An Oath Broken (14 page)

“Terrick.”

She looked toward the keep, stilled. A large, well-muscled man with whisky-colored hair strode down the steps. At his side she recognized Sir Colyne, the knight who’d traveled with them earlier.

Sarra scanned the entry for her maid, Alicia, but no one else exited the keep.

Giric reined in his steed, then dismounted. “You will be safe here.”

Before she could reply, he lifted her from the saddle and set her before him.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Giric faced the men who were walking toward them.

As they neared, the taller of the two, a man she didn’t recognize, shot Giric a smile. “It has been too long since you last visited.”

“Aye, Gryfalcon,” Giric replied. “As of late, there is much which needs my attention.”

A solemn expression creased Gryfalcon’s face. “I was sorry to learn of your father’s death. He was a fine man.”

Giric nodded, but she didn’t miss the flicker of sorrow across his face. “My thanks.”

“’Tis good to see you both safe.” Colyne glanced toward Sarra and gave her a nod. “My lady.”

“Sir Colyne. My maid Alicia?”

“She is in Archerbeck,” he replied, “until she receives word from you.”

Relief swept her. “My thanks.”

The man Giric had called Gryfalcon glanced toward Sarra. Male appreciation filled his gaze. “’Twould seem my brother has already made the acquaintance of the fair maiden.”

Giric stiffened at her side, and the momentary warmth in his eyes fled.

Tension wove through Sarra. How would he introduce her? She prayed he would not be foolish enough to claim they were wed; such would do naught but complicate matters.

As if sensing her distress, Giric laid his hand on her forearm and drew her to his side. His gaze solemn, he released a slow, regretful breath.

Why was he looking at her as if he was coming to a monumental decision? What in God’s name was going on? He’d assured her that they would file for an annulment once they’d reached her guardian. Had he changed his mind?

His body tensed, and her nerves grew.

With a premonition of dread, she stilled.

“’Tis my honor,” he said, his burr pronounced, “to present my wife, Lady Sarra Bellecote, Countess of Terrick.”

G
iric silently cursed as Sarra’s face paled and she mouthed
, Countess of Terrick
. Her eyes narrowed on him, but she remained silent. Too much a lady to create a scene in public, no doubt once they were alone she’d release her fury. Nor could he blame her.

As if his announcing their marriage wasna enough of a shock, she’d now learned of his nobility. En route to Kirkshyre Castle he’d planned on concealing the fact that she was his wife, which would invite no speculation of impropriety. Then, as they’d ridden through the gates, his mistakes over the years had stormed him.

And when he’d stood before Colyne and Gryfalcon, shaken by his lifetime of misdeeds, he realized that he couldna add another—and the fact of his and Sarra’s marriage had tumbled out.

If only he held the wealth to back his nobility, he could consider making their marriage real.

What was he thinking? Even if he possessed the coin to rebuild Wolfhaven Castle and keep Sarra in the grandeur to which she was accustomed, once she learned of his past as a reiver she would despise him. Nor would her guardian be pleased with an oath broken, an issue he’d deal with later.

Surprise flickered on Gryfalcon’s face, then his mouth creased into a wide grin. “You have married!” He gave Giric a hearty thump on his back. “A joyous occasion indeed. We shall celebrate your vows this night.” He shot a mock scowl toward Colyne. “’Twould seem my brother neglected to pass on the good news.”

Giric nodded, nae missing Colyne’s jaw dropping before his friend concealed his shock. Once in private with his friends, he would explain the unexpected circumstance. “My lady, may I introduce Adam MacKerran, Earl of Gryfalcon.”

“’Tis a pleasure, my lady.” Gryfalcon gave a courtly bow, lifted her hand, and pressed a kiss on the back of it.

“A pleasure to meet you as well, my lord,” she replied, her words smooth, but Giric heard the slight tremble.

“You have met Colyne,” Giric said, anxious for the introduction to be over.

Colyne nodded to Sarra with a warm smile. “My congratulations, Lady Terrick.”

“Th-thank you.”

Enough! Giric drew her to his side. “Our travel has been difficult. If you could please show us to a chamber, I shall allow my wife to rest.”

“Of course. Lady Sarra must be fatigued.” A pleased smile on his face, Gryfalcon led them inside, his brother at his side.

Several women worked in the great hall setting up trencher tables for the upcoming meal. At the hearth, a lad tended a rack of lamb spitted over the flames, its rich fragrance filling the room.

A group of knights engaged in a heated discussion near the stairs called to Gryfalcon as they passed, and he acknowledged them with a hearty return. Paces later, they entered the turret and started up.

At the second floor Colyne paused. “I will await you in the solar.”

Giric nodded and continued up the stone steps behind the earl.

On the third floor, Gryfalcon opened the door to a sprawling chamber near the stairs.

