An Oath Broken (11 page)

A dog barked from the shadows as Giric guided the horse toward the man. The scrape of hooves on the hard snow splintered into the silence.

The man whirled. With the swiftness of a seasoned warrior, he withdrew his sword. “Halt,” he ordered, his burr rich, thick, and filled with threat. “State what would you be wanting.”

“’Tis Terrick,” Giric called out. “We are seeking shelter for the night.”

Sarra tensed as the man eyed them. By the way the fierce Scot studied them, even if he agreed, she doubted she could sleep one wink this night.

“Terrick?” the man charged, his voice cautious.

“Aye,” Giric replied.

The Scot stepped closer. The ferocity of his expression warmed to a welcoming smile. He sheathed his claymore, and Sarra sagged with relief.

“You are an ugly sight on such a cold winter’s night,” the burly man said.

Giric gave a hearty laugh that eased her fear a degree further. “’Tis not saying much from a man who would kiss a sheep.”

“A blasted upstart.” The Scot chuckled. He met her gaze, and Sarra held her breath. He arched a thick brow and glanced toward Giric. “A might fancy piece if you be asking me. You didna steal her for ransom did you?”

 

Sarra stiffened in his arms, and Giric muttered a silent curse at Fergus’s jovial charge. The last thing he wanted was to bring up his past and incite Sarra’s suspicions. “Do I look like the type who needs to be stealing a woman?”

“ ’Tis a jest, lad.” With a chuckle, his friend motioned them down. “’Tis colder than a witch’s toes this night. Both of you come inside. From the looks of the lass, her teeth should begin to chatter any moment.”

With a nod, Giric dismounted, but he saw the silent questions in her eyes along with the fear. Understanding her nervousness at staying in an unfamiliar Scottish village, he slipped his hands around her waist and set her before him. Before she could speak, he turned to his friend. “Fergus, this is Lady Sarra.”

She slid him a surprised glance, and then nodded toward the burly man.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” Fergus rubbed his hands together. “Come, ’tis too cold on me bones to stay outside.” The Scot walked to the nearest hut. He shoved the thick oak door open, and the rush of smoke and cooking meat greeted them. “Look who I found outside,” he called as he stepped inside.

Sarra hesitated at the entry. Wind tugged at a strand of hair that had come loose in her snug plait as her eyes searched his with a quiet desperation.

“’Twill be fine,” Giric assured her, and she followed him inside. The haze of smoke and cooking meat melded with the dried grass and herbs tied overhead to dry. Several beds were shoved into the far corner, and a loft that Giric knew held another pallet lay above.

A sturdy oak table with rugged benches sat to the right, and the hearth, filled with wood, burned near the far wall. Several chests lined the left wall, and he knew these would hold coin, silks, sugar, or any other valuables they owned.

A short, plump woman, stirring a pot over the fire, turned. When she spotted Giric, delight sparked on her face. She trudged forward and gave him a fierce hug. “’Tis a blessing to see you again.” She held his face in her hands, her eyes scanning every inch. “Are you faring well?”

Embarrassed by her mothering, but helpless when it came to this woman who was more like a mother to him than a friend, he smiled. “I am fine, Esa.”

She huffed. “I have known you since you ran around in your trews all sass and what for. Fine indeed.” Aged eyes lined with crow’s-feet narrowed. “I will be the judge of that.” Then her sharp gaze found Sarra.

“Esa, this is Lady Sarra.”

The elder woman paused at her title.

Sarra gave a hesitant nod.

“There is nay reason to be shy.” Esa glanced at Giric. “I had nae heard that you had found a quiet lass to be courting?”

“She is nae . . . We are . . .” Blast it! “We have journeyed a distance,” Giric said, disliking the speculation on Fergus’s and Esa’s faces. The less they knew of his escort, or of the man she would marry, the better. “I would be grateful if you would be sharing a bowl of stew. Lady Sarra is weary and hungry.”

