An Oath Broken (6 page)

“Your wound needs—”

“Naught that we have time for.”

Sarra scowled. “I can get up myself.” Though her legs trembled, she stood, careful to avoid his touch.

Her defiance stoked his ire. “You do nae need anyone, do you?”

She lifted her chin in that all-too-familiar stubborn tilt. “I will make it fine on my own.” She brushed off the snow that had plastered itself to her body during her fall, all the while keeping a wary eye on him.

Giric gave a disbelieving grunt. Alone he doubted she’d make it an hour. When she opened her mouth to speak he raised his hand. “Save your flattery for later. We must go.”

On a
humph,
she followed him with an unsteady but determined stride.

He tried to ignore her stubborn pride, but admiration won over. Her rebellious nature reminded him of his sister, Elizabet. Giric slid an irritated glance toward her.

Her eyes narrowed as he continued to watch her. “I am fine.”

Let her wear her foolish pride, she would find it a lonely companion.

As had he.

Disgusted with the reminder that at times he’d allowed his pride to guide him instead of common sense, he strode to his horse. At its side, he cupped his hands and gestured for her to mount.

After a wary glance, she accepted his offer.

“Wait here.” Giric retrieved a broken branch then returned and began leading the horse toward the river.

“Are you not going to ride?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

“Nay.” Ignoring the pain, he strode at a brisk pace as he scanned the landscape for any sign of the men.

“What about your wound?”

“’Tis fine.”

“If you move too much it will start bleed—”

He shot her a cool glance. “If we do nae get out of here before the men arrive, we will both be dead.”

She stiffened in the saddle, her eyes growing cold. “I only . . .” Sarra focused straight ahead.

At her silence, he dismissed the edge of concern in her voice. She only cared about him because her blasted hide was involved. Nae that he wanted her to care. As far as he was concerned, when the day came that they parted ways, it wouldna be soon enough.

Hooves thudded upon snow as Giric led his horse to the river frozen over. He halted before the thick ice, studied the water rush beneath. Confident it was thick enough to support them, he led his horse onto a snow-free patch and dropped the reins, then he started toward where they’d fallen.

“Sir Knight?”

At the fear in her voice he turned. “I will be back in a trice.” He hurried to where their tracks began, then, using the bough, he backed toward Sarra, erasing their tracks to the river.

A sharp crack echoed as he stepped on the ice.

“Sir Knight!”

Giric tossed the bough onto the bank. “’Tis the river making new ice. As long as we remain near the edge, we should be safe.” He picked up the reins and headed north. “We will stay on the clear patches as we will leave nay tracks.”

With a frown she scanned where he’d wiped away their trail to the river. “Will it work?”

“Aye, I have used this tactic many times before.”

Her face paled.

Blast it!

They walked in silence. The clack of hooves against the ice blended with the rush of water below. The ripple of wind increased.

Caught within the gust, blustery white clouds swirled about them and sent a fine spray of snow into his face and down his neck. Giric tugged his cape tighter and shielded his face.

The muted thrum of men and horses echoed a distance behind them.

Bedamned, he’d hoped to have more of a lead. “Come on, lad.” Hurrying his step, he led them around the curve of the river before their pursuers came into sight.

Another gust swept through the surrounding trees and shook the branches. The thick pelt of snow covering a nearby fir broke loose and showered them.

With disgust he glanced at their tracks in the freshly fallen snow.

“Sir Knight?”

“Shhh. Your voice will carry in the wind.”

Sarra leaned forward. “If I dismounted,” she whispered, “I could trail behind us with a branch and erase our trail.” As much as he didna want her endangering herself further, her suggestion held merit. Léod and his men would deduct that he and Sarra could have escaped by the river. Any tracks he and Sarra left, however carefully they traveled, would lead their pursuers to them that much quicker.

Giric halted his horse and helped her down. After finding her a pine bough, he picked up the reins and started ahead. “Be careful and do nae stray near the middle.”

They made their way north following the curves of the fast-flowing river. Sarra worked with quiet efficiency covering their tracks. Every so often the distant sound of men calling to one another confirmed their pursuers were conducting a desperate search.

He scanned the stand of trees on both banks. They had to find a way to lose them. But how?

A sharp crack echoed under his feet.

Giric jumped, then called himself every kind of fool. ’Twas naught but new ice forming—except he caught sight of a crack slowly working its way along the ice beneath his feet.

