An Oath Sworn (3 page)

“Answer me. Please.”

Sadness shadowed her face. “And if I did, will you answer any questions I have about you as well?”

“A sword's wrath!”

Alesia's eyes narrowed. “How dare you expect answers when you will give me none!”

At her regal tone, Colyne started to laugh, helpless to do otherwise.

Red slashed her cheeks. “ 'Tis good one of us finds humor in this situation.”

“Och, lass.” He caught her hand and pressed a tender kiss upon her knuckles, pleased when she didna try to pull away. “I was only seeking friendship, naught more. 'Tis the request too much to ask?”

Except when her gaze moved to where his lips had touched her skin, he knew he lied.

As if reading his mind, she trembled. “Do not.”

He released her hand, shaken. By the desire darkening her gaze, she wasna as immune to him as she would like, which helped naught. “Come.” The tall grass brushed against his legs as Colyne strode forward. At his side, her soft steps matched his, but he didna turn. If she hadna stopped him moments before, he would have kissed her.

A mistake. What did he know about the lass? Little, a fact she ensured. Though born within the ranks of the gentry, for whatever her reasons, she had discarded the status her nobility offered and worked to help those less fortunate.

Her choice.

One that changed nothing.

He should be pleased by her withdrawal. At least she didna have the brain of an ass. That honor belonged to him.

Colyne turned, startled by the fear in her gaze. “What is wrong?”

Her hand shook as she pointed in the direction in which they were heading. “Look!”

Beyond the next hill, a thick, black column of smoke billowed into the sky.

Dread ripped through Colyne. Stephano! Please, God, nae them. “Wait here!”

She caught his arm. “I am coming with you.”

Furious she'd defy him, he tore her hand free. “You will stay!”

Alesia's face paled. “What is it?”

He refused to admit his suspicions. If he was right, she didna need to witness the carnage spewed upon the other side of the glen.

She stared at him, her troubled expression breaking down his resistance.

“I will be back.” Before she could offer further objections, he bolted toward the black churning cloud at a dead run.

And prayed he was wrong.

M
arie raced after Colyne, the stench of smoke growing with each step. As she crested a mound, she broke through the trees. Stopped. The horror before her stealing her breath.

Near the base of the angled slope, Colyne knelt amidst the blackened rubble. Bodies lay scattered around him, some butchered, others with arrows protruding from their backs. The cloying stench of charred flesh almost drove her to her knees.

A sob tore free.

Colyne's gaze riveted on her. His face a mask of outrage and grief, he shoved to his feet.

But his eyes.

Merciful Lord. His eyes held the horrors of a man who'd witnessed too much death.

She wrapped her arms across her chest as her body began to shake.

He stormed toward her, his mail smeared by blood. “I told you to stay!”

“I . . .” The crofter's hut was engulfed in flames. Livestock lay mutilated in a twisted mass of hides and horror. Not even a lamb was left unscathed. And the people. Her chest tightened with pain. “Who could have—”

“The English.” Condemnation carved through his words like an angry blade. He caught her shoulders.

Instead of shaking her as she'd expected, Colyne drew her against his chest and turned her away from the barbaric slaughter. His body trembled against hers.

“The bastards think they can quell us into subservience,” he rasped, “but they are wrong. Their butchery fuels our hatred.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as Marie cried, grieving for those slaughtered, for his country under merciless assault, but mostly for him. However much her own despair, Colyne's must be doubly so.

This travesty underscored her urgent need to reach France. Until she explained that the Duke of Renard was behind her abduction, her father would believe rebel Scots were guilty of the inflammatory act. And Scotland's future would be in grave danger. Without France's monetary support, Scotland's forces would wither.

His hold eased, and then he began to whisper in Gaelic. By their soft flow, they were words meant to soothe, but they spilled out raw with heartache. On a shudder he grew quiet.

Mon Dieu
, she must not fail. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

“You need to go back to where I asked you to stay and wait. Once I am finished here, I will come for you.”

“I will not leave you here alone.”

Colyne lifted his head. Tears filled his eyes and anguish carved his face. “You will—”

“
Non
,” she interrupted, furious Renard had used her as a pawn to put Scotland's freedom at risk. “You will not face this alone. Do you think this does not affect me?”

