An Oath Broken (17 page)

 

“Saint’s breath, I know what I am about.” Giric glared at Colyne at his side as he walked down the steps toward the great room, the festivities below a growing buzz. “I didna plan on falling in love with Sarra, but I have.”

“What will you tell her guardian?”

A question he’d pondered a thousand times. “The truth. ’Tis all I have. Nor do I expect her betrothed to understand. God help me, if I stood in his place, I wouldna.”

With their union consummated, there would be repercussions for his defiance. He’d given his vow, but he was damned if he regretted the binding of their marriage. Sarra was worth any wrath he incurred.

“You could send a message and return to Wolfhaven Castle. If you want, I will deliver it.”

Giric shook his head, however tempting the thought. “I have never run from my troubles, and I am nae starting now.”

“Then have Sarra remain here. There is nae reason for her to continue,” Colyne said. “Once your business with her guardian is through, she can rejoin you on your trip home. My brother would ensure her safety during her stay. In addition, I could travel with you to Dunkirk Castle.”

The worry haunting Giric over the past few days faded. Why hadna he thought of that before? Without Sarra there when he broke the news to Lord Bretane, regardless of what happened to him, she would be safe. “You are right. Gryfalcon informed me earlier this morning that hunters have reported that the pass is open. Tomorrow, you and I will leave at first light.”

Candlelight spilled throughout the great hall as they entered, the air rich with the scent of wax along with a hint of the yuletide greens scattered throughout the room, and the robust smell of roast venison consumed the hour before.

Sarra sat on the dais beside Gryfalcon where he’d left her a short while before. A smile played on her face as she listened to the bard who told their bold tales with relish, and entertained the crowd of gentry and peasants alike who filled the keep.

Pleased, Giric walked up, leaned over, and kissed her. “You are enjoying yourself?”

Eyes warm with desire lifted to his. “Immensely. He is a wonderful storyteller.”

Heat smoldered in her sultry voice, and anticipation of the night to come wove through him like warmed wine.

A flush slid up her cheeks at his overt perusal, and she lowered her lashes.

Lured, he leaned forward, kissed the soft curve of her jaw. “You look sleepy.”

“Sleepy?” Sarra frowned as if confused. “I am not . . .” Her eyes lingered on his, and her blush deepened.

The roar of the crowd pulled Giric from the moment. He glanced at Gryfalcon, Colyne, and several other men seated nearby, thankful they appeared engrossed in the storyteller’s tale of a fairy outwitted by a mortal. He’d heard the story many times before. Then he remembered the end. Blast it. “Sarra, let us go.”

“I wish to hear the last of the tale,” she said with a smile.

“I—”

“Though from the Otherworld,” the bard boomed, “she had never matched wits with a reiver.”

The crowd cheered, but Sarra’s expression paled.

Giric silently cursed. What did he expect? She’d found forgiveness for the Scots, but nae the reiver. “Sarra?” He laid his hand over hers; it felt like ice.

“I am fine.” A feeble attempt at a smile wilted on her face. “I am sorry. When I heard the bard . . . I was not prepared.”

“I know.” Her reaction was a glaring reminder of how much stood between them. “You are overtired.” Frustrated, he helped her to her feet. Her acceptance of his past would come. Time was the only cure. Tomorrow, after this night of making love, they would begin the healing. And he prayed she’d find forgiveness for the choices he’d made.

Gryfalcon glanced from Giric to Sarra, rose. “You are retiring?”

“Aye,” Giric replied.

One of the earl’s brows lifted as he glanced toward Giric.

After their discussion, he understood Gryfalcon’s concern about keeping his past from Sarra. There was plenty to go around. With a nod, he led his wife to their chamber, pleased to find the hearth ablaze, and the snowdrop he’d given her earlier within a delicate, slim-necked clay container.

As he closed the door behind them, Sarra turned. She gave a shaky exhale. “About below, I am sorry. I overreacted.”