With a tsk, Esa nodded. “’Tis poor manners I am showing. Remove your cloaks and hang them by the fire.”

After, she gestured toward the table, Esa moved to a huge kettle hanging over the fire. Inside a brown liquid bubbled that smelled like heaven. After ladling out a bowl of stew, she set it on the roughly carved table. “Sit and eat.”

“Go on,” Giric said when Sarra glanced toward him.

She cleared her throat. “But you need—”

He laid his hand over hers. “I will join you in a moment. I need to stable my horse. Do nae worry, all will be well.”

On a nervous sigh, she sat and began to eat.

Aware of Esa’s keen eye, he prayed she’d nae question Sarra in his absence. “Thank you, Esa.” Giric exited the hut, Fergus on his heels. Night edged through the winter sky as he stepped outside, the air, void of the sun’s warmth, already bitter cold.

Fergus closed the door and walked by his side. “Are you going to tell me why you are away from your castle in the dead of winter carting around an Englishwoman and a noble at that?”

“ ’Tis a favor,” Giric answered, but he didna add it was for his people and his pride. Walking to his mount, he caught his reins and led him toward the stable.

Fergus gave a grunt. “The lass doesna carry your child?”

Stunned by the question, Giric halted. His horse nudged at his shoulder.

His friend gave him a firm slap on the back. “I will take that as a nay.” He started forward, and Giric fell into step, the horse’s muffled clops echoing behind him. “That you would be liking the lass is obvious. Only a reason of dire urgency would force anyone to be out in this blasted cold.”

“Aye, we have already traveled through two snowstorms.”

“Which way are you heading?”

“East.”

The elder Scot shook his head. “You will nae make it far. Several men returned from a hunt late this morning. The blizzard sealed off the pass.”

Saint’s breath! The pass after Colyne’s brother’s home was notorious for becoming impassable in poor weather, but he’d hoped they’d make it through before the snow had grown too deep. Now they would have to wait a few days, a sennight, perhaps more. For as quick as heavy snows sealed the pass, the winter sun would open it. If nae, they would have to travel south and take their chances of running into the other half of Léod’s men.

Inside the stable, his friend’s breath misted before him as he leaned against a sturdy beam. “I have known you too long, Giric. More is weighing on your mind than the lass or the difficulties of travel.” Sadness crept into his gaze. “’Tis difficult to bury loved ones, more so when you are given the responsibility of your castle and its people.”

Hay rustled beneath his mount’s hooves as Giric led him into a stall. “I am adjusting,” he replied, though time had far from healed the pain of losing his father. He loosened the saddle then pulled it free. After removing the blanket, he began to brush him. “I didna see Ihon,” he said, nae wanting to discuss his personal life.

The elder man’s face sagged into a displeased grimace. “Ihon has become entrenched in politics, and I believe his own aspirations. Nae that I agree with the English king sticking his nose in our affairs, but I do nae consent with the men Ihon has entangled himself with. Rabble-rousers, the lot of them, all headed to the Highlands to make plans. Nay good will come from his association, I will tell you that.”

Giric nodded, thankful their son rode with those far to the north. At least he wouldna be among those who had followed them up the river and were determined to kill Sarra.

Unease filtered through him as he thought of the men who chased them. Sarra needed rest. They would remain here overnight, nay longer. He returned the brush to its rack, then used a wool blanket to rub his mount. After, he added a fair amount of hay to his horse’s feed bin, then walked over to his friend.

“He is a fine horse,” Fergus said, his eyes filled with appreciation.

“Aye.” And up to this point, he hadna been forced to sell him. “Let us be going in.” As they walked toward the house, Giric glanced toward the thick of trees blackened in the shadows where men could easily hide.

“Come on in, lad,” Fergus said as he opened the door.

With one last look around, Giric strode inside. He was being foolish to think Léod and his men had trailed them here or would arrive in time to catch them. Within hours he and Sarra would be gone.

L
ater that evening, standing at the outskirts of the village, Sarra stared at Giric in disbelief. “Why do you not want me to mention the men who are after us?”

