by Diana Cosby
Elizabet turned her attention to the herb garden beside the new stable, determined to erase the chaos of weeds and turn it back to its thriving state.
A short while later, she tugged at another stubborn weed.
It didna budge.
Using both hands, she tore it from the ground and tossed the troublesome plant to the side in the growing pile. The essence of freshly turned earth and the pungent odor of volunteer rosemary, woven with the fresh fragrance of mint, scented the air around her as she worked.
Pride filled her. The small, weed-ensnarled thatch of ground was beginning to represent the makings of a fine garden. With care, the herbs she would plant would thrive, and would be a welcome addition to the otherwise plain fare.
Sweat slicked her brow as she worked her way over the unkempt ground. She wiped her brow and glanced up. The sun hung in a golden ball overhead, and white puffy clouds dotted the sky.
“Riders approach,” a guard at the gatehouse called out.
Hope filled her. Had Nicholas met Giric returning?
“ ’Tis the banner from the Wolfhaven Castle,” the guard yelled down.
Her spirits sank. Lachllan would give her a setdown, one hewn from worry. She tossed the weeds in her hand, dusted off her hands on her dress, and walked toward the entry.
The clatter of hooves echoed as the group cantered into the courtyard. At the front rode her steward.
The dam of emotions she’d kept at bay stormed her, and Elizabet ran to meet him.
The aged Scot pulled up and dismounted. Faded blue eyes swept her with concern. “Lass—”
“Thank God you are here.” She threw herself into his arms.
Without hesitation he engulfed her in a fierce hug. “There now,” he said, his gruff Scottish burr rough with emotion. “What have you done with yourself? When I left Ravenmoor you were dressed as a lad, I return you are now garbed as a lass?”
His gentle censure warmed her. She nodded. “ ’Tis a long story.”
Lachllan gave a soft chuckle. “As if with you I would expect different? Now then, let me take a look at you.” He held her at arm’s length. A frown wrinkled his aged brow. He scoured the keep. “Sir Nicholas has left?”
“Aye. We must talk,” she said, fighting to regain composure, “but nae here.”
Understanding darkened his eyes.
A short while later, with the horses tended to and the men taken care of, she led him inside to the castellan’s chamber adjacent to the great hall and began to explain.
Lachllan scrubbed his chin as she closed the door behind him. “A second ledger you say?”
“Aye. It holds names, dates, places of rendezvous points for the previous castellan’s illegal activities. Which is why Nicholas left. A shipment is due to arrive today in a small fishing village along the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth. ’Tis one of the destinations Giric was sent to in search of more information.”
Lachllan’s eyes narrowed. “Who is behind this, lass?”
“Lord Dunsten.”
His weathered hands fisted tight. “A thieving scoundrel. I told your father we should have held him accountable for his crimes before, now look—” He mumbled a curse.
Her interest peaked. “What crimes?”
“ ’Tis long done.”
Elizabet’s thoughts spun to her youth, to the day when Giric and Dunsten had deteriorated from friend to foe. A day Giric refused to speak of. “I am nae a child. ’Tis Giric’s life and perhaps Nicholas’s that are at stake.” She stepped up to him. “I will know.”
His eyes filled with regret.
“Please,” she said, her voice softening. “It has something to do with Giric and Dunsten’s rivalry, has it nae?”
“Aye.” He released his breath in a sharp hiss. “When Giric was ten and six summers, he and Dunsten came upon a lass in the woods gathering herbs when they were out on a hunt. After bidding her good day, they rode past. A short distance later, Dunsten said he didna feel well and was heading home. A sennight later they found the woman’s body. She’d been raped and brutally murdered.”
Horror swept through her. “Lord Dunsten killed her?”
“There is nay proof,” he said with soft fury, “but Giric watched Dunsten ride off in the woman’s direction. When your brother confronted him, Dunsten only laughed.”
“I have never heard of a charge against him for her murder?”
“Nay,” Lachllan spat. “Dunsten’s guilt was never proved.”
