An Oath Taken

by Diana Cosby

  Lachllan nodded and followed him as he headed toward the keep.

  A short while later Nicholas leaned back against the cool, stone wall near the window as Lord Terrick and the steward spoke. Throughout the men’s exchange he also kept watch of his squire who lingered near the door as if he wished to bolt. In addition, though covert, he noted not only Lachllan’s covert glances toward the lad, but Terrick’s as well.

  Unease rippled through him. He glanced toward his squire, and found Thomas watching him.

  Guilt flashed in Thomas’s eyes, and he looked away.

  Blast it, what in bloody Hades was going on? His discussion two days past with Thomas reared its ugly head. He’d known the lad withheld something from him, but with the Wardens of the Western Marches in residence, he’d been sidetracked. With them gone, naught would interrupt him. This night, once alone in his chamber, he would find out!

  Lachllan’s muffled cough pulled him from his brooding. He turned to the find the steward watching him with curiosity. As much as he longed to ask him or Terrick if they knew the lad, the answers he sought would come from their source—his squire.

  Nicholas pushed away from the wall and walked to the steward. “I will escort you out,” he stated, leaving no room for question.

  Thomas’s eyes widened as he passed.

  He remained silent. Let his squire worry, he would learn this night that secrets brought their own consequence.

  Fat, cool splotches of rain slapped Nicholas as he led the steward from the keep. “You are welcome to remain until the storm passes,” he said, noting his squire stiffen at the offer.

  Lachllan drew up the hood over his head. “My thanks, Sir Nicholas. ’Tis growing late, and best if I leave now.”

  He nodded, understanding the man’s reserve. Until he released the earl, a true bond of peace between them would not exist.

  Lightning raced across the sky and thunder shattered in its wake as they crossed the courtyard toward Terrick’s knights. As they reached the stable, a horn sounded at the gates.

  “Lord Dunsten’s banner is on the horizon,” a guard called, his message tattered within a gust of wind.

  ’Twould appear his day would be wrought with meetings from the Scots. Nicholas nodded to the steward. “I look forward to our meeting again. Mayhap on the next visit, ’twill be to release Lord Terrick.”

  Weathered blue eyes leveled on him. “ ’Tis my hope as well.”

  The clatter of hooves echoed from the drawbridge.

  Curious as to the reason for the Earl of Dunststen’s visit, Nicholas faced the portcullis.

  Lord Dunsten and a small band of men cantered into view. Inside the courtyard, the powerful earl and his men slowed their mounts to a walk, then drew to a halt before Nicholas. “Sir Nicholas.” He glanced toward the steward. Hazel eyes narrowed. “MacDouglas.”

  The steward’s weathered gaze grew cautious, tinged with dislike. “Lord Dunsten.”

  Lightning split the sky and thunder exploded with a vicious crack.

  Intrigued, Nicholas watched the tense interaction. In a country on the brink of war where every Scot counted in their need to unite, what would cause such dissent between the two Scots? If given a choice, from their mutual distrust, he would deduct the cause as personal. Yet another puzzle to solve. For now he would deal with the ones within his grasp.

  Lachllan turned toward Nicholas. “Until next time, Sir Nicholas.” He mounted, then cantered from the castle, his men riding in his wake.

  After a quick glance into the blackened sky to check on the approaching storm, Nicholas focused his attention on the earl. “What brings you to Ravenmoor Castle on such an adverse day?”

  The earl scowled. “Several of my cattle were stolen early this morning. We tracked the reivers onto Ravenmoor land. In a show of good will, I would gain permission before conducting a search.”

  Furious that reivers would dare seek shelter on his soil, Nicholas nodded. “I will ride with you.” He nodded to his squire. “Thomas, tell Sir Jon to gather five men to ride with me, then prepare my mount.”

  “Aye, Sir Nicholas.” His squire hurried away.

  The earl followed the squire’s progress for a moment then took in the churning sky. He grimaced. “Sir Nicholas, there is nay need for you to go out in this weather. It promises to be a nasty storm.”

  “If the thieves are on Ravenmoor land,” Nicholas stated, “they are my responsibility.”