He laid his hand over hers. “’Tis best if they do nae know.” The muted shadows lent a grim twist to his expression, and unease slid through her. Through the clear, star-filled sky she glanced at the hut where they’d left Fergus and Esa sitting beside the fire. Ever since Giric had returned with Fergus after caring for his mount, he’d remained somber. The evening had passed without event, but an unexplainable tension hung in the air.

Though she’d known Giric but a short while, ’twas enough for her to sense when something was wrong. “It has something to do with why you did not tell Fergus and Esa your true reason for escorting me, does it not?”

His breath exhaled in a rough cloud. “Aye. ’Tis best if Fergus doesna discover that your betrothed has any connection to John Balliol.”

She stared at him in stunned disbelief. “What?”

“This shouldna be a problem,” he assured her.

“Unless the men who are after us arrive and expose the truth, is that not what you are saying?”

He shrugged. “The chances that they will find us are slight, otherwise I wouldna have taken the risk.”

“Are they?” she demanded, anger sliding into her voice. “Your friends live here, and you have admitted to knowing the men who chase us. Why would they not search this village?”

“Because the men rode off to the north. By now, they should be too far away to be any threat.”

Far from convinced they were safe, Sarra snatched her hands from his. “So why did you not inform me about your concern of your friend’s position with my betrothed?”

“Lass, I do nae—”

“Tell me!”

“Blast it. I didna wish to cause you undue worry.”

“Undue worry?” That he’d withheld his friend’s loyalties toward Bruce, for whatever reason, hurt. “I have been on my own since the age of eight and have made decisions that affect a stronghold,” she stated, anger riding her voice. “I am far from a green girl who cannot handle herself.”

“Sarra—”

“You will hear me out! I am tired of men interfering with my life because they believe they know what is best for me. That includes you!” She stepped closer. “From now on, you will tell me exactly what is going on if it involves me. Understand?”

He arched a brow. “Are you finished?”

The wisp of humor mixed with pride in his expression incited her further. The day she banished men from her life, especially Giric, would be none too soon. “You—”

“Sarra.” His voice gentled into a soft burr. “Wait,” he said when she made to speak again. He reclaimed her hand, wrapped it in his own.

She attempted to pull free, but he held tight. “I would never treat you as anything less than the woman you are.” His grip eased, his silken words firm with conviction. He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “My hesitation comes from my own indecision. I care for these people. The last thing I would wish is to place them in a situation where no one wins.”

“You mean if they discover I am to wed Lord Sinclair, they would seize me to aid Robert Bruce, the Competitor’s cause?”

Giric’s thumb paused. “They would nae harm you, nor would I let them. ’Tis that when I agreed to the task of escorting you, I didna realize your betrothed’s political loyalties or his possible intent for your wealth.”

“Now do you regret your decision to offer me escort?” He must. How could he not? Unwittingly, he’d placed himself in a position against his own political beliefs, and put himself at odds with those he cared for. She shook her head. “Never mind.”

A dog barked from the other side of the village. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled with a mournful cry.

Giric’s gaze, steady and strong, searched hers with a tender desperation. “If I had known of your betrothed’s connections to Balliol, I am nae sure if I would have accepted the task. But now . . .” He muttered a curse. “Now I wish I hadna.” He cupped her face with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Because now, God help me, I find myself nae wanting to let you go.”

Anticipation rippled through her. He was going to kiss her. She should pull away. ’Twas foolish to remain near, to be regretting that in the end he must leave. But as he leaned down, she moved into the kiss, soft like the petals of spring, warm like the sun on a lazy summer’s day, tender with an urgency that had her head spinning.

His hand cupped her neck and drew her closer, his tenderness destroying her defenses until her entire body trembled beneath his quiet seduction. And with the night surrounding them, filled with stars like slivers of hope, she poured herself into the kiss.

On a sigh, Giric pulled away, leaned his forehead against hers. “I had nay right to kiss you like that.”

