An Oath Broken (10 page)

And with the men who pursued them in addition to the dangerous winter conditions, they had problems enough to deal with without the complication of intimacy. And yet, with all of the reasons he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t want her, he still did.

She glared at him. “All you care about is the gold.”

Giric shrugged and dressed with a casual ease he didna feel. “The gold will buy food to fill my belly on a cold winter night, but then you wouldna be knowing what that is like. With your wealth your larder stays filled.”

Sarra stiffened.

“I will be back.” The cold slap of the wind hit him as he exited. He pulled the door shut.

Good going, Terrick!
He headed toward the makeshift stable, stopped. As he neared, his senses came on full alert. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he stared down the rambling hillside that opened into a long, tree-lined valley. On his initial scan, except for a Goshawk circling above the trees, he saw naught but the pristine lay of the land, ripples of snow blanketing the glen bound by a sturdy line of ash, oak, and pine.

Another wash of unease rippled through him. His instincts hadna failed him in the past.

A distant crack echoed from the far end of the field.

He turned, searched every shadow, every crevice of blackness for any sign of life and prayed it was a hart or another large animal.

A movement caught his eye. The fleeting cast of brown disappeared from view, but he didna need a second look to understand.

On a curse, Giric scooped up an armload of snow and ran back inside. Kicking the embers, he threw the snow atop the glowing coals. Steam sputtered and spit with an angry hiss. With a gasp, Sarra grabbed the blanket and covered herself. “What do you think—”

“Get dressed—now!” Giric jerked her clothes from where they’d dried during the night, tossed them to her. “The men who are after us are about an hour away.”

The blood rushed from her face.

“Move!”

The blanket fell to the floor as she tugged on her clothes.

He walked over to help her, and she froze. “Before you can give me any charming advice about your nae wanting my assistance, we need to get out of here.”

 

“’Tis the only reason I would allow you to touch me,” Sarra stated, wanting him as far away from her as possible.

Nerves whipped through her as his fingers secured her gown with familiar ease. No doubt he’d had plenty of experience seducing women with his practiced lines and devastating smile. At what moment had she lost her wits and deluded herself that he was different from other men? When he secured the last tie, she stepped away, unsure of everything.

His cold eyes held hers. “Put on your cape and come outside. I will be waiting.” Giric grabbed the blanket and exited.

As the door closed behind him, a shudder ran through her for what she’d almost given him, for what she’d almost allowed herself to believe.

Sarra donned her cape and hurried to the door. But as her hand curled over the wooden handle, she paused to look behind her.

The simple abode was neat from her cleaning, and the bed tousled from where she and Giric had slept. For a moment she’d found happiness within these shabby confines, a place where her past no longer mattered, where she wasn’t evaluated by her wealth, and with a man who’d soothed her fears.

No. Sarra shoved her foolish notions away. She’d but deceived herself into believing he was the man she’d one day hoped to find.

She again scanned the hovel, this time noting the tattered bed frame, the worn floor, and the blackened fire reeking with the smell of wet ash.

’Twould seem over the last few hours that only her dreams, spawned by her exhaustion, had come to life. Before her stood the harsh reality. Like the barbaric hovel, Sir Knight hadn’t truly softened, only her delusions had made her believe so. A man, he’d seized the opportunity a young, naïve woman had offered. This room held only fragments of another’s humble life, not memories she would ever wish to recall or cherish.

Tears burned her eyes, but she shoved them back. Tears were for a child whose life blessed them with hopes and dreams. Fate had carved her a path where she faced a guardian who would wed her to his son. Her escort was a temporary inconvenience, a Scot she refused to harbor in her thoughts, much less in her dreams.

With her heart secured, her mind refocused on her upcoming confrontation with Lord Bretane, and any silly notions of Sir Knight erased from her mind, Sarra stepped into the cold. She glanced to where Giric stood by his mount, irritation clear on his face as he waved her forward.

With a tug, she pulled the cape tighter, started forward, and promised herself she would not make that emotional error again.