  “’Twould be my own way as well,” Dunsten agreed. His horse snorted and shifted nervously. “Your assistance will be welcome. ’Tis time the reiving ended.”

  “Indeed,” Nicholas replied, unsure why the man’s agreement to his own principles left him unsettled.

  As they rode from the gates of Ravenmoor the heavens opened. The long hours of riding over his land yielded naught except miles of mud, biting rain, and lashing wind. Cold soaked him to the bone.

  At the top of the next hillock, Nicholas drew his mount to a halt and scanned the narrow valley. A river ran through the glen and widened near the center where it spilled into a lake. Shrub edged the pond with a stand of trees on one edge that led up to a large rowan tree shading the northern edge.

  He continued his search over the lush green as the scent of wet leather and earth filled the air. Though the thunder had ceased several hours ago, the chilling rain continued to fall in the fleeting light. Before it grew too dark, they needed to start home.

  Lord Dunsten guided his mount toward him in the soft turf. “With the heavy rains, any tracks that we could have trailed have been wiped away.”

  “ ’Tis my belief as well.” He’d hoped to catch the thieves this day. ’Twould have stressed to those along the border his determination to end the struggles between them and bring peace. “Let us return to Ravenmoor Castle. I would offer you a hot meal and a warm bed for the night.”

  “My thanks, Sir Nicholas.” Lord Dunsten studied him a moment. “The king chose wisely when he installed you as the castle’s castellan.”

  Nicholas stiffened, finding his comment far from holding praise. “My efforts to bring peace are those any knight loyal to King Edward would undertake.”

  The earl raised a lazy brow, but his eyes remained as sharp as a hawk’s. “Mayhap. But some would pursue a path more to their own reward.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “You speak of Sir Renaud?”

  The noble shrugged. “How well does anyone truly know another?”

  Nor, ’twould seem, would he reveal his relationship with the previous castellan. “Were you aware of any unlawful acts instigated by Sir Renaud?”

  He ran his hand along his mount’s withers. “I doubt King Edward is interested in a few misdeeds by one of his castellans or the reported death of a Scot, however achieved. His true interest is in gaining Scotland, regardless of the cost.”

  “My king seeks peace and unity between our countries,” Nicholas stated.

  A threadbare smile tainted with scorn touched Lord Dunsten’s lips. “If you wish to believe so.”

  “And what do you believe?” he asked, curious to discover what spawned such contempt toward his king. Regardless of the noble’s words, Nicholas doubted Lord Dunsten’s loyalty lay with anyone but himself.

  The earl’s eyes hardened. “I believe that each man has his price,” he said, his words calculated. “What is yours?”

  How dare he try to buy him like a whore! Nicholas curled his hand around the hilt of his sword. “My loyalty is not bought and sold, but earned.”

  Lord Dunsten laughed as if a bard had spun a jest. Though his eyes twinkled with mirth, mercilessness glittered beneath. “Sir Nicholas, you are a rare find in this callous time. Mayhap you will indeed achieve the peace Sir Renaud failed to obtain.”

  His cynical response stroked Nicholas’s temper. “There are still those who believe and fight for what is right.” That he had invited the earl to Ravenmoor for the night ate at him like maggots to a wound, but propriety forbade him
to withdraw his offer. “The night is almost upon us. We must return to Ravenmoor Castle.”

  Not waiting for an answer, Nicholas wheeled his mount and galloped for home, more than ready for the long and trying day to be at an end. Before the night ended, he would know his squire’s secrets.

  The bowls slipped from Elizabet’s hands, spilling uneaten stew onto the battered kitchen table. Blast it. Ever since Nicholas’s return and his subsequent announcement that Lord Dunsten would remain the night, her hard-won control had shattered.

  As if worrying about the upcoming confrontation between her and Nicholas wasna enough? Somehow she’d managed to evade Dunsten, but there would be nay avoiding Nicholas. With the exception of exposing that she was a woman, she would tell the castellan the truth about knowing those from Wolfhaven Castle, or as much as possible.

  The ache in her heart grew. As hard as it was to dwell upon the fact, their days together were numbered. If naught else, when she left Ravenmoor, at least she would do so with a measure of pride.

