Authors: Diana Cosby
An Oath Broken (4 page)
“She fared better than you.”
A blush spread over Sarra’s cheeks, the rosy hue enticing against her creamy skin.
Frustrated that he noticed, Giric held the cup to her mouth. “Drink.”
Her lower lip wavered, but the familiar spark of wariness flickered in her eyes. “I—I am tired. Can you not let me rest?”
“You are weak. The broth will warm you and give you strength. After you finish it, aye, then you can sleep. By the morrow you should be back to full health. Once you are through, I will have your maid sleep near you tonight. You need warmth. I will nae risk your falling ill because you are thick-headed.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am not—”
“You are.” At ease with her indignation, he nudged the cup against her lips. “Now drink.”
“I shall drink it,” she said, her words as frosty as the snow hurling outside, “but only to quicken the time to be rid of you.”
“A thought that pleases me as well.” He wrapped his hand over her own, ensuring she drank slowly. Once she emptied the cup, he set it aside. “Your maid will be over shortly.”
For a moment she watched him, her face displaying all too clearly her emotions for him to see. The distrust clung like moss to the banks of a river, but within the eddies of emotion, desire surfaced as well.
“Close your eyes and try to rest.” Then he wouldna see her yearnings, but unfortunately, he would remember. ’Twas the penance he deserved for wanting what he had no business thinking about.
With one last measuring look, she turned her back to face him, leaving her round, firm bottom in clear sight.
He gritted his teeth and willed his body nae to respond, but her every breath pressed her tempting bottom closer. He’d have to be a saint nae to notice or react, and God knew he’d long since lost any chance of pursuing such a spiritual vocation.
He rolled from the covers, shoved to his feet, and tucked the blankets around her. Within moments, her breathing grew slow and steady. With a frustrated sigh, he headed over to speak with her maid.
The next morning, after checking on his wayward charge, Giric scrubbed his hand over his face as he halted before the crackling blaze. Steam swirled thick and pungent when Colyne lifted the pot of herbed tea from the fire. “How is Lady Sarra?”
“She will live.”
Mirth twinkled in Colyne’s eyes. “’Tis good to find your spirits are up about the fact.”
With a grunt, Giric knelt and picked up a long stick. Coals glowed red as he stirred them. “How long do you think the storm will last?”
His friend glanced toward where the wind howled with a fierce snarl. “A day, two at most.”
Giric blew out a rough breath. “My thoughts as well.”
“January is nae the time to be traveling in the lowlands.” Colyne nudged a stray limb into the fire.
“’Tis nae, but we were given little choice. Lord Bretane’s missive was explicit.” Giric watched the snow whip past the entrance, his spirits sinking. “If the storm continues, it shall take a fortnight if nae more to reach Dunkirk Castle.”
“Patience, my friend. We will make it.”
Giric tossed the stick onto the coals and watched the flames engulf the dry wood. He had the rest of his life to right the wrongs of his past. A day or sennight more would make little difference.
After pouring two cups of herbed tea, Colyne stood and made a mock toast. “Alicia is awake and from the looks of it, Lady Sarra as well. I am off to save the damsels in distress.”
“Her maid is of softer temperament,” Giric said.
On a chuckle, Colyne headed toward the women.
Giric glanced at Sarra, who as Colyne noted, was stirring within the covers. Thank God she was safe.
Pulling the wool blanket tight, Sarra sat up and met Sir Knight’s assessing gaze. Wariness streaked through her.
He turned away.
The tall Scot with the whisky-colored hair approached. He knelt before her maid with a steaming mug of tea. “Ho, lass,” he said with surprising gentleness. He held up the steaming brew. “I have brought you chamomile tea. ’Twill help you to relax.”
“My thanks,” Alicia said.
Sarra watched with interest, intrigued by the easy manner of Sir Knight’s companion, and sensing this man kept no dark secrets locked beneath an angry countenance. Still, he was a Scot.
He helped her maid take several sips.
Alicia smiled. “I shall hold the cup now.”
“You are sure, lass?”
“Yes.”
The Scot handed her the mug then turned to Sarra. “I have a cup for you as well, my lady.”
