An Oath Taken (13 page)

Furious that reivers would dare seek shelter on his soil, Nicholas nodded. “I will ride with you.” He nodded to his squire. “Thomas, tell Sir Jon to gather five men to ride with me, then prepare my mount.”

“Aye, Sir Nicholas.” His squire hurried away.

The earl followed the squire's progress for a moment then took in the churning sky. He grimaced. “Sir Nicholas, there is nay need for you to go out in this weather. It promises to be a nasty storm.”

“If the thieves are on Ravenmoor land,” Nicholas stated, “they are my responsibility.”

“'Twould be my own way as well,” Dunsten agreed. His horse snorted and shifted nervously. “Your assistance will be welcome. 'Tis time the reiving ended.”

“Indeed,” Nicholas replied, unsure why the man's agreement to his own principles left him unsettled.

As they rode from the gates of Ravenmoor the heavens opened. The long hours of riding over his land yielded naught except miles of mud, biting rain, and lashing wind. Cold soaked him to the bone.

At the top of the next hillock, Nicholas drew his mount to a halt and scanned the narrow valley. A river ran through the glen and widened near the center where it spilled into a lake. Shrub edged the pond with a stand of trees on one edge that led up to a large rowan tree shading the northern edge.

He continued his search over the lush green as the scent of wet leather and earth filled the air. Though the thunder had ceased several hours ago, the chilling rain continued to fall in the fleeting light. Before it grew too dark, they needed to start home.

Lord Dunsten guided his mount toward him in the soft turf. “With the heavy rains, any tracks that we could have trailed have been wiped away.”

“ 'Tis my belief as well.” He'd hoped to catch the thieves this day. 'Twould have stressed to those along the border his determination to end the struggles between them and bring peace. “Let us return to Ravenmoor Castle. I would offer you a hot meal and a warm bed for the night.”

“My thanks, Sir Nicholas.” Lord Dunsten studied him a moment. “The king chose wisely when he installed you as the castle's castellan.”

Nicholas stiffened, finding his comment far from holding praise. “My efforts to bring peace are those any knight loyal to King Edward would undertake.”

The earl raised a lazy brow, but his eyes remained as sharp as a hawk's. “Mayhap. But some would pursue a path more to their own reward.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “You speak of Sir Renaud?”

The noble shrugged. “How well does anyone truly know another?”

Nor, 'twould seem, would he reveal his relationship with the previous castellan. “Were you aware of any unlawful acts instigated by Sir Renaud?”

He ran his hand along his mount's withers. “I doubt King Edward is interested in a few misdeeds by one of his castellans or the reported death of a Scot, however achieved. His true interest is in gaining Scotland, regardless of the cost.”

“My king seeks peace and unity between our countries,” Nicholas stated.

A threadbare smile tainted with scorn touched Lord Dunsten's lips. “If you wish to believe so.”

“And what do you believe?” he asked, curious to discover what spawned such contempt toward his king. Regardless of the noble's words, Nicholas doubted Lord Dunsten's loyalty lay with anyone but himself.

The earl's eyes hardened. “I believe that each man has his price,” he said, his words calculated. “What is yours?”

How dare he try to buy him like a whore! Nicholas curled his hand around the hilt of his sword. “My loyalty is not bought and sold, but earned.”

Lord Dunsten laughed as if a bard had spun a jest. Though his eyes twinkled with mirth, mercilessness glittered beneath. “Sir Nicholas, you are a rare find in this callous time. Mayhap you will indeed achieve the peace Sir Renaud failed to obtain.”

His cynical response stroked Nicholas's temper. “There are still those who believe and fight for what is right.” That he had invited the earl to Ravenmoor for the night ate at him like maggots to a wound, but propriety forbade him to withdraw his offer. “The night is almost upon us. We must return to Ravenmoor Castle.”

Not waiting for an answer, Nicholas wheeled his mount and galloped for home, more than ready for the long and trying day to be at an end. Before the night ended, he would know his squire's secrets.

 

The bowls slipped from Elizabet's hands, spilling uneaten stew onto the battered kitchen table. Blast it. Ever since Nicholas's return and his subsequent announcement that Lord Dunsten would remain the night, her hard-won control had shattered.

As if worrying about the upcoming confrontation between her and Nicholas wasna enough? Somehow she'd managed to evade Dunsten, but there would be nay avoiding Nicholas. With the exception of exposing that she was a woman, she would tell the castellan the truth about knowing those from Wolfhaven Castle, or as much as possible.

