An Oath Taken (5 page)

“What happened?” Thomas asked.

Nicholas exhaled. “Winter swept in with a fierce abandon on that cold, blustery March day. Even the hounds shivered near the hearth. The day was long, the lessons intense, exhausting, and after being closed up with studies for months, tempers ran high. An in-class discussion about the lawlessness and heathens living in
The Debatable Land
escalated, ending up becoming a one-on-one confrontation between Dougal and our instructor.”

He grimaced, remembering Dougal's passion, his determination to enlighten the priest along with others in the class of the true motivation behind the reiving along the borderlands.

“Dougal's eyes blazed as the debate grew. I remember watching him, envying his ability and quick wit, which in this case served him well; his points were clear, concise, and to summarize the argument, he outwitted the teacher.”

“Nae the best decision, I bet,” Thomas said.

“Indeed,” Nicholas agreed. “Furious at being outmaneuvered, especially before a filled classroom, the priest called him insolent and ordered him from the room. Enraged at being punished for having done naught wrong, Dougal refused. The priest withdrew his whip, but Dougal stood his ground. He struck Dougal across the face, then again and again, and he told the class that he would not tolerate insubordination. As the priest raised his whip again, with Dougal's face, hands, and body cut and bleeding, I jumped up and grabbed the priest's wrist.”

Embers crackled into the chamber, warmth against chill, sadness against memories.

“What happened then?” Empathy touched Thomas's quiet voice.

Nicholas glanced to his side, surprised to find Thomas sitting on his pallet staring at him. “For my actions, I was expelled.”

Thomas leaned forward, his eyes wide with concern. “And Dougal?”

Fury tore through him. “Infection set in from the lashes. A fortnight later he died. I returned his body to his family and stayed until after his burial.”

 

A deep ache filled Elizabet, as she understood the pain Nicholas must have borne, the hurt that time would dull but never completely erase. She knew the grief of losing someone you loved, and of wondering the fate of the same.

Her knees trembled as she rose and walked to the edge of his bed. She knelt and laid her hand upon his shoulder, feeling his strength and his tremors as well.

Now beside him, she hesitated, unsure of what to say of what to do. He didna need words of condolence, the time for those long past. “My mother died when I was but six.” She closed her eyes as the faint memory filled her mind. “After, my father turned away from me because—” What was she doing? Elizabet jerked her hand from his shoulder and stood. “My regrets,” she said, her voice shaky, her mind reeling from how close she'd come to revealing the truth.

Nicholas sat up. Firelight sharpened his face, touched by questions and concern. “Thomas—”

“ 'Tis late.” She hurried to her pallet praying he wouldna ask any questions. For a moment she'd sensed a harmony, a peace between them, a rare unity until this moment that she'd shared only with her brother. A shiver stole up her spine. What was going on?

A long sigh came from Nicholas, then the bed groaned as he lay back. “Go to sleep, Thomas. 'Twill be a long day on the morrow.”

The pop of the fire echoed in the silence.

Several moments later, Nicholas's breaths fell out soft and slow.

He was asleep. The relief Elizabet expected was replaced by regret. How could she nae? For one brief moment they had reached a plane of understanding, a friendship that would never be. For once she gained freedom for her brother and her people, Thomas would disappear forever.

E
lizabet's laughter, filled with childish delight, melded with the soft lyrical chuckle of her mother's. She leaned into her mother's embrace, loving these moments the most.

Her mother's warm, green eyes, like leaves in the summer, twinkled with mirth.

“And did the fairy princess indeed cast the prince into the bog?” Elizabet whispered, on edge to learn the prince's fate.

Her mother's eyes struggled for sincerity, but lost to humor. She laughed. “Aye, she did indeed.”

The clatter of hooves echoed from the courtyard.

Her mother glanced toward the window, the smile never leaving her face. “ 'Twill be your father.”

Anxious for his hug and whisker-roughened kiss that would tickle her neck, Elizabet jumped from her mother's knee to greet her father. She struggled to move forward. Failed. Panic swept her. Why couldna she move?

The faint smell of smoke wove through her mind, then the soft, deep even breaths of someone nearby entwined with the crackle of the dying fire a backdrop. She opened her eyes. The castellan's chamber came into view.

A dream.

She shut her eyes, tried to reclaim the dream of moments ago, but the last image of her mother faded.

A night bird cried in the distance, its mournful call fading into the eerie stillness.

Opening her eyes, she glanced out the window.

Gray hinted at the edges of the star-filled night.

'Twould soon be dawn. Careful nae to make a sound, she sat up, looked over.

Nicholas's chest slowly rose and fell.

The castellan was still asleep. She must slip out before he awoke. He would be furious to find her gone, but she would contend with his anger later. As she was banned from entering the dungeon to find out if Giric was alive, she would review the ledgers of the keep. Like the records maintained in her home, they should list the death of anyone of substantial importance. And she prayed she'd nae find her brother's name on the pages.

