An Oath Broken (19 page)

Sarra’s familiar use of Lord Sinclair’s name wound Giric’s tense nerves tighter, and did not ease the flare of jealousy. The man before them sat his horse as if seasoned by long hours in the saddle. Confidence oozed in his every move. And Lord Sinclair was her intended betrothed.

That she’d been infuriated to travel to this marriage should have left him pleased. From the appreciation in her eyes as she gazed upon Lord Sinclair, had that changed?

The baron nodded. “You humble me, my lady, to remember me after all of these years.”

A blush stained her cheeks. “I admit that I did not recognize you at first.”

“’Tis of no consequence.” The bells of None tolled. Lord Sinclair cleared his throat. “I am remiss in my welcome. Let us ride to Dunkirk Castle. You must be tired after your journey.” He glanced at Giric with a dismissive look, and then nodded to the closest knight. “Take charge of the men.”

“Aye, my lord.” Lord Sinclair’s man cantered to where they were finishing cleaning the hart.

“Lord Sinclair,” Giric said.

The lord turned. His eyes watched him, cautious yet sure.

“There is a serious matter that we need to discuss.” He glanced at Sarra, concerned at her presence. What had stirred that thought? He studied Lord Bretane’s son finding naught untoward. If anything, the easy confidence of the baron should have made him relax.

“We can talk once Sarra is settled within the keep,” Lord Sinclair said.

Giric took in their destination. The castle gleamed with an almost golden quarried rock. Guards could be seen through the battlements and once they’d ridden closer, he noted that the fortress was in an excellent state of repair.

Shame filled him as he realized the reason for his reluctance. He couldna begin to offer Sarra the wealth Lord Sinclair’s father held, or the fortune his son would one day inherit. Peat fires and smoked meat were a far cry from the elegant dinners, wax candles, and array of perfectly spiced meals promised by such magnificence.

They rode across the drawbridge, then beneath the quarried stone of the gatehouse, a noble herald to peasant or king. As they cantered into the courtyard and headed for the stables, a squire rushed over to take Lord Sinclair’s mount.

Jaw tight, Giric dismounted, handed his reins to another lad, then started over to assist Sarra.

Lord Sinclair cut Giric off.

She was his wife! Giric opened his mouth to speak as Sarra glanced toward him, her eyes cold with disgust. A look that said it all. Nae more than moments within her guardian’s castle and she’d chosen. Like bloody Hades!

Giric shot her a cool glance, strode past Lord Sinclair, his fists clenched, ready to tear the lord apart if he tried to stop him. He wouldna let Sarra go. If necessary, he would haul her to the Highlands and remain secluded until they worked their differences out. She said that she hated him, but in his arms, she’d acted anything but cold.

Giric clasped his hands around her waist. Their eyes clashed. He narrowed his gaze in challenge and lifted her to the ground in one easy sweep.

“Sir Terrick,” Lord Sinclair said, his voice hard. “I will see to my betrothed.”

Giric drilled Sarra with a hard glare. “Tell him.”

“Lord Sinclair,” she said, her soft tone in direct conflict with the fire shooting from her eyes. “Please, let us go inside.”

“Is there a problem?” the baron demanded as he glanced from one to the other.

“No,” Sarra replied, her eyes daring Giric to say otherwise.

Had he expected differently? Giric caught her arm and strode toward the keep.

“We will need to speak in private,” Sarra continued, nerves edging her voice. “There are issues that must be discussed.”

Saint’s breath! Was that what their marriage was, an issue?

Lord Sinclair gave Sarra a cool nod. “As you wish.” They entered the keep and walked through the great hall toward the stairs. “Olifard, bring food to the solar,” he said to a woman helping break down the trencher tables. He led them up the curved steps. At the second level he entered the corridor, and headed toward the last room.

Inside, a fire danced in the hearth. Tapestries painted in bold reds and blues entwined with delicate bands of gold adorned the walls. On the floors more mundane but well-made rugs graced the stone. Sunlight poured through stained glass windows crafted with intricate designs to prism into the room with spectacular grace.

The woman Sinclair had spoken with below entered bearing a tray laden with breads, cheese, and a bottle of wine. She set them on the table.

“That will be all,” Lord Sinclair said. “See that we are nae disturbed.”

” Aye, my lord.” She departed.

As the door clicked shut, he turned to Sarra. “Please, have a seat.”

 

Sarra glanced toward Giric, the anger in his eyes tangible. “I will stand.”

Drostan arched a brow. “As you wish.” He walked to the table and poured them each a goblet of wine. He handed the first one to Sarra. “I regret to inform you that my father is ill and willna be able to join us.”