He released a raw breath. “You should have stayed beyond the knoll.”

“Why?”

“These are my people.”

“They were slaughtered! Innocent people cut down in cold blood.” She caught his hands, needing him to understand this act of savagery was as devastating to her as it was to him. “If you think I will stand by and not help you bury them, you know little of me.”

He drew her forward, his eyes burning into hers. “I have tried to. . . I am sorry. I am so sorry.” Colyne claimed her mouth, demanding, taking, shattering her with the intensity of his kiss. But beneath the anger, she tasted his grief. This wasn't about passion but need. To know there was still good left within the world.

Without warning he released her, and she stumbled back. “Colyne,” she said, breathless, her lips still tingling.

He held up his hands, his face pale with shock. “I should nae have touched you.”

“You—”

Anger stormed his eyes. “I had nay right!” He dropped his hands and stalked off.

Grief swept her. All he could see was his wrong, not the man devastated by loss. Marie ran in front of him, forcing him to halt. He glared at her, but she held her ground. “I understand,” she said, her mind still warring against the horrors around her. She pressed her fingers on the side of his face, his tears warm against her hand.

Colyne flinched, but he didn't move away. “You understand naught.”

“I believe you are a man of great compassion. People you love have been murdered. You grieve. How could you not?” Marie stroked the back of her hand against his cheek as tears streamed down her face. She'd not believed the situation could worsen, but it had. “You knew them.”

He turned away, but not before she witnessed him wiping away his tears.

“Oh, Colyne.” She stepped closer, unsure how to console this compassionate warrior, or if she even could.

“I would never hurt you.”

“I know.”

“Let me help you.”

His gaze searched hers. “Why is it you are never what I expect to find?” He closed his eyes and then drew her against him.

For a long while he held her, with their hearts torn, their grief a living thing, but in their unity they found strength.

And within his embrace, Marie understood that the situation between them had changed. After this moment, no matter how much each wished to remain distant from the other, they could never be strangers.

However much the thought of leaving him hurt, she found solace in the memories she would have of this gallant man, a man of honor, determination, and great compassion. He protected those he loved. Wept for those he lost. Compared to Colyne, those who had pursued her in the past, men whose greed dictated their lives, were but empty shells of humanity.

He brushed a tear from her face. “Come.” He turned toward the devastation.

Without question, she followed.

For the next several hours they worked to bury his friends, the crackle and hissing of burning wood as the fire raged, a macabre backdrop.

With a blackened shovel, Colyne heaved the next pile of dirt atop the shallow grave. Emotions choking him, he forced himself to continue. By God, his friends would be buried with honor.

A short distance away, Alesia walked toward the gutted crofter's hut, now a charred skeleton consumed by flames. She halted. A gasp escaped her as she collapsed to her knees, and her hand closed around the shredded remains of a doll. She clutched the doll against her chest, great heaving sobs wracking her slender frame.

Understanding her grief, fighting his own demons, Colyne dropped the shovel and strode to her. He knelt at her side.

Without hesitation she turned into his arms. “This is all so senseless.”

“Aye, 'tis.” The bloody bastards. There were nay reasons good enough for this senseless slaughter. But that wouldna stop King Edward in his quest to conquer Scotland.

“There now, lass.” Colyne rocked her in his arms, her tears warm upon his neck, and he found comfort in holding her, a comfort he'd nae experienced since Elizabet.

An ache washed through him at thoughts of Elizabet, and he shoved them aside. She was out of his life, forever. As for Alesia, through the sharing of a tragedy, they'd formed the beginnings of a friendship, one that would last days at most.

She sniffed. “I am sorry.”

The path of tears trailing through the dirt and soot on her face made his heart ache, but the determination in her eyes left him in awe. Surrounded by death, like a beacon in the night, this one woman offered hope that he could push aside his anger and grief over losing those he loved, including Elizabet.

Mayhap he'd been correct when he'd first seen Alesia and thought her a fairy from the Otherworld. “You have naught but earned my pride,” he said, humbled by this woman who could give so much of herself for a country nae her own.

Another tremor shook her, but she didna turn away beneath his probing gaze.

Colyne stroked his thumb across a smudge on her cheek.
Who are you?
he wanted to ask. He believed she had nae walked into his life without reason. Whatever the cause, fate's hand had played a role. More so as this was the second time she'd aided him. He looked down.

