An Oath Taken

by Diana Cosby

  Dressed in finery befitting his station, a crisp linen shirt below the deep green tunic adorned with his family crest, the earl could have mingled amongst royalty, fit in with the elegant, the elite. But the stark setting, designed for death, stripped away the elegance. His ornate finery became somehow tarnished.

  A length from their cell, Dunsten stopped. In silent toast he lifted a goblet of wine, drank deeply as if savoring this moment, his victory at their upcoming deaths.

  An odd sensation swept through Nicholas as he studied the brutal man. For all of his arrogance something was amiss. Beneath the gleam of success lurked the hard glint of anger, and his fingers clenched the cup until his knuckles turned white. Why?

  Elizabet?

  That she’d resisted this madman went without question. But to what degree? In her fervor to resist, had he crossed beyond the realm of rape and stumbled into murder? Panic swept him. Please let her be alive.

  Dunsten took another step closer, took a large gulp of wine, then tossed the cup. The goblet clattered across the stone and wine splattered onto the floor like blood.

  Nicholas clenched his hands, needing to know her fate, wanting to serve Lord Dunsten his own brand of justice.

  “My sword,” Dunsten snapped.

  A guard rushed forward and handed him a claymore.

  The polished steel glinted in the torchlight as Lord Dunsten wrapped both hands around the hilt. With a growl he moved through several maneuvers, hacking with a wild fury. He stopped, his breaths rough, and his eyes wild. “Release Sir Nicholas first.”

  The jingle of keys raked the silence as the guard shoved the door open, then entered. The knight unlocked the chains securing him to the wall. “Move.”

  Nicholas glared at Dunsten. “Is that how you serve justice—murder the innocent? Not give them a chance to defend themselves?”

  Crazed eyes darkened. “Bring him to me!”

  The guard cursed, shoved hard. “Move.”

  Weak from the beating, Nicholas stumbled forward.

  The guard kicked him.

  Chains clanked as Nicholas fell to his knees. His entire body screaming with pain, he pushed to his feet. Blast them all. If he was to die, however cowardly served, ’twould be looking at his enemy straight in the eye.

  “So brave,” Lord Dunsten said with disgust. “And for what? A king who serves only himself?” A sadistic smile touched his mouth. “Or is it for a woman who now serves me . . . on her knees?”

  With a roar, Nicholas lunged.

  The guard tripped him.

  Nicholas slammed to the floor. Body raw with pain, he shoved to his knees. “I will kill you!”

  “Will you?” Angling his sword, Dunsten swung it inches from his neck. With a twist, he streaked it across his shoulder, curled the blade, then pressed it under his jaw.

  The bite of steel pressed against his pulse. Nicholas held, aware death was but the flick of the wrist away.

  “You are nae afraid are you?” Lord Dunsten said.

  Nicholas remained silent, refusing to give him any final satisfaction, pleased when Lord Dunsten’s eyes narrowed.

  With a curse the Scot withdrew the blade. “Unchain him and give him his sword. “ ’Twill be most enjoyable to diffuse your anger with my sword, and end your miserable life in the light of battle.”

  A chance. Nicholas fought to ignore the pain racking his body.

  The guard approached with keys to unlock his shackles.

  “My lord!” another guard called as he rushed through the entry. “No one has found Lady Elizabet. She must have somehow escaped.”

  Molten rage infused Lord Dunsten’s face as he stalked toward the man. “Your orders were to report to me—in private!”

  The guard’s face blanched. “My Lord I—”

  With a curse, Dunsten sank the claymore into the knight’s heart.

  Eyes widened with pain as the guard staggered back. On a groan he crumbled to the floor.

  “Incompetence!” Dunsten waved toward the guard on his right. “Lock Sir Nicholas in the cell! I will deal with him upon my return.” He stormed from the dungeon. The slap of steps and his faint curses echoed through the turret, then fell to silence.

  She’d escaped. Thank God.

  “Move,” the guard demanded.

  His body revolting with each step, Nicholas half-walked, half-stumbled back to the cell.

