An Oath Taken (12 page)

Dangerous in more ways than he knew, Elizabet silently agreed. She'd almost compromised all she'd sought to gain. Until Giric was free from Ravenmoor Castle, he wasna truly safe. “I will use greater care.” In silence, she headed down the turret.

The great hall was a buzz of activity as she entered. Several families had moved back into the castle during the last week, the slow trickle she was confident due to word of Nicholas's intent to rebuild Ravenmoor as well as bring peace along the border. From his discussion with Giric, a peace that would hopefully last.

“Thomas, fetch me a trencher and some ale,” Nicholas said.

“Aye.” She hurried away, sure after the flash of desire she'd witnessed in his gaze, he questioned his morals. The attraction between them was undeniable. For a man like Nicholas that fact would be a burden unto itself.

But with her brother agreeing to assist Nicholas to uncover the truth, surely only a short while should remain before Giric was freed and she could leave and shed her guise. The unrest along the borders would end, and a measure of peace would fall upon their lands.

And she would never see Nicholas again.

Shaken, she halted at the entry to the kitchen and glanced back. She should be happy, thrilled at the prospect, but emptiness filled her heart.

Nicholas made his way to the dais, his steps slow, his expression intense.

As if she didn't understand his confusion? The bond that had grown between them was as unexpected as unwelcome. She'd never meant to want him, but from the moment she'd entered Ravenmoor Castle, 'twould seem destiny had carved its own path.

And when she left, it would hurt him, sever the tentative trust he believed they'd reached. A relationship under any other circumstances she would cherish. How would Nicholas feel if he learned the truth?

Betrayed.

And he would hate her.

How could he do anything but? At every turn he'd given her his trust. And he'd nae only offered her a position within the castle, but believing him a lad with an abused past, he had taken the extra step and tried to become more than a mentor, but a friend.

From the short time in his company, if nothing else, she'd learned he valued honesty. And she'd repaid him with deceit. When she'd first agreed to be his squire, how could she have known of the attraction between them?

Moving to the corner of the kitchen, avoiding the women working to prepare this night's fare, she grabbed a goblet and filled it with wine.

What did it matter now? The deed was done. 'Twas too late to change anything now.

Unless Nicholas discovered the truth.

T
he savory aroma of roasted venison and onions filled the air as Nicholas drained the cup of mulled wine. The spiced liquid slid down his throat in a warm glide. At his side his squire shifted, and guilt sliced through him. On a silent curse, he set his goblet on the table, shoved his trencher away. As if he could bloody eat? On the stairs he'd meant to tease Thomas, but at some point their easy banter had turned into something more.

With each passing day he sensed the change between them. At first, he'd owed the easy manner growing between them to camaraderie, to a bonding between men. But after today's events on the stairs . . . Nicholas closed his eyes and exhaled. For that brief moment on the steps, what had existed between them fit no description he would willingly give.

“More wine?” Thomas asked.

Nicholas opened his eyes, wary and at odds with himself. He nodded.

Without meeting his gaze, Thomas filled the goblet, then stepped away.

Nicholas lifted the cup, drained it. Whatever bond was growing between them must stop. 'Twould destroy the trust he sought to nurture. Mayhap 'twould be best if he sent Thomas to his brother's to finish his apprenticeship.

Damn this entire situation. And damn him. He'd taken in the lad to offer him a chance. So what in Hades was happening to him? When his squire had stumbled in the stairwell, he'd feared for his life, but when he'd held Thomas in his arms . . . God's teeth. 'Twas the second time in days when with Thomas, he'd been overcome by this unexplainable need.

A pounding started in the back of his head, promising to grow to an unbearable throb. God's teeth, 'twas a convoluted mess.

Lord Terrick's question of his adherence to the code of chivalry echoed in his mind. Mayhap the noble had discerned his attraction toward Thomas, actions that indeed betrayed those inscribed within the very code he'd pledged to withhold. For the most important oath of a knight forbid him from ever bringing harm to those beneath his protection.

He swallowed hard, his decision made. This night he would pen a missive to his brother, Hugh, and request that he sponsor the lad. Within a month Thomas would be gone, a move best for all involved.

“Sir Nicholas,” a knight called from the entry of the great hall.

He glanced up, and the movement sent a stab of pain through his head. Served him well for the drink he'd imbibed last night.

“The steward from Wolfhaven Castle, Lachllan MacDouglas, has arrived and requests to speak with you. He awaits you in the courtyard.”