The ache in her heart grew. As hard as it was to dwell upon the fact, their days together were numbered. If naught else, when she left Ravenmoor, at least she would do so with a measure of pride.

The weight of her worries smothered her. If only for a few minutes, she needed to escape. After wiping up the splattered broth from the floor and picking up the bowls, she tugged on her cape and slipped outside. Closing the door, she walked to the left of the steps and slipped into the shadows. With a weary exhale, Elizabet leaned against the chiseled stone.

Stars dotted the sky, as clear as bright. A full moon ascended on the horizon bathing the treetops in a silvery light. After the thunderstorms this day, the peace of the moment touched her.

“You play your role well.”

At Dunsten's cold words she whirled. Dread filled her as she stared at the morbid satisfaction etched in his expression. “I—”

“Elizabet,” he drawled, a thin smile curving his lips. “You do me a disservice to think you could fool me. Though I admit, I didna recognize you on my first visit.” He took a step toward her. The moonlight carved his face, partially shielded by the shadows, into a macabre blend of hard angles.

She stepped back, Dunsten's oath of revenge on her brother after he interceded in his bid for Elizabet's hand echoing in her mind. What was his true purpose here? A man like Dunsten did naught without a reason. “What do you want?”

With an apathetic sigh he studied the full moon rising in the east. Glancing toward her, his face softened, and he reached out and brushed his thumb against her cheek. “ 'Tis a lover's moon,” he said with a rich silkiness.

She jerked from his touch, startled by his unexpected advance. “What do you want? You know everyone here thinks I am a lad.”

His slow smile unnerved her further. “An intriguing situation, but then, you always seem to implicate yourself in, how shall we say, less than desirable circumstances.”

The bastard. “Like being here with you?”

The tenderness in his eyes curdled to anger. “ 'Tis nae the way to treat the man you are to wed.”

The crisp night air slithered across her flesh as bile rose in her throat. “I would never marry you!”

His ruthless gaze traveled up her body, from the tip of her deerskin boots to her cropped locks, before they locked on her eyes.

A shiver rippled through her.

“I do nae see where you have much choice.” The outline of his well-muscled form adorned with sword and dagger exposed a sinister portrayal of exactly how lethal his threat could be. “To begin with, Lady Elizabet, I could inform Sir Nicholas of your duplicity.”

“I . . .” Panic swept her. Nicholas couldna find out she was a woman. 'Twas hard enough preparing to leave without having to face the castellan's hatred as well. That would come soon enough.

“What would he think if he found out you are naught but a fraud?” he continued, voicing her worst fear. “He is an honorable man who values the truth.” He leaned closer. “As I am sure you are well aware.”

“I but tend to his horse, carve his meat, and other mundane chores,” she said with a nonchalance she didna feel. “I doubt his interest in a lad, or a woman for that fact, would cause him great concern.”

His soft laughter crawled up her spine as if a dull pin dragged. “For most 'twould nae matter if they were tended to by a gout-ridden spinster. But Sir Nicholas is nae most, is he? He is a man who values integrity.”

Her heart thundered. “I know nae what you are trying to say.”

“Aye you do. I am nae blind,” he hissed. “I saw the way your eyes followed him during the meal when you believed nay one watched. 'Tis a fancy you hold for him. And I have nay doubt of his anger if he were to learn of your treachery.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it. Everything he'd said was true. Nicholas appealed to her more than he should, because of his honor and desire to do what was right. And when he learned of her deception, he would be furious.

Lord Dunsten nodded as if pleased by her silence. “Then, there is your brother.”

“Giric—”

“Is locked inside Sir Nicholas's dungeon, and your father is dead.” He stepped forward and pressed his body tight against hers, effectively trapping her. “And the only thing keeping your brother alive is that Sir Nicholas believes Sir Renaud is involved with illicit dealings, and provoked your brother and family's attack.”

She tried to escape, but he caught her chin with his hand. “ 'Tis the truth!” But even as she said the words, she realized his implication. Repulsed, she glared at him. “But you would frame him, would you nae, twist facts to make my brother appear as if a murderer?”

“I will do whatever it takes to have you,” he said with slow menace. “This time nae your brother, or any other, will interfere with my plans to marry you.”