“T
he men chasing us are beyond the trees and to the left,” Giric whispered to Sarra. His horse shifted beneath them and he murmured a soft command for him to still. Through the thick firs, he watched their pursuers advance on the hovel they’d departed a short while before.

The Scots had known where to look. It made sense that they would understand that with Sarra nae used to harsh winter travel, he would seek a known shelter, even if for a short while. But he’d hoped they’d nae find them so quick.

“I see them now.” Seated on the horse before him, Sarra turned. “Do you think they saw us?”

“I canna say for sure. Though I erased the tracks for quite a distance, they will eventually discover our trail.”

“Where will we go now?”

A question he’d pondered since their hasty departure. With the heavy snow, his plan to head east and meet up with Colyne was dangerous at best. To travel south would put them in jeopardy of meeting up with the other half of their pursuers. Nor would he choose to move farther north and into treacherous mountainous terrain. The best option was to travel a bit farther northeast.

He hoped Colyne had realized that due to the blizzard and time constraints to deliver Sarra to her guardian, their original plan to rejoin the group wouldna work. “We will travel to Colyne’s brother’s home. We can stay until the weather permits us to continue to Dunkirk Castle,” Giric replied, irritated by the thought of her impending marriage.

Would Sinclair care if Sarra’s haughty air was incited by fear? Or, would her betrothed find her resistance an annoyance, and demean her into subservience that would destroy her spirit? The thought of anyone breaking her left him cold. At least he had a reprieve in knowing that Sinclair, as most men in power, often kept mistresses. Odds were Sarra would suffer his touch only until she carried his child.

His grip on the rein tightened at the thought of Lord Sinclair or any other man having her. As if he had a blasted say? He prayed that the baron would value the woman he would wed. Frustrated by his thoughts, Giric kicked his mount forward.

Distant shouts of men melded into the gusty wind, and he thanked nature for that. With the snow swirling and drifting, though it would make travel difficult, ’twould cover their tracks as well. He wished he could erase his anxiety over Sarra’s upcoming marriage with such ease.

For the next several hours they traveled in silence. The sun lent a false warmth, its rays dancing upon the cascading flakes like fairies at play. Wind, rich with the scent of pine and of the cold winter’s day, stung their faces and slipped through their clothing.

As the morning wore on, they climbed the steep hills littered with fallen trees, clusters of bare bushes, and patches of open field. At the top of the next knoll, in the distance, Giric spotted what he’d been searching for, an overhang caked with layers of snow and half-hidden by a thick shield of evergreens.

He guided his horse through the snow-laden branches and into the rock’s shadow, then drew to a halt.

Sarra turned. “What are you doing?”

In answer, he dismounted, held up his arms to aid her dismount. “Come.”

She watched him with distrust.

Annoyed by her guarded expression, he caught her waist and hauled her from the mount. Outrage flared in her eyes as she stared up at him, her body inches from his, his mind already racing into forbidden territory. “We will hide here until the men have passed and are a safe distance away.”

“You are sure they will not find us?” she asked, the doubts woven within her question making it more like a charge.

“Few know of this place.”

She took a step back. “Like the hovel we stayed in last night?”

What did he expect after he’d reminded her of their journey to her betrothed this morning? In her mind, at least, she’d forgotten her sharing her fears, and their kiss hours before. When she looked at him now, she saw a Scot, a man she who incited naught but her suspicions.

“You are safe,” Giric half-growled, then walked to the edge of the overhang. Snow crunched beneath his feet, and the breeze slid across his skin as he knelt behind a boulder and surveyed the glen below.

In the distance the tiny flecks of men grew. Thankfully the wind had erased any signs of their passage through the valley.

As expected, the Scots paused near the base of the glen and searched their surroundings. The Scot with the grizzled beard turned to the others and made an angry gesture with his hands.

Giric smiled, well familiar with their leader’s quick temper. Obviously Léod couldna decide which route he and Sarra had taken.