With their earl held within his castle, Nicholas had expected the steward's arrival. 'Twould seem word of his intent to seek peace along the borders was being passed. The meeting with the Wardens of the Western Marches had served its purpose. Now, to ensure that with the groundwork laid, he could nurture it to provide peace in the days to come.

“My thanks.” Nicholas turned toward Thomas.

At his glance, the lad's face paled, and he took a step back.

Blast it! This was his fault. He shoved to his feet. “Come.” Nicholas strode past, needing to escape the confines of the keep. The last thing he wanted was for Thomas to cower at his presence, but after his untoward actions in the turret, what had he expected?

Sunlight peeked through the cloud-filled sky as Elizabet followed Nicholas across the courtyard. From the darkening clouds to the west, a storm was moving in. As if she didna have her own tempest brewing?

She should have expected Lachllan's appearance. Caught between her goal to find Giric and trying to keep her growing feelings toward Nicholas at bay, she'd set aside her steward's forbidding her to come here. From the anger in her mentor's weathered blue gaze as he stood with several knights from her castle and watched her approach, how could she, even for a moment, have dismissed his fury?

Nicholas halted before her steward.

Anxious, she stopped beside the castellan, opposite to where Lachllan stood.

“Sir Nicholas Beringar,” the steward said, his gaze hard and unyielding. “I am Lachllan MacDouglas, steward of Wolfhaven Castle.”

Expression grim, Nicholas nodded. “I expected you. I regret to inform you that your lord died within the dungeon before I was notified of his presence.”

Only the slight waver of the steward's breath betrayed his unyielding stature. “And his son?”

“He lives,” Nicholas replied.

Relief flickered across the steward's face. “Will I be allowed to see him?”

The castellan paused as if weighing his request, and Elizabet held her breath, praying that he would.

“Indeed.” The castellan glanced at her. “Thomas, see if Lord Terrick is awake.”

“Aye, Sir Nicholas.” Elizabet stole one last look at her mentor before she ran toward the keep. She took the castle steps two at a time, trying to ignore her emotions as she passed the curve in the turret where Nicholas had held her a short while before. At the second floor, she hurried toward the chamber.

At her approach, the guard blocked her path.

“Sir Nicholas requests that I am to check if Lord Terrick is awake,” she rushed out, “as he has a visitor.”

The guard stepped aside.

Wind tumbled through the window as she entered the chamber, the air slightly chilled and filled with the taste of rain. One last sliver of sunlight flickered through the chamber then faded. The murky light seeping into the room enhanced the somber ambiance of this dreary setting.

As she crossed to his bed, she found Giric's eyes closed and his breathing even. A shiver ran through her at how close she'd come to losing him. “Sleep well, Giric.” She turned toward the door. Lachllan would be far from pleased that he would have to wait to see her brother, but 'twas little to accept when, without proper care, he could have died.

“Elizabet.”

At Giric's voice, she turned. “Lachllan has arrived and wants to speak with you.”

He searched her face. Anger warred with his obvious fatigue. “You must leave Ravenmoor Castle.”

“I
need
to inform Sir Nicholas you are awake.”

His gaze narrowed. “If you do nae leave the castle this day, I am going to have Lachllan charge you with thieving and haul you back to Wolfhaven Castle.”

Panic swept her. “You wouldna dare.”

“God's teeth, Elizabet, why are you being so stubborn? With each moment you remain on English soil, you are putting your life in danger.”

“Because,” she replied, her voice softening, “you need me.”

His jaw tightened. “You heard the castellan,” he whispered, his tone harsh. “When he discovers the truth about Sir Renaud, I will be free. There is nay reason for you to remain.”

“What of our men locked within his dungeon? And what if the castellan doesna release you?”

At the latter he arched a brow. “What in God's name is that supposed to mean?”

The last thing she wanted was to make him worry further. “Giric, I must go. Nicholas is expecting me.”

“Nicholas?”

At the hard burr edging his voice she cringed. Mary's will, she'd used the castellan's familiar name! Understanding registered in her brother's eyes as she backed up a step and she wished she could recall her words.

“What is he to you?” Ice culled his words.

“The knight whom I serve.” Her voice trembled but thankfully didna break.

Anger frosted his gaze. “ 'Tis not what I asked and you bloody know it.”

“Please.”

The anger on his face crumbled to disbelief. “Merciful God, you care for him.”

