by Diana Cosby
The moment shifted. Need slammed into his gut. With a muffled curse, Nicholas departed the chamber, cursing himself the entire way. The sooner Thomas left for his brother’s, the better.
Inspired by the beauty of the day, Nicholas urged his horse faster, needing to erase his growing feelings for Thomas. Hoofbeats thrummed upon the fertile earth as his steed raced across the glen. Pansies, poppies, purple thistle, and foxglove swayed as he raced past, their sweet scent and explosion of color doing little to lighten his mood.
The dense turf gave way to moss and rock as he guided his mount past timeworn boulders then up the steep, rocky incline toward the edge of the cliff.
Cool, salty air greeted him as he reached the ragged plateau. He drew his mount to a halt and closed his eyes, savoring the serene moment. His decision to escape the confines and pressures of his position, even for a brief time, had been the correct one.
On a rough exhale, he gazed over the harsh, unforgiving land. A land where for hundreds of years men had fought for their beliefs, endured hardships for their people, and through it all loved with a fierce abandon.
Pride filled him. Since his arrival he’d accepted the challenges of this land and of the people hewn from its soil. Inroads to build a foundation of peace with the bordering Scots had taken shape. Now, a fragile peace had settled over The Debatable Land. A peace allowing him much-needed time to focus on Ravenmoor Castle.
No longer did the remaining Scots eye him with malice, but with a guarded sense of trust. With a firm but fair hand, in time the last inhibitions of the residents would flee. Then he would have fulfilled his duties to his king.
Nicholas stroked his gelding’s neck, then guided him down the rocky path and back onto the thick grasses of the glen. He urged him into a gallop, and they raced as one across the rolling expanse of green.
A light sheen of sweat coated his horse as he reined him to a halt at the end of the valley. Wind sifted past, rich with the taste of summer, warmed by the abundance of sun.
He sat back in his saddle, absorbing the golden rays, but an issue he must resolve haunted his peace of mind—the sentencing of Lord Terrick.
Nicholas frowned. He’d reviewed the previous earl’s ledger filled with heinous charges against the Scot: murder, reiving, and plotting against the crown, to name but a few. After meeting with the earl once he’d regained his health, he, too, believed him dangerous, but the notorious villain crafted within the bindings of the ledger didn’t characterize the noble locked within his dungeon.
He rubbed his jaw. When he’d asked, Terrick’s claim that his retaliation and subsequent attack on Ravenmoor Castle were spawned by the injustices served to the Scottish people by Sir Renaud were confirmed by the Wardens of the Western March. As well, Lord Terrick had stated he’d heard rumors of Sir Renaud’s raping and pillaging for his own gain, but he’d never caught the man in the act.
The governing officer’s charge substantiated Lord Terrick’s suspicions that Sir Renaud had acted without the king’s knowledge or best interest at heart. In fact, given the vile acts the previous castellan had committed, death by the hand of a Scot had been a fitting reward for the scoundrel.
But, had the previous castellan smuggled goods and sold them for his own gain, then sent false reports to the crown as well? The ledger, though inscribed with personal comments, indicated no such actions.
He wrapped the reins around his hand. What if there was another ledger? Would Sir Renaud have been so brazen to document his treachery? From all he’d learned, the man would. If indeed a second, personal ledger existed, ’twould be the undeniable proof he needed. Then he could connect Sir Renaud with his illicit dealings, release Lord Terrick and clear his name, and end the last of the discord between the borders.
He was convinced that the recent uprisings, though agitated by the unrest arising from the state of affairs between England and Scotland, were due to the atrocities committed by Sir Renaud.
Neither would he keep Terrick locked up much longer when he believed the man had been wronged and just in his subsequent siege upon Ravenmoor Castle.
Shadows engulfed him. Nicholas glanced up.
Thick, billowing clouds dark with rain slowly filled the sky.
