Read An Oath Broken Online

Authors: Diana Cosby

An Oath Broken (2 page)

BOOK: An Oath Broken
9.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
The clank of tankards melded with the voices of the men. Smoke, thick and pungent, sifted overhead. Weariness swept him, and he rubbed his brow. “I am ready for this journey to be over. ’Tis long past time to return home.”
“It will be quiet without your sister, Elizabet, in residence.”
“Aye, but she is safe. Though English and sworn to serve King Edward, Sir Nicholas has proven to be a good husband and fair to the bordering Scots.” Though Colyne nodded, Giric didna miss the shadow of hurt that crossed his face. Over the years when his friend had visited Wolfhaven Castle, the love Colyne held for his sister hadna escaped him, nor his intent to request her hand in marriage.
But true to her unconventional manner, Elizabet had fallen in love and wed a man who by rights should be their enemy. And blast it if Giric didn’t like the Sassenach.
In these troubled times, where rumors of war between England and Scotland rumbled as often as thunder, that his sister had found a man worthy of her love, made their union all the more precious.
He glanced at Lady Sarra who maintained her regal pose upon the dais and toyed with her food. Regret sifted through his mind. It appeared she, like most women, would marry for obligation.
A knight slammed his fist upon the table several lengths away and laughter broke out around him.
Lady Sarra glanced at the warrior, then her gaze shifted to Giric.
Their eyes locked.
For a split second, hers darkened with awareness, then her mouth parted in surprise.
Heat stormed Giric’s body.
Her finger touched her lips as if she could read his thoughts. Then, the warmth in her gaze iced.
An air of challenge snapped between them, and at her clear dismissal of him, Giric’s regrets of moments ago faded. He held her gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. Her contempt toward him, for God knows whatever reason, was her affair. Like it or nae, with his duty to offer her escort, they would be traveling together.
A long moment passed.
Redness crept up her face, but from the hard set of her expression, it wasna from embarrassment.
Giric narrowed his gaze.
She tilted her head in defiance. Then, her nostrils slightly flared and she looked away.
His body thrummed with unspent energy, unsure if he should be pleased or aggravated by her bravado.
After a sip from her goblet, she leaned over, whispered to the priest, then pushed her chair back and stood.
“You will nae avoid me this time,” he breathed. Giric snatched the cloth nearby, wiped the grease from his mouth and hands, then tossed it aside.
Colyne laughed as he watched the heiress depart. “Methinks the rose has thorns.”
“A blasted bushel of them.” Giric shoved to his feet. Rushes crunched beneath his boots as he strode after her. He kept his pace steady. Nae too fast as to alert the guards or her of his intent, but enough to keep her in sight.
Three blasted days now she’d made him and his men wait, and with her heading to her chamber, the lass would make it four. By God, he would speak with her this night!
Once shielded from the great hall, he took the steps up the turret two at a time. A wisp of her ivory linen gown twisted ahead of him with an elusive swirl, then was lost in the shadows.
Giric rounded the corner and caught her figure clearly silhouetted within the torchlight from the wall sconce. “Lady Sarra.”
Leather kid slippers scraped over stone as she turned. The flutter of flames outlined her like a dark angel. Wariness flared in her eyes.
He took a step closer, damning her beauty, lured by her spirit.
Her hand slid to the side of her gown. With a flick of her wrist, she withdrew a slim dagger from the folds. “Halt.” Her ominous warning echoed in the darkened void, edged with a hint of fear.
Saint’s breath, did the lass think she could intimidate him with a mere blade? “I mean you no harm, my lady. I wish but a brief moment of your time.”
That small pert nose lifted a fraction, like a warrior would raise his shield. “How dare you steal about and corner me in my own home.”
“If you had talked to me instead of avoided me, I would nae have had to resort to such extreme measures.”
A sliver of torchlight glinted off the dagger in her hands. “Leave me. I will grant you an audience when I deem the time appropriate.”
If she believed he could be swayed by flashing a weapon before him or a terse command, she was about to learn otherwise. He wasna one of her servants she could order about. He took a step closer. “We need to discuss our departure.”
She flinched, but she held her ground.
Determined to keep his temper, he drew a calming breath. “My lady, our acquaintance has begun poorly.” Her narrowing eyes chinked at his hard-won control, and the fact that she hadna lowered the blade didna help either, but he pressed on. “Let us begin anew, this time in the proper manner. Let me introduce my—”
“No!” She stepped forward, the dagger tight in her grip. “I will leave Rancourt Castle at my discretion. Your name as well as your demands are of little consequence. Try my patience further, Sir Knight, and you will find yourself housed within my dungeon this night instead of on a pallet of straw.” As regal as a queen, she sheathed her dagger and strode up the steps.
Fury slammed through Giric. He was wrong. With a woman like her, nae even a saint could keep his temper in check.
On a curse he bolted up the steps.
CHAPTER 2
T
he angry scrape of the knight’s steps gave Sarra a second’s warning as the Scot caught her arm, then pinned her against the wall.
The coldness of the stone seeped through skin as his hard, sculpted body leaned inches from hers. She stared at the large hand clasped against her skin, lined with scars. On an unsteady breath, she looked up.
His muscled frame blocked the light, casting his face in a partial shadow. Hard, unforgiving angles that served a fitting canvas for ice-blue eyes that held no quarter. And his devil’s black hair added an ominous edge to his dark looks.
Fear surged through her, threatened to undermine her hard-won control. The man was dangerous, a fact she’d noted from the first.
So preoccupied by her anger over her guardian’s news of her betrothal, she’d ignored the knight’s request for a meeting. She’d struggled with the reality that once she left her home, if Lord Bretane denied her request and forced her to marry his son, she might never return to Rancourt Castle. And her intent to depart immediately to confront her guardian had become smothered by fear.
Shame filled Sarra at her poor manners. The Scottish knight was hired to perform a task. He didn’t deserve her avoidance. “Apologize,” he breathed.
His voice, as potent as thunder, rattled through her thoughts to the fore. Sarra shoved against his chest.
He didn’t move.
“Release me.” At his noncompliance, her mouth grew dry. She licked her lips, and his eyes followed the act.
The knight muttered a soft curse, and a new worry shot through her. She glanced down the spiral steps to where her men ate, oblivious to her peril.
The knight tilted his head and fragments of light spilled over his face. Anger still raged within his ice-blue eyes, but now desire churned as well.
Stunned, she shoved harder. “Comply or I will order you hung!”
With a look of disguist, the knight loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go. “Rest assured, my lady, I have no personal intentions. A boar would offer more warmth than you.”
“Ho—How dare you!”
“And how dare you ignore my requests for the last three days.”
He was right, neither did he understand that his dark presence evoked painful memories of the reivers who’d murdered her parents, and reminded her of her future, promised to a Scot she abhorred.“My decisions are those of the mistress of Rancourt Castle. And ’twas not I who skulked through the castle without permission.”
“ ’Twas your rudeness that forced my hand.”
“I am firm but fair.”
He arched a skeptical brow. “Have you deluded yourself into believing that as well?”
Anger slid through her with a sharp bite. “You know naught about me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then we are even, are we nae?”
Again she shoved against his chest. To her surprise, this time he released her, but he didn’t step away.
Silence clattered between them. She should be afraid. Terrified. Never before had a man dared touch her so. But she remained still, as intrigued as afraid.
“ ’Tis what you are good at, is it nae?” he pressed. “Ignoring those you do nae wish to see. Allowing others to deal with issues that you refuse to face?” The Scot leaned closer, one hand pressed against the wall where he’d held her trapped moments ago, his eyes riveted upon her.
The image of a wolf flashed in her mind. Dark. Wild. Untamed.
Refusing to allow him the satisfaction of discovering that he’d unnerved her, she angled her chin. “Once I leave, fate may never allow me to return.”
“So you ignore me? Refuse to explain your reasons?”
What did he know about her and what did she care? “My reasons are not your concern.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she turned, then walked up the stairs. The lonely shuffle of her slippers on the stone steps echoed around her, but she sensed he still watched.
Waited.
Though the writ from her guardian had tossed her organized life into chaos, ’twould appear that with the arrival of the Scottish knight, fate had thrown in another curve as well.
Whatever lay between them was far from over.
 