  Chains rattled as the guard secured him to the wall. “Nae think you have escaped death. Once he finds her, then you will die.” The guard exited, shoving the door shut with a clang.

  As if the guard’s word mattered? Trembling with relief, Nicholas laid his head against the cool stone, turned toward Giric. “She’s escaped,” he said, the words thick with emotion.

  “Aye,” Terrick replied. Worry flickered into his eyes, tainting the thrill of hope. “As long as she doesna do something foolish like try to come and rescue us.”

  Nicholas’s heart stopped. The elation of moments ago swirled into fear. Bedamned, she would!

  CHAPTER 20

  Fear whipped through Elizabet as she stood in the dark confines of the tunnel. Go, Nicholas and Giric are counting on you! She dragged in a cool breath, tainted with the salt and the sea and the scent of time. Her hand shaking, she lifted the candle. The golden glow trickled through her cupped hands, slanting eerie shadows down the narrow passage, then faded into the smothering blackness.

  Sand and rock crunched into the foreboding silence as she forced herself to take a step, then another. She must stay calm.

  Yellowed candlelight scraped the smothering black, and the years rolled back. Again she was a child playing within these tunnels.

  It had been a game.

  She’d always loved the chase, the excitement of hiding from Dunsten, and the ultimate win. Except on her last journey so many years ago, somewhere she’d taken a wrong turn. The tunnel had narrowed, slivered into a ragged crevice, and ended.

  She’d laughed with the innocence of youth and made her way back. Except, as she had retraced her steps naught had looked familiar. With a shrug she’d returned to the point where she’d realized her error, or tried.

  Hours passed as she worked along each new inky path, her hopes and her spirit burning as low as her flame. Until, with a shaky flicker, that too had extinguished.

  Then came the fear.

  Cold.

  Brutal.

  Consuming her in a panic all its own. Lost and terrified, she’d huddled into a ball and caved into her terror.

  Yellowed light sputtered before her. Elizabet shook herself from her memories, angry she’d given in to the moment of panic, allowed her fears to paralyze her.

  A child hadna known any better and had awaited her rescue—a delivery that’d arrived many terrifying hours later. But she was an adult, with her past far behind. Nicholas and Giric didna need a woman trapped by the fears of a frightened child. Any hopes for their survival was up to her.

  With her courage patched up, she advanced.

  A low moan howled in the distance, then a soft, cool breeze sifted over her. The flame wavered and rolled wildly then went out.

  Blackness engulfed her.

  Her confidence crumbled, and a scream built in her throat as her fears unleashed.

  Focus or die!

  She closed her eyes, fought to subdue her terror. The sharp tang of panic, the burning horror, threatened to infuse every inch of her mind.

  A second passed. She held on to sanity by a thread. Another moment slipped by, then another. Slowly she regained control.

  The coolness of the breeze washed over her face, rich with the scent of the sea. So caught up in her fear, she’d missed the obvious, she was near the exit! Elizabet skimmed her fingers along the walls of timeworn rock, felt the cool trickle of seeping water and the rough scratch of moss as she forged ahead.

  A sliver of grayed light wavered in the distance.

  She stumbled toward it. As she turned the next corner, sunlight streamed down the
tunnel, which opened to a large cavern facing the ocean. Waves rolled in, crashed onto the sand and tumbled up the foam-slicked expanse in a wild rush.

  Relief swept her as she hurried forward. Water licked at her feet, biting into the scrapes at her knees. Sand tumbled down the slope as water tugged at her feet in its retreat. She followed the outgoing wave, and exited the cave. Sunlight streamed over her, erasing the cold fear.

  With a steadying breath, she scanned the angle of the sheer stone. Atop the massive gray wall loomed Hardwell Castle. And locked within were the two men she loved.

  “Nicholas, Giric,” she whispered. “Please, do nae let me be too late.”

  Lifting her dress, she turned and ran.

  Hours later Nicholas stared out the distant window, where streaks of orange melded to a blood red. Where was Elizabet now?

  “Do you think she has escaped?” Terrick asked, his voice rough, edged with the taste of desperation.

  Nicholas met his gaze, needing to believe she had. “Yes.”

