An Oath Broken (15 page)

“Ha!”

Giric swung his sword in a tight arch, deflected Colyne’s thrust.

His friend lunged, then sidestepped Giric’s weapon at the last second.

Giric laughed, exhilarated, feeling better than he had in days. He swung. Their blades met. Steel shuddered through the air then scraped apart.

Skirting around him, Colyne kept out of Giric’s reach, darting in for a quick strike, and then jumping back in a tactical retreat.

However deft with the blade, Giric knew Colyne too well and lured him closer with an over-wide swing.

Colyne took the bait and gave a solid thrust.

Prepared for his friend’s maneuver, Giric drove his blade forward. Their swords locked, trembled, backed by sheer muscle. “You should have learned that move by now.”

With a grunt, Colyne shoved Giric away. “At least I didna fall in love with my charge.”

Giric froze. “I did nae—”

With a laugh, his friend shoved aside Giric’s weapon then lifted the tip to touch his chest. “My match! I canna believe that you fell for that old trick.”

“Nor I.” With a muttered curse, Giric sheathed his sword. He didna love the lass. He cared for Sarra deeply, nay more.

But as he fell into step beside his friend as they headed to the keep, doubts lingered.

T
hree days later, Giric glanced past Gryfalcon and Colyne to where a young maiden carrying a torch led the large procession. At Wolfhaven Castle, Candlemas would be celebrated as well, a time of rebirth, a time to welcome the coming spring to the lands, and to purify the fields for a hearty crop.

Sunlight sifted through the thinning gray clouds, exposing hints of blue as thick, icy flakes, fluttered like fairies’ wings to the earth. From the clearing skies, the promise of spring seemed a distinct reality.

Giric took in Sarra as she walked at his side scanning the snow-blanketed fields with interest.

“The day will be a fine one.” She looked over. “And according to the proverb, bodes ill for our travel.”

“Mayhap,” Giric said, aware of the belief that if Candlemas fell on a fair day, winter would maintain its hold on the land for a while longer. “But the day’s warmth will melt the snow in the pass. Another few days of fair weather, and we shall be able to resume our journey.”

She nodded and looked away, but nae before he saw a hint of quiet yearning, a desire growing within him as well.

Since his spar with Colyne, his friend’s claim that he loved Sarra, though said in jest, haunted him. Each night after he and Sarra had retired, true to his promise, he’d lain on the pallet near the hearth and left her untouched, but he couldna quell the feelings the lass inspired.

Did he love her? He covertly studied Sarra, nae wanting the need for her that grew with each passing day. But as the sun’s rays poured across the land to prism through the snow like a million crystals and caress her face, he was forced to admit the truth.

Saint’s breath!

Pain lanced his heart as he stared at the vibrant blue sky opening before him. How fitting to realize that he was in love on a day of rebirth and purification. If she were any other woman, if it were any other time, he would revel in this omen. With Sarra promised to another, he could embrace naught.

That reality didna sever his longing for her, or stop his noting her every action throughout the day. Her quiet smile this morning when she’d helped craft the ceremonial wheel of rushes and straw for the door to the keep. The way her eyes had clouded with emotion when she’d held a newborn child. Or, without her realizing it, the way she fit into his life with such ease. As they completed a circle around the field, the maiden leading the procession began to sing, her voice soft and pure. She halted.

Giric, along with the others, followed suit.

The maiden knelt. On the snow-glazed earth she laid bread, milk, and oats before her. A wash of brilliant sunlight enfolded the woman as if caught in a spell.

In silence she rose, turned to the crowd, and lifted her arms high. “We have sent our offering to the goddess Brigid for a blessed season. Let our soil be rich and our harvest bountiful.”

Cheers rippled through the crowd, then murmurs of excitement tangled with talk of the upcoming festivities. With warm smiles, the crowd began making their way back to the keep.

With solemn steps, Giric walked alongside Sarra. In a few days they would resume their travel, and he would hand Sarra over to another man, never to see her again.

As they entered the lower bailey, a horse’s scream ripped through the air.

“Catch him,” a man’s deep voice yelled.

Near the stables, a squire seized the reins of a young stallion.

With an angry snort, the horse bared his teeth.

“I told you to keep a tight hold on him,” a stocky man chastised, striding toward the lad. The man Giric deduced to be the squire’s knight shook his head with disgust.

Before the knight could reach the lad, the horse reared, hauling the boy into the air. The stallion landed hard and bolted, dragging the lad straight toward the crowd.