Nausea swept her. It explained Giric’s loathing toward Dunsten and her brother’s insistence that Elizabet nae wed him. “He is evil,” she whispered, shaken by the man’s depravity.
“Aye.” Lachllan set his hand on her shoulder. “A bad one he is. We must hope Sir Nicholas reaches Giric in time.”
Indeed.
He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. “Now, tell me why I am looking at a lass now and nae Thomas?”
Heat stole up her cheeks. “Oh . . . I . . .”
A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head. “I can only imagine.”
“ ’Tis nae what you think.”
“Did I say anything?” But his eyes twinkled with humorous anticipation.
As she recounted the sordid tale, the expression on Lachllan’s face shifted from shock to worry. Finding it prudent, she omitted the intimate details. If her mentor knew she and Nicholas had made love, he would be furious.
Her steward shook his head as she finished the tale. “And now?”
She held her breath as she lifted her gaze to his.
His eyes widened. “You love him?”
“Aye,” she replied, her voice trembling. “He asked me to marry him, and I have agreed.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
“I am afraid that I will let him down.” She crossed her arms, the small chamber as stifling as her fears. “Nicholas thinks I worry overmuch, that my doubts are groundless, but he knows so little of me, hasna seen the countless times I let my father down.”
He eyed her hard. “Is that what you think, you let him, us down?”
Elizabet dropped her gaze. “Though I tried to prove myself to Father, throughout the years, in the end I only earned his disappointment. Now ’tis too late. He is dead. I failed him.”
“Oh, lass.” Lachllan lifted her chin until he stared straight into her eyes. “Understand, ’twas nae you. Your father loved your mother dearly. When she died, he withdrew. He couldna deal with her loss.”
“But I thought ’twas because Giric—”
“His withdrawal toward you had naught to do with Giric. You look too much like your mother,” Lachllan explained. “Every day when he saw you, your father saw her. And it hurt.”
Stunned, she shook her head. “But he never told me, he never . . . I only wanted to know that he loved me.”
“I wish ’twas otherwise, but he couldna. He never recovered from your mother’s death, and for him, seeing you each day was a haunting reminder.”
She nodded, the woman understanding, the little girl still aching for her father’s love, an acceptance and caring that now would never come.
“You must learn to forgive him. Your father was a man. Naught more. Naught less,” he said quietly. “Though he never spoke the words, he loved you with a fierceness that none could compare.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Loving Nicholas, she understood how her mother’s dying could devastate a warrior even as strong as her father. And all these years, her silent tears, her endless attempts to gain her father’s attention and affection were misguided. She’d believed herself a failure, unworthy of love based on her father’s rejection, when he’d rejected naught but the reminder of the woman he’d loved. She wiped her cheek. “I am such a fool.”
“Nay.” Lachllan gave her a warm smile. “You are a lass who loves deeply, and I would have you nay different.” Pride shone on his face. “Sir Nicholas obviously sees that. He is nae a fool, but a wise man who will
bring peace between our lands.”
Pride filled her. “I believe he will.”
“And he is a man who willna lose what he claims. Be happy, lass. You deserve it.”
“Thank you.” She hugged him, then stepped back with a smile. “I would feel better had I my own clothes.”
He grimaced. “Sir Nicholas’s orders were to keep you out of danger.”
Elizabet’s smile fell. “He is concerned about Dunsten, who is miles away in Scotland.” Hopefully leagues away from either Giric or Nicholas.
“I will have none of it. ’Tis nae safe for you to be outside the walls of Ravenmoor.”
Anger kindled. “It has been over a month since I have seen my people. I will visit but a short while, gather some of my clothes, then return posthaste.”
Weathered blue eyes narrowed.
She laid her hand upon his shoulder. “Do you think I would leave Ravenmoor Castle without appropriate guard? Nor will I tarry.”
“A man could ride back for what you need,” he said, nae budging an inch.