With care, she stood. The tunic Nicholas had given her to wear the night before concealed her curves as she gathered her clothes. The seconds it took to cross to the door seemed like hours. Holding her breath, she lifted the latch and pulled. The thick oak and steel door creaked opened. Heart pounding, she glanced back.

The castellan's eyes remained shut and his breathing even.

She hurried out, closed the door behind her, then scanned the corridor.

Empty.

Before anyone came, Elizabet slipped into her day's garb, then headed down the hallway. The aroma of baking bread filled the air as she ascended the turret, and her stomach rumbled. Moments later she entered the great hall. A few hounds lay amongst the rushes thumping their tails in welcome, their huge, sad eyes watching her, while the other knights and tenants visible slept. The men would soon awaken, and she didna have much time.

She hurried toward the tiny chamber off an alcove, where she'd learned the previous castellan kept his important documents. The castle ledger should be there.

Once inside, she positioned the door to where it blocked her from anyone's view, then she searched through the stack of books and documents lying on the top of the aged oak desk. Except for a quill, ink, and a number of personal effects, she found naught. She explored the top, righthand drawer, then the next.

Two unopened drawers remained.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the next handle. It had to be in here! She held her breath and she pulled.

Wood scraped.

The ledger came into view.

Thank Mary! She set the thick book on the desk. Thin parchment crackled as she opened the leather-bound journal. She glanced toward the door.

She had to hurry. Elizabet flipped through the yellowed sheets, carefully reviewing each notation for Giric's status.

Precious seconds passed.

Grumbles of men stirring echoed from the great hall.

Blast it. Determination drove her as she scanned the entries in search of Giric's name.

“Have you seen Thomas?” Nicholas's deep voice sounded from outside the chamber door.

Elizabet froze. He couldna catch her here!

“Nay, Sir Nicholas,” a man answered.

Heart pounding, she closed the ledger, stowed it in the drawer, then quietly slid it shut. She crept to the door, caught sight of Nicholas's sturdy frame through the narrow slit.

A scowl marred the castellan's face. “If you see my squire, tell him to find me immediately.”

“Aye, Sir Nicholas.” The man passed by the door.

Now you go away too
, she silently urged as Nicholas surveyed the great hall before him. With a muffled curse, he turned and took a step straight toward her.

Nay!
Elizabet staggered back. How could she explain her presence here?

“Sir Nicholas,” another man's voice called from a distance away.

The castellan halted, his shadow stealing into the opening between the door to the chamber. “Yes?”

“Sir Jon would like to see you in the dungeon,” the man said. “There has been another death.”

A soft curse. “I am coming.” The castellan's shadow slipped away.

Terror tore through Elizabet. Another man dead—who? Please God let it nae be Giric. She shot a desperate glance toward where the ledger lay hidden. She'd nae found her brother's name, but with Nicholas out of the keep, dare she go back and search more within the pages, or with the guard's news would her efforts be in vain?

A woman called for help bringing out the bread.

Her choice was made. The castle was beginning to stir. She couldna chance being caught. Elizabet slipped from the room.

 

The pounding of mallet to wood thudded as Nicholas departed the dungeon. He glanced across the courtyard. The new stable stood readied. Nearby, several men worked on the frame for the barracks. The pleasure over the rebuilding faded at the news of moments ago.

Another man was dead.

Mouth tight, Nicholas glanced toward the morning sky. Fingers of yellow and gold slid into the violet expanse. He drew in a long, cleansing breath, savoring the soft dewy scent of grass and the morning sifting on the breeze, needing to rid his senses of the stench of death.

Lord Terrick's fever still raged. As Wolfhaven Castle bordered his land to the north, good relations between the two were imperative. He needed Lord Terrick to live. The father having died within his dungeon, if his son passed as well, 'twould prove difficult—if not impossible—to reestablish any fragment of an alliance with the bordering Scots.

“Sir Nicholas,” one of his knights called.

Nicholas halted as his man approached. “What is it?”

The knight gestured toward the far side of the courtyard. “If you have not found your squire, he is in the stable.”

He glanced toward the newly constructed building. The disappointment he'd experienced at waking to find his squire gone from his chamber resurfaced. After the shared confessions between them last night, and learning a slice of Thomas's past, he'd believed they had reached a crossroads of sort. To awaken and discover Thomas gone without a word was a slap to his pride.

“My thanks.” Frustrated he'd not read Thomas better, Nicholas strode toward the building. Had the similarities between their youths clouded his normally keen judgment, leading him to make decisions with his heart instead of his mind? The shortcomings in this instance could very well be his—a hard fact to consider or accept.

Straw crunched under his feet as he entered the stable and the scent of hay and horses greeted him. A gelding whinnied, another snorted and pawed the earth. Near the back, he caught sight of Thomas grooming a steed.

At his approach, Thomas glanced over, paused midstroke. Shimmers of early morning light flickered over his face, illuminating the apprehension in his eyes.