  His Adam’s apple worked as Giric swallowed. “She used to play here as a child.” He shook his head. “My sister ran through the castle like it was her own.”

  Hope ignited. He shifted, his body aching from the long hours of being held against the wall and the beatings. “Here?”

  “Aye,” Giric replied.

  Nicholas listened with curiosity, then disbelief as Terrick related the closeness of their families, and then the horrific event that’d severed close ties.

  “After they discovered the woman’s mangled body, the Scots were in an uproar and rightfully so. The rape, the murder”—Terrick swore—“both were brutal. But I knew who had taken her innocence and then her life. When I confronted Dunsten, the bastard laughed. Only because he was a noble’s son did he escape justice. If I could have found a speck of proof, I would have slain him myself.”

  Nicholas laid his head back against the hard, cool stone, amazed how some men had no respect for life.

  Distant footsteps slapped against stone, grew louder.

  Nicholas turned toward the door.

  The heavy crafted entry scraped open. Illuminated by torchlight, Lord Dunsten stepped inside. Slashes of red cut his cheeks, his anger easy to read. “Release Sir Nicholas and give him his sword!”

  His body tensed as Nicholas met Terrick’s glance. He arched his brow in question.

  “ ’Twould seem,” Terrick whispered, “he would like us to believe he has caught my sister.”

  “Aye,” Nicholas answered. Thank God she had escaped.

  Metal scraped as the guard unlocked, then opened his cell. He jerked Nicholas’s cuffs and glared at him. “Try something like before and you will feel my boot in your arse.”

  Nicholas held his glare, but he remained silent. After his earlier beating, then being chained to the wall, he was exhausted. He would save his remaining strength for the upcoming fight with Dunsten.

  The guard unlocked his legs. “Move.”

  His legs wavered as the guard shoved Nicholas forward, his hands still locked within the forged steel.

  The earl gestured to the chains as they exited the cell. “Take them off. Be quick about it!”

  The guard hurried to comply.

  Moments later, he was freed, and the forged metal trembled in his hands. Nicholas balanced the broadsword, felt the play of power within the blade.

  With a grimace of impatience, Dunsten waved him forward.

  Nicholas readied his blade. The moment was his. If it served his death, ’twould not be without a fight.

  Crouched in the shadows, Elizabet caught her breath. Her heart squeezed as Nicholas lifted the broadsword to match Dunsten’s, then swayed.

  Their blades clashed, separated.

  A hand laid on her shoulder, and she glanced back.

  “’Twill be a bit longer before everyone is in place,” Colyne MacKerran, Earl of Strathcliff whispered.

  She nodded, thankful to have met Colyne en route to Wolfhaven Castle. That he’d agreed to aid her was a relief, more so that he’d sent a runner to both Wolfhaven and Ravenmoor for more help. Still, guilt swept her as she’d caught his searching look, that of a man still in love with her. However much she loved him, ’twas only that of a friend. Never could it be more. Her heart belonged to Nicholas.

  Lord Dunsten cursed, jolting her back to the fight.

  Elizabet swallowed hard. She and Colyne’s men had nae come this far to chance losing it all now. A moment more, then they could attack.

  Nicholas ducked; his adversary’s blade sliced inches over his head.

  The guards moved back, their attention locked on the combat centered in the dungeon.

  “My man just signaled me all is ready,” Colyne whispered. “Go.” Lifting her sword, she crept forward with the others. They moved past the body of the guard they’d subdued and kept to the shadows, pressed as close to the cells as possible.

  Nicholas’s face became clear as did the sweat and his exhaustion. Blood stained the shredded tunic at his shoulder and streamed from several other gashes on his chest.

  With grisly enjoyment, Dunsten toyed with him, keeping him at a sword’s length.

  Heart aching, she long to rush them, but to keep the element of surprise, they must move closer.

  Two more steps forward, then she, along with the men, pressed against the cold bars, hidden in the half-light of the waning sun.

  Dunsten’s guards’ attention remained on the fight.

  Thankful, she clenched the hilt of her sword. A moment more—

  Chains rattled with a sharp jerk.

  She glanced toward the left.