“Letting go of your past is nae going to be easy.” And he had demons of his own to release as well. He drew her into his arms. “But I will be there for you. Always. Never forget that.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “I love you so much.”

Heart aching, he brushed a kiss on her lips.

“Giric, now that we are married, with my inheritance I can help you rebuild your castle.”

He stilled, his pride taking a direct blow. “I do nae need your help.”

She angled her jaw. “I have plenty of gold.”

“Nay.” He released her, angry she offered, irritated that she held the funds and could. He’d set out to rebuild his self-worth, to become a man he could respect. He didna need a woman’s hand smoothing his way. “Is that why you think I bedded you?” His ire shot up a notch. “Do you think I give a damn about your money?”

 

Temper rising, Sarra glared at Giric. ’Twas like him to put his back up when offered help. “’Tis because I know you do not care about my money that I want to help.”

His nostrils flared. “Keep it.”

Stubborn pride. There was no other explanation. “Without the gold from delivering me to my betrothed, what will you do now to rebuild Wolfhaven Castle?”

Ice blue eyes narrowed. “That is my business.” He strode to the hearth.

She waited a beat, tried to keep her temper in check. Both of them spewing angry words would make the situation worse. “As your wife, ’tis mine as well.”

His shoulders stiffened. “I do nae wish to discuss it,” he stated, his voice tempered, but an edge of steel in his words.

The fragile hold on her temper unleashed. “How dare you dismiss me! If you did not want me to be a part of your life, you should have left me untouched.”

He whirled, his expression haggard with love and need, but beneath, regret.

Nerves slid through her. “What is wrong?”

“I tried,” he answered, his voice raw with frustration.

Panic tore through her. Was she wrong and he didn’t love her? Fighting for calm, she took a steadying breath. “Tried what?”

“To keep away from you.” He exhaled a long sigh. “This, us, was never supposed to happen.”

The room spun around her. Panic took shape, gripped her soul. “We were never supposed to happen? Hours ago we made love, sealed our marriage. Now you tell me,” she accused, her voice rising, “’twas never supposed to happen?”

He started toward her.

Furious, she held out her hand. “Answer me.”

“Sarra.”

Her body vibrated with anger. “What is going on?”

Silence.

“Damn you, I deserve to know!” But she was afraid, petrified that he would leave her. After losing her parents, she’d spent her entire life not daring to trust, to love, but over these past few days, she’d taken the ultimate risk; she had allowed him into her heart. “Giric?” Her voice shook, and she cursed herself for that. But she would not grovel for his affection. If necessary she would go forward on her own, a life she’d lived until he’d arrived at Rancourt Castle. But the pain of losing him would leave her devastated.

“Sarra, I . . . never wanted to love you.”

Her shoulders drooped and a hysterical laugh welled in her throat. He’d held back on declaring his feelings toward her because of his pride. “Do you think your lack of money matters to me?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “I have a clan that depends on me, a castle in sad disrepair, and—”

“A wife who loves you.”

“And shouldna.”

At the vehemence of his words a chill raced through her. “Why?”

Again a haunted look shadowed his face. “Because in the end I will hurt you.”

That he could be so vulnerable moved her. Her throat tight with emotions, and she shook her head. “I do not believe you ever could.”

Darkness clouded his eyes. “If you were smart, you would walk away from me.”

She loved him, but neither would she grovel. “Is that what you want?”

Ice blue eyes darkened, then he hauled her against him, his kiss dangerous in its intensity. “Damn you. I want you with my every breath.”

Her heart exploded as he swept her into his arms, his mouth ravaging hers. He laid her on the bed, and his greedy hands stripped away her garb, touching, seducing every part of her. Candlelight flickered over her naked body as he caressed her with erotic precision until her body shuddered with need.

With a fierce growl, he discarded his garb, positioned himself over her, his look fierce with need. “I love you, never will I stop.” Then he drove deep.

As she spun into a glorious climax, he followed, and she silently swore that whatever lay before them, together they would overcome.

