His Destiny (7 page)

Read His Destiny Online

Authors: Diana Cosby

BOOK: His Destiny
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A brother?
Irritation flared. No one had disclosed that Patrik had a brother. Sir Cressingham, as well as another man in his employ, had explained how English knights had murdered
Dubh Duer
’s family. A resultant hatred guided his hand within battle, a savageness that had led to the legends of the merciless Scot,
Dubh Duer.
But nothing about another sibling who’d lived.
Why?
Had Sir Cressingham set her up? That made no sense. The treasurer of Scotland hated Patrik, salivated at the idea of watching the Scot gutted, then making the rebel’s death an example to all who dared defy him.
So why had neither his man nor he told her about Patrik’s brother? Mayhap his sibling had played little or no role in the Scottish uprising? Or, his fealty lay with King Edward. What if neither man knew Patrik had a brother who had lived?
From the raw grief on Patrik’s face, he struggled at the thoughts his brother inspired. If his brother was indeed loyal to the English king, that would explain Patrik’s strife.
His strife, but not her increasing distaste for her mission.
“I am sorry. I have upset you.” More so than he would ever know. He’d lowered his defense, a trust she now would shamefully exploit.
Scarred fingers picked up a stick to shove an ember free. Then he buried the heated wood within the dirt. Angst-stricken hazel eyes lifted to hers.
“The arrow belongs to your brother?”
“Aye.” A muscle worked in his jaw as he lifted the stick. Against the cheerful pop of the fire, he nudged aside the mound of ash, exposing the remnants of the arrow. He again lifted the shaft, rolled it slowly within his fingers. A charred line of soot remained. He stared at it, closed his eyes, then opened them. “At times a man is a fool and cannot see the precious gift he holds until it is lost.”
The intensity of his words unnerved her. Well she understood the pain of losing someone you loved, the emptiness and the loss. Except life cared naught for your pain, or hurt, but moved on. ’Twas you who chose to step forward or to remain buried within your grief.
“Was your brother killed?”
Patrik laid the charred shaft at his side. “Nay. But to them I am dead.”
Them? He had more than one brother alive?
Cristina’s eyes widened with questions, but Patrik remained silent. A fool he was for telling the lass anything of the MacGruders. He barely knew her. But as he’d held the arrow, emotions had stormed him, the pain immense. And he’d found admitting the truth to her had brought a wisp of relief.
Blast it, he wanted his brothers back, he wanted to use the surname MacGruder, desperately so. With their love and support during the years when he’d struggled to find stability after his family’s death, how could he not?
Grief washed through him as he studied Cristina. A stranger? Mayhap, considering the amount of time he’d known her, but something about her drew him, had from the start. Her beauty he couldn’t deny, nor the desires she inspired, but what lured him was more than the intrigue of the flesh. From the bits of her life she’d shared, he sensed she carried enormous hurt, pain carved by years of suffering, emotions only those who had survived similar ordeals understood.
A stranger?
Mayhap, but not to his soul.
But could he trust her?
An ache tightened his chest at the thought of leaving her on the morrow. It could be no other way. What she made him feel, want, made little sense. Yet, for the first time since he’d awakened from his brush with death, he found himself wanting to share with someone the dark secret of the family he wished to reclaim.
No, not someone, Cristina.
Yet, however she moved him, to give into his yearnings would further complicate an already muddled situation.
“But what about—”
He handed her an oatcake. “Eat.”
After a brief hesitation, she accepted his offering, her eyes darkening with understanding. Cristina leaned back against a large boulder and took a bite.
Patrik followed suit, the soft thunder of water a fitting echo of his mood. Through the break at the end of the falls, darkness stole the last fragments of day. Too soon the dawn would come, and the realities of tomorrow would unfold.
He studied Duncan’s arrow. Given the ember’s warmth, his brother had stayed here but hours ago. What had made him pass through? Had the English seized Lochshire Castle?
Nay, his eldest brother, the Earl of Grey, held a significant force. His knights combined with Lochshire Castle’s strategic location, surrounded on three sides by a loch, made a strong defense. Still, something significant must have occurred to send Duncan this far south. Not that he would be discovering the why of it now. When he met with Bishop Wishart, he would learn the reason.
The lass finished the last of her oatcake. Patrik handed her the water. “Here.”
“My thanks.” She accepted the leather flask. After a long drink, she passed it back.
Patrik quenched his thirst, secured the top and set it aside.
She cast a nervous glance at the entry. “Do you think anyone else will seek shelter within this night?”
“Mayhap, but only once has anyone entered while I rested here.”
“So, are you telling me not to worry?”
“I am. Any who would enter this hideout are rebels. Unlike the English, we change not our loyalty beneath threats.”
Guilt tore through Emma at the thought of the men tortured to gain Patrik’s name and identity of
Dubh Duer.
