by Diana Cosby
He asked you to marry him.
Mayhap, but caught up in her desire, she’d given herself to Nicholas before the rites of marriage and disgraced her family’s name.
Laying the dagger by the trencher, Elizabet took another bite and forced herself to chew the tender meat. However much she wanted to flee, she refused to give any within the great hall the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
Nausea churned in her stomach and she gave a covert glance at Nicholas, who sat at her side. With leisure, he sipped his wine as if he’d nae stood before his men, then the residents of the castle this day, and stated she was a woman and would remain as his guest for the next few days. Or the fact that after the meeting, he’d given her the responsibility of running the keep, normally the wife’s task.
Oh, he was a sly one, claiming he needed her help as duties outside the keep required his attention. Though she’d agreed, once he returned she’d leave.
A lad approached and held up a bottle of wine. “More, Lady Elizabet?”
“Nay.”
The lad moved to Nicholas’s side. “Wine, Sir Nicholas?”
The castellan nodded.
He refilled his cup then moved away.
Nicholas glanced over. “You are quiet this eve.”
She slanted him a glance. Curiosity shimmered in his eyes as well as determination. The hunter and she the prey. “I have naught to say.”
He arched a brow as a slow, challenging smile touched his lips. “ ’Tis a first.”
“You are reprehensible,” she charged in a fierce whisper.
“And you are beautiful.”
His flattering words softened her heart. She lifted her goblet and pretended interest in the wine, praying it would numb her body’s traitorous response. How dare he undermine her anger with such ease, seduce her with such endearing charm. “I am tired and wish to go abed.”
His eyes darkened with desire.
Elizabet set down the goblet. “Alone.”
Pride shone in his expression. “You were wonderful this day, Elizabet. A lesser woman would have crumbled.”
She lifted her head with a stubborn tilt, nae wanting his praise or the satisfaction that came with his words. “I am a Scot.”
“That you are,” he said with reverence. “And a beautiful one at that.” He set his goblet aside and stood, then offered her his hand. “Let me escort you to your chamber. The day has been long and I am weary.”
Her hand trembled as she laid it within his palm, aware of those around them who watched, his words of escort offered for propriety. Once the castle had settled for the night, she would slip into his chamber.
His fingers closed around hers, and his eyes held hers as he drew her to her feet. “I would give my life to protect you. Never doubt that.”
And she didn’t.
The hot August night embraced her as she entered his chamber hours later, the breeze sweet with the fragrance of heather, warm with a sultry promise. The soft orange glow melded with purple on the horizon.
Nicholas closed the chamber door behind her. It shut with a muffled thud.
His bed loomed between them. Uncomfortable she walked to the window. The hushed song of the crickets filled the oncoming night. She tried to rid herself of thoughts of the rightness of this moment, the intimate solitude that bound them, the endless comfort she found in his arms, or of her desire to never leave. “I was wrong to come.”
Nicholas placed his hands on her shoulders, and she jumped. He turned her to face him. “What are you thinking?”
“Of leaving.”
“Liar.”
The layer of passion in his quiet accusation slid through her like a warm, honeyed mead. “We are nae wed. I should sleep in my room. By remaining here with you, I dishonor my family.” The last stumbled out, filled with the nervousness she’d withheld throughout the day. Now, with the night upon them, her fragile wall tumbled, exposing her soul.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his dove-gray eyes never leaving hers. “Then marry me, Elizabet, for naught has ever felt so right.”
“Please . . .”
He slid the pad of his thumb over her lower lips, then lowered his mouth until he claimed hers in a tender kiss. “Tell me you do not want me,” he whispered, then skimmed his hands down the curve of her back, drawing her against him until their bodies fit tight.
She shuddered as he nuzzled her neck.
“Tell me now if you want to leave.”
Waves of need swept her, smothering the reasons she shouldna remain. “I—I canna.”
He nipped at the hollow of her neck then teased her with his tongue. “Come to bed. The hours will pass too quickly before you must slip to your chamber.” He captured her nipple through the fabric.
She moaned.
“Let me make love to you, Elizabet. You fulfill my every fantasy, drive me wild with desire.”
And she was lost. She was a fool. And she was in love.
Tiredness rolled through Nicholas as he again thumbed through page after page of the ledger, searching for an entry to prove Sir Renaud’s deception. After a long and demanding day rebuilding walls and settling minor disputes, ’twould seem that he would discover only frustration, not answers within the previous castellan’s records.
“Blast it!” He closed the leather-bound journal, sat back, and rubbed his brow. “I thought I would find some clue, but there is naught more than transactions one would find in any castle’s ledger.”
Elizabet studied the jumbled entries on the yellowed pages. “What exactly did you hope to discover?”
Beyond the closed door of the chamber, a woman’s muted laughter broke into his musings. The tempting smell of roasting meat for the evening meal and the scrape and shuffle of trencher tables being set up in the great hall echoed in the adjoining chamber.
