by Diana Cosby
“My responsibility is to bring peace to our borders,” Nicholas said, bringing the discussion back to his objective. The actions of King Edward and his intent toward Scotland were beyond his control. He would focus on what was within his authority. “I have reports of stealing along our boundaries.”
“Reiving is a staple along the border,” Lord Terrick said without apology.
Nicholas eyed him hard. “And murder?”
The Scot’s eyes blazed. “If there was murdering about, ’twas Sir Renaud who headed the lot.”
He remembered Thomas’s same accusation. Nicholas gave a slow nod. “As others have claimed, along with reports of the previous castellan’s smuggling. I am determined to uncover the truth—on both accounts.”
Tired lines etched the earl’s brow. “So what do you want with me?”
“Your cooperation.”
Lord Terrick grunted. “How do I know that if I give it, you willna kill me regardless?”
“Because I give you my word as a knight.” Nicholas uncrossed his arms and laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “If I find Sir Renaud has committed the crimes levied against him, I will include it in my report to the king.”
“And my men?”
“They will be released.”
Lord Terrick glanced toward his squire. His eyes darkened then turned back on him. “You have given me your word as a knight. In that I trust your actions will reflect those as inscribed within the code of chivalry.”
An uncomfortable feeling slid through Nicholas. He sensed an underlying anger radiating from this man, as well as a deeper meaning to the earl’s question. It felt personal. Why? He’d never met the man before. “I have given you my word. The decision to accept is yours.”
“I will aid you in your quest, for ’tis mine as well. But if you betray me,” he said in cold warning, “there willna be a place far enough from me to hide. I will find you. And when I do, ’twill be my own hand that ends your life. On that you have my word.”
Nicholas walked to the bed and glared down at the noble. “My word does not bend like the willow.”
“Nor mine,” Lord Terrick said, dauntless.
Seconds passed.
Each eyed the other.
Nicholas had to admire this man; his values paralleled his own. He extended his hand.
The earl hesitated, then clasped it. Despite his weakened state, his grip was firm.
Releasing his hand, Nicholas stepped back. “Lord Terrick, I will return once you have rested.”
The earl nodded. “And ’tis Terrick to you.”
Relief edged through him. “Terrick.” Nicholas turned and caught his squire’s gaze upon him with something akin to relief. “ ’Tis time to leave, Thomas.”
“Aye, Sir Nicholas.” His squire darted from the room.
Nicholas sighed as he watched the lad flee. This was not working out as he’d hoped, but the lad had only been with him but a short while. What did he expect that by now he’d have the lad’s complete trust? ’Twas a foolish thought. Blast it! He was a sorry lot. Disgusted with himself, he strode from the chamber after his squire.
Elizabet hurried down the corridor without a backward glance. Thank goodness Nicholas’s confrontation with Giric had gone so well. With both men of strong will, she’d feared the worst.
“He seems a fair man,” Nicholas said as he caught up to her at the turret steps.
She started at his voice. “Aye, but nae as intimidating as they say.” His laughter caught her off guard. Surprised, she halted and turned.
Torchlight illuminated him as he towered over her. “Lad,” he said, his smile punctuated by irresistible dimples, and his mouth curved into an enchanting grin. “I could hear your knees shaking the entire time we were in the chamber.”
Heat stroked her cheeks. “My knees didna clatter once!”
Her ardent denial only fueled his laughter.
Caught by how foolish she must sound, she joined in. Her eyes filled with happy tears, she met his gaze.
Torchlight softened the sculptured planes of his face with its golden touch, casting shadows of light that faded into gray as if embracing them in their own private world. The humor of moments ago echoed along the spiraled walls fading into awareness, and the moment shifted.
Desire nearly dropped Elizabet to her knees. Her breath caught, and her laughter faded. The beat of her heart thundered in her ears. Her fingers trembled as she yearned to reach out and stroke the planes of his strong face. And God help her, to lean forward and again taste his lips.
