His Destiny (15 page)
Authors: Diana Cosby
From the conviction on his face, it was a fact he believed. So why did she detect a hint of dread? Uneasy, Emma lifted Joneta into her arms.
“Do you know them?” she asked, keeping her voice calm for the sake of the child.
A muscle worked in his jaw.
Hoof beats grew closer.
Patrik wove, stumbled back into the shadows and caught himself on a branch.
“Patrik—”
“I am fine.”
He wasn’t, damn him. Emma turned.
Leaves scraped as a massive knight wove through the stand of trees upon a black steed. He drew to a halt. Piercing green eyes riveted upon the child in her arms, then shifted to Emma.
“We were told you would be here,” the man stated, “with a girl.”
The power of his gaze shook her; he possessed an aura of complete authority. Black hair framed the harsh lines of his face, tumbled over well-muscled shoulders. But the professional in her focused on his sword, exquisite in its simplicity, the understated design one crafted by a master.
Emma glanced toward his shield; its design was a blue canton, along with a sword bendways on its point and supporting an imperial crown proper. The coat of arms of the Earl of MacGruder. A shiver ran through her. Was this the noble Patrik had recognized? Did he know the MacGruders? Were they friends? Unsure of anything, she nodded.
Sticks cracked as another warrior, his hair as black as the first man’s, rode up and halted to the left of the formidable knight. A menacing scar ran across his left cheek. Eyes as hard as they were fierce fell upon her, then shifted to the noble at his side.
“I see you have found the lass and child,” the second man said.
“Did you find them?” another man called, his burr a touch lyrical. A third knight rode into view, his blond hair streaked with mud, and his face etched with sweat, blood, and confidence. His steed snorted as he drew to a halt on the right of the noble.
Eyes as dark as the devil’s own watched her. “Aye,” the noble replied.
Emma stepped forward. “The child is fine,” she said, praying Patrik was indeed correct to give these men his trust. “But she is not the one needing your help.”
The fierce knights glanced toward her side, frowned. “Whoever is hidden beyond, step forward.”
Surprised by his request, she turned, then understood. Where Patrik stood, he was partially shielded by the trees.
“Lass, who hides beyond?” the blond-haired man asked, his deep burr firm but soothing.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Patrik shook his head. As he staggered forward, Emma’s heart ached. The stubborn proud man, he had no business walking.
On shaky legs, Patrik strode into the clearing.
“By God’s eyes,” one of the knights gasped.
Confused, Emma turned.
The noble stared at him in disbelief. “Patrik?”
A combination of joy and disbelief swept the blond-haired man’s face. “You are”—he shook his head—“you are alive.”
Relief flickered upon the face of the knight with the scar, followed by anger. “By God’s eyes!” He jumped from his mount.
Joneta screamed.
The rebel tackled Patrik.
“Stop it,” Emma yelled.
The huge knight’s fist connected with Patrik’s already swollen face.
Patrik’s head jerked back, his eyes dark with pain.
The warrior drove his fist again into Patrik’s cheek.
Fear tore through Emma. “Stop it!”
As the fierce knight drew his fist back for yet another swing, Emma set Joneta on the ground.
Heedless of the man’s size, of the two other knights who were dismounting, she dove onto the warrior’s back, wrapped her arm around his neck. “Get off of him!” She tightened her grip and was rewarded by his gasp.
The black-haired man roared as he straightened. “Bedamned!” He tried to shake her off.
She held tight. “Leave Patrik be!”
“Get the cursed lass off of me!” the black-haired warrior boomed.
Hands, strong but gentle, clasped her arms.
Emma fought to break free. “He will kill Patrik!” she yelled as the two other men hauled her back.
The dark-haired man with the scar across his left cheek stood, cast a disgusted look at Patrik. “I did not kill him, I would not be so lucky. Vermin somehow manage to survive.”
The fury of his words terrified Emma. She struggled against the men’s hold. None of this was making any sense. “Patrik said you would help us.”
“Aye,” the black-haired man replied, his face raw with violence. “You. The lass.” He glared at where Patrik lay. “Him, I have far from made a decision about.”
“Why?” Emma asked, unsure of anything.
On a groan, Patrik arched a swollen brow. Painfilled eyes watched her. “Because,” he rasped, “they believed me dead.”
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
.
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.
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.”
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?”
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.
Other books
The Spirit Wood by Robert Masello
Second Chances by Lincoln Cole
Surrender: Keeping Her in the Dark Vol. 4 by Leslie Sansom
The Inherited Bride by Maisey Yates
No Signature by William Bell
Quinn's Christmas Wish by Lawna Mackie
My Neighbor's Will by Lacey Silks
El arquitecto de Tombuctú by Manuel Pimentel Siles
Hover by Anne A. Wilson
Love's Sweet Revenge by Rosanne Bittner