He shoved the worn book away and stood. “There is evidence that I am missing about Sir Renaud’s underhanded dealings.” With a frustrated sigh he paced the small room. Almost another full day had passed and yet they’d found naught more. When he walked to the desk again, he halted, staring at the thick-bound book he’d scoured for the last several hours. “I cannot explain why, but I believe proof is here, and for whatever reason, I am missing it.”
“You have gone through every page,” Elizabet said with understanding, “some twice.”
“And naught. Where is it? What is the fact that I am too blind to see? I thought mayhap there was another ledger, yet I have found none.” Another wave of tiredness swept over him and a dull throb began to pound at his temple.
“ ’Twill be time to eat soon,” Elizabet said. “There is little more that can be done this night.”
He stared at the ledger, the pages jumbling in his mind to a haze. The tallow candle sitting upon the desk sputtered. He glanced over. It had burned to a nub.
“Nicholas,” Elizabet softly urged. “As much as I, too, wish to find the answer, you are tired. ’Twill do nay good to continue this day. Please, put the ledger away.”
She was right. Any answers it held eluded him. Tomorrow, rested and fresh, he would review the pages again. Mayhap then he would unveil its secrets. He lifted the bound pages. The smell of old leather and frustration combined in an unsettling mix.
Ready for this day to end, he jerked open the bottom drawer, tossed the book inside, shoved it shut. Wood scraped then jammed. As before, the drawer became stuck about an inch from closing. “God’s teeth!” He wrenched the drawer back open.
Elizabet gasped. “Pull the drawer farther out.”
Tiredness glazing his vision, he glanced up. “I was going to do that,” he muttered. “I am not blind.” The throbbing at his temple grew. “ ’Tis old and needs to be fixed.” Another problem he would take care of when time allowed.
She shook her head. “It may be old,” she said with excitement, “but whoever crafted it knew their trade.”
“Their trade?”
“We have a similar desk in my father’
s solar,” Elizabet explained, “and it has a secret compartment in the bottom to stow letters of importance.”
Stunned, he stared at the jammed ledger. “You mean the entire time, the other ledger was but inches away?”
“Aye.”
He jerked open the drawer, tossed the exposed ledger onto the desk. In a trice he’d emptied the layer of yellowed papers stacked beneath. Hope built as he skimmed his fingers along the bottom of the wooden panel. At the third corner, his thumb slid over an irregular indent.
“I found it!” He placed his finger into the slight gouge and pulled. Smooth as silk the drawer lifted away. A musty stench of time and an airless mix of old paper greeted him as he exposed the book within.
The second ledger.
Thank God!
He withdrew the brown, leather-covered pages. Parchment crinkled as he shoved the other book aside, then laid the aged binding on the desk. Praying it held the proof he sought, he opened the cover.
Sir Renaud’s name lay sprawled boldly across the top, arrogance emblazoned in every stroke.
Nicholas thumbed through a couple of pages. The entries were neater than those logged in the daily ledger, with each describing a detailed account of Sir Renaud’s deceit against the crown, and the depth of perfidy involved.
On the third page he paused. With meticulous clarity the entries listed an assault on a Scottish village, the atrocities committed, and the names of those involved.
Page after page, crimes, often vicious in nature against England and Scotland, were listed in macabre detail with perverse indifference. As with every other raid, Lord Dunsten’s name accompanied those who’d ridden at his side.
Anger crawled in his gut at the previous castellan’s audacity; so sure he would never be caught, but these pages exposed the full extent of his treachery.
As Nicholas continued to sift through the yellowed pages, he noted a pattern. Twice a month a schedule was mapped out detailing locations of shipments and deliveries, along with contacts for future runs.
Paper scraped against his fingers as he scoured the notations. Several ports were listed over and again, obviously favored for the receipt of illegal goods, but that wasn’t his biggest concern. The fishing village listed several times over on the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth was Terrick’s final destination. He riffled through the pages, anxious to find the most recent annotation, cursing what he might find.
Foreboding filled him as he turned to the final annotation. He flipped back a page and skimmed up the parchment until he found the start of the last listed entry. The date, two days before the castellan’s recorded death. The entry compiled a complete list of the next two months’ deliveries with the date of the next arrival.
Tomorrow.
The destination—the fishing village on the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth.
He slammed the book shut, praying Terrick had become delayed in his travels. But he knew, from his brief time spent with the Scot, that Terrick was a man who finished what he started. Odds were at this very moment he rode toward the fishing village along the river Annan. In all probability, he had sent Elizabet’s brother to his death.
His body shook with rage. Proof—he held it in his hands, but at this moment he would trade it without hesitation for a guarantee for Terrick’s life.
“Nicholas, what is wrong?”
“ ’Tis here, all of it,” he stated, the words thick and bitter in his throat.
She gave a slow nod as her eyes searched his. “But there is something else.”
A hint of desperation edged her voice, and he longed to deny the fact. He released the leather journal, stood, and drew her into his arms. The kiss spoke of his love, his need, and of never wanting to hurt her.
Trembling, she pulled away. “Tell me.”
“A shipment of goods is due to arrive tomorrow at a fishing village along the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth.”
“What has that got to do with . . .” Her face paled. “ ’Tis Giric’s destination?”