“There is naught amusing about this situation,” Sarra whispered as she knelt beside him.

He stiffened. “They are debating which way we went, and by the look of it, canna decide.”

“What did those men mean when they linked John Balliol with my betrothed?” she asked, nerves in her voice.

“’Tis naught to worry about,” he replied, irritated that his personal dislike for a contender for Scotland’s crown should shroud his mission in any manner. Until their pursuers had stated the royal affiliation, he’d nae connected neither the father nor son’s intent for marriage to Sarra to any political reason.

Now he saw the intent with biting clarity. Once wed, Lord Sinclair could use Sarra’s fortune to support John Balliol’s cause, with a political reward of being elevated to a higher station for his efforts.

“’Tis my life,” she stated, jerking him from his musings. “If there are circumstances that affect my marriage, I should be told.”

Through her anger, he saw the worry, and his heart went out to her. “As you know, with King Edward’s guidance, the Guardians are in the process of selecting Scotland’s new king.”

She gave a curt nod.

“Lord Sinclair is a close friend of John Balliol, claimant for the crown. Though Robert Bruce, the Competitor, is the better choice for our Scottish king, Balliol is a powerful man who holds ties to his English counterparts including John de Warren, one of the English king’s most trusted earls.”

“And you believe ’tis my money and not I that is behind the betrothal?” she asked, resentment creeping into her voice. “That he wants to use my wealth to bolster John Balliol’s claim for the crown?”

“You are a beautiful woman,” Giric said, irritated to be caught in a position to defend what could be the truth, and to realize that her dreams might include romantic notions. “His motivation for a union could easily be due to his desire for you.”

“Save your praise for another. I need not pathetic words to flatter me. I am an heiress,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “I realize my value to the man I wed. ’Tis learning that I am a political pawn for Scotland’s cause that catches me by surprise.” Her last words ended in a bitter clip.

“I do nae need to craft false words of your beauty,” Giric snapped, irritated she would dismiss a man’s reason to wed her for her looks. She was breathtaking and didna even realize it.

Sarra’s eyes darkened with anger. “Is that not part of your task? Deliver the heiress safe and sound. Mayhap keep her happy as well? Or does the fact that Lord Sinclair intends to use my fortune to support Sir Balliol and not Sir Robert Bruce, the Competitor, raise your ire? Tell me,” she said, her words ice, “how far would you go to halt what you believe is Lord Sinclair’s intent?”

Damn her. “I have nae—”

“Like it or not,” she pushed on, “you have given your word as a knight to deliver me to my betrothed. Except I do not believe sleeping with the prize was part of the agreement.”

Saint’s breath, now they were back to that. “I was trying to keep you from blasted freezing to death.”

“Were you?” She folded her hands over her chest. “I wonder how Lord Sinclair would view your
caring
act? Or is it common for an escort to climb half-naked into a woman’s bed or for her to awaken with her protector’s hand on her breast?”

The lass was so blasted smug. On an oath, Giric caught her shoulders. “What is it that bothers you? That I lay in bed with you and touched you or that you liked it?”

Sarra shoved against his chest. “You self-serving—”

“Or the fact that this morning you instigated the kiss?”

She opened her mouth to reply.

“The truth. Or canna you admit that you wanted me?” He arched a brow and witnessed the silent battle in her eyes, understanding her value for the truth, a value he cherished as well. From her recount of her past, he understood the cost, but for a demented, self-tortuous reason, part of him needed her to confess that she desired him as well.

“I was exhausted.”

Giric cupped her chin in a gentle hold. “And now?” He lifted her mouth to within inches of his, the silent draw to claim her lips humming through him. “If I kissed you here?”

With a hard jerk, she pulled from his grasp, her breathing fast, and her expression unsure. “Leave me alone.” But her demand trembled with fragile need.

“As I thought.” He waited for her to refute his words, then her shoulders slumped. The denial in her eyes faded to acceptance.