On edge, Giric ushered Sarra inside, halted. A canopy of red velvet draped a large bed centered against the back wall. To the right, a small table held an earthen bowl, two goblets, and a bottle of wine.

“When you have rested, please join us for the evening meal.” Gryfalcon smiled. “You know your way around.”

“My thanks,” Giric replied. “I will be down shortly.”

With a nod, the noble exited and pulled the door shut.

The clang of men practicing in the bailey echoed into the silence.

“Sarra—”

She rounded on him. “An earl!”

Guilt swept him. He would be truthful with her, as much as he could. “Aye.”

She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “Was it not enough that you tricked me into this farce of a marriage? Now I find that you have withheld that you are nobility?”

“I never meant this to happen,” he said, irritated that he had allowed his emotions to sway logic. As if with the mayhem of late he was logical? Since their impromptu marriage, his entire life had turned upside down.

 

Her mouth tight, Sarra watched her husband prowl the chamber, his eyes dark with secrets, his body taut like a wolf ready to spring. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did you not tell me?”

He paused and his eyes met hers. Hard. Angry. Frustrated.

“Or is the truth too much to ask?”

The tension on his face crumbled. With a sigh, Giric rubbed the back of his neck. “Nay, ’tis fair.”

His soft admission caught her off guard. “Explain.”

“Remember I told you about the attacks on Ravenmoor Castle after ’twas seized by the English?”

She nodded, his retelling of his father’s death a gruesome image seared in her mind.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Due to the retaliatory assaults on Wolfhaven Castle, my home has fallen into a ravaged state. Our food stores are low and the land barren.”

Regret streaked his face even as pride echoed in his heart-torn reply. Neither had it been easy for him to admit his impoverished state. His desperate need for gold had humbled him into accepting the mundane task of escorting her for coin.

If naught else during their time together, she’d learned that Giric was a proud man. So, he’d posed as a knight and had intended keeping his title hidden from her.

The story of Sir Galahad came to mind. How many men would have made such a sacrifice for their people?

Few indeed.

Questions of Giric’s true intent for their marriage resurfaced. Had he indeed wed her to save her life? The chamber pulsed with unspent energy as she took in the dignified man before her, a man loyal to his friends and those he loved. A man who’d risked his life on numerous occasions to protect her. Would he plot against her for a political cause? Desperation guided many a man down fallen paths.

Unsure of what to believe, she crossed to the window.

Quiet steps moved up behind her.

“You never planned our marriage to support Sir Bruce or for your own gain, did you?” she asked, needing to hear him confirm his earlier claim.

“I did nae.” The regret in his soft burr made her heart ache. “If I could have avoided it, I would have.”

She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “Thank you for that.”

“I have nae earned your thanks,” he said, his voice rough with self-condemnation. “I should have never risked remaining overnight in Fergus’s home.”

Sarra turned and searched his face, found only remorse. “You did what you thought was best.”

His mouth thinned. “It doesna forgive our marriage.”

She was unsure what to say, or how to handle this humble lord. ’Twould be easier if he were the arrogant man she’d initially faced, the man who irritated her at every turn. That man she could dismiss.

His eyes darkened, and a flicker of desire ignited within. He stepped away, the emotion shielded. “You should know that Colyne is titled as well. He is the Earl of Strathcliff, and his home, Taigh Castle, is in the Highlands.”

Disappointment lanced through her at yet another deception. “Why did you reveal that we were married?”

He gave a long, slow exhale. “I was tired of lies.”

Silence fell between them.

He cleared his throat. “I know you are weary from travel. With Alicia nae here to serve you, I will have a maid sent to help you.” Giric strode from the room, tugged the door closed behind him with a soft click.

Time seemed to pass in slow motion. The maid arrived; though young, she helped her with a deft hand, issuing orders to four lads who after her bath, pulled the tub from her room.

As they departed, Sarra closed the door, feeling very alone. She should be weary, exhausted from their hard travel, but she couldn’t sleep.

The crackle of the fire echoed in the chamber as she stared at the large bed.

Man and wife.

If a true union, this night they would share this bed in the most intimate of ways. His kisses promised a passion she’d never dreamed, his touch ignited emotions that left her aching, except this night as any other in their future, could never be.

With a sad sigh, Sarra walked to the bed and ran her fingers across the finely woven cover. Due to circumstance, it wasn’t proper that they would share this room. Neither would she shame Giric before his peers. They would remain here together but apart.

Thick blankets lay stacked atop the large chest in the corner. Giric would sleep on the floor. A reasonable solution.

A wave of tiredness swept over her, and she pulled back the comforter. Slipping into the softness, she drew up the finely crafted covers, and gave in to sleep.