He nodded, hating that in a sense he had failed her. “ ’Tis the last location on the list that I gave him to seek information.” Nicholas rubbed his temple. “He was only supposed to ask questions, not be placed in danger,” he continued, his voice harsh with his battered thoughts, “but if Dunsten sees him—”
“He will kill him!”
Angst churned in his gut. “I must leave immediately to warn him.”
Fear sliced through Elizabet’s heart for her brother, but the rawness of Nicholas’s despair made her pause. “ ’Tis nae your fault.”
“I sent—”
“Nay. Your decision was made in good faith. You freed my brother, gave him a chance to prove his innocence.”
He stroked his thumb against her cheek, his gesture tender, his expression savage.
“If the conditions had been reversed,” she whispered, “Giric would have done the same.”
“That is not the point.” His face twisted in pain. “I do not want to hurt you. Ever.”
What if Nicholas reached Giric too late? What if he arrived in the midst of battle and was killed fighting to save her brother? And she realized that she was a fool to throw away a chance at love.
In the past she’d made decisions on impulse, her reasons to prove her worth. But she had grown. And she was wrong to compare Nicholas to her father or any other person in her life. He loved her for who she was. To doubt his love, to nae trust her own love to be strong enough, and to even walk away without a fight for what they had, was wrong. If Nicholas would still have her, she would give him what before she had only dared to dream. “Nicholas.”
He lifted his head, his eyes stark and glazed with pain.
Elizabet pressed her lips to his, savoring this moment. “I love you.”
His gaze softened, and he tipped his head forward to lay his brow against her own. “I know.”
A half-laugh, half-cry fell from her lips. She shoved against his chest and pushed him back. “Nay, you dolt.”
His brow lifted in a wry grimace. “You flatter me.”
“Shut up so I can tell you that I will marry you!”
Surprise then joy flickered over his face. “You will?”
“Aye.” She lifted her eyes to his. “I promise to weigh my decisions before I act, but my fear is that like I did with my father for so many years, and often with Giric, I will let you down.”
He lifted her chin. A warm smile touched his face, and love glittered in his eyes. “You are intriguing, challenging, and at times frustrating, but you will never disappoint me. Is this why you would not agree before?”
Heat stroked her cheeks. “I know it sounds foolish.”
“No, it sounds like a woman who loves deeply.” He pressed a soft kiss on her lips. “I love you with all of my heart. Your father was wrong if he made you feel less of a person. I am not sure of his reasons, but he overlooked a wonderful and sensitive woman. Never doubt that.”
With his belief in her, how could she?
“As much as I wish to remain and make love with my betrothed,” he said with regret, “I must leave.”
She laid her hand upon his cheek. “And I will be here when you return.”
He lay her hand over his heart. “And I love you, Elizabet. Never doubt that.” Somberness crept into his eyes. “Walk with me.” As they entered the great hall, Nicholas called out orders to prepare to leave.
Knights jumped at his command and servants scurried to aid in their preparation.
A short while later Elizabet stood beside Nicholas’s steed as his knights mounted and joined the formation behind him readied by the gate.
“Take care while I am gone. I have sent a missive to Lachllan to stay here and guard you until my return.”
Her throat tightened as her fear for him grew. “I love you, Nicholas.”
“I love you, too.” After one last hard kiss, he mounted, kicked his horse forward. His men followed. Hooves rumbled like t
hunder as they cantered across the drawbridge.
A gust tugged at her blue linen dress, teasing it as she stood alone and watched them fade in the distance, dust churning in their wake. Nicholas was her world, the man she’d given her heart to without reserve. She prayed that he found Giric alive, for their safety, and upon Nicholas’s return, for a future warm and bright.
Turning, she walked with dignity to the keep. Her future home, she corrected. She could envision a sturdy lad, their son running down to greet her. Fear that Dunsten would avenge her brother and slay Nicholas eroded the vision. Nay, she believed in Nicholas.
Good always won over evil.
But a sliver of doubt remained.
CHAPTER 17
Elizabet twisted and turned on the feather mattress. With a frustrated sigh, she opened her eyes. Darkness consumed the chamber, broken by the flickers of golden flames from the hearth. She reached over for Nicholas, and her hand slid along the rich brocade where he should have lain.
Where was he now? She doubted he’d reached Giric, but please let him be close. She shoved herself from the bed, walked to the window, and scanned the horizon. The chill of the late summer morning skimmed over her flesh, potent with the fragrance of the night, thick with the scent of the moors.
She glanced toward the bed. ’Twould be foolish to try to go back to sleep. She would only think of Nicholas. Gathering her borrowed kirtle, she dressed and smoothed the wrinkles from the sturdy but worn linen. ’Twas a bit overlarge, but until she had her own gown, ’twould have to do. Though it was nae yet dawn, she left the chamber. By immersing herself in the running of the keep, she could retain a degree of sanity until Nicholas and Giric returned.
The morning crawled past. Though she’d taken account of the larder, walked through the keep to survey the state of cleanliness and made a list of what needed attention, and then had spoken with the cook to plan the evening meal, she hadna been able to shake a sense of foreboding.