A storm was moving in. ’Twas best if he returned to the castle. With a nudge, he guided his horse down the steep incline. At the base, he headed west, the most direct route home. Foxglove, bog myrtle, and heather lined the bog as he skirted the edge, the rich scent of decaying foliage intermixed with that of imminent rain.
Nicholas kicked his mount into a canter and left the moors. As he crested the hillock, a river unfolded in the valley before him, graced with a stand of trees all but hiding an enlarged pool. With the incoming downpour, the river would swell and the tranquil waters would grow into a raging torrent. Long before it rose to such treacherous depths, he would be safe within Ravenmoor.
The thrum of hooves biting through soft turf accompanied him as he rode. At the bottom of the glen, he guided his horse to circle the stand of trees.
A horse whinnied.
Anger slid through him as he drew his mount to a halt. Had the reivers who’d stolen Lord Dunsten’s cattle returned? If so, they would rue this day. He scoured the area.
Within the small grove trees, and nearest to the stream, stood a huge, twisted rowan tree enclosed by a hedgerow of brambles. Blast it, in the dense thicket, he could see naught. Regardless, he would catch whoever it was. Nicholas withdrew his broadsword and urged his mount forward.
The first drop of rain splattered on his cheek.
Careful to keep quiet, he guided his steed through the outlying trees. As he neared the water, a blackbird fluttered amongst the branches of the gnarled rowan tree, heavy with clusters of red berries. At the edge of the thick shrubs he spied a horse tied to the lower limb. Closer inspection disclosed no traces of any other riders.
The intruder was alone.
Where was the rider? By God he’d find out. Dismounting, he shoved the thick, prickly brambles aside.
A woman’s sweet voice echoed through the stillness.
Blast it! What maiden would be daft enough to be out here alone, much less with an advancing storm? The thickheaded woman. Torn between propriety and her welfare, he chose the latter. He walked around the base of the rowan tree and searched the sweep of water. Near the shore, a beautiful woman swam through the chilled water with ease, laughing, diving, and then floating on her back.
He groaned as her pert breasts glistened, water beading on their rosy tips. Heat speared through him like a well-honed lance. With a soft curse, Nicholas sheathed his sword and stepped back trying to clear his lust-fogged brain.
A swath of white through the branches caught his attention.
He stilled.
On the edge of a broken limb, a familiar white tunic hung beside a conspicuous pair of trews.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
The playful slosh of water shattered his musings.
Stunned, he glanced from the garments given by his own hand to his squire, to the woman frolicking in the water naked.
The tap of rain upon the leaves around him increased to a steady patter. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Wind gusted through the thicket and brambles scraped across his face.
A woman.
Nicholas clenched his fist on a sturdy twig then jerked back as a thorn pricked his flesh. A small drop of blood beaded on his thumb. The color of lust. The color of lies. With an angry swipe against his trews, he wiped it away.
Thomas! ’Twas bloody not even her name!
All this time he’d believed his squire to be a wayward lad, mistreated by society, shunned from love. Gullible, he’d taken him—her under his wing.
The events since Thomas’s arrival replayed in his mind. His squire’s adamant refusal to bathe with the other knights, the extreme caution he’d used to avoid being around people, and his guarded words.
And she was beautiful. So why in God’s na
me hadn’t he recognized her as a woman?
Because he’d expected to see a lad and had looked for none other.
And yet, from the start his body had discerned what his eyes had failed to see. The hot rush of desire he’d battled to keep in check over and again had been as natural as the fury searing him now.
His ire shoved up a notch.
The many nights they’d lain in his chamber discussing his dreams and his desires, and all the while a slow but sure bond had grown between them. Had their closeness been a lie as well?
He glared at the woman frolicking in the water with innocent abandon. ’Twould serve her well if he hauled her to shore and demanded answers, kissed her senseless as he’d yearned to do since the first.
Nicholas shoved another bramble aside, and halted as her reason for accepting the position at Ravenmoor slammed into his gut.
Terrick.