“Here.” Patrik handed her another oatcake.
Sickened, she shook her head. She did not deserve to be in the company of such an honorable man. “I am tired.” Tired of the lies, of the betrayal she intended for a man who gave naught but courage and loyalty to those he loved.
Sir Cressingham had lied to her about Patrik, about his being a heartless man necessary to destroy. If anyone fit that description, ’twas Sir Cressingham, a man even the English despised. What else had the treasurer deceived her about?
“Cristina—”
“Where will I sleep?”
He frowned. “What is wrong?”
Everything. How did one confess to being a liar, to hurting the person who’d made her aware of wishes and desires she’d refused to believe could ever exist.
She stood. “I am tired.”
“You are.” He shoved to his feet and stepped toward her, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Do not—”
“What?” he said, taking her hand. “Touch you?”
She closed her eyes, her pulse racing too fast. “I cannot do this.”
“Tell me.”
Aching, she opened her eyes, stared at the man she’d sworn, if necessary, to kill. As if she could raise a blade against Patrik.
She despised her emotional defenselessness, had since she’d watched the last pile of dirt tossed upon Father Lawrenz’s grave. A child of twelve, she’d sworn never again to be placed in such a position. A vow she’d kept.
Until now.
Until Patrik.
Overwhelmed, Emma tried to pull away.
Patrik’s grip held firm. “Lean against me.”
“I-I cannot.”
“You can. Try. For me.”
“You do not understand what you ask.” Nor the dangers he invited. Against all logic, against what her mind ordered, she stepped forward and laid her head against his muscled chest. Too aware of him, comforted by the steady beat of his heart, she closed her eyes.
“You scare me.”
He gently stroked her hair. “I know.”
“Arrogant, too.” But she didn’t look up, didn’t dare.
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Aye, I have been called that a time or two.”
“’Tis not funny.”
He drew back, the humor on his face fleeing. “Nay, lass, I find naught amusing about what you make me feel.”
As if his admission helped anything. “Patrik—”
He gently cupped her face, lifted her chin until their eyes met, until it was as if he could see straight to her soul. “I have tried to understand the why of it, to figure out what about you intrigues me, and have told myself I am wrong to want you when you still grieve for a husband lost. And at every turn, I fail.” He shook his head. “My feelings for you make little sense, especially considering the meager time I have known you.” He paused. “However wrong, I want you, want to make love to you.”
Her body trembled at his confession while her mind screamed for her to break free. Already she’d crossed lines she could never repair.
He stroked his thumb across her lower lip. “I have no right to ask, to want you this much, but damn me, I do.” Patrik searched her face. “Tell me you do not want this and I will leave you alone.”
Tears burned her eyes. After being raped during her youth, Emma had believed the only man she would ever care for was Father Lawrenz. Now, she understood her feelings for the priest were those of a girl searching to be accepted. Nothing compared to the depth of a woman wanting Patrik’s touch.
Long moments passed. Still, he held, waited, giving her every opportunity to step away.
And if she did, if she allowed her assault of ten and two summers to guide her decision, smother what he made her feel, she would never know the joy of being with a man who made her feel desire.
She was wrong to consider intimacy, especially when it would be tangled in lies. But the desire in his eyes, his need for only her, filled an emptiness inside she’d never believed any would touch.
Bedamned the consequence. However wrong, for this one night, she would hold what destiny would deny her.
On a shaky breath, Cristina reached up to kiss him.
Chapter 6
 
Patrik met Cristina’s mouth halfway, soft, steady, firm with intent. He gently backed her against the smooth wall and pressed his body flush against hers. Heat exploded inside, poured through him, engulfed him until it was as if his body was on fire.
He groaned as Cristina’s body molded against his. God in heaven, their earlier kiss had but hinted at the breadth of the woman within, of her desire. She was a woman crafted by the fantasies of many a man.
With his blood pounding hot, he drew on her tongue, savored her taste. Would even this night be enough? Aye, he would make it so.
He took the kiss deeper, wanting her whimpers of need, her mews of pleasure as he slowly made love to her.
The force of his need left his fingers trembling as he slid his hand down the silk of her throat. With slow enjoyment, he unbound the first tie, and then cupped the curve of her breast.
At her gasp of pleasure, desire ripped through him. He ignored the urge to strip her, to take what his body demanded. He’d wanted to make love to her, but their joining would be more than finding release. More than he’d ever expected.
As if life ever gave you what you expected?
Now, he’d been given the gift of this woman, a woman he must let go on the morrow.
With infinite care, he teased her bud, skimmed his fingers over the taut flesh as he claimed her lips. He savored the softness of her mouth, amazed at how she gave back, more than he could have ever believed.
Her body trembled, shifted restlessly against his.