“Aye.” She swallowed hard, the price of needing a man like Nicholas higher than she'd ever imagined. “Giric, he is an honorable man.” Elizabet held up her hand as her brother opened his mouth to speak. “Say nay more. I must go.” Heart pounding, she turned and fled.

As she stepped from the keep, wind, ripe with the scent of rain, swirled around her. She glanced up. Thick, blackened clouds churned overhead. In the distance, lightning cut through the ominous sky. Seconds later, thunder rumbled as if a catapult fired.
Please let this nae be an omen.
With a shiver, she headed toward the men.

 

Nicholas nodded in agreement at the steward's last comment, and noted Mac Douglas's glance toward his squire at his approach. A hint of recognition along with anger flashed in the steward's eyes before it disappeared. So he knew the lad.

Thomas halted at his side.

He turned to his squire. “Is Lord Terrick awake?”

“Aye,” Thomas replied, breathless. His shot a nervous look toward the steward then back to Nicholas. “Though he is a bit sleepy from the herbs the healer gave him.”

“My thanks.” Nicholas nodded to the steward. “Your men will remain here, and you will accompany me to his chamber.”

Lachllan nodded and followed him as he headed toward the keep.

A short while later Nicholas leaned back against the cool, stone wall near the window as Lord Terrick and the steward spoke. Throughout the men's exchange he also kept watch of his squire who lingered near the door as if he wished to bolt. In addition, though covert, he noted not only Lachllan's covert glances toward the lad, but Terrick's as well.

Unease rippled through him. He glanced toward his squire, and found Thomas watching him.

Guilt flashed in Thomas's eyes, and he looked away.

Blast it, what in bloody Hades was going on? His discussion two days past with Thomas reared its ugly head. He'd known the lad withheld something from him, but with the Wardens of the Western Marches in residence, he'd been sidetracked. With them gone, naught would interrupt him. This night, once alone in his chamber, he would find out!

Lachllan's muffled cough pulled him from his brooding. He turned to the find the steward watching him with curiosity. As much as he longed to ask him or Terrick if they knew the lad, the answers he sought would come from their source—his squire.

Nicholas pushed away from the wall and walked to the steward. “I will escort you out,” he stated, leaving no room for question.

Thomas's eyes widened as he passed.

He remained silent. Let his squire worry, he would learn this night that secrets brought their own consequence.

Fat, cool splotches of rain slapped Nicholas as he led the steward from the keep. “You are welcome to remain until the storm passes,” he said, noting his squire stiffen at the offer.

Lachllan drew up the hood over his head. “My thanks, Sir Nicholas. 'Tis growing late, and best if I leave now.”

He nodded, understanding the man's reserve. Until he released the earl, a true bond of peace between them would not exist.

Lightning raced across the sky and thunder shattered in its wake as they crossed the courtyard toward Terrick's knights. As they reached the stable, a horn sounded at the gates.

“Lord Dunsten's banner is on the horizon,” a guard called, his message tattered within a gust of wind.

'Twould appear his day would be wrought with meetings from the Scots. Nicholas nodded to the steward. “I look forward to our meeting again. Mayhap on the next visit, 'twill be to release Lord Terrick.”

Weathered blue eyes leveled on him. “ 'Tis my hope as well.”

The clatter of hooves echoed from the drawbridge.

Curious as to the reason for the Earl of Dunststen's visit, Nicholas faced the portcullis.

Lord Dunsten and a small band of men cantered into view. Inside the courtyard, the powerful earl and his men slowed their mounts to a walk, then drew to a halt before Nicholas. “Sir Nicholas.” He glanced toward the steward. Hazel eyes narrowed. “MacDouglas.”

The steward's weathered gaze grew cautious, tinged with dislike. “Lord Dunsten.”

Lightning split the sky and thunder exploded with a vicious crack.

Intrigued, Nicholas watched the tense interaction. In a country on the brink of war where every Scot counted in their need to unite, what would cause such dissent between the two Scots? If given a choice, from their mutual distrust, he would deduct the cause as personal. Yet another puzzle to solve. For now he would deal with the ones within his grasp.

Lachllan turned toward Nicholas. “Until next time, Sir Nicholas.” He mounted, then cantered from the castle, his men riding in his wake.

After a quick glance into the blackened sky to check on the approaching storm, Nicholas focused his attention on the earl. “What brings you to Ravenmoor Castle on such an adverse day?”

The earl scowled. “Several of my cattle were stolen early this morning. We tracked the reivers onto Ravenmoor land. In a show of good will, I would gain permission before conducting a search.”