  Her brother’s eyes burned into her.

  “Giric,” she whispered.

  “I see him, my lady,” Colyne replied.

  On edge, she mouthed to her brother to wait.

  Giric nodded, then banged his cuffs against the wall over and again.

  Lord Dunsten shot a cold glance toward Giric. “Silence him!”

  At Dunsten’s distraction, Nicholas charged. His blade sank into Dunsten’s side, then jerked his blade free.

  The earl’s eyes widened, then narrowed to fury at the stream of blood running. “ ’Tis the last you will touch me, Sassenach!” He attacked.

  Nicholas met him swing for swing, shoved him back. If he couldn’t kill the bastard, mayhap he would weaken him for his duel with Terrick. He raised his sword to yield his next blow.

  Yells burst through the chamber.

  He deflected the earl’s next swing, glanced back. Elizabet along with men he didn’t recognize charged from the shadows.

  The guards whirled, drawing their swords. The clash of blades filled the dungeon, then the screams.

  Blood surged hot in his veins as Nicholas faced Dunsten.

  A guard ran toward him.

  Nicholas drove his blade into the man’s chest, shoved him away.

  Another guard charged.

  Sweat melded with blood as Nicholas carved his way through the melee, fighting to keep Lord Dunsten in sight.

  The guard before him swung then lifted his blade.

  Nicholas slashed his sword across the man’s neck.

  Eyes wide, blood pouring down his chest, his adversary dropped.

  A hand touched his shoulder; Nicholas whirled. “Blast it!” he snarled as his gaze fell upon Terrick. “I almost ended your bloody life.”

  “Where is Dunsten?” Giric asked as he scoured the melee.

  “I saw him a moment ago,” Nicholas replied.

  “Watch out!” Terrick yelled.

  Nicholas turned as another guard attacked. He finished off the aggressor then quickly scoured the chamber. Dunsten was missing. Elizabet? Panic swept him. She’d fought by his side moments ago. Bloody hell, where was she?

  Torchlight flickered like ragged fingers over the dying, and the dead sprawled within a pool of blood. His heart pounded as he strode along the cells. “Elizabet!”

  The clash of the last remaining resi
stance answered his call.

  “Where is Elizabet?” Terrick yelled as he ran toward him.

  Fear choked Nicholas’s reply as only one deduction made sense. “Dunsten has her!”

  The tang of blood and smoke tainted each breath as Elizabet struggled to free herself from Dunsten’s brutal grip.

  The earl tightened his hold as he dragged her farther from the fighting.

  The blackness of the tunnel began to envelop them; the shards of orange-red flame fading in their wake. After everything she and Nicholas had overcome, the love they had found, it couldna end like this.

  A shout.

  The scrape of blades.

  In the distance, Nicholas turned and engaged against a combatant.

  “Nicholas!”

  Absorbed in the fight, he never glanced her way.

  Despair clawed at her hope. Their footsteps echoed into the growing quiet, and the last glimmer of light faded as they rounded the corner of the dank, musty shaft.

  Once darkness encased them Dunsten halted, caught her shoulders in a painful grip. “Yell, lass,” he shouted, his words twisted with insanity. “They will never hear you. And we will be long gone before they realize we have left.”

  He spoke the truth. With a last, futile glance back, she started to turn.

  “Elizabet!”

  At Nicholas’s faint call, hope rose. He’d discovered her absence, but had he or Giric noticed which route they’d taken?

  Dunsten yanked her hand. “Move!”

  She struggled to break free.

  “I was a fool to think you would nae try the tunnel to seek help.” He gave her a hard pull.

  Stumbling forward, she skimmed her hand over the rough walls to help guide her along the inky path.

  They wove through the darkness, and for the third time that day she battled the fear that haunted her over the years. As they rounded the next corner, Elizabet listened for the sound of steps behind them.

  Naught.

  Somewhere ahead the drip of water echoed, grew.

  A shiver rippled through her, then another. She smothered her panic, refusing to give in to her fears. As she took the next step, her foot rammed into a rock. With a gasp, she fell, slamming against the gravel and sand floor.