The strand of raven black hair he’d found caught within the pages of the ledger, her nervousness when accompanying him to the earl’s chamber, and her tender hand wiping the same brow but a day later. Was there no end to his blindness in dealing with this woman?
Jealousy clawed through him with biting green fury. The pain was immediate, searing. She’d used him, deceived him at every turn, for another man. He shoved his way through the dense thicket.
The deception would end now!
CHAPTER 14
Water rushed over Elizabet’s skin as she surfaced, then spilled around her in a soft rush. She lay back as the water slid down with a cool tickle between her breasts. This was so relaxing. She should have slipped away before.
“Thomas!”
At Nicholas’s furious voice, fear slammed through her. Pulse racing, she turned toward shore.
Hands on his hips, wind clawing through his hair as lightning streaked across the storm-churned sky in the background, Nicholas stood on the bank as if an enraged god. But judging from the anger carved on his face, he was very, very human.
Mary, Mother of God!
With her clothes clenched tight in his fist, he held them out toward her in a vicious shake. “Come here!” His angry shout melded with a clap of thunder.
Icy rain pricked against her skin like arrows, but Elizabet didna move. Couldna. If she tried to escape he would catch her.
A second passed.
Then another.
The water blackened around her. Waves crested with white rose from the depths, but she held, feeling safer stranded shoulder deep in the churn of storm-fed water than in the throes of Nicholas’s outrage.
With a curse he tossed her clothes aside, trudged in. Water sloshed in a ragged spray as he closed, with his each step rising higher.
He couldna catch her! She dove, but the churn of waves pushed her back. A hand shot out, hauled her forward, another caught her other arm.
Waves slapped her flesh as he held her before him. His eyes raked down her nakedness filled with heat, clouded with lust.
Warmth whipped through her. Was she a lackwit? He was furious, how could she want him? Except, shamefully, she did.
His gaze lifted, speared hers in a ruthless hold. “You thought I would not catch you?”
As if she could deny the truth? Elizabet nodded.
“And how long had you planned to remain here,” he demanded, the pain of her duplicity laced within his demand. “Until he was freed?”
So he’d learned that Giric was her brother. Aching that she’d betrayed his trust given in good faith, she swallowed hard. “Aye.”
“And when he left, you were going to walk away?”
Tears burned her eyes. “You were never supposed to find out.”
Disgust raced over his face like the lightning streaking through the sky. “Damn you, ’tis not a game.”
Pain numbed her heart. “I never meant to hurt you.”
His hands on her shoulders tightened, then he loosened his grip. “You lied to me! Used me every step of the way. And for what? Your lover!”
Lover? Stunned, she stared at him in disbelief. How could he think . . . What had given him the idea that she and Giric were lovers? Then she understood. Ignorant of her blood bond, he’d believed that only a woman in love would have dared play the part of his squire in an attempt to help her lover escape.
Her elation at figuring out the riddle deflated. It changed naught. Her father’s caustic claim that nay man would ever want her as his wife echoed in her mind, that she was naught but a burden in his life, words he’d repeated many times over. Did she think her life with Nicholas would be different? Sadness extinguished any glimmer of hope. Given time, she would disappoint him as she had her father. ’Twas best if he believed she belonged to another, then his desire for her would end here. And, ’twould save them both further pain.
“I—I never told you an untruth.” The wind whipped away her shattered plea.
“An untruth?” He raked his eyes over her face then down to the outline of her breasts exposed as each wave of the churn of storm-blackened water passed. “And is he worth risking your life for?”
She opened her mouth. “He—”
Nicholas caught her mouth in a blistering kiss.
Elizabet shoved her hands against his chest, but he slanted his mouth and took the kiss deeper. His taste consumed her, and her last defense crumbled. Desire pouring through her, she savored his taste, a raw passion that too soon would end.
Nicholas’s body trembled with desire as the beautiful woman in his arms kissed him back. God how he wanted her! He caught her face in a tender embrace and nipped gently on her lower lip.