The air grew thin, hard to breathe. If she'd worried about the danger the earl's being here posed before, now she understood how much of a threat he could be. If given the opportunity, he would turn Nicholas against her, and then wrongfully manipulate circumstances to ensure Giric's death. She couldna allow either. Until her brother was set free, she must remain at Ravenmoor Castle to protect him.

“I willna marry you.” Her reply sounded feeble to her own ears, but somehow she would find a way to outwit him.

“Oh but you will.” With obnoxious confidence, Lord Dunsten reached out and lifted a cut lock. “Or Sir Nicholas will hate you and your dear brother will be dead.”

Pain shot through her as he jerked her forward; his lips hovered above hers. Bile rose in her throat. “Release me!”

“I will give you a fortnight to give me the answer I wish,” he said with deadly calm. “You are nae a fool, Elizabet. If nae for Sir Nicholas's sake, we both know you will do anything to save Giric.” He claimed her lips in a savage assault.

Furious, she fought him, but he overpowered her. After he'd bruised her lips in a punishing kiss, he released her.

She stumbled back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“A fortnight.” He turned on his heel and strode into the keep. With a jerk, he slammed the door closed behind him.

Dread crept through Elizabet as she leaned against the cold stone. She stared unseeing into the moon-filled night. A fortnight. It gave her little time, but somehow it would have to be enough. She would never marry Dunsten.

The bells of Compline tolled, and her heart sank. Nicholas. She still had to face him, and their confrontation would be anything but pleasant.

Steadying herself she turned and approached the door. At least for the moment Nicholas's anger was confined to believing she hid but a few paltry secrets from him.

God forbid if he discovered the truth.

D
unsten's threat echoed in Elizabet's mind as she halted before Nicholas's chamber. With a calming breath she entered, then pushed the door shut. The forged latch clicked into place like an executioner's blade. The scent of smoke tainted the chamber, and the fire blazing within the hearth doing little to warm the chill invading her.

“Thomas.”

With a start she turned.

The castellan stood by the window in an easy stance, but she caught the fury raging in his eyes. “Sir Nicholas?” Her breathless whisper carved the silence with an abrasive edge.

“Pour me a cup of wine.”

The icy quiet of his words unnerved her further. Her hands trembled as reached for the bottle. The ruby liquid sloshed over the side as she filled the goblet. She glanced over.

Nicholas was staring out the window into the night.

With a hard swallow, she returned the bottle to the small table.

At the soft click of the glass upon wood, he remained facing the darkened skies.

Nicholas's controlled stance unnerved her more than if he stalked the room in a caustic rage. His bearing represented the stalwart man she'd come to know, a man who knew his purpose with unnerving clarity. And this night as he stood with the quiet intensity of a warrior preparing for a siege, 'twas nae a castle he sought to conquer, but her secrets.

She brought him the wine. “Here, Sir Nicholas.”

In silence, he took the goblet. His muscles rippled with a sleek grace as he lifted the cup, underscoring her original assessment of him being a formidable enemy when she'd first encountered him from the bough of the rowan tree.

Distant voices of the guards echoed from the bailey. A wolf howled in the distance, a rough, lonely sound. The castellan continued to stare into the night.

Why didna he say something? Nicholas turned, and his gaze bore into hers.

Dread filled her. The many untruths she'd spun had brought her to this shameful moment. And he detested lies. If she exposed her true identity now, even if she revealed her reasons, she'd deceived him and he would hate her. The deed was done. She would stand by her original goal, to free her brother and men. Once they were released, she would leave. Then, Thomas, the lad Nicholas had come to know, would vanish forever.

 

The pounding at the back of Nicholas's neck grew as he scoured Thomas's face, reading the lad's indecision as well as the anguish. His own state of mind was little better. After the disturbing conversation with Lord Dunsten this afternoon, the last thing he wished for was another confrontation this day, but the time had come for secrets to end.

“Tell me the truth,” Nicholas said.

Distress flashed in Thomas's emerald-green eyes.

Nicholas laid his hand upon the roughened stone of the sill. “You know Lachllan, the steward of Wolfhaven Castle?”

After a brief hesitation, Thomas nodded.

“And Lord Terrick?”

“Aye.” His answer fell out in a quiet hush, hinting at more than a passing acquaintance.

Secrets,
his mind echoed. Nicholas curled his hand into a fist. “How?” The wood on the fire shifted. Hot embers rebelled with a loud snap.

His squire drew a deep breath, slowly exhaled. “I used to live there.”