“Oh.” She frowned, the man she remembered robust and always wearing a smile. “How long has he been sick?”

“Regrettably, for the past few months,” Drostan replied. “The doctor isna sure what is wrong. Unfortunately, his condition has grown worse.”

Was that why he’d made arrangements for her to wed his son? “I must see him at once.”

“We will both go,” Giric stated, his voice ice.

With her attitude toward him, she’d expected his anger, deserved it. Since she’d learned of his past, she’d purposely begun to emotionally step back, needed to for her own sanity.

Though she’d prepared for the hurt of mentally walking away from him, she’d not realized the depth. Damn him. Why couldn’t he have told her the truth from the start? Then she wouldn’t be harboring this gut-wrenching pain. “We will see your father,” she amended. “We will speak there. The sooner the better.”

“I am afraid that isna possible. He is asleep now,” the baron explained. “I have asked his servant to notify me when he is awake. I shall take you to his chamber then.”

Uneasiness seeped through her. “’Tis urgent that we see him.”

Drostan swirled the wine in his goblet. “Be forewarned, he may nae recognize you. Whatever illness has a hold of him is slowly claiming his mind.”

Panic chewed at the edge of her composure. Her guardian had to recognize her. How else could she convince him that she couldn’t marry his son or that she should retain her inheritance and run her own life. “I need to talk with him about the writ he sent me.”

“And we will remain as long as necessary to take care of the matter,” Giric stated.

Lord Sinclair arched a brow toward Giric. “Lady Sarra is nae leaving,” he said with a confident dismissal. He turned to her, his eyes warming. “We are to be wed.”

Sarra cleared her throat. “I—I need to speak with your father before we discuss this topic further.”

Drostan’s hand tightened on his cup, and then he set the goblet aside. “Anything that needs to be said to my father, especially as it appears it concerns me, you will inform me of now.”

At the coldness of his words, ice slid through her veins. “I would rather wait until—”

“Nay,” Giric said, his tone holding no apology. “He needs to know the truth. Lady Sarra is my wife.”

A
t Giric’s claim that they’d wed, Drostan’s face darkened in outrage.

By the rood! “Giric married me to save my life.” Sarra shot Giric a cold glare. How dare he blurt the news of their disastrous marriage as if staking his claim instead of a humble explanation? As if there was ever anything humble about him. He was a man who knew his strengths as well as his weaknesses, and he wasn’t afraid to stand up for what he believed in. She hesitated, stunned.

Did he believe in her?

Did he mean what he’d said before? Was he willing to fight for her?

Shaken, Sarra inhaled. Giric embodied everything she despised. She refused to allow herself to again become a victim to his charms. Hadn’t he hurt her enough? Once she’d believed in him. And for that he’d betrayed her.

“Explain!” Drostan demanded.

“We were attacked,” Sarra replied before Giric could make the situation worse. “The men wanted me dead. If not for Giric’s intervention, they would have succeeded.”

Doubt flashed in Sinclair’s eyes. “Indeed?”

“A band of men who support Robert Bruce, the Competitor, learned of your father’s betrothal of Lady Sarra to you,” Giric explained, his voice thick with cynicism. “They decided they were nae interested in her wealth being added to back John Balliol’s bid to become king.”

Irritation flashed in Sinclair’s eyes. “’Tis absurd.”

“Is it?” Giric challenged. “’Tis no secret where your or your father’s loyalties lie—with a weak-willed man who could never hold his own against England’s king.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Sarra ordered, irritated with the two of them for delving into politics at this precarious time. “The issue is of my marriage. The rogues had me cornered. Giric’s claim that I was his wife and my confirmation of the fact saved my life.”

The baron’s stance relaxed. “I see. A marriage of convenience.” He gave a slight nod to Giric. “’Twould seem that I owe you my thanks. I will ensure that you are paid the amount arranged, and then you are free to go.” His expression grew tender as he turned to Sarra. “Thank God you are safe. I will send a missive to the bishop posthaste to explain the dire situation. Considering the circumstances and with his intervention, I have confidence that the pope will grant an annulment.”

“I agree,” Sarra replied, determined to take hold of the situation.

 

Sarra’s ability to dismiss him from her life with apparent ease severed the last of Giric’s control. “She is my wife in every way,” he stated, aware he possibly could have signed his death warrant, but at this moment he didna give a bloody damn. He loved Sarra and was determined to make their marriage work.

Sarra blanched.

Red darkened the baron’s cheeks in a brutal slash. “Is it true?”

She gave a shaky nod.

Lord Sinclair’s hand curled around the hilt of his blade. “Did he take you by force?”

“No!” she gasped.

He withdrew his sword, his gaze slamming to Giric. “Be nae afraid to tell me the truth. I will nae let this scoundrel touch you again.”

