Chapter 14 #2
As if she were a colt trying out its newfound legs, Joneta shoved herself up and peered out. Eyes wide with excitement, she turned to Emma. “Look, a castle!”
Emma forced a smile.
“It is so huge!” The girl all but danced in the wagon. She scanned the thick woods. “Are there dragons?”
“No dragons, lass,” Sir Alexander replied, the gentleness of his voice catching Emma by surprise. If asked, she would have doubted a gentler side to this fierce knight existed. ’Twould seem his terse manner was reserved for those he did not trust.
On edge, she laid her hand upon Patrik’s brow. Sweat coated his face, pale with hints of a fever. Thank God they would soon reach a healer.
The crest of the hill grew smaller as they traveled down the steep slope, the trees of the forest giving way to fields. At the rough grate of wheels upon stone, she braced herself, aware they traversed the causeway to Lochshire Castle.
“Cristina?”
At Patrik’s gravelly voice, Emma glanced down. Hazel eyes, drugged with pain and exhaustion, watched her.
Her chest constricted with the love this man inspired. She slid a stray lock from his brow. “How fare thee?”
“My th-throat,” he whispered.
“Here.” Water sloshed as she helped him take a sip.
With a cough, he pulled away, dropped his head against the cloth-tied bundle. “How far un-until we reach Lochshire Castle?”
“So you are awake then,” Alexander said.
At his brother’s voice, Patrik turned his head. He grimaced. “So it would seem.”
Alexander grunted. “Sleep and a meal will serve you well.”
They would, but at the moment, neither was his biggest concern. “Nichola will be there.” The words stumbled out, but Patrik needed to say her name, prepare himself for the upcoming meeting, her justif ied anger.
Alexander’s mouth tightened. “Aye. My wife will not be expecting you.”
Nor any other within Lochshire Castle. Everyone believes me dead.
Alexander stroked his mount’s neck, cast his brother a speculative look. “Duncan has married since you left.”
Duncan was married? “Who?”
“Lady Isabel Adair.”
“But she left him a week before they were to wed. Duncan swore . . .” Patrik closed his eyes, fought against the throbbing in his head, then opened them. “Makes no sense.”
“It should not. But then, trust Duncan to step in the muck and come out as if a candlestick polished. A story I will let the lad tell you.” Alexander hesitated. “You should know, Seathan has taken a wife as well, an English noble. She is a fine lass, one I would give my life to defend.”
Beneath his calm delivery, Patrik heard the threat. His brothers would allow him within Lochshire Castle, but he had not yet earned their trust. Nor could he not blame them.
“Rest. I will tell Seathan you are awake.” Alexander kicked his mount. Hooves clattered on stone as he rode ahead.
Patrik sighed. All of his brothers married. The news yet another harsh reminder of time passed, and of precious moments lost. Yet somehow within the mayhem of his life, he’d found Cristina. He sobered. Found her mayhap, but with his life given to reclaiming Scotland’s freedom, he must let her go.
Needing to touch her, he clasped her hand, surprised to find it cold. Patrik glanced over.
Face pale, she stared at Lochshire Castle.
“What is wrong?”
“It is imposing,” she whispered as if to speak the words out loud would unleash a spell.
Memories of the first time he’d beheld the Norman stronghold replayed in his mind.
It was a home forged by unforgiving men, powerful lords who’d helped carve Scotland’s destiny.
Instead of nervousness, pride had filled him.
But, he’d arrived at this formidable castle as a lad accepted, not a woman whose life at every turn lay shattered.
“You will be welcome,” he said.
“Will I?” Nervous eyes remained unconvinced.
“Lord Grey returns,” a sentry’s voice boomed as they approached the drawbridge.
Pride as well as apprehension filled Patrik. His brothers knew he lived, but he’d yet to face Nichola.
Hooves echoed like thunder as Seathan’s knights rode across the drawbridge. The forged walls closed, arched to the sky to scrape the rain-darkened clouds. A breeze swept past, rich with the scent of water.
Darkness encased them as the wagon rolled beneath the gatehouse. Then a dismal light exposed a crowd of men and women converging within the bailey to welcome their lord and his men.
But not a man who’d tried to kill his brother’s wife.
Anxiety built, stealing his ability to move—he could only feel, regret the tragedy of that day a year past, regret the actions of a man driven by hate who’d understood his error too late.
Patrik swallowed hard. When the people of Lochshire Castle discovered he lived, please let them find it in their hearts to offer forgiveness.
That his brothers allow him to return was the first step, but little more.
Whatever transpired now would reveal whether Lochshire Castle would ever again be his home.
“Seathan!” a woman called.
The warm English accent had Patrik turning.