Desire flickered in his eyes, then horror.
What had she done! On a cry she whirled and bolted down the stairs.
His footsteps slapped on the steps behind her. “Thomas!”
Nicholas’s confused plea made her feel worse. She ran faster and stumbled. Pain shot through her as she slammed against the wall. She reached for the stone and tried to catch herself before she toppled down the stairs.
Nicholas grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. “God’s teeth! What were you thinking?” His voice lowered to a shaken whisper. “You could have killed yourself.”
And ended both of us this misery. She pushed at his chest; her soft fingers connected with hard muscle. How she wanted him! “I am sorry, I . . .”
He muttered an oath under his breath and set her away. Without meeting her eyes, he knelt before her. “Where does it hurt?”
In my heart. “My leg.” Shame washed through her as she pointed toward her knee.
He laid his hand upon the joint and ran his fingers carefully over the area. “I feel naught broken, ’tis likely a bruise.”
“I shouldna have run. ’Twas foolish.”
A deep sigh rumbled in his chest. He looked up, his eyes filled with guilt. “Thomas, I . . .”
Pain ripped through her. This couldna go on. Nicholas was a good man. He didna deserve the strife she was putting him through. She must tell him the truth. “Please, do nae say anything or apologize. If someone is to blame, ’tis me.” For more than you could ever begin to know.
The scrape of footsteps echoed from below.
Someone was coming up. Embarrassed, ashamed, and realizing the enormity of what she’d almost done, Elizabet pushed to her feet.
A knight rounded the corner and paused. He glanced from her to the castellan. “Sir Nicholas,” he said, eyeing them both with concern. “I heard the lad yell. Has he broken a bone?”
“He tripped,” Nicholas replied. “Thankfully ’tis naught but a bruise.”
The knight nodded, his face grim. “It can be dangerous travel as the stairway is not well lit.”
Dangerous in more ways than he knew, Elizabet silently agreed. She’d almost compromised all she’d sought to gain. Until Giric was free from Ravenmoor Castle, he wasna truly safe. “I will use greater care.” In silence, she headed down the turret.
The great hall was a buzz of activity as she entered. Several families had moved back into the castle during the last week, the slow trickle she was confident due to word of Nicholas’s intent to rebuild Ravenmoor as well as bring peace along the border. From his discussion with Giric, a peace that would hopefully last.
“Thomas, fetch me a trencher and some ale,” Nicholas said.
“Aye.” She hurried away, sure after the flash of desire she’d witnessed in his gaze, he questioned his morals. The attraction between them was undeniable. For a man like Nicholas that fact would be a burden unto itself.
But with her brother agreeing to assist Nicholas to uncover the truth, surely only a short while should remain before Giric was freed and she could leave and shed her guise. The unrest along the borders would end, and a measure of peace would fall upon their lands.
And she would never see Nicholas again.
Shaken, she halted at the entry to the kitchen and glanced back. She should be happy, thrilled at the prospect, but emptiness filled her heart.
Nicholas made his way to the dais, his steps slow, his express
ion intense.
As if she didn’t understand his confusion? The bond that had grown between them was as unexpected as unwelcome. She’d never meant to want him, but from the moment she’d entered Ravenmoor Castle, ’twould seem destiny had carved its own path.
And when she left, it would hurt him, sever the tentative trust he believed they’d reached. A relationship under any other circumstances she would cherish. How would Nicholas feel if he learned the truth?
Betrayed.
And he would hate her.
How could he do anything but? At every turn he’d given her his trust. And he’d nae only offered her a position within the castle, but believing him a lad with an abused past, he had taken the extra step and tried to become more than a mentor, but a friend.
From the short time in his company, if nothing else, she’d learned he valued honesty. And she’d repaid him with deceit. When she’d first agreed to be his squire, how could she have known of the attraction between them?
Moving to the corner of the kitchen, avoiding the women working to prepare this night’s fare, she grabbed a goblet and filled it with wine.