People dressed in brightly colored garb scattered as the infuriated steed closed.

Bedamned! Giric pulled Sarra from the horse’s path.

A shrill scream pierced the air. The horse, as if realizing the squire still held the reins, whirled toward him and charged.

“Stay here!” Giric bolted toward the horse, caught sight of Gryfalcon and Colyne racing toward the stallion as well.

Squeals of fury melded with the squire’s screams as the horse attacked.

Gryfalcon, Colyne, and the squire’s knight caught hold of the steed’s bridle. Together they dragged the stallion back while Giric knelt beside the lad.

Blood splattered the snow-drenched earth where the squire lay unmoving. With a seasoned eye Giric took in the nasty gash across his forehead, the cuts through his tunic, and the unnatural angle of his right leg—broken. He pressed a piece of the shredded tunic against the lad’s brow to staunch the flow of blood.

Sarra knelt at his side. “Let me help.”

Upset she’d followed, Giric noted the strain in her eyes and the paleness of her face. “Get back.”

Her chin lifted and she laid her hand near his on the compress. “I am not leaving.”

People gathered around them, but Giric watched Sarra. Through her shock at witnessing the mauling was determination. “Keep the compress tight on the head wound,” Giric finally said, unsure if he was more irritated or surprised by her action. A fool could see the cost of her decision.

The last thing he’d expected was for her to aid a Scot, but from the concern in her eyes, she truly cared. Though she may nae have realized it, she’d taken the first steps in accepting his people.

Which made him love her more.

Humbled, Giric peeled back the layers of torn tunic to check for other serious wounds. During his and Sarra’s time together, he’d noted her shift in feelings. When she mentioned Scots, or looked upon those within Kirkshyre Castle, no longer did fear or disdain exist in her eyes.

He wished that somehow Sarra could find the same forgiveness for reivers, but with her painful memories, ’twas a wish.

“Move back,” an older woman’s voice called. The crowd separated, and a gray-haired woman, still wearing her gown embroidered with designs to celebrate Candlemas, waded through the throng, a basket of herbs in her hand. She knelt opposite Giric, her experienced eyes already searching the lad’s battered body.

“His leg is broken,” Giric said as he peeled away a swath of the squire’s shredded trews and exposed the disfigured joint, the skin turning an ugly mix of yellow and purple. “There is a nasty gash on his forehead that will need sewing, but only a few cuts and scrapes on his chest.”

“He is lucky to be alive,” Gryfalcon said, moving to the perimeter, the lad’s knight on his heels.

“Aye,” Giric agreed.

“My squire wasna paying attention to his duties and the horse got away from him,” the knight explained.

Giric nodded. Until gelded, stallions must be handled with extreme caution. “Next time your squire will nae be remiss.”

“Nor will he be receiving punishment,” Gryfalcon said. “The cuts and bruises he bears will more than enough teach him a valuable lesson.”

The knight nodded. “I agree, my lord.”

The squire gave a low moan.

After securing a splint on the boy’s leg, the healer stood. “He needs to be carried to the keep where I can tend to him.”

“I will take my squire inside.” The knight lifted the lad.

Sarra rose alongside the knight, keeping pressure on the boy’s brow.

“I will take that, my lady,” the healer said, and moved up to her side.

“I can help you,” Sarra replied. “I have treated many men in the past.”

The elder woman hesitated, and then gestured to the knight. “Let us go then.”

With Sarra holding the compress on the squire, the knight hurried toward the keep, and Giric followed.

Once inside a small chamber, the healer ordered two men to hold the lad down, while another pulled his leg until his bones fell into place. The healer quickly bound the limb in a snug wrap.

Sarra helped cleanse the cuts and sew stitches in the larger gashes.

When the healer began to stow her herbs into her basket, Giric laid his hand on Sarra’s shoulder. “You have aided the lad all that you can,” he said, taking in the smear of blood on her cape and a small line streaked across her cheek.

“I had to help him,” she said, shock woven through her voice. “He could have died.”

A knot clenched in Giric’s gut and he understood. For a moment, she’d seen herself in the boy’s terror; a child helpless to circumstance. Though the settings were different, for that moment she’d identified with the squire and reached out to help.

Moved by her selfless action, Giric drew her against him.

On a shuddering sigh, she laid her head on his chest, her warm breath fanning against his neck.