Of all the answers he'd expected, the lad living in Wolfhaven Castle was not one of them. He'd suspected Thomas of reiving their cattle and being caught, then punished. As a criminal, 'twould have explained the lad's nervousness around the men and the Wardens of the Western Marches as well.

His squire looked away. “I tend to be a bit headstrong.” Thomas slanted a nervous look toward Nicholas, and a blush crept up his cheeks. “To be a bit set in my ways.”

Set in his ways? An understatement. In the short duration Thomas had lived beneath his care, his strong will had laid siege to every aspect of Nicholas's well-controlled life.

“At times my stubbornness gained the attention of the steward, and too often, the lord's son, Giric.”

With ease he could envision Lord Terrick pushed to the brink by this wisp of a lad. In only a few days, how often had he experienced the same frustration?

“Once, in a fit of temper, I snuck a burr under Giric's saddle.” A flicker of a smile touched his lips, then faded. “He was angry as a boar, and I canna blame him, but at times he is as pigheaded as they come.” He shrugged and his thin frame drooped. Any glint of rebellion vanished. “ 'Twas but one of my many exploits.”

“And Lord Terrick tolerated this?”

Guilt spread over his face. “I didna stay around to find out.”

“So you ran?”

“ Aye.”

Afraid a powerful and respected man like Lord Terrick would seek him out, and with nowhere to go, Thomas had turned to a life of reiving. Until the lad had tried to rob him.

Nicholas grimaced. The leather of his sheath creaked as he set his hand upon his blade. Steel, cool and firm, lay against his fingers; a sword designed to defend as well as protect. His temper began to ebb. His squire's admission answered many questions, and explained the haunted eyes and the fear, but it also emphasized the lad's need to learn to make wise decisions.

“ 'Tis better to face your mistakes then flee from them,” Nicholas said. “Wiser still to think before you act irrationally.” Which is why when this was settled he would send Thomas away. The lad needed guidance, but not from him.

Irritation flickered on his squire's face. “Think you I didna try? As often as I am wise, I am a fool. For as my own mother stated”—his voice broke—“ 'tis my heart that rules my actions.”

Passion. It emanated from the lad in waves. Terrified by the longing Thomas inspired, Nicholas refocused on their discussion. “Where is your mother?” His squire's face paled, and he wished he could recall his harsh words. “Is she dead?”

“Aye,” Thomas whispered, the words forlorn.

“And your father as well?”

Thomas nodded and looked away.

A sense of hopelessness for the lad infused him. Blast it. “Is there anyone kin or friend you can ask for help?”

His squire turned, his eyes dry, filled with anger. “If I had another option, do you nae think I would have chosen it?” He brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto his cheek and his emerald eyes grew fragile. “In but days you offered me pride, hope, and respect, more than my da offered me my entire life. For that I thank you. Neither do I expect you to understand what I needed. You never were supposed to.” A sad smile touched his mouth. “But you did.”

The tension between them shifted, became personal. Nicholas silently cursed.

“As I said before, I didna want to like you, but now I do, too much,” Thomas finished in a harsh rasp, the regret of his words tangible as if torn from his heart.

Nicholas swallowed hard and stared out the window. The full moon spilled across the moors in a surreal glow. A dense mist hung over the land as enchanting and as alluring as Thomas.

His emotions crumbled and he clung to one, the overwhelming urge to protect. “There is much you need to learn, but 'tis not my expertise that would serve you best. On the morrow I am sending a missive to my brother, the Earl of Carridon, to request he continue your training.” He didn't turn at the lad's sharp intake, but stared unseeing across the rugged terrain. Though he'd anticipated the lad's distress, it still hurt. “Once I receive confirmation, you will depart. I expect you to depart within a fortnight for his home, Raedwulf Castle, which is located on the northeast border of England. My brother will ensure that you are given shelter and continue your training.”

“Why?”

At his squire's pained whisper, Nicholas turned, hurting inside at the devastation on Thomas's face and wanting him with his every breath. He remained silent. Let the lad believe his reasons were based on the secrets he'd kept from him. “Considering the circumstance,” Nicholas finally answered, “ 'tis for the best.”

 

The self-condemnation in Nicholas's voice tore Elizabet apart. Though his mind saw a lad, his body sensed the woman. If only she could explain, but she'd already said too much. And his noble act to want to protect her from himself only endeared him to her more. “If 'tis your wish.”

“ 'Tis.”

With a heavy heart, she walked across the room to make her pallet.