The easy assurance in his voice far from swayed her to warm to him. “Do you need me to hold it?”
She cleared her throat. “I shall be fine.”
He handed her the steaming mug.
“My thanks.”
The Scot glanced toward Alicia who was taking another sip. “Drink it slowly.”
A light blush touched her maid’s cheeks. “I will.”
The humble knight nodded. “I shall be back in a wee bit and check on you both.”
Though she far from approved of the Scot, his actions were kind and did not deserve rudeness. “I—we appreciate everything.”
He gave a slight, smoothly executed bow as if practiced many times in court. “’Tis my pleasure, my lady. With the storm still blowing, it looks as though we shall be here another day or two. Take this time to rest.” He headed toward the center of the chamber.
She watched him go, surprised at his fluent grace. Confused, she scanned the rough lot sitting around the fire.
“He is a fine man,” Alicia said. “I am sure he has set many a lady’s heart aflutter.”
Sarra shrugged, more interested in the fact that a man so well bred ran with the ruffians a few feet away, or more specifically, Sir Knight.
As if beckoned, her protector looked toward her, grimaced, and then glanced at the Scot as he approached. Sir Knight shifted to allow his friend room to sit within the circle of men settled around the fire. The knight who’d just left, a man with apparent unending patience, sat next to the devil himself.
“Aye,” Sarra whispered, “he could give lessons to Sir Knight in gentleness.”
Alicia’s brow raised with surprise. “Sir Knight’s demands are driven by ambition, not aggression.”
“Ambition?”
“You are a good judge of people, my lady. I find it odd that you have not noticed. Then, with you upset over your guardian’s missive, that you misjudged their leader is not surprising.” Alicia sipped the last of her tea then gave a soft yawn. “The herbs are doing their task. ’Twill be a blessing to reach Dunkirk Castle and be in from the cold.”
Sarra nodded and covertly glanced toward where Arrogant, Dark, and Brooding sat near the flames, oddly disturbed to find that she missed Sir Knight’s presence. The kind Scot gave Sir Knight a hearty pat on the back, said something she couldn’t hear, then the humble knight joined in as the men broke into laughter, all aimed at Sir Knight.
When Sir Knight merely shook his head without his expected terse retort, she frowned. Had she misjudged him? Unsure of anything this moment, Sarra pulled the blanket tighter.
The faint scent of man and wool teased her. She stared at the coarse wrap—his. Even in this icy prison, she would find no peace. Though she longed to shove it aside, it would keep her warm . . . as had he.
Frustrated, Sarra closed her eyes, refusing to ponder Sir Knight’s gentle attention to her needs. His actions were offered out of duty, little more.
Giric inhaled a deep, icy breath and savored the freedom as his steed cut through fresh banks of snow glistening white in the morning sun. The jostle of spurs, leather, and steel, echoed behind as his men rode in his wake.
This morning, they’d crossed the border into Scotland. He longed to ride to Wolfhaven Castle, but that time would soon come.
He looked at Sarra, who rode in silence to his right. The last two days trapped in the cave with the wary Englishwoman had done naught to aid his temper.
It wasna because of the extra mounts required to transport her wardrobe of finely woven goods he could ill afford, or that his men had unexpectedly taken a liking to her. Nay, surely what spurned his foul mood was his need to return to his home and begin the much needed restorations.
Thankfully, they were once again on their way.
Giric’s breath misted before him as he scanned the clear blue sky that had hosted the fury of the storm. The taut muscles in his body slowly relaxed as he rode past pine branches that hung low, weighted with crystals of ice that tinkled in the morning sun and sprayed shards of colored light upon the lush, pine boughs like fairy dust.
Anxious to make up for the distance they’d lost, he kicked his mount forward. Snow flew from his steed’s hooves as he half-rode, half-slid down a steep, ice-glazed embankment and into the shadows of the trees ahead. At the bottom, a shiver of unease stole over him. On edge, Giric slowed his mount to a walk and searched the surrounding woods.
A hart bounded from a thicket.
After the deer disappeared behind the hedge, his edginess remained. With a grimace, he maneuvered through the path of snow-covered oak, pine, and ash ahead. Without warning, the forest fell away to a narrow valley.