And he foolishly wished that they were man and wife in every way and that he could take her to their chamber, hold her until her tremors stopped, and kiss away her fears. Then they would make love, slow and sweet.

Concern darkened Gryfalcon’s eyes as they met Giric’s. “Is Lady Sarra well?”

“She is tired. I will take her to our chamber to rest.”

“My lady,” Gryfalcon said, “my thanks for your assistance, ’tis appreciated.”

She looked toward him, her body trembling. “Thanks are unnecessary. Had you been within my castle, you would have offered the same.”

The earl held her gaze, his eyes solemn. “I will nae forget your kindness, my lady.” Gryfalcon looked at Giric. “Take good care of her.”

He nodded. Concerned by the paleness of her face, Giric ushered Sarra from the room and toward their chamber. “I will call for a bath and—”

“Wait.” She halted beside a window, laid her hand against the sill. “I would like to go outside for a breath of air.”

At the weariness in her voice, he hesitated. Tending to the squire and battling her own emotions had exhausted her, but he understood her need to rid her senses of the stench of blood and to find a measure of peace. “After you change, and then only for a short while.”

 

Too tired to argue, Sarra allowed Giric to lead her to their chamber. After a maid had helped her into another gown, he led her from the keep. They exited the castle and headed toward the field where they’d walked with the procession a short time before.

Her emotions unsteady, she glanced over. “Where are we going?”

“There is something I want to show you.”

As they continued on, a stand of oaks arched before them like a gateway to the snow-laden forest beyond. The absence of wind enhanced the pristine setting, and sunlight warmed her face. As they entered the shadows of the forest, a raven chirped upon a barren branch, then flew off with a flutter. From far away a falcon screamed, and ahead, animal tracks dotted the forest floor.

Her breath misted before her, her each step muted by the layer of snow as she scanned the woods. “Is it much farther?”

“Nay.” He took her hand, and she let him, allowing the rush of emotions to fill her. After witnessing the stallion’s attack on the squire and his near death, she savored the taste of life.

The faint rush of water reached her first, then the rumble of distant thunder. “A waterfall?”

He smiled, a playful, charming gesture that made her heart skip. “If I told you it wouldna be a surprise.”

Warmth rushed through her at his teasing, seconds before panic swept through her. She shouldn’t be out here with him alone. Not when her resistance toward him was low, not when she fought her growing feelings toward him with every passing day, and not when she wanted to believe that at this moment they could be friends.

To remain with him, to succumb to the ease which he made her feel, and to allow them to grow closer would only make their parting more difficult in the end.

They stepped past a cluster of boulders, and snow-capped rocks jutted upward before them like a white wall.

Giric smiled. “Close your eyes.”

On edge, Sarra halted. “I do not think this is a good idea.”

“You are nae afraid to be alone with me are you?”

He watched her with a teasing look, making her statement sound absurd. Since their marriage he’d been naught but a gentleman. The truth be told, her doubts rose from her own desire for him. She lowered her lids. When he laid his hand over her eyes, she started. “You do not trust me to keep them shut?”

His warm laugh slid through her like a fine wine. “You would peek.”

She pushed his hands away. “I would not.” A smile curved her lips, feeling foolish, but also wonderfully unencumbered. “Mayhap I would have looked a small bit.”

A smug grin slid over his face. “I knew it.”

“You are so sure of yourself.”

“In most things.” He caressed the side of her face with his thumb, and his expression grew solemn. “With you I am nae so sure.”

She swallowed hard. When they’d first met she’d loathed the sight of him, waited for the day when he would ride from her life. Now, in the coolness of the forest and with her body trembling at his touch, hatred toward him was the furthest thought in her mind.

“Close your eyes again and follow me.”

Without hesitation, she did.

He gently guided her forward.

The rush of water grew to a roar. Cool moisture filled the air, and excitement thrummed through her. “Are we there?” By the rood, but she sounded like an eager child. For this moment, lost to sensation, giddy with happiness, and caught in the whirlpool of emotion, what did it matter?

“Almost.” After several more steps, he gave her hand a soft squeeze. “Halt.”

“Can I look now?”

He released her hand. “Aye.”

Sarra opened her eyes. Water thundered over a high cliff to a pool of the deepest blue. Huge icicles framed the magnificent cascade of water, the force of the downpour casting a layer of mist shimmering over the basin.

In awe of the sheer beauty before her, she gasped. “Thank you for sharing this,” she said, unsure if words could truly express her appreciation for such a wondrous gift.