, and his fingers bumped against seasoned leather. The writ! In the mayhem of the day, incredibly, he’d forgotten. “Alexander, I must reach Bishop Wishart immediately.”
“Bishop Wishart, why?”
Patrik withdrew the leather-encased writ, stained by dirt, weathered by moisture. “I must warn him that de Warenne is preparing to rejoin forces with Cressingham before the end of July.”
His brother’s face blanched. “God’s teeth, it cannot be.”
“I was stunned by the news as well. I believed little could pry de Warenne back to Scotland.”
“’Tis not what I meant.”
“What?” Patrik asked, confused by the look of sheer disbelief on his brother’s face.
“’Tis why we are here.”
None of this was making any sense. “The bishop sent you to meet me?”
“Aye. Nay.” Alexander shook his head. “By my sword! Before the bishop surrendered to the English, he deployed a runner to Seathan, saying that he’d sent you on a dangerous mission, and expected your arrival along with the fact that you would be carrying important news.
The bishop instructed Seathan to intercept you before you reached Roxburgh Castle. ”
Terror sliced through him. “Wishart is in English hands?”
“Aye, he surrendered as well as Robert Bruce and William Douglas.”
“God no,” Patrik whispered. “What are we to do?”
Somber eyes held his. “Take this information to Wallace as the bishop instructed.”
His mind spun a thousand thoughts. Then, an odd one fell to the fore. “Wait, you said you did not know I lived?” Patrik asked, even more confused. “Yet Bishop Wishart penned my name in the writ to Seathan?”
His brother grimaced. “Aye, a name he wrote, but ’twas not Sir Patrik Cleary.”
Unease trickled through Patrik. He lifted his gaze to his brother’s assessing one. “And what name did Bishop Wishart use?”
Cobalt eyes pierced him.
A long second passed.
“Dubh Duer.”