She stared at the valley where the Scots now circled at the base as they tried to discern which direction he and Sarra had taken. “You are not what I expected,” she finally said. “I wanted to hate you.”

Her tender confession moved him. “I know.” Turning her to face him, he slid his thumb along the curve of her jaw, and she trembled beneath his touch. He wanted her. He could already taste her mouth, warm and willing, soft with the wanting. Her eyes darkened with need, and he was tempted to make his fantasies reality.

A hint of vulnerability shimmered in her gaze. “I still think you are obstinate, overbearing, and a bit smug.”

“Some have said the same.” With regret Giric slid his hands along her shoulders, and then released her. He drew in a deep breath sharp with cold. He wanted to believe that naught had changed between them, but one look at her told him otherwise.

Shaken, he glanced where the Scots were searching for tracks along the valley floor. “A compromise,” he said, calling himself a fool to invite camaraderie between them. ’Twas a bargain with the devil and he knew it. In a fortnight at most she would be gone from his life. Why couldna they at least depart as friends? “Trust me to take care of you.” Even as he said the words, he realized that above all else, her trust was what he wanted the most.

“Why should I?”

“Because I give you my word.” She hesitated, and he held his breath, her decision holding more importance than he would want.

“I will trust you—on that.”

He nodded. “Agreed.”

Below, the men had regrouped with several pointing toward the north. They started riding away.

“After they are out of sight,” Giric said, “we will head toward a small village where I am known. We will remain there for the night, and then continue to Colyne’s brother’s home.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you insane?”

Aye, for allowing her to get under his skin. “Those trying to find us will nae be expecting such a bold move.”

“You are right, ’twould be the decision of a lunatic.”

He took her hand, finding he needed to touch her. “Though a risk, a minor one comparatively, and by staying in the village, we can rest before continuing on. Trust me.”

She took a deep breath. Her hand trembled in his. Sarra nodded.

Elation surged through him. As much as he wanted to draw her to him, he let her go. He had what he wanted. In this she’d given him her trust. It would be enough.

 

The sun sat high in the sky as Giric guided them from their safe haven, but she agreed they’d used the time wisely. While they’d remained beneath the cover of the overhang, they’d eaten and rested his mount, plus with their pursuers headed on a northward trek, they’d increased their chances to escape.

For a while.

The Scots chasing them would not give up so easily, nor had she forgotten the other part of the band that rode to their south. The men’s determination to ensure she never reached her guardians was spawned by loyalty, not gold. With a frustrated sigh, she turned her attention to their travel.

Deep snow, persistent wind, and sheer exhaustion had her leaning against Giric’s muscled chest. He draped his cape around her, and she snuggled against his solid warmth, but doubts left her uneasy. Had she erred in offering him her trust, even to a small degree? A part of her wanted to reject the Scot who reminded her of her past, but another was drawn to the man whose actions and genuine concern lured her to care.

He guided his mount along a stand of ash, then up a steep incline littered with clumps of brambles glazed with snow. They crested the hill and a small village came into view.

The last streaks of the setting sun bathed the misshapen community within its golden rays. Sod homes, similar to the hovel where they’d stayed last night, but in better repair, lay clustered together on a narrow flat of land crowded around an aged rowan tree. The tree’s tangled limbs sat barren of leaves, and clawed toward the sky.

The simplicity of the setting touched her. Like the gnarled tree, the people within this mountain village endured the fury of life, and against the odds, persevered.

As did Giric. In their discussions he’d shown her that he would bend when the cause demanded it, but when the need came to protect, he was steady and strong.

Hooves crunched as his mount trudged through the crusted drifts. With a shiver she glanced skyward. A hint of stars glittered through the wash of purple. Without the cover of clouds, ’twould be a bitter night.

The smoke curling from the holes in the roofs promised warmth. Mayhap his decision to stay at this small village was wise. Indeed, ‘twas only for a night.

As they entered the outskirts of the humble village, a burly man, dressed in a thick woolen cape, stepped from the largest home, a claymore secured in a leather sheath strapped on his back.