Her fingers clutched the ragged doll. Her breath hitched. “This must have belonged to the little girl. I—”

“Shh.” His hand trembled as he withdrew the battered toy and laid it within an unscathed bowl. He wrapped her fingers within his own. “Come.” He stood and drew her with him. “Little more remains to be done. Gather your belongings and then refill the water pouch. I will take care of the rest.”

She hesitated, her expression grief-stricken, but the resolve to continue as strong.

“There is an outcrop of rocks at the edge of the forest. Once I am through, I will meet you there. Please, I must finish this alone.” Their burial a final farewell to friends whom he'd loved.

Alesia nodded. Her breath hitched as she turned and walked away.

As she neared the forest, Colyne reached down and picked up the blackened doll. With the scorched shreds of the child's toy in his hand, he stared at the woman who for the first in a long time had made him think of another besides Elizabet. Why? When Alesia slipped from view, on a rough sigh he set the doll in the bowl and then immersed himself in finishing the last of the grisly tasks.

 

Marie scanned the forest as Colyne led her through the thick weave of trees. She inhaled the clean, sweet scent of the earth, rich with a blend of bracken, mint, sorrel, and other familiar herbs. After the stench of death, she savored every untainted breath.

She stepped over a stone, and then glanced toward Colyne. His skin was pale and his face taut with grief. With how close he'd been to the deceased, it would be a long while before the scars of this day could begin to heal. She couldn't ease his burden, but mayhap she could take his mind from his pain. Or at least try. “Where are we going?”

He stared straight ahead.

She continued on, hoping to strike up a conversation. “You grew up within these woods?”

Colyne looked over, his eyes clearing a degree, but sorrow lingered. “Aye. At times we would sneak out when we were supposed to be practicing with our swords.”

“We?”

“My sisters, my brother, and I.”

“Your sisters were allowed to practice with swords?” She could envision her father's fury if she dared such. Not to mention the commotion among the gentry such a brazen act would incite.

A shimmer of a smile curved his mouth, then faltered. “Do you find the idea of a woman learning to defend herself provincial?”

“Not at all.” The idea of wielding a blade held its own appeal. “It is only that I have never met a man who would let his daughters train with weapons.”

“You never met my father.” Pride reflected in his eyes. “He was an unconventional man.”

Indeed, if anything like his son. “Your mother approved of this activity?” she asked, curious to learn more about his family.

Grief shadowed his face. “She never had a say. While giving birth to my youngest sister, she died.”

Her chest squeezed. “I am sorry.”

“ 'Twas a long time ago. I barely remember her.”

“But you loved her.”

A stick snapped beneath his boot. He glanced toward the leaves trembling overhead in the late-afternoon breeze. “Aye.”

The trees began to thin, and she hurried forward and fell into step at his side. “My mother died in a fever when I was young. I have no memory of her, not even the faintest gesture or the tenderness of her voice. Only the whimsical memories my father shares when he speaks of her. Yet, I find myself missing her greatly.”

Tenderness softened the sadness in his eyes. “ 'Twould seem we have something in common.” The rush of water drew his attention. “We are almost there.”

As she walked, the churn of water intensified; around her, a bed of moss cushioned the ground. The downy softness gave beneath her slippers.

“Watch out.” Colyne caught a broken limb bent low before her and moved the branch aside. He gestured her forward.

“My thanks.” Marie stepped from beneath the branch's shadow and halted. With reverence, she took in her surroundings.

Illuminated by the golden rays of the late afternoon sun, a stream spilled over a shallow ledge and poured into the small loch. On the far bank, where the current slowed, a bed of reeds peeked up, while lilies, along with the moss and yellow flowers, nestled amidst a cloud of heather to rim the water's edge.

Emotion welled in her throat as she turned. “ 'Tis wondrous.”

As he watched her, Colyne's eyes softened, then he gave a rough sigh. “ 'Tis. And necessary. After this day, we both need to bathe.” He strode to a plant thick with pink flowers and tore off several leaves, returned, and handed them to her. “ 'Tis soapwort. Crush them as you wash. They will produce a lather and help remove this day's grime.” A hint of a dimple touched his mouth. “As a healer, I believe you would be knowing that.”