He sighed with relief as the fracture stopped a short distance away. Though several inches of ice lay below them, he led his horse closer to shore. With their pursuers so close, he wouldna risk a mishap now.

At his next step, another crack quickly split on his left. Then another arced in a wide vein to his right. The ice below him dropped a degree. Saint’s breath! “Sarra, get off the ice!”

Another crack.

His horse snorted, and hooves clattered on the ice.

Another sharp crack streaked below them like a battering ram.

Giric tugged the reins; his mount refused to move. “Come on!”

“Sir Knight.”

He glanced over and found Sarra gingerly heading back toward him. Was she addled? “I told you to get off the ice. Do it!”

Though her face was pale, she kept her hand on the horse’s hindquarters and carefully edged forward. “You need help.”

Muttering a curse, he yanked on the reins to drag his horse closer to the bank. “Then give him a push on his arse.” Her stunned expression almost caused him to laugh, but to her credit, she hesitated but a moment before heading toward the horse’s posterior.

The ice below them began to slowly rise and fall. Another crack echoed ahead of them, and a gash opened up exposing rushing water between them and the shore.

“Hold,” Giric yelled back.

Sarra peered around the horse’s rear, terror in her eyes. “What are we going to do now?”

T
he ice shuddered beneath Sarra’s feet. “Sir Knight, the ice is giving!”

A small fissure cut beneath the horse’s hooves and fractured in erratic streaks toward the swirling water near the bank.

With a curse, he moved to her side. “We will have to jump to shore.”

She stared at him in disbelief. The gap between land and the ice had grown to an arm’s length. “We will never make it!”

“Nae if we wait.” He held out his hand.

The churning rush pulsed beneath her. Her doubts soared. “’Tis too wide.”

Impatience snapped in his eyes. “Take my hand!”

On an unsteady breath, she edged forward. A strong gust battered the ice. The surface gave beneath her next step, and she slipped.

Sir Knight caught her and hauled her against him. “Steady, lass.”

Sarra clung, afraid, cold, but mostly bewildered that from this near tragedy she found not only strength, but comfort in Sir Knight’s arms.

“Move toward the opening. When I tell you to, run and jump to the shore.”

“What about you?”

Warmth flickered in his eyes. As if a trick of light it vanished. “This is nae a debate. Go on.”

With a nervous nod, she edged toward the opening. On her next step, the ice below her fluctuated. She lost her footing. Off balance, she plopped on her bottom.

“Is that the blasted best you can do?” Sir Knight grumbled as he hauled her up.

She pushed him away, her pride hurt more than her posterior. “I am—”

The crack of breaking ice had her glancing shoreward. The gap in the ice now extended more than a body’s length. Water rushed through the opening and slammed against the ice, widening the fissure along the bank. The sheet they stood on remained connected to the opposite bank.

He glanced toward the open water. “Blast it!”

Panicking, she caught Giric’s cape, her mind already spinning back to the attack of her youth.

The screams.

Their wagon rocking precariously.

Then, how it had overturned. Icy water had seeped into the crevices, and then it had begun to pour through the windows and fill the luxurious interior.

Her father’s calming words had surrounded her while he had struggled to free himself—then the screams of the attack had begun.

“Sarra!”

She fought against the hands that held her, for a moment a victim of her youthful terror.

“Sarra, look at me.”

Sir Knight’s voice dragged her back from her nightmare. The screams and images faded, but the anguish remained. She dug her nails into his cape. “We are going to die! Damn you. Why did I trust you!”

He caught her shoulders and gave her a hard shake. “Stop it.”

Panic threatened to overflow. How ironic. A Scot like those who had murdered her parents now offered her hope. Hope? No, he would never offer her that. She fought his hold. “Leave me alone.”

His grip held firm. “You canna fall apart now.” His eyes narrowed. “I never figured you for a coward.”

Her spine stiffened.

He pushed her toward the bank. “Move or I will leave your blasted arse behind.”

The braggart! “You would like that, would you not? To be rid of me?” Who did he think he was? When he . . . Then she saw it, that hint of worry his anger couldn’t hide.

He’d goaded her on purpose.

When she’d lost control, instead of helping him, she’d become a burden. And they both needed their wits if they were to survive. The anger of moments before shifted to guilt. By the rood, she’d almost cost them both their lives! “I am—”

“Later.” He gestured to the opposite bank. “We are going to have to cross to the other side.”