She closed her eyes, wanting to disagree, but finding the words elusive. Somehow wrong and right had become jumbled, twisted so that what she thought she wanted was becoming confused with an ever-growing need for him. A choice forbidden. But the concept of a life without him left an emptiness inside her, the intensity one she hadn’t experienced since the loss of her parents.

He stroked his fingers through her hair then pressed a soft kiss on her brow. “I have made a mess of this, but I promise you, until I am nay longer a part of your life, I will protect you.”

In a time where a man’s word could be bought for the price of gold, he was a man of honor. Any doubts she’d held toward him fled. “I know.”

Silence filled the moment, broken by the whisper of the night. The scent of the cold entwined with the rich aroma of smoke and a hint of evergreen.

With a nod, Giric released her. “To bed with you now. We will be leaving at first light, and the travel will be rough.”

Shaken by the depth of emotions Giric made her feel, Sarra walked toward the hut. Though they had no future, the day he rode from her life would leave a stark void within her that she doubted anyone would ever fill.

 

At the door, Giric watched as Sarra stepped inside. When she paused at the entry, his heart stopped.
Go inside.
It had taken every ounce of his willpower to send her away.

After a brief pause, Sarra entered.

He started toward the stable, but instead of the door closing behind her, it opened wider. He paused.

Esa stepped outside. The elder secured the entry, tugged her shawl tighter, and then looked around. When her gaze landed on him, she walked forward with purpose.

Curious as to her reason to leave the protection of her home on this cold winter night, he met her halfway.

The light breeze sifted through the snow, tossing shards of white into a senseless twist as Esa halted before him. She glanced toward the edge of the trees where the moon seeped into the sky. “A fine night.”

“’Tis.” Giric followed her lead as she started toward the rowan tree. He scanned the homes, noting several new buildings since his last trip. “It has been a while since I have last visited.”

“Too long,” she replied. They strolled in companionable silence. As they neared the gnarled tree, Esa halted, and then laid her hand on the weathered bark. “I remember when you were a lad and played upon the boughs.”

The memories filtered through his mind. “I remember you chasing me when I swiped a sweetmeat.”

“And I would have caught you if you hadna climbed the tree.”

The smile came unbidden, and for a moment, the warmth of the past embraced him. “It saved my life.”

“Your mother would have liked Sarra.”

Giric shrugged, but his gut twisted. He’d purposely avoided pondering how Sarra would have been received by his family. Any thoughts of a future between them were a delusion. “Mayhap.”

The folds upon her brow arched, and she chuckled. “Lad, though the lass is a bit cold, which I owe to Fergus and I being strangers, a blind man could see that you care for her.” The mirth on her face fell away. “You have nae told her of your feelings for her, have you?”

He swallowed hard. “Her parents were murdered by reivers.”

“Ouch. I am sorry for that. What did she say when she learned of your past?” She stared at him a moment, then shook her head. “Blessed, Mary. You have nae told her that you are a reiver?”

“Was,” he hissed. Blast it. He’d left his past behind him, or tried to, but at every turn his days of lawlessness lived. “And I willna be telling her.”

“Why? She cares for you as well.” Esa gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Give the lass a chance. Time heals wounds, but love allows us to forgive.”

Love. The word scraped across his mind. “How could Sarra ever forgive the people who killed her family, or accept me, a reiver?”

“Giric Armstrong, never have I heard such sot-witted nonsense. You have nae given the lass a chance to make her own decision, but have condemned yourself first.”

He muttered a curse. “You do nae know her.”

Sage eyes narrowed. “And you are making sure that she will never know you.”

“What difference does it make?” he asked, the exhaustion of his emotions sapping his will to fight. “There could never be a future for us.”

“Because you willna let there be?”

Because I am nae her destiny.
He remained silent. Let her believe ’twas his stubbornness that stood between him and Sarra. To say more would invite further discussion.

