The Knight's Broken Promise

by Nicole Locke

  ‘I will stay my hand unless I’m to defend Gaira or those she loves.’

  Bram’s mouth quirked. ‘She loves her brothers.’

  ‘An unfortunate problem,’ Robert replied. ‘Yet, I will stay close to defend those who need my arm.’

  ‘A compromise, then.’ Bram nodded. ‘Nae one can know who you once were or that you are alive.’

  ‘One does,’ Robert reminded him. ‘What will you do with Hugh?’

  ‘We will release him,’ Bram answered, ‘and my clan has orders not to raise their swords to him if he honours our understanding for his silence.’

  Bram grabbed his cup and settled back in his seat. ‘I doubt it will come to anything. You do not resemble what the legends say. Once we get you out of those clothes, I do not think anyone will know you.’

  ‘I shaved my beard and cut my hair to—’

  ‘Protect my sister,’ Bram interrupted.

  Robert shrugged.

  ‘Ach, you can protect my sister for the rest of your life. This night I marry you.’ He poured more ale into his cup. ‘Are you saying you doona want my sister as your wife?’

  He did, but on his terms and because she wanted to. Not because of a political agenda.

  ‘Aye, you know damn well I do. But I doona want you to believe your manipulation had any play in this.’

  Bram gave a wolfish determined grin. ‘Speaking like a Scots? I’ll have you loyal to me in nae time.’

  * * *

  Robert sought Gaira in her chambers.

  She lay on the bed, her face turned away from him. Her gown, crumpled around her, was the finest of yellow wools. The colour was vibrant against the red of her hair, which was brushed to a sheen. Two tiny plaits swept her hair off her face, leaving the back lush and free.

  She did not move when he entered the room because she had not heard him. Her weeping was not quiet.

  ‘Those had better be tears of happiness,’ he stated, resting his hand on her shoulder.

  She gasped and he pulled her into his arms. Her warmth and sweet scent engulfed him. Everything was so right until she cried harder.

  Robert rubbed her back and pulled her tighter into his embrace. He was all strength and comfort. Gaira clung to him, relishing the way his arms felt around her.

  ‘I dinna mean to do this to you,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought of the consequences, it was just my own selfish feelings and now I’ve made such a terrible mess and I—’

  ‘Shh, there is no mess,’ he interrupted. ‘We are alive. We are together and now, with the blessings of your brother, I can be part of your family.’

  She sniffed. She didn’t want him forced to marry her.

  Robert lifted her chin and kissed her eyelids, each side of her cheeks, her mouth. ‘Open your eyes, my love. Am I in such a state, that you do not want to see me?’

  ‘Nae, I doona want you seeing me,’ she whispered. It was her last defence against his feather-like kisses melting her worries and starting other feelings at the same time.

  He chuckled and she opened her eyes. What she saw in his eyes warmed her more than the sight of Colquhoun tree.

  ‘I want to marry you, Gaira of Clan Colquhoun,’ he stated. ‘Even with puffy eyes, red cheeks and paleness under those freckles of yours. I want to marry you, not because your brother demands I do so, but because if I did not have you in my life, I would have no life. So I will take these thorns in our marriage vows just as I take your love. I want to marry you if you’ll have my love in return.’

  ‘How could I now accept? I see your clothes, the pouch of coins you had strapped to the horse, that dagger. If these are things you merely carry, what do you leave behind?’

  ‘I leave nothing behind. Nothing. My home is here; my family is here. I am nothing but Robert of Dent. The man who loves you.’

  She wanted him here, with her, with the children, all so desperately. With his words, she believed he needed to be here, too.

  Pulling slightly away from him, she wiped her eyes. ‘“Nothing but” is not how I’d describe you,’ she teased.

  ‘Just how would you describe me?’

  She rested her hand on the side of his cheek. She felt her heart splinter into tiny parts, then collect and grow even bigger. ‘I’d describe you as the man I love.’