Scoundrel? With a curse, Giric withdrew his sword, relishing the taste of battle. “’Twas her choice.”
Attack, you bastard.
’Twould expel the anger coiling through him like a blade’s edge.

“Choice? That I doubt!” Sinclair scoffed as he stepped forward, blade raised. “You will nae seduce my intended and live to tell of it.”

Flashing both men a warning glare, Sarra stepped between them, her gaze pausing on Sinclair. “I will discuss the matter of my marriage with your father. You will do naught until I have spoken with him.”

“When my father is coherent he will meet with you,” the baron said through gritted teeth. “I assure you, he will nae tolerate this farce of your marriage, and neither will I.”

“At this moment,” Sarra said with cold precision, “what my marriage is or is not is none of your concern. Now, will you please have someone escort me to my chamber.”

Tension filled the room. For a moment Giric thought Lord Sinclair would refuse.

A moment later, mouth tight, the lord led them out. Several doors down he halted and opened a door. “Your chamber, my lady.”

“I will be staying with her,” Giric stated before the baron could dictate otherwise and strode inside. They’d already established their dislike for each other. He refused to act like the polite guest now.

Sarra gave a frustrated exhale. “Giric, I—”

“What time do we sup?” he asked, the baron’s face growing redder and bringing Giric immense pleasure.

“I assure you,” Lord Sinclair seethed. “This will be sorted out.” He turned to leave.

“Lord Sinclair,” Giric called.

He whirled, his jaw taut.

“My full title is Giric Armstrong, Earl of Terrick, Lord of Wolfhaven Castle. You will address me as my title demands.”

Hazel eyes narrowed. “Lord Terrick,” Sinclair all but hissed. With a curt nod, he strode away.

Satisfied, Giric shut the door.

Sarra rounded on him. “What do you think you are doing!”

“Telling the truth! Mayhap I should have lied? Is that what you expected? Now that you know that I am a reiver, everything I say is suspect, is it nae?”

Silence.

“Is it nae?”

“You know what I mean. You could have had the gold you sought even after our forced marriage, then you could have left.”

He arched a brow. “Mayhap my goals have changed.”

“Yes,” she said with ominous conviction. “Mayhap you have raised your stakes.”

Unease coiled tight through him. “What do you mean by that?”

Sarra folded her arms across her chest. “Mayhap you have decided that you want more than the amount initially offered to escort me. But I tell you now, you will receive naught more than agreed.” She angled her chin. “We have no more to discuss. I am sure Lord Sinclair will ensure you are properly quartered. On the morrow you can depart with the gold promised.”

Saint’s breath! “When I leave, you are going with me,” he all but shouted.
Good going, Terrick. You will win the lass with that charm.
It wasna like she hadna pushed him at every step and shoved his good intent into the cesspit.

“The job you were hired to do is over. You are no longer a part of my life.”

Blast it! “Is that what you want, me to leave?”

“Yes.”

Her fierce reply echoed in the silence. He would have turned then if nae for the shiver that touched her skin, the hint of desperation in her eyes.

Giric stepped toward her.

She backed away. “Leave me alone.”

And if he did, he’d be nay better than the rest. Since her parents’ murder, everyone had left her alone. Throughout her life she’d fought her own battles because there’d been no one else to stand up for her. At every turn she’d been let down.

Now, she expected nothing.

Though she said that she hated him, if he left right now, he would hate himself more.

“I love you, Sarra. I am nae going to walk away.”

Her eyes shifted as if seeking an avenue of escape, and then they focused on him. “Do not.”

At her trembling words he halted. “What?”

“I hate you, can you not understand that! I want you out of my life.”

But from the tears sliding down her cheeks, he understood too well. He’d broken her heart. “I love you,” he repeated, aware she needed more than the reaffirmation, but time to forgive. Time that he would ensure they had.

She interlaced her hands in a protective gesture. “You do not know what love is.”

He drew a steadying breath. “I know that I have made mistakes, that I have hurt you, and for that I am sorry. But as much as you wish otherwise, I love you and always will.”

“Do not do this. This. Us.” Sarra waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “’Tis destined to fail. There is too much that separates us.”

Temper had him stepping forward and catching her chin. “So I just walk away and make it easy on you. Is that it?”

She tried to pull free, but he held firm. “Do not play the martyr. ’Tis for your own good.”

“I think you are afraid to take a chance on us.”

Her eyes blazed. “There is no
us.
You assured that when you kept secrets from me.”

Giric glanced at her lips, the warm taste of her already sliding through him. “Mayhap I should test your claim?”

