An Oath Broken (18 page)

“Aye,” his friend agreed. “’Tis best if you and I slip out as fast as possible. We will deal with any explanations later.”

Giric nodded. With everything happening now, explaining to Sarra of his reiving days would have to wait. She would be upset enough to learn that he planned for her to remain here. “I need to talk with Sarra. I will meet you in the stables shortly.”

“I shall be waiting. Whatever happens, Sarra will be safe.”

“My thanks.” The upcoming encounter with Lord Bretane guaranteed naught, including his life.

On a soft scrape, Colyne headed down the hallway. Giric watched his friend depart, and wished there was more time to spend with Sarra, to build upon the fragile bonds of their love. His mind raced to find the words to explain his leaving, but at every turn stumbled. Blast it. He’d faced death many times over, so why did the upcoming confrontation with one woman leave him at such a loss?

Because he loved her.

With the weight of the next few moments on his mind, he turned toward the partially opened door, stilled. Sarra stood within the entry, her features pale, and her eyes wide with horror.

A
t Sarra’s horrified stare, Giric’s gut gave a sickening lurch.

“A reiver!”

He’d wanted her to find out about his being a reiver, but nae like this. Giric moved toward her. She stepped back, the revulsion in her eyes cutting him to the quick. “Stay away from me.”

“I need to explain.”

Her eyes flashed. “How dare you withhold that fact from me! Did you believe it would not matter? Did you think I was so in love with you that I could overlook such?”

“Nay.” He shook his head disgusted with himself, ashamed he hadna told her the truth from the start. She deserved that and more. And she was right. There wasna a good enough explanation. “I was wrong.”

 

“Wrong?” Sarra swiped away her tears, furious he’d betrayed her trust. And for that she could never forgive him. Numb, she walked to the bed and began to gather her clothes, scrambling for a scrap of composure. “I am leaving. I do not expect or want you to accompany me.” She jerked on her chemise.

At his quiet steps behind her, she squeezed the dress she’d picked until the fabric wrinkled in her grip. The bed they’d lain in, had made love countless times in, blurred before her. He deserved no tears.

She steeled herself against her emotions. They’d cost her enough and she refused to lose anymore. If nothing else, she would leave here with her pride. She shook out the dress and pulled it over her head, keeping her back to Giric and her thoughts focused on what she needed to do over the next few hours to leave.

Without him.

Her heart ached at the thought, and every nuance cried its outrage. But pride had her refusing to relent.

“You are staying here,” Giric stated, an edge of pain in his voice.

She whirled, disconcerted that he stood inches away, close enough that if she chose, she could touch him. “You will not tell me where I will go or stay.” Sarra stepped back, needing the distance. After pulling on her hose she reached for her boots and glared up at Giric. “I will speak with Gryfalcon about a proper escort. I will not be needing you again. Ever.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes a second before the anger. “You are remaining here,” he said, his each word edged with ice. “I have already made arrangements.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You have no right!”

“I have every right. You are my wife.”

And she hated that he would use his position to control her. “An oversight I will tend to at the first opportunity.”

He caught her shoulders. “Oversight?”

She tried to push free.

Giric hauled her against him. On a curse, he caught her mouth, his anger and passion pouring out in his kiss.

She tried to ignore the way he made her feel, but her body betrayed her as his hands moved over her, igniting flames throughout her until she ached with need. With a shudder, she moaned.

He released her shoulders and cupped her face, his eyes fierce, the love she wanted blazing hot. “Tell me now that you do nae give a damn.”

How dare he use sex against her! “Take your hands off me.” Her cool words belied the roiling heat inside.

His lips thinned. “Nae until you admit the truth.”

“As if you know the meaning of the word.” He winced at her attack, but at the moment, pity wasn’t in her arsenal to offer. “How dare you ask for the truth when you have lied to me from the start.”

The anger in his face crumbled to frustration. “What do you want from me? I was wrong. I should have told you of my past as a reiver from the first, but now ’tis too late.” His hold gentled, and his expression softened until ’twas as if she could see straight to his soul. “I wish I could go back, but I canna.”

At the rawness of his words, she hardened her heart. “’Tis too late.”

“I am nae letting you go.”