  He was going to kiss her and she was more than ready.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘They would allow you to return with me,’ Hugh stated, adjusting his horse for travel. No sooner had Bram married Robert to Gaira than he announced Hugh’s release to return to England.

  Hugh wanted to leave immediately, despite the sun setting.

  Robert had not talked to Hugh for days. Everything had changed since the cellar. If he was honest, everything had changed when Gaira had hit him with the cauldron.

  It hadn’t been his love for Alinore that made him empty, it was the guilt of her death.

  He would never forget Alinore, but he would no longer mourn her. He knew the difference in his feelings for Alinore and his feelings for Gaira. Alinore had died, but he had lived. Crippled, aye, but his heart still beat and he could still draw breath. If Gaira died, he knew his heart would simply stop.

  ‘I won’t be going back,’ Robert said.

  ‘But the king—’ Hugh interrupted.

  ‘They need me here,’ Robert said, ‘and I need them.’

  Hugh nodded. ‘So what the children came to tell me was true. It matters not if you’re English and they’re Scottish. I can hardly believe this marriage is real.’ Hugh gestured towards Robert’s chest. ‘Someone breached that wall around you after all?’

  ‘Aye.’ Robert reached into his pouch. The gold-and-ruby ring that King Edward had given him glowed dully in the dying light. ‘Take this to him. Tell him I’m dead. This ring will prove the worth of your words.’

  ‘But you’re not dead, Robert. I cannot lie to the king; he has need of you.’

  ‘’Tis the truth. The Robert King Edward knew is dead.’

  ‘But what about his campaign? It’s what you’ve been fighting for all these years.’

  ‘I respect the King greatly, but I did not fight those battles for him. I fought them for myself, with myself.’

  Hugh took a step back, his brow furrowed. ‘That is why you never let yourself forget each battle.’

  ‘I know what I’m asking you is great. But Black Robert and everything I was must be gone if I am to continue living here. I will not jeopardise their lives. I must be dead.’

  ‘But I’ll know you’re alive. I’ll know it’s a lie.’

  It was a risk he’d have to live with. King Edward probably would not accept Robert’s death easily. Everything depended on Hugh being believed.

  ‘Aye, you will know the truth,’ Robert said. ‘I can live with that. Can you?’

  Hugh’s smile was uneven, the responsibility already weighing on his normally easy grin. ‘You’re asking for my trust,’ Hugh said. ‘You’ll always have that.’

  Robert nodded his head towards the four guardsmen seated on their mounts. ‘They’re waiting for you.’

  Hugh’s gaze narrowed on the guards. Robert smiled, understanding Hugh’s ire. He’d take annoyance over any more deaths. With the mistrust between England and Scotland escalating, he had readily agreed with Bram’s order.

  ‘They’ll only travel with you through Buchanan lands,’ he stated. ‘Think of them as part of the scenery.’

  ‘I’d rather not think of them at all,’ Hugh replied.

  Robert placed his hand on Hugh’s shoulder. ‘I will never be able to thank you for the life you are giving me.’

  Hugh straightened fully. ‘We share that sentiment. Without you, I wouldn’t be returning to England.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want
your death, my friend,’ Robert replied.

  Hugh mounted his horse and pulled the horse’s head towards the entrance. ‘Nor would I ever wish for yours,’ Hugh replied.

  Robert watched until Hugh was through the gates. Hugh was his last connection to his former life and he was gone. It was as it had to be. He did not regret the decision, but he did regret he wouldn’t have Hugh’s friendship. He just realised how valuable it was and how much trust he placed in it. If Hugh confessed willingly or not, Robert knew his life would be forfeit.

  The fact was a slight darkness, but it did not mar the bright beauty of his future; a future with a fiery-tongued woman.

  * * *

  He found them in the garden. Gaira twirled Flora and Maisie, her multiple plaits swinging wild around her. Alec was racing around them, trying to get into the fray. In the distance, Creighton wrestled with his soldiers.