Esa was a romantic at heart, had married the man she loved. He could never explain that beyond Sarra’s dislike of reivers, a greater challenge arose. Even if she accepted him, knowing his past, he had naught to offer her. His acceptance of this humble task as an escort showed with clarity his desperation to raise coin. Nor could he forget that she was betrothed to another.

Shrewd eyes searched his face. “You still blame yourself for your father’s death, do you nae?”

Her question sliced his heart like a knife. He stiffened. “My father’s death has naught to do with this.”

“Nay? You have never forgiven yourself for his death. Or, have you even tried and add the loss of your father atop what you consider your mountain of faults?”

On a curse, Giric stared at the rowan tree, the gnarled branches resembling the futility of his life. “There is naught to forgive.” Even as he said the words, they were untrue. Saint’s breath! The attack on Ravenmoor Castle, witnessing his father wounded with a bolt to his chest, then later, with them both caged in the dungeon, he’d watched his father die a slow and miserable death. A death he’d lived a thousand times over, and each memory pummeled him with self-condemnation.

“Listen—”

“I should have stopped him from attacking Ravenmoor Castle,” Giric interrupted. “We were outnumbered and without proper arms. Instead, I rode by his side.”

“Do nae flatter yourself.”

Giric whirled. “I should have done something. Nae have allowed him to rot in an English cell.”

“And what could you have done?” She made a dismissive gesture when he made to speak. “I know how thickheaded your father was. Stubborn as a mule if an idea got into his head. And if you think you could have changed his plans of retaliating on the English, you are wrong.” Her expression softened. “You fought by his side for loyalty, for the belief in what was right.”

“I should have somehow saved him . . . If only I had—”

“What? Taken the bolt instead of him?”

“Aye!” he rasped, the accuracy of her words matching his own thoughts a thousand times over.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What good would the both of you dying do?”

He shook his head and looked up. Stars twinkled in the ebony sky so bright and filled with hope. “I do nae know. ’Tis just that somehow I feel I could have done something different. Imprisoned, I should nae have allowed him to suffer.”

“Do nae be so hard on yourself,” she said, her words quiet. “At the time, you did nae know if you would be rescued. I think you did everything you could, and that is all anyone could have asked. ’Tis time to stop carrying the guilt of your past.”

The belief in him shining in her eyes left Giric humbled. How could she believe in him when he couldna believe in himself?

“Aye there’s work to be done now that you hold the title of the Earl of Terrick and have responsibility of Wolfhaven Castle and those within,” she continued, “and you will do what is needed. Have faith and persevere. In the end, everything will work out for the best.”

As much as he wished to agree, at least with issues concerning Sarra, doubts persisted. Her destiny was set, but Esa didna know that. And she was right, for his people he would do what was needed.

A sliver of peace crept through his tormented thoughts. He may never have a future with Sarra, but that with his people burned bright. That would be enough. It had to be. “My thanks,” he said, his voice somber. Like the rowan tree battered by time, Esa stood a solid force, her wisdom ageless.

A light gust feathered her hair, streaming it against her brow. She pulled her shawl tighter. “I am getting a wee bit chilled. My old bones are nae as sturdy as they once were.”

“Go on,” Giric said. “I will come inside in a bit.”

“Nae too long now.”

He smiled. “I will be but a wee bit.”

With a nod she headed toward her home. The moon’s glow splayed her shadow on the silken snow as she walked like waves of silver light entwined with darkness.

Giric scanned the remote village set in this quaint, rugged surrounding, bordered by hills, tempered by harsh winters and brief summers. Esa would always live a humble life, but it didna negate her stout heart.

Nor would he give in. Though he may have a struggle ahead of him in rebuilding Wolfhaven Castle, he would persevere.

 

Hours later, Giric glanced out the stable to where the sun inched into the sky. Rays of burnished gold crept through the purple-gray shadows, illuminating the earth within its muted light. With a sigh, he checked his mount’s cinch. “We will travel to Kirkshyre Castle and remain until the pass opens.”