“But earlier you said—”

“I know what I said, but with the ice breaking up along the eastern bank, there is nay other choice.”

Numb, terrified, but determined to live, she nodded.

His eyes held hers. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Sir Knight caught her hand. “If I tell you to run, go.”

“I will.” Sarra glanced at the horse who followed without issue. Mayhap the beast had known all along the ice was unsafe, which was why he’d refused to move.

With cautious steps, the Scot made his way across the remaining swath of ice with her on his heels, the clop of hooves steady in their wake. Fat drops of cold rain thick with sleet began to fall as they walked. The rush of water beneath them increased to a dull roar.

When they neared the middle of the river, Sir Knight slowed. “Keep an arm’s length from me. We need to distribute our weight as much as possible.”

She nodded, macabrely drawn to look down, transfixed by the seething current beneath the clear, frozen shield splattered by ice-laden rain. Sarra took in the distance to the opposite shore. This was ludicrous. Mayhap they should have tried to jump to the bank instead of chancing this crossing?

Sir Knight loosened his mount’s reins, then walked at an angle to the bank.

A mix of wind and rain slashed her face. She willed away the fear threatening to erode her momentary calm, and began to walk.

A short distance ahead, an outcrop of rocks jutted through the ice. Thank God. Moments later they straddled the slippery mounds of rock near the shore while the horse followed.

A rumble echoed in their wake, then a loud bang.

She turned.

The remaining ice on the eastern bank gave way.

The sheet below them began to waver.

Sir Knight jerked her forward. “The ice is going. Run!”

Heart pounding, Sarra stumbled forward as the ice shifted below her feet. Fear rose into hysteria as she slipped. Sir Knight steadied her; she ran.

The horse whinnied behind them as his hooves hit the blanket of ice with an erratic clatter.

Ahead, the water-slicked ice near the shore cracked. Wind drove the shattered slabs together. They merged with a brittle crash, surged upward.

“Jump,” Giric yelled.

With her muscles screaming, she started to push off, but her right foot began to sink into the collapsing sheet. “Help!”

Sir Knight hauled her onto firmer footing.

“My—”

“Go!” he ordered with a shove.

They both jumped.

She landed hard on top of Sir Knight, and her breath left her in a rush. But they’d made it to shore.

The horse stumbled up the snow-covered bank, halted by their side, and shook. Water puddled at his hooves while the river balked before them like an angry god.

A thunderous crack split the air. The scrape of splintering ice echoed as the river churned in a violent rush. White slabs collided. The frozen surface where they’d stood moments ago groaned, heaved, then collapsed into the raging torrent beneath.

“Saint’s breath!” Sir Knight caught her face in his hands, and she forgot to breathe. The wildness in his eyes slid into worry. “Are you all right, lass?”

Whatever she was about to say, to think, fled. The intensity of how he watched her, the way he truly seemed to care, made her tremble. Not from fear. No, the heat stroking her body had little to do with fright.

“Lass?”

Stunned, Sarra stared at him. She desired him.

She wanted a Scot.

Trembling, she tried to roll free, but he held tight and the concern in his expression grew. “Let go of me,” she whispered, the shame of her realization far from what he could ever understand, or what she would ever want him to.

“We need to be going. The men will be coming up the opposite bank.” But he didn’t move, watched her, his eyes growing dark, luring her to feel what she shouldn’t.

A man’s shout echoed from across the river.

Sarra gasped.

“Blast it!” Sir Knight shoved to his feet, then helped her stand. “Follow me.” With a tug on the reins, he led his horse up the embankment and hurried toward a thick clutter of tall brambles that sheltered the base of an aged oak.

Sarra ran to keep up, the warmth he’d made her feel still hot and alive.

The yells of the other men grew.

Cold rain slashed across her face as she hurried, then the icy drops changed to pure sleet. She pushed through the thick branches, then scoured the river while ice pellets tinkled upon the ground like frozen tears.

Sir Knight knelt, pulled his mount’s head down. “Let us pray they didna see us.”

Flickering figures came into view on the opposite bank, and then faded in the growing haze of white.

“At least they are on the opposite bank,” she whispered.

“Aye.” He gestured upstream. “But the land narrows less than a league north of here, where a footbridge lies. If they suspect that we have crossed the river, they could catch up to us within hours.”