Jagged walls raced skyward. Formations of blue-gray ice clung like talons from roughly hewn rock.
The shudder of falling snow echoed into the quiet.
Giric glanced to the end of the valley, where a slide of loose snow raced down the steep slope. As the tumble of white built, a deep rumble echoed through the valley like thunder. The rolling wall of debris slammed onto the basin floor, sealing off their chosen route.
Saint’s breath! Giric halted his mount and signaled his men to stop. They would have to find another way around, the detour costing them precious days.
A glint of light flashed near the top of the jagged peak.
Instincts on alert, Giric made a slow, methodical sweep of the rim, cursed. Numerous figures lay flat against the mounds of snow on the upper banks.
An ambush.
“Colyne,” Giric called, keeping his voice soft.
His friend’s horse snorted as he moved up by his side. “Aye?”
“The avalanche that slid to block our path was nay accident. There are men scattered on top of the rim all around us.”
Colyne’s eyes narrowed and he scanned the top. “A sword’s wrath.”
“Sir Knight,” Lady Sarra whispered.
“Silence,” he quietly ordered. Her intake of air bespoke her dissatisfaction; thankfully she remained silent.
He scanned the crag. Ripples of energy crawled up his spine. “Why havena the men nae moved? This waiting is nae the way of reivers.”
Colyne shrugged. “Aye, ’tis odd.”
“We are going to turn back. Mayhap this trap was set for another and they will allow us to leave.” Giric prayed he was right. “Colyne, lead Lady Sarra and her maid out. Everyone else, follow—”
“Terrick!” A deep, rough burr echoed through the valley.
Relief slid through him. They knew him, knew his pockets held nay gold. Their mark was another. “Aye?”
“Leave the woman and we will let ye and the others go, unharmed,” the man called.
The woman? What could they possibly want with Sarra? Blast it, how did they know she accompanied them or of their destination?
“Terrick,” the voice boomed again. “Our business is nae with you. Send the lass down. Alone.”
His eyes narrowed as he glanced toward Lady Sarra. “Why do they want you?”
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes and her face paled. “I do not know,” she replied, but he heard it, saw it in every curve of her face—the fear, the wonder if he would give her to them.
His hand tightened on his sword. What did she think he was? Never mind. He didna want to know. He’d given his word to give her safe escort. Though his background was mired with misdeeds, once he gave his word, he would back it with his life. “I will nae hand you over, lass.”
She searched his eyes, then a blush stained her cheeks. “No, you would not.”
Her trust in him at this moment was nae his greatest concern. With but a handful of men, they were greatly outnumbered. For Sarra’s safety, they needed to get out of here fast. “My lady, you and your maid are to turn your mounts and make your way back into the trees.”
“What about you?”
He stared at her in disbelief. Of all times for her to show concern. “Do nae worry about me, this is what I am paid for.”
She hesitated, then guided her horse toward the woods.
“Follow me!” Giric yelled to his men and kicked his mount into action.
Snow flew from his steed’s hooves as he led them into the shadows of the forest. Through the batter of hooves, a bloodcurdling battle cry ripped through the valley. Like a nightmare, men exploded from the pristine setting above, closing fast.
Giric withdrew his broadsword. “To arms!” He turned his mount hard, caught up with Lady Sarra, and reached toward her. “Take my hand and pull yourself behind me.”
She hesitated.
“Now!”
She caught his palm.
Giric hauled her behind him onto his mount. “Hang on.”
The battle cries grew.
Shadows of men appeared through the stand of trees, their fierce cries echoing through the forest.
Branches slashed against his body, stung his face. Giric urged his horse faster.
“To your right,” Colyne yelled from behind.
Giric swerved and barely missed a leather-clad man charging from a thicket.
Behind them, the first clash of steel echoed throughout the forest. Grunts melded with the impact of bodies.
A horse screamed.
Another burst of battle cries exploded behind them. More mail-clad warriors poured from the woods at his side.
Blast it! Giric rode to Colyne’s side. “We are going to have to split up. Take her maid. I shall head north, then round back. We will meet at Archerbeck. If I am nae there when you arrive, head east to your brother’s and wait. I will come.”
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