She tried to jerk free, but he held. Anger bubbled to a dangerous level. “You tricked me into this marriage. Seduced me into bed. Lied to me about your past as a reiver. Anything we have ever built in our relationship is bound by deceit and lies. So tell me, is there truly anything to hold?”

She knew she was being unfair. Though he’d tricked her into marriage, he’d done so to save her life. And she’d wanted him in her bed, his seduction had sweetened their joining. But that he’d hidden his past when he’d known of her childhood trauma and her feelings toward reivers ’twas unacceptable. Exhausted, Sarra steadied herself. The time for discussion had passed. She knew what she had to do. “I am going to finish packing, then I will speak with Gryfalcon. Do not try to stop me, you will fail.”

He hesitated, and she thought he would refuse. A part of her wanted him to demand that they would remain together and work through the rough times ahead.

“You will go, but I am going with you. ’Twill be safer that way.”

“Safer?”

“You didna overhear our entire conversation in the hallway, did you?”

Dread filled her. What could she have possibly missed? Regret darkened his eyes. “I am wanted for murder.”

 

Horror flickered in Sarra’s eyes. “You murdered a man?”

Her instant belief of his guilt hurt. She hadna hesitated to believe the worst. “Finish getting dressed. We will leave once you are ready.” Giric immediately regretted his temper. Blast it, her parents had been killed by reivers. Now she found out the man she’d pledged her life to, confessed her love to, was a reiver as well and on top of that, he was wanted for murder. What did he expect, her to welcome him with open arms?

At the moment he wasna sure, but he needed to put some distance between them and try to sort everything out. He strode to the door, jerked it open.

“Giric?”

At the tremor in her voice, he forced his face into an unemotional mask, turned.

Her eyes searched his, the shattered look devastating him further. “Did you murder the man?”

He remained silent. “Would you believe me if I told you nay?”

“I . . .” For the briefest of moments, tenderness stole into her gaze. Then as quick it evaporated. Her face ashen, she began to methodically pick up her few remaining garments.

His heart ached as he watched her. Hours ago they’d lain entangled within each other’s arms, their future before them, love shared in their hearts. Though he still loved her, it wasna enough. He could try to explain, but with her trust in him shattered, at this moment she would never believe him. “I will be waiting outside when you are ready.”

Giric stepped into the corridor, closed the door. If their relationship was to survive, the next step would be hers. He loved her, but he had his pride. He would nae beg.

 

A burning ball of brilliant color, the sun slid lower on the horizon to paint the landscape in a wash of gold, purple, and red. A raven called from the distance, its cry echoing in the forest.

Sarra inhaled the fresh scent of snow and wood and basked in the beauty of the day. ’Twas one of those mornings that tempted you to dream. The scrape of hooves through snow had her glancing toward Giric who rode next to her palfrey. She sobered. This day was far from a dream, but a testament of the divisions that stood between them.

After a short discussion with Gryfalcon, they’d slipped from the castle through a secret exit, and had now ridden for two days. She’d remembered Colyne’s insistence to travel with them or to provide several men as an escort. In the end Giric had refused both options and held fast that only he and Sarra would finish their journey to her guardian’s.

So they traveled alone.

Except for the few spoken words necessary for polite requests, he had remained silent, which was fine by her. She ignored the steady ache that tugged at her heart since she’d asked him if he’d murdered the man.

Giric was a reiver.

She knew his type all too well, had watched their horrific butchery firsthand. They took without thought, killed when needed, and departed without caring one whit about the lives shattered in their wake.

Tightness wove through her chest. If anything, his withdrawal had given her time to think, to try to put everything in proper perspective. Though they’d made love, the finalization of their marriage was far from complete. As she’d witnessed many times during her life, money held power. And she was a very influential woman, her inheritance ensured that. Even with their marriage consummated, with enough monetary incentive, she should be able to sway the right people and dissolve this farce of a union.

The comfort that she stood a chance at buying back her freedom eluded Sarra. Her heart squeezed, understanding the reason too well. When a child, the sparkle and beauty of the finest cloth, the intricate toys her parents gifted her with had enchanted her. But with their deaths, she’d learned that however powerful, money couldn’t buy back their lives.

