Chapter 18
At the entry to the turret, Emma halted and turned back toward Patrik’s door. Guilt swept her. When she’d accepted this mission from Sir Cressingham, ’twas but a mission like so many others in her past. Once completed, she’d walk away, focus on the next without another thought.
Except from the first Patrik had broken down her defenses. He wasn’t the cold, heartless man she’d expected. With each passing day her resistance toward him had crumbled. Then foolishly, she’d fallen in love.
Images of him asleep moments ago swept through her mind. He believed her a woman he could trust, a lie she’d nurtured to achieve a goal. No, worse than a lie, she’d used his outrage of the English to craft a woman he could not deny.
The writ within her hand burned as if afire.
Emma closed her eyes. The bound parchment represented naught but shame, the emptiness of her life. A life she’d worked hard to build. A life she now detested with her every breath. She fought the surge of panic sweeping her at leaving the man she loved, at her ultimate betrayal.
Tears burned her throat as she turned and started down the turret steps. At the tapestry, she paused. A sad smile touched her mouth. Odd, before she’d found the intricate weave out of place within this formidable stronghold. Now, the fairies made perfect sense to her.
Nor would she have guessed such a formidable man as Lord Grey would soften toward a woman who should be his enemy. Yet somehow he had fallen in love with Lady Linet and claimed her as his wife.
It seemed Sir Alexander, too, had overcome incredible odds to make his captive his wife. Though she had not yet heard Sir Duncan’s story of how he’d met and married his wife, she guessed it would match his brothers’ unexpected journeys.
Melancholy swept her. Who would have believed that Lochshire Castle, a rebel fortress that should instill fear, instead inspired hope? But however much she wished to be with Patrik, naught could repair her deception.
She glanced up the spiral steps. Or, could she make amends, at least in part?
If she returned the writ before she departed Lochshire Castle, Patrik would not suspect her treachery. Then she could vanish from his life, and leave at least part of her wrongdoing repaired. When he searched for Cristina Moffat, he would find no one.
As for Sir Cressingham, when she didn’t return, he would label her a traitor and put a price on her head. A risk she was willing to take.
After years of playing different roles, she would craft yet another character, invent a new name, and sail to France. Or, mayhap slip away to Spain. Regardless, she could never return to England or Scotland.
She started toward Patrik’s chamber. Though he could never be hers, she prayed that one day Patrik would find a woman who loved him as he deserved.
Echoes of Sir Alexander’s and Sir Duncan’s voices rose up the turret.
God in heaven, she would never reach Patrik’s chamber in time! Neither could she allow them to find her with the writ. Heart pounding, she ran up the tower steps.
The door to the tower chamber stood open and sunlight flooded the room. Emma halted, a chill sweeping her skin. ’Twas as if their grandmother’s room welcomed her.
“I am far from convinced,” Sir Alexander growled.
“Nor I,” Sir Duncan agreed.
They were coming up! She bolted into the chamber and flattened herself against the wall behind the door. Cool stone pressed against her back as she awaited discovery.
Long seconds passed.
The brothers’ voices faded.
Emma sagged back. They’d entered the corridor on the second floor.
A door creaked. Silence.
Were they with Patrik? No, if they checked on him, they would find him asleep and allow him to rest. Regardless, they were too close to try to return the writ. Now what? She must find a way before she left.
On a shaky exhale, Emma stepped from behind the door. The chamber stood empty, with no sign of the old woman who’d spoken with her the night before. As well, the hearth lay black. Neither ash nor a cold ember sat within.
Had she imagined the woman as well? No, she’d seen the elder, had spoken with her. From Sir Alexander’s stunned expression when she’d described the woman, he’d thought her mad.
Fatigue spilled through Emma and she rubbed her brow. Mayhap she was. At this point she was unsure of anything except the fact that she must go, leave Cristina Moffat behind without a trace.
“Emma Astyn,” she whispered, testing her name against her tongue.
It sounded odd. She gave a rough laugh. So long had she played different roles for her missions, even her real name sounded foreign.
Without intending to, she’d severed the ties of her past. No longer did Emma Astyn exist. Did her true identity really matter?
She stilled.
Yes.
Because Patrik had taught her to love, to want a man at her side, and most of all, to wish for the impossible.
Emotion tightened her chest as she scanned the fairies woven within the tapestry and those upon the ceiling. Their faces remained empty, devoid of expression as if the other night her mind had indeed played tricks.