Blast it!
Giric slammed the door to the keep. Air, bitter with cold, gusted against his face as he stepped into the night. Moonlight slashed through the shield of clouds racing overhead. The pale beams melded with the torchlight lending a majestic beauty to the well-kept stronghold.
One day his castle would stand as proud. Neither Lady Sarra nor any other would deter him from his goal.
Giric willed the English noble from his mind, but flashes of her vulnerability on the turret steps moments before haunted him.
Blast her. Why should he care about the quiet sadness that lurked in her eyes, a hurt that beckoned him when her wary manner foreshadowed a journey filled with naught but irritation? He didna need her problems added to his enormous pile. And let him nae forget that she was betrothed. The image of her mouth inches from his own on the turret steps lingered. A dull pounding began at his temples. And he thought only his sister Elizabet had a penchant for disrupting his sanity? He scoured the blackened nooks along the castle walls sure fairies lurked there and had addled his brain.
With a scowl, he tugged his hood over his head and strode across the courtyard. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked, but each step lingered on memories of the sorrow he’d glimpsed on Lady Sarra’s face.
With an oath, he wrapped his hand around the hilt of his broadsword. This was why he’d ridden to Rancourt Castle, to wield his blade for gold, nae fall victim to another’s plight.
Giric grimaced at the cloud-filled sky. As if Lady Sarra would ever seek him out for guidance? There was a thought to make a beggar laugh. He was a fool to contemplate earning even a token of her trust. Three days had passed and he stood at odds with the woman he had sworn to protect.
What had possessed him to touch her, much less challenge her? He desperately needed the gold this task would bring. As she’d threatened, she could have ordered her guard to cast him into the dungeon for his brazen act. A nightmare he’d sworn to never again endure.
The tap of his boots upon stone echoed as he ascended the steps to the wall walk. At the top, he nodded to a guard on his left then strolled along the snow-dusted path. Shafts of moonlight plunged through the crenellations like jagged teeth. As he walked through the play of light, beyond the castle walls, rolling fields gave way to a dense stand of trees. A thin layer of fog wove through the forest like a silken strand, lingered over the moon-bleached snow.
Though held by the English, the rough landscape of this northern stronghold mirrored that of his home along the border.
The grate of a window opening echoed from the tower ahead. Giric looked up to find the woman currently causing turmoil in his life lean into view.
Framed in the squared stone, her long golden hair fluttering around her, Lady Sarra leaned out the window and stared into the night.
He halted. On a silent curse, he waited for her to detect him, skewer him with a scowl of distrust, then slam the window as she withdrew. Her wariness he could handle, but nae this guileless maiden, still wearing the sad expression that lured him to care.
He stepped closer. His leather boots scraped to a stop on a patch of ice covered with snow.
She didna look down.
Then he realized he stood in the shadows, and with his movements muffled by the rush of wind, she was unaware of his presence.
A second passed, then another.
Giric damned himself for his indecision. He should walk into the light and make himself known, or leave. Struck by the pain in her expression, though, he could only stare.
As he watched, his chest grew tight and his every nerve came on alert.
Shaken by the feelings she inspired, he turned and walked away.
 