A moan shuddered through her.
His blood ran hot, and his anger of moments ago slammed to need. Lost to the moment, he pressed his mouth against her cheek, her jaw, then trailed kisses down the silken length of her neck.
She tilted her head back, exposing the slender column.
The splash of rain tasted sweet against her skin, and his body shuddered. On a moan, he captured her breast, then suckled the tender velvet tip.
She gasped. “Nicholas.”
At her throaty plea he looked up.
Wind tugged at her sodden hair, tossing the wet strands in sharp angles to frame emerald eyes dark with desire. The temptress, the seductress. And by God, his! This moment, Lord Terrick and the bond they shared would be severed.
He claimed her mouth, demanding, taking, thrilled when her heated kisses matched his own. Wanting to touch her every inch, to make love to her until she screamed her release, he slid his hand along the curve of her back in a possessive slant, pulling her against him in an intimate press.
He wanted her here.
Now.
And when he sheathed himself within her slick warmth, she would think only of him.
Panic raced through her eyes, and she tried to pull away.
His body pounded with unspent desire, and he held her tight.
She twisted in his arms. “Nay, I—I canna. This is wrong!”
Anger speared him in a savage slash. “Because of him?”
“Yes . . .” She shook her head and her hands clenched into fists upon his chest. “Nay.”
As if he wasn’t confused enough? “Do you love him?”
“Nicholas—”
“Do you!”
“Aye.” Her words fell out in a rough tumble, thick with regret.
He released her, wanting her still. Damn her to Hades! He stormed to the shore, snatched her clothes from the bank.
Water sloshed in a frantic chop behind him as she followed.
He glared at her. He was a fool!
Naked, she halted.
With a curse, he tossed her garments to her. “Cover yourself.”
The beautiful woman caught them and held them against her nakedness, but the clothes hung in disarray, shielding only one breast and exposing the downy juncture with painful clarity.
“When I make love with you,” Nicholas rasped, “you will not think of Terrick, but me.” He drew another ragged breath
, fighting to maintain control. “Let me assure you, though I have left you untouched, we are far from through!”
Her eyes clouded with distress. “But I—”
“Get dressed.”
He strode toward the thicket with the whip of wind and rain slashing against him.
“Where are you going?” she called, fear crawling through her voice.
He kept walking. Once he settled things between him and Lord Terrick, then he would finish with her.
“Nicholas!” Elizabet’s heart pounded as he kept walking. She had to stop him! Shaking, she slogged through the blackened water, then dragged on the sodden clothes as the rain cut an icy path against her skin. “Wait!”
Without turning back, the castellan strode past the rowan tree and disappeared into the thicket.
With the howl of wind, he couldna hear her! She scrambled up the bank as the muffled beat of hooves echoed. Nay! Fear raced through her as she ran through the shield of leaves. “Nicholas!” She broke into the clearing.
In the downpour, she caught his outline fading in the sweep of rain.
Giric! Nicholas would kill him! She must stop him! Heart pounding, she ran to the base of the rowan tree. Her legs threatened to give as she tugged on her boots. She could accept Nicholas’s anger. Throughout her life she had disappointed those whom she loved, especially her father. She’d grown up beneath his brutal eye, never being able to be good enough, to earn his praise.
Nicholas believed he cared for her. For now, everything was fresh in his mind, a mix of emotions he’d nae dissected. In the end, with the passage of time, he would he find himself wishing he’d let her go. Her heart wrenched at the latter. ’Twas better if he shunned her, exiled her from his life. Except she hadna counted on him turning his anger on Giric.
After she tugged on the other boot, she mounted and dug her heels into her steed’s side. Mud flew from his hooves as he galloped across the moor, but her thoughts already raced ahead, and she prayed for her brother’s life.
Rain pelted Nicholas as he rode hard toward Ravenmoor Castle. Lightning cut through the blackened sky, wind howled, melded with the rumble of thunder, but he pressed on.