What did it matter now? The deed was done. ’Twas too late to change anything now.
Unless Nicholas discovered the truth.
CHAPTER 11
The savory aroma of roasted venison and onions filled the air as Nicholas drained the cup of mulled wine. The spiced liquid slid down his throat in a warm glide. At his side his squire shifted, and guilt sliced through him. On a silent curse, he set his goblet on the table, shoved his trencher away. As if he could bloody eat? On the stairs he’d meant to tease Thomas, but at some point their easy banter had turned into something more.
With each passing day he sensed the change between them. At first, he’d owed the easy manner growing between them to camaraderie, to a bonding between men. But after today’s events on the stairs . . . Nicholas closed his eyes and exhaled. For that brief moment on the steps, what had existed between them fit no description he would willingly give.
“More wine?” Thomas asked.
Nicholas opened his eyes, wary and at odds with himself. He nodded.
Without meeting his gaze, Thomas filled the goblet, then stepped away.
Nicholas lifted the cup, drained it. Whatever bond was growing between them must stop. ’Twould destroy the trust he sought to nurture. Mayhap ’twould be best if he sent Thomas to his brother’s to finish his apprenticeship.
Damn this entire situation. And damn him. He’d taken in the lad to offer him a chance. So what in Hades was happening to him? When his squire had stumbled in the stairwell, he’d feared for his life, but when he’d held Thomas in his arms . . . God’s teeth. ’Twas the second time in days when with Thomas, he’d been overcome by this unexplainable need.
A pounding started in the back of his head, promising to grow to an unbearable throb. God’s teeth, ’twas a convoluted mess.
Lord Terrick’s question of his adherence to the code of chivalry echoed in his mind. Mayhap the noble had discerned his attraction toward Thomas, actions that indeed betrayed those inscribed within the very code he’d pledged to withhold. For the most important oath of a knight forbid him from ever bringing harm to those beneath his protection.
He swallowed hard, his decision made. This night he would pen a missive to his brother, Hugh, and request that he sponsor the lad. Within a month Thomas would be gone, a move best for all involved.
“Sir Nicholas,” a knight called from the entry of the great hall.
He glanced up, and the movement sent a stab of pain through his head. Served him well for the drink he’d imbibed last night.
“The steward from Wolfhaven Castle, Lachllan MacDouglas, has arrived and requests to speak with you. He awaits you in the courtyard.”
With their earl held within his castle, Nicholas had expected the steward’s arrival. ’Twould seem word of his intent to seek peace along the borders was being passed. The meeting with the Wardens of the Western Marches had served its purpose. Now, to ensure that with the groundwork laid, he could nurture it to provide peace in the days to come.
“My thanks.” Nicholas turned toward Thomas.
At his glance, the lad’s face paled, and he took a step back.
Blast it! This was his fault. He shoved to his feet. “Come.” Nicholas strode past, needing to escape the confines of the keep. The last thing he wanted was for Thomas to cower at his presence, but after his untoward actions in the turret, what had he expected?
Sunlight peeked through the cloud-filled sky as Elizabet followed Nicholas across the courtyard. From the darkening clouds to the west, a storm was moving in. As if she didna have her own tempest brewing?
She should have expected Lachllan’s appearance. Caught between her goal to find Giric and trying to keep her growing feelings toward Nicholas at bay, she’d set aside her steward’s forbidding her to come here. From the anger in her mentor’s weathered blue gaze as he stood with several knights from her castle and watched her approach, how could she, even for a moment, have dismissed his fury?
Nicholas halted before her steward.
Anxious, she stopped beside the castellan, opposite to where Lachllan stood.
“Sir Nicholas Beringar,” the steward said, his gaze hard and unyielding. “I am Lachllan MacDouglas, steward of Wolfhaven Castle.”
Expression grim, Nicholas nodded. “I expected you. I regret to inform you that your lord died within the dungeon before I was notified of his presence.”
Only the slight waver of the steward’s breath betrayed his unyielding stature. “And his son?”