“If we depart now we will be back before dark. And I promise, upon our return I willna leave the confines of Ravenmoor until Nicholas and Giric return.”
Lachllan’s mouth thinned.
At least he hadna said nay. She gave him her sweetest smile. “And once we are back, I will talk the cook into baking you honeyed scones.”
His eyes twinkled at the last. “Ouch, lass. You drive a hard bargain.”
“We will take extra guard.”
“I will likely regret it,” he said with a grumble, “but aye, I will take you.”
Overjoyed, she hugged him. “Thank you.” A shiver of anxiousness slid through her, but she dismissed it, confident her worries over her brother and Nicholas spawned the unease.
Sweat melded with exhaustion as Nicholas urged his steed faster. He and his men galloped across the dense turf of the glen, adorned with foxglove, blooming ivy, gowan, and miles of sweet green clover. They’d rested a few hours during the night, departing at the first streaks of dawn to continue their journey.
The rolling valley curved up into a wooded hillock thick with oak and elm. Shadows of the forest engulfed him and his band as they entered, then wove their way through the stand of trees. When they crested the ridge, the small town along the river Annan came into view. Simple huts of turf and earth were scattered on the outskirts of the village, with a larger home standing alone overlooking the bank of the waterway opening to the Solway Firth.
Shielded within the trees, Nicholas signaled to his men.
They drew to a halt.
The scent of the water mixed with that of fish and the richness of the forest. He scanned the sleepy village for signs of suspicious activity as the ledger had indicated he should find, or the clash of blades, signaling Giric’s discovery and confrontation.
Naught but the chatter of birds in the trees entwined with the faint echoes of daily life in a fishing village interrupted the tranquil calm.
He scoured the docks edging the shore. Except for several fishing boats pulled up on the banks, and another docked alongside a wooden extension, the piers stood empty. Unease shifted through him.
Had the shipment arrived early? Had he missed Terrick? Lord Dunsten? Their confrontation and resultant battle? Gut instinct denied the latter. There was only one way to find out. “Sir Jon.”
The knight rode up to his side. “Yes, Sir Nicholas?”
“I am going to ride in and scout out the village.”
The knight frowned. “ ’Tis too dangerous.”
“And too dangerous to bring a contingent of English knights into the village and risk exposure,” Nicholas said. “ ’Twill be—”
Sticks snapped, and the thud of hooves on turf echoed in the distance.
Someone was coming! Nicholas signaled his men to draw their weapons. The scrape of his blade on leather filled the moment as he withdrew his sword.
The steady thrum of hooves increased.
From the sound, a small band, ten, fifteen men at most. Mayhap a scouting party to ensure that all was safe before Lord Dunsten entered the village?
Nicholas held his position, prepared to intercept whoever approached.
The crunch of sticks and slap of hooves increased. The outline of men flickered through the breaks in the trees, then the group halted at the edge of the tree line, much as he’d done.
Curious at their hesitation, Nicholas watched. The sound of muffled voices reached him, then the men, seven to be exact, departed the woods.
Terrick.
Relief filled him. “Wait here.” Nicholas kicked his mount into the clearing, and Giric turned, his sword drawn.
As he closed, Terrick sheathed his blade.
Nicholas’s mount danced to the side as he drew up before the earl.
“My sister?” he asked, anxiety raw in his voice.
“Is fine.” Nicholas glanced toward the woods. “My knights are hidden beyond the trees. Bring your men and join us.”
The noble signaled to his men. Several minutes later they merged with Nicholas’s band. “What brings you?”
“ ’Tis Lord Dunsten,” Nicholas replied. “I came to warn you that he is scheduled to be here.”
Terrick’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
For the next several moments Nicholas explained about finding the second ledger and the contents.
“Saint’s breath.” Giric scanned the town through the trees. “It looks quiet. Are you sure Dunsten’s down there?”
“The second ledger indicates a shipment is due to arrive today.” Nicholas shrugged. “I have seen no sign of men preparing for its arrival. I was about to try to search out some information when I heard your approach.”