The soft scuff of the castellan's boots echoed into the silence as he moved up behind her.

She remained still, afraid if she faced him she'd admit everything.

Tense silence hung between them, then he released a frustrated sigh. “I have an errand to see to. Do not wait up for me.”

A lump grew in her throat. “Aye.”

“Thomas . . . I never meant to hurt you.”

Silence.

Several moments later, wood scraped as he pulled the door shut behind him.

Hurt? A pale feeling compared to love. Overwhelmed by emotion, Elizabet knelt on the cold stone. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sobbed, tears falling until they refused to come. Soon she would leave. When she had disappeared he would be angry, but with the passage of time he would forget her. But never would she forget him.

A few days remained to spend by his side, time she would forever cherish. And in that time, she would figure out a way to free her men. Then, she would go. 'Twas best to let it end this way.

 

The candle sputtered at Nicholas's side, casting long shadows into the small chamber as he penned the missive to his brother. Finished, he set the quill aside and lifted the parchment. Sipping his wine, he reread the letter asking for Hugh's assistance. A simple message. Although the request was anything but.

Laying the yellowed parchment upon the desk, he rolled it tight, then sealed it with heated wax. Before the wax cooled, he pressed the face of his ring into the thickening gel, then set the missive aside.

Exhaustion washed over him. He should rest, but he hesitated at the idea of returning to his chamber and Thomas. He rubbed his eyes, wishing the missive was long sent and his squire was already ensconced within his brother's care; then his life would return to normal and he would again have peace.

As if he bloody believed that!

Nicholas shoved back his chair, stood, and paced the small confines. He doubted distance, much less time, would smother his growing feelings toward the lad. And with his emotions tangled, 'twould be foolish to return to his room.

Muttering an oath he sat at the desk, withdrew the castle's ledger, and flipped past his own neat entries to Sir Renaud's narrow scribbles. If he could not attain rest or sanity of mind, he could at least search for proof of the previous castellan's smuggling.

The scent of tallow filled the small chamber as he scanned page after page. Grit grew in his eyes and the poorly blurred notations swam before him. Nicholas glanced at the half-burned taper then back to the many unread pages left to review.

Thus far, all he'd found was documentation of the accounts of the castle's daily expenditures, the wine drunk, bread eaten, oats fed to the horses, along with a long list of other used goods.

The final entry on the page before him recorded a visit by Lord Dunsten. Along with the number of his household staff, including horses that traveled with him, the inscription ended with an onerous remark, of how
it was the last day of feeding the heathen lot
.

Intrigued, especially in light of Lord Dunsten's subtle proposition to him, he marked the location of this entry then moved on to the next page.

A strand of raven black hair lay caught within the crevice.

With an irritated sigh he pulled the silken wisp free and brushed it away. For a moment, like a fairy's wing, it became illuminated by the flame's golden glow. Then it slowly spiraled to the floor.

What was he bloody thinking? With a curse, Nicholas returned his attention to the ledger as pleased by the thoroughness of the entries as he was frustrated. With painstaking attention, he scanned page after page. As he reached to rub his brow, the candle sputtered. He glanced over.

A thumb's width of wax remained.

Except for the personal comments on Lord Dunsten's stay, he had found naught more. A nagging feeling persisted, insisting that he'd missed something significant.

As he sat back, an ache built in his head. Nicholas rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep. Though only a few hours of the night remained, he would try to rest.

With a sigh, he closed the thick, leather-bound book, slid it into the drawer, then pushed it closed.

Wood scraped, then the ledger stuck two-thirds the way in.

Blast it! He jerked open the drawer, straightened the book, then shoved it closed. This time the drawer slid neatly into place.

Cramped muscles screamed as he stood. He flexed his fingers and stretched his back, more than ready for bed. Lifting the near-gutted taper, he departed.

The faint odor of cooked meat and spilled ale greeted him as he stepped into the great hall. The snores of knights bedded down for the night echoed around him. Hounds lay amongst the rushes, and several raised their heads as he passed.

With quiet steps, Nicholas headed up the turret. Once he'd rested he would review the ledger again and try to discover what he had missed. At the moment his brain was too fogged for logic.

 

Jagged rows of early morning sunlight slanted across the curtain wall as Nicholas rode into the keep with the king's courier at his side. He scanned the darkened entry to the stable and frowned, his lack of sleep having already left him on edge. He didn't need to be chasing down his squire as well.