  One moment he hadn’t known Gaira and the children existed. The next, he couldn’t imagine existing without them. Gaira stopped twirling when he grabbed her waist. Maisie and Flora collapsed at her feet.

  He leaned in, his lips just under her ear. The smell of wild heather and Gaira was too tempting. He kissed her neck.

  ‘You know I plan on having more of them?’ he whispered against her warmed skin.

  She blushed. ‘Ach, I hope so.’

  Alec gave a big roar and dived on to Flora and Maisie. The girls squealed, arms and legs going every direction. The adults were forgotten and Robert spied his opportunity.

  ‘Shall we get started?’ he said.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from SALVATION IN THE SHERIFF'S KISS by Kelly Boyce.

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  Chapter One

  Colorado Territory, November 1876

  “Hoo-wee! That was a tough one!”

  “That’s one word for it,” Sheriff Hunter Donovan muttered, bending over to swipe his hat off the saloon floor. He brushed it against his leg then jammed it back onto his head, giving his deputy an exasperated glance. The way the kid was grinning from ear to ear, you’d think he’d lassoed a wayward bronco, not helped take down three brawling idiots too stupid to know when to quit.

  It was hard to believe only five years separated their ages. Had he ever been that young and foolhardy? If so, he’d be sure and stop by old Sheriff McLaren’s grave and issue a most heartfelt apology.

  “Aw, hell, Sheriff. It ain’t so bad. Beats sittin’ around all day staring at the walls.”

  Hunter scowled. “Being a sheriff isn’t about having fun, Jenkins. It’s about keeping the peace, stopping these kinds of things before they happen. You need to be vigilant, because if not, people get hurt.” He’d learned that one the hard way. Unfortunately, it was Sheriff McLaren who had paid the price.

  “I know, I know,” Jenkins said, his affable smile still in place. “I jus’ hate it when there’s nothin’ exciting to do is all.”

  Hunter refrained from telling him there was always plenty to do—people to check in on, disputes to mediate, help to offer. He could stand a little idle time to try and bring Jenkins up to speed on what it meant to be a sheriff. It wasn’t all shoot-outs and saloon fights. Wearing the badge also meant the town’s safety and well-being would become his responsibility. That people would rely on him. It was a bit like a family in a way, not that Hunter’s own family, broken as it was, provided the best example in that regard.

  And now, more than ever, it was important to be vigilant. Ever since the train station had been put in on the outskirts of town it seemed every piece of riffraff had found their way to Salvation Falls to try and pick up work at the lucrative ranches in the area. Although, in his estimation, they spent as much time drinking whiskey and beer in the three saloons dotting Main Street as they did actually working.

  One of said riffraff rolled over onto his back and groaned. “We was jus’ havin’ a conversation about Yucton bein’ guilty or not. Didn’t mean no harm.”

  Hunter gazed down at Roddy Lewis. He was a regular hand from Hunter’s father’s ranch, the Diamond D. “Perhaps you should try agreeing to disagree the next time. It’s up to the courts to decide Yucton’s fate. Not you.”

  Bill Yucton had become another thorn in his side. Everyone in town had an opinion on his guilt or innocence and no one seemed shy about spouting off about it. Or about the events of seven years ago he was being tried for.

  He glared over at Kincaid, the bounty hunter who had brought the outlaw to town. He’d said little about where he’d found Yucton, or why it was the man had arrived with his hands unbound, more than willing to ride into town despite knowing it could spell his doom. There was something fishy about the whole thing.

  “You could have helped,” he said, addressing the bounty hunter. The man had turned in his stool at the bar and watched the fight without so much as lifting a hand.

  He did so now, however, holding up his shot glass filled to the brim with watered-down whiskey. “Didn’t want to spill my drink.”