Her relief deflated. They weren’t safe at all. They’d bought a half a day at best.

A burly man wearing a thick cape, a fur hat, and sturdy leather boots with a scraggly black beard came into view. “I do nae see any tracks!”

Two more men walked into view. Several seconds later six others joined them. The band milled around the edge.

“Blasted cold,” a smaller man grumbled. “We have nae seen a track since we left the base of the knoll.”

The stocky man grumbled then spat on the ground. “I say we are on a fool’s mission to follow the river north. Terrick would have gone south.”

“That is nae for you to decide,” the man with the scraggly beard said, his voice hard. “We will nae be turning back until we are sure that they have nae come this way.”

“Aye,” the stocky man replied, displeasure echoing in his voice.

The man with the beard kicked at a slab of ice with a grimace. “Terrick’s nae earned his reputation for his stupidity. A sly one he is.”

A red-haired man knelt beside the bank with a nod. He looked across the river straight toward the brambles where they hid.

Sarra held her breath.

Sir Knight looked over. “He does nae see us.”

Heat crept up her cheeks from being read with such ease. Of course they couldn’t. “I—I know.”

“They will move on,” Sir Knight said, turning toward the men.

She studied their pursuers, wishing she were as convinced. Though the river separated them, with the footbridge a short distance ahead, they were far from safe.

Wind blustered through the trees. The patter of sleet increased, the hard flakes slowing as they began to shift to snow. At least if they’d left any tracks since they’d reached this side of the shore, they would now be covered.

As if a prayer had been answered, the burly man with a scraggly black beard, who she’d deduced to be the leader, waved his motley group forward. Only when the ruffians rounded the curve and moved out of sight did she release a trembling breath.

Sir Knight released his hold on his mount. The horse lifted his head, and his ears flicked toward the direction of the departing men.

With the imminent threat gone, the man’s use of Sir Knight’s name bothered her. She turned. “Terrick.”

His gaze grew wary.

Unease swept her, and she prayed that she was wrong. “You know them.”

His eyes narrowed. Snowflakes battered them. Wind snarled around them like a curse. Ice blue eyes leveled on her. “Aye.”

She didn’t want to ask why he would be familiar with such a seedy lot. His assignment was to protect her. But for her own sanity, she needed to know. “How?”

His gaze deepened to a ferocious black, and the man she’d come to know over the past few days was lost to this intimidating stranger; a man she believed could kill without hesitation.

 

Her eyes widened with terror, and Lady Sarra started to scramble back.

Blast it! Giric caught her arm. “The men are my problem.” He didna owe her a blasted explanation about his association with their pursuers, but her distrust of him made him want to explain.

What would he tell her? That he’d ridden on many a raid with the same men who now chased them? Had shared countless gains from their reiving? And when cornered, had killed in self-defense? Aye, he’d win the lass’s complete trust with that admission, nae that he ever had any chance of earning it in the first place.

He released her, and she quickly moved away.

Regret fisted in his gut. Since the first night they’d spent in the cave, she’d begun to trust him. Until now, he hadna realized how much her belief in him mattered. Though an earl, and regardless that he’d vowed never to reive again, in her eyes he would never be a man she could turn to with complete faith, one whom she could look upon as a friend, or if a miracle happened to change her opinion of him, more.

With a curse he stood. To the devil with her. His people and their respect were all that mattered. Disgusted with the entire situation, he waved her forward. “Come.”

She stared at him as if unsure.

“We must be long gone before the men search this side of the bank.” She jumped at his harsh tone, but it was for the best if he kept her at a distance. A woman like her would bring a man naught but trouble.

After they mounted, he headed his mount northwest. As they rode, the temperature continued to drop and the thick flakes of snow erased their tracks. Weariness flooded him, but he pressed on, determined to find a safe place to hide and, however temporary, warmth.

The incline grew steeper.

Sarra coughed, a low wracking sound as if pulled from her chest.

Blast it. She’d barely recovered from near freezing. Between the avalanche, their haphazard crossing of the river, and now forced travel in this foul weather, she would be exhausted. They had to find shelter and soon.

She coughed again, the wracking sound ending on a quiet moan.

He leaned forward, took in her pale and withdrawn features, and his gut clenched.

“I . . . I am fine,” she said before he had a chance to speak. She looked away.