 

Giric shut the door to the solar behind him. Muted sunlight cast the room in a dismal light. Rushes lay scattered on the floor, and a woven wool tapestry reflecting a Celtic battle adorned the far wall.

He glanced to where heavy cushioned oak chairs were arranged in a semicircle. Colyne and his brother Gryfalcon both stood.

Confusion etched Colyne’s brow as he stepped forward. “A sword’s wrath, you were to escort the lass, nae wed her.”

“I blasted know what I was hired to do,” Giric muttered. He crossed to the table where several bottles of wine sat, poured a goblet, downed the first cup, and then refilled a second. “’Twould seem since we last saw Léod, he has embroiled himself within the political cause and become a supporter for Robert Bruce, the Competitor.”

“If I know him,” Colyne said with disgust, “his actions have naught to do with politics but for his own gain.”

“Aye. Léod’s loyalty extends nay further than his own pockets,” Giric agreed. “’Twould seem that Sarra’s betrothed, Lord Sinclair, is a staunch supporter of John Balliol, and Léod is determined to ensure that none of her wealth reaches Balliol’s pockets.” He took a swallow of wine, swirled it on his tongue, and then swallowed. “Sarra and I stayed overnight with friends en route. While I was in the stable, Léod and his men cornered her.”

Understanding dawned in Colyne’s eyes. “And only by claiming that Sarra was your wife were you able to save her life.”

“Aye,” Giric replied.

Gryfalcon frowned. “Did the lass understand the Scottish custom when she agreed?”

Giric shook his head. “Nay.”

“A sword’s wrath!” Colyne thrummed his fingers over the hilt of his blade. “The bastard Léod knew what he was about. With her married to you, her betrothed can nay longer touch her inheritance.”

“Speaking of which,” Gryfalcon said, “how will you explain your marriage to her betrothed? With your arrival, I take it you are continuing to her guardian’s?”

“Aye, once there, we will petition for an annulment.” The thought of letting Sarra go weighed heavy on Giric’s heart.

Gryfalcon refilled his goblet. “Annulments are nae easily given.”

A fact Giric well knew, but he had to try. What would he do if the pope refused to annul their marriage? Blast it! He shoved the thought aside. He had enough to worry about. “Due to circumstance, I believe an annulment will be granted.”

The earl sipped his wine. “’Tis within her guardian’s rights to refuse to pay you for your escort until after the annulment is achieved. If I can be of help to your home and people, let me know.”

“Your generosity is appreciated,” Giric said, “but I will rebuild Wolfhaven Castle by my own hand. I will neither accept charity nor reive.” He caught the glance that passed between the brothers. He didna expect them to like his decision, but for him to respect himself as a man, ’twas what he must do.

“ ’Twould seem there is little more to be done,” Gryfalcon said.

“For the moment.” Giric drained his cup. “Before I departed, I was informed that the pass is blocked. I would like to remain here until it is open.”

Gryfalcon nodded. “You are always welcome.”

“My thanks.” Giric glanced at Colyne. “I am in desperate need of sword practice, if you are up to it?”

The glint of challenge sparked in his friend’s eyes. “You need nae ask twice.”

Looking forward to venting his frustration in a spar, Giric headed toward the door, Colyne at his side.

A short while later after each had donned their armor, they walked in companionable silence. As they exited the keep, a whirl of snow slapped at them, but Giric ignored the chill. Practice would take his mind off the upcoming confrontation with Lord Bretane and his son, Lord Sinclair.

“About the extra guard,” Colyne said. “If you would like, I will travel with you to meet with her guardian.”

“That willna be necessary.” Giric tugged on his padded coif, pulled the mail hood into place. “Since my marriage to Sarra, with Léod’s ability to gossip and half of Scotland knowing by now, she is nay longer a political threat.”

Colyne cast a sidelong glance. “What is wrong then?”

“Naught.”

Colyne grunted. “I have known you since we were lads. There is more than confronting Sarra’s guardian or his son that has you on edge. Have you told Sarra that you were a reiver?”

His mouth tightened. “Nay. She doesna know, nor will she. I . . .” He muttered a curse. “Her parents were murdered by reivers.”

Colyne’s eyes widened. “A sword’s wrath!”

“Now you understand why I willna have her finding out about my past.”

Colyne nodded. “Indeed.”

They reached the upper bailey where several knights sparred while another man worked on his horse with the quintain.

Frustrated by the situation, Giric withdrew his sword. He took it through a succession of several slow maneuvers to stretch out his muscles, and then moved into a readied stance.

Opposite him, Colyne followed suit. A moment later, he raised his blade chest high, a slow, calculating smile in his eyes. “Last time we sparred, I trounced you.”

With a smile, Giric began to circle Colyne. “Your mind was frozen in the blizzard. As I remember, you begged for me to spare your life.”