From that moment she’d despised her wealth with her every breath, only to be chained to the stigma it created, and suffocated with the responsibility her position demanded. Oh she’d used her coin for her people, wore the confidence it gave her like an ironclad cloak that most never saw through.

Except Giric.

Tears burned her eyes as she scanned the rim of the canyon now bathed in gold and a hint of purple. When she’d thought herself strong, capable of carving her own path in life, he had entered and unveiled the lonely woman within and had shattered her well-planned illusion.

Like a foul joke, the one man who had dared to tear down her emotional barrier was the one man she could never accept into her life.

Giric drew to a halt. “We have arrived at Dunkirk Castle.”

Trepidation shot through her. In the past, her guardian’s fairness had been a trait she admired, but times had changed, he had changed. His writ held proof of that.

And what of his son, Lord Sinclair? The foul-tempered child who seemed to thrive on misbegotten deeds flickered through her mind. Had the priest been correct? Had Drostan grown to be a man she could admire?

She frowned. Memories of Lord Bretane’s son held little warmth. Even if she wished to marry, she doubted he would be the man she would choose to wed. At the moment, she’d had enough of marriage to last her a lifetime.

And how would her guardian react to the news of her union? Would he release her estate and funds into her possession as she’d originally hoped, or, enraged by her impromptu wedding, refuse to relinquish her inheritance and follow through on his threat to send her to the abbey? If so, what of her people?

Sarra tightened her fingers around the reins. She must remain calm, rational. She was overreacting. Since the arrival of the marriage decree, her guardian’s actions bespoke an arrogant man, a man who cared not of her feelings. He’d summoned her to wed, given her an ultimatum that left no room to doubt his intent.

And what of Giric? How would he play into the upcoming confrontation? Or, would he hold any part at all?

She hated these doubts. Since her parents’ death she’d kept her emotions under tight control. But from the first moment Giric had walked into her life, she’d been thrown into total emotional chaos.

“ ’Tis nae too late to turn back,” he said, his voice quiet. “You can remain at Gryfalcon’s while I meet with your guardian.”

“I do not run from my battles.”
Even if that means you.
She kicked her mare forward.

With a curse, he caught her mount’s halter. “Then why with the first problem that arises in our marriage are you ready to dismiss what exists between us?”

She glared at him.

“What is wrong?” he asked, his burr edged with a dangerous air. “Afraid to answer?”

“I am not afraid of you.” But she was. As much as she wanted to hate him, to expel him from her life, she still loved him. And, if he chose, he could tear her to emotional shreds, which she could never allow.

Giric’s expression darkened, the emotions swirling through his ice blue eyes volatile. He started to speak, but a dog’s low and frantic barking severed his reply. He released her mount and glanced toward the edge of the trees.

A hart bound from the woods, a mastiff on its heels.

The pounding of hooves echoed nearby. A moment later, a rider trailed by several men galloped into the clearing. With deft accuracy, the lead rider nocked an arrow in his bow, aimed, and released.

The arrow landed in the hart’s chest. It stumbled, regained its legs, then staggered forward and collapsed.

The lead rider halted before his fallen prey. Nocking another arrow, he took careful aim, plunged it straight into the animal’s heart. He backed his horse away, then waved to the men behind him to recover his kill.

Two men rode to the downed animal, dismounted, and began the task of gutting the stag.

With a nod, the lead rider turned in their direction, paused. He called out an order, and then galloped toward them, several men flanking his side.

“Looks like the welcoming party,” Giric said, his voice tight.

She didn’t recognize the dark-haired man in the lead, nor those who rode at his side, but the fact that they wore Lord Bretane’s colors eased her mind.

Giric’s hand curled on the hilt of his sword, and he moved his mount before her.

The lead rider halted several feet away. “You are on Dunkirk land. State your business.”

“I am escorting Lady Sarra Bellecote from Rancourt Castle,” Giric replied. “Lord Bretane is expecting us.”

The man glanced toward her. Interest flared, then warmth. “Lady Sarra?”

She nodded, surprised by the man’s smooth, cultured voice in this rugged setting. “Yes.”

A smile curved his lips, and hazel eyes lit with approval. “My father and I have been expecting you.” He paused. “You do nae recognize me? I am nae surprised. It has been many years since we played as children. All that counts is that you are here now.”

“Drostan?” Sarra asked with a frown.