A soft thrum fractured Giric’s sleep. With a grimace, he reached for his dagger on the nearby table as he scanned the room for signs of danger. Embers glowed in the hearth, wind battered against the shutters, a soft gray light hinted that the sun rose in the east. At his side Sarra lay curled against him, her golden hair framing her face, his leg draped intimately over hers, and her breasts exposed where the blanket had slid to her waist.

With a groan he sheathed the dagger, then ran his fingers through her hair, amazed at the depth that he loved her. His mind shifted to more base thoughts and his body hardened at the wonderfully wicked ways he could awaken Sarra from her slumber.

A knock sounded on the door.

He scowled at the entry; which had caused him to awaken. Leaning over, he gave Sarra a soft kiss. Her warm scent tempting him, he edged lower and drew her nipple into his mouth, rewarded for his effort as she gave a soft groan.

Saint’s breath! With reluctance he stood.

She wrinkled her brow and her hand moved to where he’d lain.

Moved she sought him in her sleep, with regret he tugged on his trews, crossed the chamber, and quietly opened the door.

Colyne stood outside, his expression grim.

Blast it, what had happened? With a glance to ensure Sarra still slept, he slipped into the corridor. “What is wrong?”

“Lord Maxwell is in the hall below.”

“Why?” Giric asked, well familiar with Maxwell and his dislike for him. Once during his reiving days, in an act of rebellion, he and his men had stolen Maxwell’s prize bull and feasted well for the next week. An act Maxwell had never forgiven him for.

“He stated that you murdered their blacksmith, and he is here to arrest you.”

Giric grunted. “’Tis a blasted lie. I have been nowhere near their village. If any, ’twas the bastard’s hand behind the killing.”

“My thought exactly,” Colyne agreed. “Maxwell said that their blacksmith was murdered five days ago. After questioning, several members of his clan stated ’twas your hand that took his life.”

“Coerced, you mean,” he spat.

“Indeed,” Colyne agreed. “Gryfalcon explained that during this time you were en route to Lady Sarra’s guardian and nowhere near Maxwell’s home, but he claims the witnesses are adamant ’twas you.”

Giric’s mind churned for an explanation. “Why would anyone want to frame me for a murder I didna commit? It doesna make sense.” The crime occurred after his impromptu marriage to Sarra—a union Léod had ensured. “Léod!”

Colyne’s eyes narrowed.

“Who claims that I murdered the man?” Giric asked, already putting together the motley band in his mind.

“Maxwell mentioned Blar and Ranald as two of the witnesses.”

“Both Léod’s men.” Why? Hadna the bastard thrown his life off-kilter enough? ’Twas a miracle Sarra had forgiven him, and a blessing that somewhere in the upheaval she had fallen in love.

“What could he hope to gain?” Colyne asked.

“I am nae sure, but nay doubt Léod is behind this.”

“Aye, on that I agree,” Colyne said.

Giric rubbed his jaw. “Léod wanted Sarra dead, but her marriage to me accomplished the same end. It took away the chance that Balliol would receive any of her inheritance.”

“It doesna make sense . . .” Disgust pierced his friend’s eyes. “What does Léod want more than anything?”

Saint’s breath. “Money.” He stepped to the window, stared at the flurries swirling against the gray of dawn. “Without meaning to, he believes through Sarra, I have been gifted with a fortune.”

“And jealous, Léod means to see you dead so he can wed Sarra.” Colyne grimaced. “Ever since your run-in with him while you were reiving, he has awaited an opportunity to seek revenge. He wants a hanging, and ensuring that you have been identified by supposed witnesses, he believes he will.”

A muscle worked in Giric’s jaw, aware his status as a noble forced Maxwell to formally present the charges against him before his peers. “’Tis a mess. I do nae have the luxury of time to sort this out. I need to meet with Lord Bretane, find a means to earn gold, and somehow to tell Sarra about my past as a reiver.”