“Riders coming!” a man’s voice boomed from outside.
Emma hurried to the arched window.
A small contingent rode two abreast upon the narrow road leading to the castle. Across the broken sweep of water, knights were setting up camp upon the hillside as more men continued to pour from the dense forest.
Was Lord Grey planning another assault upon English troops? She studied the confident man leading the small group.
God in heaven, Sir David de Moravia!
Her blood chilled. She would never forget her meeting with the Parson of Bothwell, uncle to Sir Andrew de Moray. At the time, she’d played yet another character, but if she met up with Sir David, a man of sharp wit, he would recognize her.
Hooves clattered upon timber as the rebels rode beneath the gatehouse. The bailey flooded with the echo of horses and men as squires ran to take the knights’ horses while those within Lochshire Castle gathered to meet the small party.
The Earl of Grey strode to Sir David de Moravia, his face hard. The leaders clasped hands, and then the earl motioned Sir David toward the keep.
Shaken, Emma stepped back. A glow from the corner caught her attention. The other half of Patrik’s gemstone.
“’Tis yours.”
On a gasp, Emma whirled. The chamber stood empty. No one was here. Her mind was playing tricks. She was tired, overwrought, terrified.
Unsure of anything, she glanced at the bowl. The other half of Patrik’s gemstone pulsed. As if guided by a force, she crossed the chamber. Sadness filled her as she lifted the malachite. Its warmth pulsed against her skin, offering strange comfort.
An ache built in her heart. This was a part of Patrik, a reminder of the love she’d found. Though she would never have him, she could have this. Before she could change her mind, she slipped the gemstone into her pocket and hurried from the chamber.
At the second-floor entry, she peered down the corridor. It lay empty. She held her breath and slipped past.
“Cristina!” a child’s excited voice called as she paused at the opening to the great room.
“Joneta,” Emma said, fighting for a smile. Mouth dry, she scanned the enormous chamber, thankful for the mill of people. “Where is your mother?”
A smile curved the cherub cheeks as she cradled her doll against her chest. “She is outside helping with the wash. Would you like to see her?”
A commotion at the entry caught Emma’s attention.
Lord Grey and Sir David de Moravia strode into the great room.
She couldn’t let Sir David see her! Emma nodded to the girl. “Yes, I would.”
Ignorant of her panic, Joneta smiled. “This way.” The child skipped down a side hallway, then out a back door.
The smell of bread wafted in the air along with herbs and other savory scents as they exited the keep.
Beyond the buildings knights clogged her view, their faces weary with travel.
Claymores clung to their backs; daggers were secured to their waists.
Men prepared for war. Men who would give their lives to win. Men like Patrik.
Joneta turned. “Cristina, are you coming?”
If only she could linger, if only her days could be filled with mundane chores and each of her nights spent in Patrik’s arms.
On an unsteady breath, Emma knelt before the child. “I must go, but I need you to do me a great favor.” She forced a smile. “Will you do that for me?”
Joneta nodded, her curls bouncing with delighted innocence.
Hand trembling, Emma withdrew the writ. She pressed the bound leather within the child’s hand, and then curled her fingers over the top. “Hide this. For now, tell no one. After the bells of Vespers, bring this to Sir Patrik.”
Excitement shone in the girl’s eyes. “’Tis a gift?”
Emotion swamped her. “Yes.” But in his anger at finding the writ gone, Patrik would only see that she’d betrayed him. A situation too late to repair. Mayhap it was for the best.
“I know,” Joneta exclaimed, “it is like the story of the fairies!”
Her mind a muddle, needing only to escape, Emma nodded, far from understanding the child’s ramblings. “Promise me. Swear you will show no one and not deliver it to Sir Patrik until after the bells of Vespers.”
“I swear.” Green eyes swirled with excitement as Joneta slipped the writ beneath the folds of the blanket covering her doll. The girl hesitated. Delight crumbled to sadness upon her face. “Why are you leaving?”
“’Tis complicated.” An understatement.
“Will you return?”
She shook her head. “I do not believe so.” Emma embraced the child in a fierce hug, wishing times were different, that she could share her life with Patrik. “Never will I forget you.”
A tear rolled down Joneta’s cheek. “I do not want you to go.”
“I would like to stay as well.” Emma wiped away the child’s tear. “But we cannot always have what we wish.”
She sniffed. “Like when my mother buried my brother?”