Two days later dark clouds churned overhead and spewed thick flakes of snow as Giric checked the straps of the saddle for the third time since they’d finished preparations to leave. A horse to his right pawed the ground, and he empathized with the steed’s restlessness.
The bells of Prime tolled.
“Saint’s breath, where is she?” Giric growled.
Colyne shrugged. “’Twould seem the lady will be here at her discretion.”
Discretion? Blasted stubborn. He glanced toward the keep, already layered by several inches of freshly fallen snow.
Lady Sarra failed to appear.
At least she had finally decided to depart. Giric rubbed his hands together for warmth. “I told her we must leave at first light. After last night’s storm travel will be slow, nae to mention make us an easy target if there are any about with ill intent.”
Colyne adjusted his horse’s halter. “Do you think we will be troubled by reivers?”
Giric sighed, too aware of the ways of those who raided to survive. “Nay, most should be home stoking their peat fires.”
“Then what is troubling you?”
After a glance toward the empty entry of the keep, he turned away, irritated that he’d awakened with thoughts of Sarra on his mind. Giric released the leather straps of the saddle. “With King Edward making claims as overlord to Scotland, ’tis an unsettling time. The rumblings of an uprising could lead to war. The last thing I want is to run across English troops seasoned for a fight.”
“Aye.” His mail rattled as Colyne pressed his knee into his mount’s side, and then drew the cinch tight. “I have had a clash or two in my day with the English king’s troops. His knights are nae a discriminating lot. Once a king is seated upon Scotland’s throne will be a day when every Scot can draw a deep breath.”
“Our new sovereign should be Robert the Competitor. His claim for the Scottish crown is strongest,” Giric said, concerned about the English king’s next move. He prayed King Edward had nae unleashed portions of his army to the north in a show of force.
Colyne stroked his steed’s withers. “Sir John Balliol’s family ties are as strong, and he holds just claim to the crown as well.”
“Balliol lacks the backbone to deal with the English king. The man would be naught but a pawn to King Edward.”
“Aye, ’tis my worry as well,” Colyne agreed. “I pray when the Scottish council meets and selects our king, ’twill be wisdom that guides them.”
At the flurry of commotion near the keep’s entrance, Giric turned and stiffened.
Lady Sarra moved among her people with tender smiles. At the foot of the steps, she paused and laid her hand upon the shoulder of the rail-thin man he’d learned was the steward.
A boy clad in often-sewed breeches and an old but serviceable brown overcoat squeezed between the priest and the burly candlemaker, held up a roughly wrapped gift.
With interest, Giric waited for her reaction. Nae only did she offer the scruffy lad thanks, but she knelt and embraced him in a fierce hug.
“She is taking her blasted time,” Giric grumbled as she continued to move from one servant to another to bid her good-bye. But he lauded the warmth of her sincere farewells to each and every person.
With a critical eye, he scanned her travel garb. He’d expected her to exit the keep bedecked with frivolous attire. Yet, the worsted wool cloak atop her simple woolen gown and leather boots were an appropriate choice for travel. A choice he would have offered if asked.
Impatient, he shifted. He should be happy, pleased by this turn of events. Practicality was a trait he admired. So why was he as moody as a badger? Because the wary, at times rude woman he’d dealt with over the past few days didna match the sensible, gentle maiden standing before him.
The crowd parted and Lady Sarra turned in his direction. The tender warmth on her face faded, replaced by the cold, familiar distrust.
Irritation swept him, as well as a profound sense of regret. For a moment, he’d wanted her to look upon him with the same tenderness.
He clasped the leather reins and grumbled an oath at his foolishness. Even if Lady Sarra was nae betrothed, his finances allowed little room to consider courting a woman of her stature. Nor did he believe his years as a reiver would impress her.
Enough. ’Twas time to leave. He handed his reins to the stable lad and walked to Lady Sarra. “’Tis long past time we depart.”
“I have one last errand,” she announced, her voice cool.
“My lady, with the snow continuing to fall, we must nae tarry.”
Gray eyes flashed. “You will wait.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Through sheer will he refrained from giving her the set down she desperately needed. How could he have considered her genteel, even for a moment? Fairies were indeed playing tricks in his mind. The look of sadness he had perceived the night before must have been anger.
 