He hardened, painfully so. Patrik cupped the back of her neck, turned with her until his back pressed against the wall. He caught her hand and laid it over his hard length to show her how she pleased him.
Cristina stiffened, jerked her hand free.
Stunned, Patrik broke their kiss. Within her passion, he caught a hint of fear. “You are safe with me.” He kept his words soft, gentle so as not to alarm her further.
Her mouth swollen with his kisses, she stared at him, her nerves easy to read. “I-I thought you wanted to make love to me?”
Damn him, he’d pushed her too fast. “I want you, never doubt that. But what we share this night is your decision. We are both tired, our desires tangled with fatigue.” She wet her lips; his body trembled with wanting her. “Neither can I forget the attack of two days past, nor the loss of your husband, a man you loved. As much as I want you in my bed, never have I taken advantage of a woman, neither will I begin now.”
“I . . .” Cristina looked away.
With his entire body aching, he released her. “I will retrieve the blankets to make a pallet.”
“Patrik—”
He stopped, did not face her. “Say naught unless you mean it. I am but a man.”
Shaking with what she’d almost allowed, aching with needs unfulfilled, Emma struggled to admit what her body desired, what her heart yearned to feel. How did she explain that the shock of an intimate touch ignited flashes of the rape during her youth? And of the endless hours afterward, when she’d lain abandoned, bleeding in the shadows upon the cold, filthy stone.
At her silence, Patrik nodded. “So be it.” He strode to a shield of rocks, withdrew blankets hidden behind them. In the clearing, he spread them out.
He was upset, how could he not be? She’d believed herself strong enough to be with a man and was wrong. “I am sorry.”
Storm-filled eyes met hers. “Do not be. My wanting you does not make the time right.”
“As if there will ever be a time right for either of us?” The words spilled out before she could stop them. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken.”
“Why? On the morrow we will part, never again to see each other. I should not have pushed you to choices you are not ready for.” He nodded. “For that I am sorry.”
He referred to her supposed rape by the English knights. Guilt swept through her.
Patrik walked over, placed a gentle kiss upon her lips. “Go to sleep, Cristina. If you should want to talk, I have been known to be a good listener.” He walked to the fire and sat before the flames, his back toward her.
Damn him and his honorable ways! “I want you as well.”
He tensed.
“Never has a man kissed me like you.” At his silence, anger trampled over caution. “I want you to make love with me, but I know not if I can.”
Patrik shoved to his feet. With quiet steps he walked over. Dark eyes assessed her, softened. “Tell me.”
She wanted to, desperately. Emma wrung her hands and studied the flicker of flames.
“Look at me.”
Emma lifted her eyes. The sincerity of his gaze stole her breath. If she told him of the rape during her youth, it would explain her hesitance, yet raise questions about her husband’s touch. But she needed him to understand.
And offer yet another lie?
No, in this she would give him truth. “After my husband was murdered—” She struggled for the right words. “—one of the English knights caught me and I was raped.”
Fury burned his eyes.
“The man . . .” She stared at the distant rush of water, the years rolling past, seeing the merchant’s greedy hands, feeling the pain of his assault. “I tried to run, to escape. I could not get away.” A sob escaped, then another. Emotions she’d withheld, had never shared with another, broke free. Hands, strong and tender, caught her, drew her against him, held her as if she was something precious.
“God, lass,” he whispered, “I am so sorry.”
Her tears fell harder, in part at the memories, in part that even in her horror she invited deception. She shook her head. “I no longer cry.”
Patrik wiped her cheek. “Tears do not make you weak, but alive.”
“It hurts to feel.” She sniffed. “I swore never again to care.”
“’Tis an unreasonable vow,” he said, his words without censure. “Our feelings are not for us to dictate.”
She fought to give him a smile, failed. “I was doing well until I met you.”
His mouth opened as if to say more. Instead, he drew her close, the steady beat of his heart reassuring, making her want to stay there forever.
“You need to rest.” His quiet words held an edge of tension, and of need as well.
Emma looked up. “But I want you.”
Instead of heat, tenderness filled his gaze. “As I do you, never doubt that. But with your emotions so raw, you are not ready.”
“I—”
He pressed a finger over her mouth. “On this I will not budge.”
At his thoughtfulness, fresh tears threatened. Though he might never admit it, they both understood that after the events of this moment, the bond between them had changed, had deepened.
“Come.” He led her to where he’d made a pallet. “We are both tired and need sleep.”
She nodded, emotions storming her as she walked by his side. They halted before the fire, but she found herself unable to let him go.
“Patrik?”
“Aye?”
“Will you hold me?”
Tenderness creased his face. “ ’Twould be a fine thing.”
Shyness touched her, ridiculous to feel after asking him to make love to her, more so after their heated kiss when he’d touched her, made her body come alive.