A slender woman, her amber-gold hair braided in a delicate plait, with a gold circlet framing her head, ran toward his eldest brother. In a deft move, Seathan dismounted, drew the woman in his arms and caught her in a fierce kiss.
Seathan’s wife—the English noble Alexander had spoken of.
Patrik waited for the roll of anger, the bitterness he’d always felt when it came to the English.
As he watched the Englishwoman in his brother’s arms, Patrik found naught but regret.
Because he’d allowed bitterness to guide his actions, he’d missed coming to know the woman who had stolen Seathan’s heart.
If she had won his brother’s respect, she must be an incredible woman indeed.
The wagon slowed to a halt. Several knights began unloading their meager belongings, while two others helped Marie and Joneta to the ground.
“Isabel!” Duncan jumped from his mount and sprinted toward a beautiful woman, her face framed by hair the color of aged whiskey.
His youngest brother caught and whirled the woman around.
With her face alight with laughter, he captured her mouth, the deep bond between them further evidence of the time Patrik had lost.
“Alexander!”
At the familiar, lyrical English accent, Patrik stilled. Nichola. While he’d lain in bed recovering, he’d replayed his poor decisions, how his hatred had prevented his mind from seeing the good within her.
Now, his destiny arrived.
Would she indeed be able to forgive him? With a prayer on his lips, Patrik turned.
Auburn hair slipped from Nichola’s finely woven braid as she rushed toward Alexander, her smile full of love, the joy of a marriage strong.
Knights reunited with their families, squires led horses toward the stable, and children danced at their mothers’ sides waiting to see their fathers.
Everything around Patrik faded. In gut-wrenching fascination, he watched for the moment Nichola noticed his existence, for the instant when the joy upon her face shattered.
The crowd parted as Nichola ran to her husband. As she neared, in a smooth move, Alexander leaned down and swept his wife up on his steed to claim her mouth.
“Patrik.” Cristina’s voice echoed as if a league away. She didn’t understand the enormity of this moment. Couldn’t.
“You are their family,” Cristina said.
Throat dry, he shook his head. “After what I have done,” he whispered, “I am nothing.”
As if to back his words, Alexander broke the kiss, whispered in his wife’s ear.
Nichola froze. Her fingers clasped his shoulders and a shudder rippled through her lithe form. Then, with time-wrenching slowness, her face lifted, turned toward Patrik, her amber eyes dark.
As if time had been erased, the past tumbled back.
The exact day.
The exact hour.
“No!” Nichola tried to jump to the ground.
Alexander held tight. “Steady, lass,” he urged, shooting Patrik a warning glance.
“Get him out of here,” Nichola demanded.
The surrounding crowd fell silent. Murmurs swept through the onlookers.
“He will harm no one,” Alexander stated.
“He will!” Nichola struggled to jump to the ground.
Alexander held tight.
“He will try to kill me. What of our son? He cannot be trusted!”
Her angry words sliced Patrik’s soul. A son? Alexander had not told him about a child. What else had he withheld? The last fragment of hope for Nichola’s forgiveness blackened to wisps of ash.
She jerked, fought to pull away. “Release me!”
Alexander caught her face. “I am taking you inside. Trust me, wife, you are safe.” Tenderness guided his movements as he dismounted.
No! Panic shot through Patrik as Alexander set his wife on the ground and started toward the keep. This was his only opportunity to plead for forgiveness. Once Nichola went inside, she would never allow him to see her again. Though she might never forgive him, he had to try.
“Nichola!” Patrik’s raw voice cleaved the silence like an ill-honed sword.
Alexander’s eyes cut to Patrik.
Pain screamed through Patrik’s body as he shoved himself up. Battered wood gouged his knees, but he crawled to the wagon’s end. In a mind-blurring move, he lowered himself to the ground, steadied himself upon the worn earth.
Cristina scrambled to the ground, caught his arm. “Patrik, what are you doing? You have lost too much blood. You—”
“Stay here,” he said, keeping his gaze on Nichola. Cristina didn’t understand the importance of this one moment. He broke free of her hold.
“I will go with you,” Cristina said.
Eyes glazed with anger and a hint of fear, Nichola watched him.
“No. This I must do alone.” On shaky legs, Patrik stepped forward, clenching his teeth against the pain. People swam into a blur before him. Through sheer determination, he took another step.
Alexander tensed, his body angled to protect as he held Nichola at his side.
A murmur wove through the crowd. One by one, those within the keep fell into a hush, focused on Patrik. Eyes, harsh and condemning, watched him. Whispers cursed his every step.
Patrik accepted their wariness, understood their anger. Had he stood in their place, he would have done the same. Sure of nothing, he pushed forward.