Emotions storming Sarra, she caught the flash of ire that darkened Sir Knight’s eyes as she turned away. As if his judgment of her mattered? ’Twas her home that she was leaving, possibly forever, the only part of her that really mattered. Could he not see the personal cost?
Or did he even care?
Frustrated, she crossed the courtyard. ’Twould be a relief when Sir Knight and his men rode from her life. Once she reached the turret, she hurried up the steps. At the top she strode across the wall walk toward the waddle and daub building in the far corner.
A soft flutter of wings filled the small abode as she entered, and the rich scent of birds and hay embraced her. Memories of her father and their time spent here poured through her, and her heart squeezed. Fingers trembling, she closed the door.
A ruffled squawk to her right sliced through her potent thoughts. With a tear-filled sigh she crossed to the male peregrine. “Hush now, Sir Galahad.”
The regal predator, secured by leather jesses, shuffled his claws over the wooden bow perch. He angled his pale blue bill to the side.
BOOK: An Oath Broken
9.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

No More Secrets by Terry Towers
The Illuminati by Larry Burkett
Crisis by Ken McClure
Saved by the Billionbear by Stephani Sykes
Castle of Dreams by Speer, Flora
The Golden Spiders by Rex Stout
Count on a Cowboy by Patricia Thayer
Dark Beauty (Seeker) by Browning, Taryn
A Dead Man in Athens by Michael Pearce
Countess by Coincidence by Cheryl Bolen