Doubts toppled over frustration as Nicholas neared. Had anything truly changed between them? What had he expected, a day of setting an example and Thomas would understand that he was a man of his word, someone he could trust?

Tension knotted in the back of his neck. Yes, 'twould seem he had. Who better than he knew the true meaning of having someone care for you enough to take the time to make a difference? And how dare he become secure in this arena and believe he could walk into this lad's life and ease his high-strung emotions with meager effort. Hadn't he experienced firsthand the torrent of emotions one could feel, the pain, the angst, and the long years of work involved to overcome the challenges faced?

And he'd been fortunate. Through it all his uncle's strength and love helped to keep him focused as to his true reason. Shame washed through him. Yes, he was indeed a fool to expect so much so soon from a lad who believed him to be his enemy.

Humbled, Nicholas drew in a deep breath, focused on the positive progress made. However much the lad seemed to deny the fact, a bond existed between them, a connection he would nurture.

He halted before Thomas. The lad shuffled uncomfortably, bringing Nicholas back to his purpose. Whatever his emotional oversight, it didn't forgive his squire for vanishing from his chamber this morning without a word. A fact the lad would learn now.

He stepped closer.

Thomas's breath caught, his eyes darted toward the exit, but to his credit he held.

“Why did you leave the chamber this morning without my knowledge?”

The lad's fingers tightened on the curry. “I—I . . . I had much on my mind and I couldna sleep.”

“Your place is to serve me, not traipse about on a whim. If you needed to talk, you only had to wake me.”

A flush stained his face. “I am sorry.”

Though his squire's eyes portrayed sincerity, Nicholas pressed on. The lad must fully understand the consequences his irresponsible actions could yield. He took another step bringing him inside the stall and a pace away from his squire. Close enough to see the flecks of gold shimmering in the emerald depths, to be caught by their secrets, secrets Thomas seemed bound and determined not to share. “If you cannot perform your duties as your position requires, you will be released.”

Thomas's face paled.

Nicholas continued, resolute to press his point home. “A disobeyed order or act of negligence during combat could cost us our lives. If you cannot even perform the simple task of remaining in my chamber to aid me donning my garb, how can I entrust you to guard my back in the heat of battle?” He shook his head. “The answer is simple. I cannot.”

The lad swallowed hard. His lower lip trembled. “I didna think—”

“No,” Nicholas interrupted with a hard edge. “That you did not.” His temper rose another notch as he remembered that none of his guards had witnessed the lad's departure. “If you had you would not have slipped through my castle like a thief. I refuse to tolerate further insolence, however slight.” He curled his hand on the hilt of his sword. “If you wish to remain as my squire, you will pledge your troth to serve me faithfully from this moment forth. If you cannot do that”—he glanced toward the portcullis—“the gates of the castle are open.” He leaned down to within an inch of Thomas's face.

The lad's eyes widened.

“But I warn you,” Nicholas said with a dangerous calm. “If you leave, and if I catch you reiving again, you will not have a second chance. You will pay the price for your crimes to their full extent.” He straightened. “ 'Tis your decision. Make it now.”

 

Fear tore through Elizabet as the castellan's ultimatum to pledge her troth to serve him faithfully now or leave echoed in her mind. She couldna leave now. Nor could she tell him the truth. If he found out she had searched through his ledger to find her brother's name, he would toss her out on her ear, and rightly so.

Mary, Mother of God, when had this entire situation gotten so out of hand? The last thing she wished to do was to care about an English knight who served as a pawn for King Edward. She should hate the castellan, despise him, but instead she found herself beginning to trust Nicholas, to respect a man who should by all rights be her enemy.

“ 'Tis the decision so hard?” Nicholas snapped.

She jumped as heat stole up her cheeks. The turmoil roiling through her threatened to shatter her fragile hold on her riotous emotions. “I—I will stay.”

Nicholas gave a dissatisfied grunt and slid his hand up his leather baldric halting midway. “I am not asking you if you will stay. I am asking for your loyalty. If you are someone I can count on.” He paused, his gaze searching, probing with a fierce intensity. “Are you someone I can trust?”

This was the only way to save Giric. “Aye. I swear to you, while within your employ, I will serve you well.” The roughness of her reply revealed more of her upset than she wished. She prayed he would take her anguish for shame, her hesitation for humility, and nae ascertain the truths she concealed.

As he studied her, her respect for the man grew. Though she had pledged fealty to the enemy, he was a man whose word she felt she could trust, and a man whom, if he went into harm's way, she would follow without question. The castellan's mouth thinned into a tight line, then he nodded. “Upon my return from morning rounds you will begin training with arms.” He arched a brow. “Do you have a sword?”

Elizabet shook her head. She couldna tell him that in Wolfhaven Castle, a claymore crafted especially for her sat readied.

He nodded. “Upon my return I will find you a weapon.”

She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Sir Nicholas.”

The tension creasing his face slowly ebbed. A twinkle stole into his eyes. “Mayhap by the end of our first session you will not be so quick in your thanks.”