“No—”

He severed her refusal with his mouth, determined to prove what she would deny. Frustrated with their situation, angry that she would dare disavow her love because of her fears and her inability to trust, incited him further.

She stiffened under him, but he knew her body too well, was aware of how to touch her. And to convince her to let him be a part of her life, however less than fair, he would use every advantage.

He angled his mouth to gain better access as he grazed his thumb over her nipple.

She shuddered against him. On a whimpered curse, she returned his kiss, her hands desperate on his clothes, fumbling to push them aside.

Giric needed no further invitation. As his fingers deftly removed her garments, he seduced her with his mouth, taking, tasting until she grew frantic in his arms. He grazed his lips over the angle of her chin, and then nipped along the soft flesh of her throat.

“I should not be doing this,” she whispered as her hands tossed his shirt on the floor. “’Tis a mistake.”

“Then we will make it together. I love you and I am never letting you go.”

Her eyes searched his, the doubts, fear, easy to read. “I am so afraid. For so many years I have hated the reivers. I do not know if I can overcome my feelings. What if I can’t? What then?”

“So do we walk away from us because you are unsure? Will your past dictate your future?” He caressed her cheek. “I willna lie, loving someone is never easy. But I am willing to chance a future with you, aware that after everything, you may hold back a part of yourself from me forever.”

Another tear slid down her cheek.

“Back at the falls you said you loved me. Do you still feel the same?”

Sarra stiffened.

She was remembering his betrayal. “Nay, we willna talk about that now. Trust takes time, that we have.” He drew her into a gentle kiss, skimmed his fingers along her neck in a soft caress. She trembled against him, but he kept his movements gentle, nonthreatening. She needed to trust him in every way, otherwise their marriage would fail. When she was ready, had accepted his past, she would say the words he longed to hear.

It’d always been easy for him to love, but for her it was a new journey. He wouldna press her further, but he wouldna allow her to withdraw either. Though her past still haunted her, by discussing it, she’d taken an important step toward letting it go.

He scraped his teeth along the velvety column of her neck. “I want to make love with you.”

“Giric, I do not know if we should.”

“Then do nae think. I love you with all of my heart. Nay,” he said when she opened her mouth to speak. “I am nae asking for promises. Nae now. For this moment, that we have each other is enough.”

“There is still so much left to discuss. What about my guardian? Until he awakens—”

Giric silenced her protest with a kiss. “It will all work out,” he whispered against her mouth and reveled in her taste. He just hadna figured out exactly how, but he would. Hope spiraled through him. “Just feel.”

He tilted her mouth to his then traced his tongue over the vibrant warmth. When her body melted against him and she returned his kiss, his heart burst with love. As his fingers skimmed over her naked flesh, caressed, savored, his entire body shuddered with need. Giric reined in his own desires and focused on her.

He seduced her with deliberate slowness, her remaining clothes, as his, quickly pooling at their feet. With tenderness, he placed soft kisses along her shoulder, then slid down to nuzzle the soft underside of her breast.

Sarra’s pulse began to race beneath his touch.

Humbled, he skimmed his mouth along the flat of her stomach, breathing in her scent.

“Giric.”

Her throaty moan had him looking up to find her watching him. A flush graced her skin, and her gray eyes were dark with pleasure.

She reached for him.

Unable to resist he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her upon the thick covering, and then lowered his body intimately over hers. As they tumbled into the kiss, he sheathed himself in her tight warmth and began to move in a slow, steady rhythm. He quickened his pace until her movements became frantic, and her body arched to meet his every thrust.

Sarra’s cries of release fueled his own. The world tilted around him until it was only him, only her. On a final thrust he poured into her, then lay beside her and drew her into his arms.

Her face glowed as she watched him. The love she hadna spoken shimmered in her eyes, but he saw the doubts. And prayed that one day she would accept his past. He gave her a tender smile and pushed a swath of hair away from her cheek. “I will love you always.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and one dropped onto his skin.

He wiped it away, and she gave him a wilted smile. “All will be well.” And he prayed ’twas truth.

 

The soft silence of the night greeted Sarra as she opened her eyes. A solid, warm body lay next to hers. Giric. The hours they’d made love, his reaffirmation that he loved her, of how he’d touched her as no one had before sifted through her mind.

Unease swept her. Was she fooling herself? With her past pitted against his, would a future with Giric stand a chance? But what if she risked it all? Believed in him? Did she dare? If she turned away what then?

She studied Giric as he lay beside her, his face softened in sleep, his breaths quiet and steady. Her heart tightened, and the emptiness of a life without him held its own answer. If her choice was a mistake, then she made it with her eyes wide open. Nervous but another part sure, she curled up next to him and gave in to the warmth of sleep.