His Destiny Read Online Free

Cristina would have long since wed. “Worry not, my friends will ensure you are reunited with your husband.”
    In the muted light, the flicker of flame exposed her distress. “My hu-husband?”
    “What is it?” From the fresh pain within her voice, the stiff set of her frame, he knew.
    And prayed he was wrong.

Chapter 3
     
    “The English knights mu-murdered my husband.”
    The angst of Cristina’s admission wrapped around Patrik like a blanket thrown, her whispered words but a punctuation of pain. “Saint’s breath, lass.”
    She crossed her arms, a defensive measure that shielded naught of the turmoil within.
    “When?”
    A thick second passed. “Two years ago while Gyles and I slept, the English torched our home. We awoke to crude laughter and the stench of smoke.” She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them, her expression haunted by the nightmares ravaging her mind. “Gyles yelled for me to escape.” She shook her head. “I refused to leave him. As he pushed me from our bed, the English smashed the door and cut him down. So I ran.”
    Hatred welled, built upon fury as Patrik imagined her brutal shock at witnessing her husband murdered. Though two years had passed, she’d far from recovered. A fate he well understood.
    “I am sorry,” he said.
    “After the knights almost . . .” She dragged in an unsteady breath. “My focus is on that of making it through this day. Tomorrow and its decisions will come soon enough.” She turned toward the loom of darkness. “How long will it take us to reach the other side?”
    “More than a day.” He lauded her fortitude, courage he’d rarely seen in a woman.
    Except for Nichola.
    Regret streaked through him at thoughts of the English noblewoman his brother, Alexander, had abducted. Of a time when he’d chosen to protect his family, of a decision ill made, and a decision too late to repair.
    Through sheer will, Patrik purged the dark memories, potent reminders of his family lost. One would think with a year past, the pain would ease.
    He took in the beautiful woman before him. ’Twould seem Cristina shared his sorrow. And what of her feelings for her husband lost? Was her love so great she might never recover?
    Jaw tight, he turned toward the blackened tunnels ahead, thankful she was ignorant of his musings. The image of her full lips and emerald eyes filled his mind, but it was the pain in her eyes that captured him most.
    He frowned. Never had a woman incited in him more than a desire for a lusty romp. But with Cristina, he felt more. Something about her drew him.
    Unease filtered through him. Nay, his protectiveness bolstered his feelings, made him aware of her as of no woman before. Both of them had suffered loss of family at the hands of the English. How could he not feel a connection to the lass? Still, the intensity of the emotions Cristina inspired left him on edge.
    His mission had not changed. He must deliver the writ to Bishop Wishart with news that John de Warenne was preparing to depart for Berwick to rejoin forces with Hugh de Cressingham before the end of July. Each day lost stole another the rebels needed to prepare for the impending attack. As for Cristina, he must keep his feelings for this woman whom he’d rescued in perspective.
    “This passage takes us beneath the ben?” she asked.
    “Aye.” He grimaced. At least one of them had their mind on reality.
    “You have but the single candle.”
    The worry in her voice had Patrik glancing over. “Others are hidden along the way.” He explained no more. Regardless of the circumstance that had tossed them together, he knew naught of her. Though she professed to be a Scot, a woman whose life had been torn apart, she was a stranger and his country’s freedom as well as countless lives lay at stake.
    After he’d recovered from his supposed death a summer past, he’d ridden to Glasgow to speak with Bishop Wishart, had confessed his sins and asked for forgiveness. Then, on trembling knees