  The weight of her worries smothered her. If only for a few minutes, she needed to escape. After wiping up the splattered broth from the floor and picking up the bowls, she tugged on her cape and slipped outside. Closing the door, she walked to the left of the steps and slipped into the shadows. With a weary exhale, Elizabet leaned against the chiseled stone.

  Stars dotted the sky, as clear as bright. A full moon ascended on the horizon bathing the treetops in a silvery light. After the thunderstorms this day, the peace of the moment touched her.

  “You play your role well.”

  At Dunsten’s cold words she whirled. Dread filled her as she stared at the morbid satisfaction etched in his expression. “I—”

  “Elizabet,” he drawled, a thin smile curving his lips. “You do me a disservice to think you could fool me. Though I admit, I didna recognize you on my first visit.” He took a step toward her. The moonlight carved his face, partially shielded by the shadows, into a macabre blend of hard angles.

  She stepped back, Dunsten’s oath of revenge on her brother after he interceded in his bid for Elizabet’s hand echoing in her mind. What was his true purpose here? A man like Dunsten did naught without a reason. “What do you want?”

  With an apathetic sigh he studied the full moon rising in the east. Glancing toward her, his face softened, and he reached out and brushed his thumb against her cheek. “ ’Tis a lover’s moon,” he said with a rich silkiness.

  She jerked from his touch, startled by his unexpected advance. “What do you want? You know everyone here thinks I am a lad.”

  His slow smile unnerved her further. “An intriguing situation, but then, you always seem to implicate yourself in, how shall we say, less than desirable circumstances.”

  The bastard. “Like being here with you?”

  The tenderness in his eyes curdled to anger. “ ’Tis nae the way to treat the man you are to wed.”

  The crisp night air slithered across her flesh as bile rose in her throat. “I would never marry you!”

  His ruthless gaze traveled up her body, from the tip of her deerskin boots to her cropped locks, before they locked on her eyes.

  A shiver rippled through her.

  “I do nae see where you have much choice.” The outline of his well-muscled form adorned with sword and dagger exposed a sinister portrayal of exactly how lethal his threat could be. “To begin with, Lady Elizabet, I could inform Sir Nicholas of your duplicity.”

  “I . . .” Panic swept her. Nicholas couldna find out she was a woman. ’Twas hard enough preparing to leave without having to face the castellan’s hatred as well. That would come soon enough.

  “What would he think if he found out you are naught but a fraud?” he continued, voicing her worst fear. “He is an honorable man who values the truth.” He leaned closer. “As I am sure you are well aware.”

  “I but tend to his horse, carve his meat, and other mundane chores,” she said with a nonchalance she didna feel. “I doubt his interest in a lad, or a woman for that fact, would cause him great concern.”

  His soft laughter crawled up her spine as if a dull pin dragged. “For most ’twould nae matter if they were tended to by a gout-ridden spinster. But Sir Nicholas is nae most, is he? He is a man who values integrity.”

  Her heart thundered. “I know nae what you are trying to say.”

  “Aye you do. I am nae blind,” he hissed. “I saw the way your eyes followed him during the meal when you believed nay one watched. ’Tis a fancy you hold for him. And I have nay doubt of his anger if he were to learn of your treachery.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it. Everything he’d said was true. Nicholas appealed to her more than he should, because of his honor and desire to do what was right. And when he learned of her deception, he would be furious.

  Lord Dunsten nodded as if pleased by her silence. “Then, there is your brother.”

  “Giric—”

  “Is locked inside Sir Nicholas’s dungeon, and your father is dead.” He stepped forward and pressed his body tight against hers, effectively trapping her. “And the only thing keeping your brother alive is that Sir Nicholas believes Sir Renaud is involved with illicit dealings, and provoked your brother and family’s attack.”

  She tried to escape, but he caught her chin with his hand. “ ’Tis the truth!” But even as she said the words, she realized his implication. Repulsed, she glared at him. “But you would frame him, would you nae, twist facts to make my brother appear as if a murderer?”