“He lives,” Nicholas replied.
Relief flickered across the steward’s face. “Will I be allowed to see him?”
The castellan paused as if weighing his request, and Elizabet held her breath, praying that he would.
“Indeed.” The castellan glanced at her. “Thomas, see if Lord Terrick is awake.”
“Aye, Sir Nicholas.” Elizabet stole one last look at her mentor before she ran toward the keep. She took the castle steps two at a time, trying to ignore her emotions as she passed the curve in the turret where Nicholas had held her a short while before. At the second floor, she hurried toward the chamber.
At her approach, the guard blocked her path.
“Sir Nicholas requests that I am to check if Lord Terrick is awake,” she rushed out, “as he has a visitor.”
The guard stepped aside.
Wind tumbled through the window as she entered the chamber, the air slightly chilled and filled with the taste of rain. One last sliver of sunlight flickered through the chamber then faded. The murky light seeping into the room enhanced the somber ambiance of this dreary setting.
As she crossed to his bed, she found Giric’s eyes closed and his breathing even. A shiver ran through her at how close she’d come to losing him. “Sleep well, Giric.” She turned toward the door. Lachllan would be far from pleased that he would have to wait to see her brother, but ’twas little to accept when, without proper care, he could have died.
“Elizabet.”
At Giric’s voice, she turned. “Lachllan has arrived and wants to speak with you.”
He searched her face. Anger warred with his obvious fatigue. “You must leave Ravenmoor Castle.”
“I need to inform Sir Nicholas you are awake.”
His gaze narrowed. “If you do nae leave the castle this day, I am going to have Lachllan charge you with thieving and haul you back to Wolfhaven Castle.”
Panic swept her. “You wouldna dare.”
“God’s teeth, Elizabet, why are you being so stubborn? With each moment you remain on English soil, you are putting your life in danger.”
“Because,” she replied, her voice softening, “you need me.”
His jaw tightened. “You heard the castellan,” he whispered, his tone harsh. “When he discovers the truth about Sir Renaud, I will be free. There is nay reason for you to remain.”
“W
hat of our men locked within his dungeon? And what if the castellan doesna release you?”
At the latter he arched a brow. “What in God’s name is that supposed to mean?”
The last thing she wanted was to make him worry further. “Giric, I must go. Nicholas is expecting me.”
“Nicholas?”
At the hard burr edging his voice she cringed. Mary’s will, she’d used the castellan’s familiar name! Understanding registered in her brother’s eyes as she backed up a step and she wished she could recall her words.
“What is he to you?” Ice culled his words.
“The knight whom I serve.” Her voice trembled but thankfully didna break.
Anger frosted his gaze. “ ’Tis not what I asked and you bloody know it.”
“Please.”
The anger on his face crumbled to disbelief. “Merciful God, you care for him.”
“Aye.” She swallowed hard, the price of needing a man like Nicholas higher than she’d ever imagined. “Giric, he is an honorable man.” Elizabet held up her hand as her brother opened his mouth to speak. “Say nay more. I must go.” Heart pounding, she turned and fled.
As she stepped from the keep, wind, ripe with the scent of rain, swirled around her. She glanced up. Thick, blackened clouds churned overhead. In the distance, lightning cut through the ominous sky. Seconds later, thunder rumbled as if a catapult fired. Please let this nae be an omen. With a shiver, she headed toward the men.
Nicholas nodded in agreement at the steward’s last comment, and noted Mac Douglas’s glance toward his squire at his approach. A hint of recognition along with anger flashed in the steward’s eyes before it disappeared. So he knew the lad.
Thomas halted at his side.
He turned to his squire. “Is Lord Terrick awake?”
“Aye,” Thomas replied, breathless. His shot a nervous look toward the steward then back to Nicholas. “Though he is a bit sleepy from the herbs the healer gave him.”
“My thanks.” Nicholas nodded to the steward. “Your men will remain here, and you will accompany me to his chamber.”