The earl shot him a skeptical glance. “As I am Scottish, ’tis best if I go.”
“ ’Tis my duty and I am going,” Nicholas stated. “ ’Tis you who needs to remain here. If anything happens, Elizabet will need you.”
“Bloody hell if I will.” Terrick’s mount snorted as he guided him to Nicholas’s side. “You are nae going down there alone.”
“Terrick.”
He stopped short. “What?”
“I am in love with your sister, and I have asked for her hand in marriage. She said yes.”
The earl’s eyes darkened as he studied him. “I am still going.”
“God’s teeth, you are as stubborn as Elizabet,” Nicholas said with disgust.
A wry smile touched his lips. “Consider it a family trait.” He kicked his mount forward.
On a curse Nicholas followed, sure he was insane to marry into such a pigheaded family.
A short while later, with Terrick riding at his side, Nicholas slowed his mount to a walk as they turned toward the piers.
A band of fishermen worked in unison to repair a net at their approach.
Giric glanced at Nicholas. “Let me talk with them, ’twill raise less suspicion with me being a Scot.”
He nodded.
Terrick rode up, halted paces from the men. “We are looking for a vessel that was to arrive today to help unload it.”
The fisherman paused, the sturdy twine in his hands, and eyed him warily. “There be nay vessel in port.”
“I have got eyes in me head,” Terrick snapped.
Unperturbed by his ire, the man stitched another knot in his net then glanced up. “Who would be a-sending you?” he asked, shifting the bulky netting in his hands.
“Lord Dunsten,” Terrick replied.
Shrewd eyes sized up the rider, and then glanced toward Nicholas. He shrugged. “The ships been delayed by a storm, but it willna dock here. Someone is sniffing around and making the Lord Dunsten edgy. He gave orders to clear out until he gives the word as to where the ship will pull in. Check with Blar at the stable. He will tell you where we will meet in a week’s time.”
Terrick nodded and rode away.
Nicholas followed, waiting until they were out of hearing distance. “Bedamned, he knows
we’re after him.”
“Aye.”
His body tensed as a terrifying thought slammed into his mind. “You do not think he is headed back to Ravenmoor Castle? What would be his purpose?”
“For me,” Terrick said, his voice cold, hard.
“But you . . .” God in heaven! “Elizabet!”
The earl stared at him, confused.
“I told her to remain in the castle until our return,” Nicholas explained. “She told me that he cornered her while she was playing the role of my squire, and he tried to kiss her. The bastard.
“Dunsten wants her to avenge me. If he learns of your engagement, he will want to hurt her to punish you as well.” Terrick’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “He is nae a stranger to Ravenmoor Castle and may have connections within.”
Nicholas dug his heels in his mount and raced from the village with the earl riding hard on his heels. Giric was right. Even with Elizabet locked within Ravenmoor, if Lord Dunsten wanted her, he would use his knowledge and connections to abduct her without a trace.
CHAPTER 18
Elizabet lifted her face to the sun, basking in the warmth, the race of the wind across her skin, and the freedom of riding across her land. Over a month ago she’d ridden the same path to Ravenmoor Castle dressed as a lad and terrified to learn the fate of her family. Now she returned a woman in love.
Sunlight shimmered like pixie dust across the loch’s surface as she and her men approached. She slowed her mount, walked him to the water’s edge, and loosened the reins. Her horse lowered his head and fluttered his nostrils over the water. With a snort, he began to drink.
Lachllan and the extra men they’d taken from Ravenmoor as an escort moved around her, each allowing his mount to the edge of the water to follow suit.
“’Tis a bonny day,” the steward said, shielding his eyes as he looked toward the sky.
“Aye.” Hints of gold flashed then shimmered across the water with a twinkling mischief. With ease she could envision fairies at play, skimming across the pristine surface with unbound delight. A day for hopes, a time for dreams. Warmth bubbled inside her that her mother’s words should visit her now. Aye, everything was going to work out.