  “I will do whatever it takes to have you,” he said with slow menace. “This time nae your brother, or any other, will interfere with my plans to marry you.”

  The air grew thin, hard to breathe. If she’d worried about the danger the earl’s being here posed before, now she understood how much of a threat he could be. If given the opportunity, he would turn Nicholas against her, and then wrongfully manipulate circumstances to ensure Giric’s death. She couldna allow either. Until her brother was set free, she must remain at Ravenmoor Castle to protect him.

  “I willna marry you.” Her reply sounded feeble to her own ears, but somehow she would find a way to outwit him.

  “Oh but you will.” With obnoxious confidence, Lord Dunsten reached out and lifted a cut lock. “Or Sir Nicholas will hate you and your dear brother will be dead.”

  Pain shot through her as he jerked her forward; his lips hovered above hers. Bile rose in her throat. “Release me!”

  “I will give you a fortnight to give me the answer I wish,” he said with deadly calm. “You are nae a fool, Elizabet. If nae for Sir Nicholas’s sake, we both know you will do anything to save Giric.” He claimed her lips in a savage assault.

  Furious, she fought him, but he overpowered her. After he’d bruised her lips in a punishing kiss, he released her.

  She stumbled back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “A fortnight.” He turned on his heel and strode into the keep. With a jerk, he slammed the door closed behind him.

  Dread crept through Elizabet as she leaned against the cold stone. She stared unseeing into the moon-filled night. A fortnight. It gave her little time, but somehow it would have to be enough. She would never marry Dunsten.

  The bells of Compline tolled, and her heart sank. Nicholas. She still had to face him, and their confrontation would be anything but pleasant.

  Steadying herself she turned and approached the door. At least for the moment Nicholas’s anger was confined to believing she hid but a few paltry secrets from him.

  God forbid if he discovered the truth.

  CHAPTER 12

  Dunsten’s threat echoed in Elizabet’s mind as she halted before Nicholas’s chamber. With a calming breath she entered, then pushed the door shut. The forged latch clicked into place like an executioner’s blade. The scent of smoke tainted the chamber, and the fire blazing within the hearth doing little to warm the chill invading her.

  “Thomas.”<
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  With a start she turned.

  The castellan stood by the window in an easy stance, but she caught the fury raging in his eyes. “Sir Nicholas?” Her breathless whisper carved the silence with an abrasive edge.

  “Pour me a cup of wine.”

  The icy quiet of his words unnerved her further. Her hands trembled as reached for the bottle. The ruby liquid sloshed over the side as she filled the goblet. She glanced over.

  Nicholas was staring out the window into the night.

  With a hard swallow, she returned the bottle to the small table.

  At the soft click of the glass upon wood, he remained facing the darkened skies.

  Nicholas’s controlled stance unnerved her more than if he stalked the room in a caustic rage. His bearing represented the stalwart man she’d come to know, a man who knew his purpose with unnerving clarity. And this night as he stood with the quiet intensity of a warrior preparing for a siege, ’twas nae a castle he sought to conquer, but her secrets.

  She brought him the wine. “Here, Sir Nicholas.”

  In silence, he took the goblet. His muscles rippled with a sleek grace as he lifted the cup, underscoring her original assessment of him being a formidable enemy when she’d first encountered him from the bough of the rowan tree.

  Distant voices of the guards echoed from the bailey. A wolf howled in the distance, a rough, lonely sound. The castellan continued to stare into the night.

  Why didna he say something? Nicholas turned, and his gaze bore into hers.

  Dread filled her. The many untruths she’d spun had brought her to this shameful moment. And he detested lies. If she exposed her true identity now, even if she revealed her reasons, she’d deceived him and he would hate her. The deed was done. She would stand by her original goal, to free her brother and men. Once they were released, she would leave. Then, Thomas, the lad Nicholas had come to know, would vanish forever.

  The pounding at the back of Nicholas’s neck grew as he scoured Thomas’s face, reading the lad’s indecision as well as the anguish. His own state of mind was little better. After the disturbing conversation with Lord Dunsten this afternoon, the last thing he wished for was another confrontation this day, but the time had come for secrets to end.