  “You keep drinking at this rate and you’ll burn through the bounty you collected before the trial even starts.”

  If it started. The circuit judge was taking his sweet ole time getting here. A wire had arrived this morning. The appointed judge had met with an unfortunate accident. It would be another week at least before a replacement could be found and sent their way.

  “Can’t see how my drinkin’ is any of your business, Sheriff. Thought you’d be a bit more appreciative. I did bring in a wanted man, after all. Made the world a safer place, putting one more outlaw behind bars.”

  “Right. Because Bill Yucton was such a huge threat.”

  Fact was, Kincaid was right. Yucton was a wanted man, but the law around here hadn’t been looking for him. He’d been part of an outfit that had rustled some cattle from the Diamond D and got caught, but Yucton had managed to somehow slip out of the jail and disappear into the night. Sheriff McLaren hadn’t bothered gathering a posse to set out after him and eventually, after the trial in which the two remaining rustlers had been dealt with, folks around Salvation Falls seemed happy to put the whole sordid matter to sleep. Hunter counted himself among them and he sure didn’t appreciate it being resurrected now.

  He pointed at the bounty hunter. “You and I need to have a conversation about Bill Yucton real soon.”

  Kincaid eyed him for a brief second, downed his drink then motioned for another one. “Can’t say I have much to say.”

  But Hunter did. It had been bugging him for the past several days. There was no reason in the world for Bill Yucton to come back here. Yet here he was, taking up space in one of the three jail cells in Hunter’s office. To top it off, the bounty on Yucton wasn’t paid out by the U.S. Marshalls Service. It was a private bounty offered to anyone who brought him into Salvation Falls to stand trial for a crime committed over seven years ago.

  “You plan on sticking around these parts?”

  Kincaid grinned. Weathered lines creased the corners of his eyes, beaten in by the elements and adding an incongruent nature to the man’s age, though Hunter suspected he wasn’t much older than his own thirty y
ears.

  “Might. Never know when you’re going to need help with the rowdies.”

  “Because you’ve been so helpful thus far.” Sarcasm saturated his words.

  Kincaid shrugged and turned his attention back to the drink Franklyn set in front of him, putting an end to their conversation.

  Hunter returned to Jenkins who had hauled the current band of rowdies to their feet. Hunter would worry about Kincaid later. So long as he was sticking around, there would be time to question him further about the mysterious return of the wayward Bill Yucton. He knew there was more to the story than he was hearing. Instinct kept telling him something wasn’t right. Instinct and Sheriff McLaren’s dying words. Words that had haunted him since Abbott Connolly had stood trial for rustling cattle from the Diamond D Ranch seven years ago.

  Dig deeper.

  He’d heeded the sheriff’s words, but it had come to naught. There was nothing new to find. The evidence was what it was, and it had sent Abbott Connolly to prison.

  Hunter and Jenkins herded the stumbling men down to the opposite end of the street and shoved them all into one small cell. Bill Yucton lay prone on his bed, his legs crossed at the ankle and his hat covering his face. He lifted the brim far enough to slide a gaze at his new neighbors, then dropped it back in place.

  The fire in the woodstove had dwindled during their absence and the cold air from outside had made the interior a bit nippy. Hunter crossed the room to the woodstove and stoked the embers, putting another log on. He’d put on a pot of coffee just before getting called down to The Seahorse to break up the fight. By now it had likely thickened to a warm sludge. He poured a cup anyway. He’d long ago given up on drinking a decent cup of coffee.

  “Get these three settled in,” he said, and headed back out the door.

  Once outside, he leaned against the exterior wall of his office. Things were starting to quiet down. The twilight hour. His favorite time of the day. It was the one brief respite where the town took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then slowly exhaled. The sun had started its descent, leaving the tips of the mountains burnished in bronze and the sky streaked with orange and purple. The colorful display never failed to take his breath away. He’d lived his whole life under the shadow of those mountains and the effect had never lessened.