He helped her settle, then wrapped his hand around her waist and drew her against him. Warmth surrounded her, a contentment she’d never expected to feel.
Emma snuggled against him. “Thank you.”
He kissed her brow. “Go to sleep.”
His muscled body pressed against hers, inspiring desire more than sleep, but within his arms, she felt safe, protected, feelings she’d never experienced. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the luxury of drifting off.
On a sigh, Patrik shifted, and the writ within his trews bumped her.
Guilt severed the warmth of the moment. She closed her eyes and prayed that when Patrik learned the truth, somehow, he could find forgiveness.
 
 
At the soft brush against her cheek, Emma shifted closer to the warmth and fought to reclaim the haze of sleep.
A soft scrape tickled her ear.
Frustrated, she swatted at the pesky irritant, but a firm pressure stayed her hand. Confused, she opened her eyes and stared into Patrik’s face.
Amusement warmed his hazel eyes.
“I was asleep.”
“So you were.” He claimed her mouth, soft, warm, seducing her until her sleep-jumbled mind collided with thick emotion.
On a groan, he rolled her onto her back with his body atop hers, his weight upon his elbows while his mouth continued its amazing foray. Heat poured through her, hot, seducing, eroding her thoughts.
Patrik lifted his head, gave her a tender smile. “A kiss from a beautiful lass is a fine way to begin the morning.”
“’Tis pleasing,” she replied, fighting to keep the tumble of reality from stealing this fragment of bliss.
“Pleasing?” A wicked smile touched his face as he settled himself more intimately against her. “If my kiss is merely pleasing, I am doing a poor job of it. Neglect I will be fixing.”
“Patrik—”
He smothered her words, destroyed her thoughts with mind-stunning intensity. He used teeth and tongue, taking, tasting, his hands caressing her until her mind tumbled into a blissful haze.
Patrik nipped along the curve of her jaw. “Tell me, lass, was that merely pleasing?”
Breathless, her body alive from his touch, Emma trembled. His smug expression assured her he knew exactly how his kisses made her feel. Would it be so wrong to enjoy this time with him, to take what could not be? Never had she wanted a man or believed she could find desire. But Patrik, with the depth of his caring, with his sincerity and passion, had changed everything.
Guilt tore through her. If he learned of her deception, he would hate her. But how did his hatred weigh against loneliness? Tears burned her throat. God in heaven, however wrong, she would take this moment, store it in her mind to keep. If her actions damned her to hell, it was a path too well trod.
She stared at the fire burning nearby, the darkness beyond, a blackness that for too long coated her soul. Too soon she would reclaim the bleakness she called her life.
A life alone.
“Your kiss is a touch better than pleasing,” Emma said.
Hazel eyes narrowed with roguish delight. “A touch better? Wounded I am.”
“Mayhap your ego, but little more.”
“You make fun of me, lass.”
“No, I adore you.” Her playful words fell out in a husky whisper, far from the teasing she’d intended.
The smile on his face sobered. He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We are making a muddle of this.”
“We are,” she replied, aware of exactly what he meant. Except, he didn’t understand that the Scottish woman he believed her to be didn’t exist. No, she couldn’t do this. “I must get up.”
At her gentle shove, Patrik eased his grip, but he didn’t let go. When he’d awoken with Cristina curled at his side, he’d meant to steal a kiss before they began their journey this day. Instead of his lighthearted intent, he’d made her think of her rape.
“I will not harm you,” he said, keeping his voice calm despite the violence battering his heart against a man who would attack a lass.
“I know.”
But he saw the fear, the nerves she fought to hide. With the paltry time remaining between them, if he waited for her to come to him, she might never dare. “I want to kiss you.”
“I—”
“Trust me.” And he found her response important, wanting, no craving that she would give him her trust. In mere days the lass had become important to him.
Emerald eyes darkened with emotion. “I do.”
The enormity of the responsibility she’d given him weighed heavy on his mind. The rape after her husband’s death had left her with nightmares, yesterday’s near brutality another harsh reminder.
His irritation built. With her faith in him, if he left her with fear in her eyes, he would be far from the man she needed him to be. He tamped down the ire. By God, he would purge the bastard’s vile act from her mind, leave only memories of the beauty of a lover’s touch.
On edge, wanting her with his every breath, Patrik gently claimed her lips. Awareness sparked in her gaze, grew, trampled upon the nerves shadowing her eyes. Pleased, he caressed the curve of her jaw as he slowly moved his mouth again over hers.
“Kiss me back,” he whispered.
Cristina hesitated, and then complied, her cautious movements stoking the heat within him. But he allowed her to set the pace, endured the nervous press of her mouth, her fumbling passion as her lips hesitantly explored his own. Then, as if the demons haunting her mind fell away, she took his mouth in a hungry demand.

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