An Oath Taken (19 page)

Sir Jon was the first to spot them as they entered the great hall. He turned to the throng milling about. “Pray silence for Sir Nicholas Beringar, Castellan of Ravenmoor Castle.” His deep voice echoed throughout the large chamber.

Nicholas nodded as they walked past Sir Jon, but Elizabet could only nod. For once in her life words escaped her. The clack of their leather boots upon the wooden dais was like the beat of a drum, as if she marched toward the gallows.

At the center of the wooden platform, he halted. As if in slow motion, he turned with her toward the curious eyes of his knights. Nicholas's gaze swept over the audience. “Since my arrival I have seen Ravenmoor change, become a castle I am proud of. Negotiations to bring peace along our borders are well underway. But I stand before you this day and am honored to introduce you to a woman whose spirit is the essence of the Scots.”

“She looks like the lad, Thomas,” came a yell from the back.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a storm-fed wave, but their unsure eyes never left her.

And Elizabet wished the ground would open and swallow her up.

“That is because 'tis the guise she used to fool us all,” Nicholas answered, his voice strong and proud.

A hush fell over the crowd, but her heart swelled with love. For her he'd braved humiliation.

As if daring any challenge, Nicholas scanned the crowd. “Though her means to gain entry into Ravenmoor Castle was extreme, her daring was to rescue her people locked within the dungeon.” He turned toward her, pride warm in his heart. “I am honored to introduce to you Lady Elizabet Armstrong from Wolfhaven Castle which borders us on Scottish soil. Until recently, her brother, Lord Terrick, was held prisoner within Ravenmoor.”

Grumbles of the earl's release ran through the crowd like the hum of angry bees.

 

Nicholas again held his hand up to silence any protest, proud of how Elizabet held her own when most women would have fled or never dared to enter. Aye she was nervous, but if he hadn't known her so well, he would never have seen it. “I released Lord Terrick because I believed his imprisonment to be unfair. He and his people were provoked by foul means.”

“Sir Renaud said Lord Terrick was a reiver and murderer,” a large man near the front called out. “A man nae to be trusted.”

He held the man's gaze. “Sir Renaud's views are not my own,” Nicholas replied. The last thing he would wish is to put Elizabet through this hell, but he would end untoward speculation here and now. She deserved that and more.

Nicholas took a step closer to the crowd; Elizabet remained by his side. “At my initial arrival, one had only to look around to see the shambles Sir Renaud had allowed Ravenmoor Castle to fall into. Upon further investigation, I discovered gross errors in the ledgers accounts. In addition, the previous castellan's actions toward his people and the border Scots have been cruel and highly improper, conduct I have reported to the king.” He curled his hand upon the hilt of his blade and scanned the crowd, meeting his men's gaze. “If anyone finds they cannot accept my decision, you are free to leave. But if you remain, I will tolerate naught but respect toward Lady Elizabet. Her actions, though extreme, were inspired by love and devotion to her brother. If given her situation, would your actions be as courageous?” His voice echoed through the room, cascading into silence.

Each of his knights remained.

Relief sifted through him. Though he could ill afford to lose a single man, he refused to have any remain who harbored ill feelings toward Elizabet or his decision this day. “Are there any other questions?”

Silence.

He nodded. “Then let us be about our tasks.” As he led Elizabet away, worry sifted through him. What would Lord Dunsten's reaction be once he found out Elizabet was staying within his home?

 

As the torches in the great hall illuminated the evening meal, Elizabet forced herself to swallow another bite of venison, thankful the day was over. She'd expected stronger resistance from the castellan's men to her presence within Ravenmoor Castle. Except for a few covert stares, nay more had been said. Their silence did nae erase the shock written upon their faces, nor their speculation. A lackwit could have deducted their belief—she was his mistress.

He asked you to marry him
.

Mayhap, but caught up in her desire, she'd given herself to Nicholas before the rites of marriage and disgraced her family's name.

Laying the dagger by the trencher, Elizabet took another bite and forced herself to chew the tender meat. However much she wanted to flee, she refused to give any within the great hall the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

Nausea churned in her stomach and she gave a covert glance at Nicholas, who sat at her side. With leisure, he sipped his wine as if he'd nae stood before his men, then the residents of the castle this day, and stated she was a woman and would remain as his guest for the next few days. Or the fact that after the meeting, he'd given her the responsibility of running the keep, normally the wife's task.

Oh, he was a sly one, claiming he needed her help as duties outside the keep required his attention. Though she'd agreed, once he returned she'd leave.

A lad approached and held up a bottle of wine. “More, Lady Elizabet?”

“Nay.”

The lad moved to Nicholas's side. “Wine, Sir Nicholas?”

The castellan nodded.

He refilled his cup then moved away.

Nicholas glanced over. “You are quiet this eve.”

She slanted him a glance. Curiosity shimmered in his eyes as well as determination. The hunter and she the prey. “I have naught to say.”

He arched a brow as a slow, challenging smile touched his lips. “ 'Tis a first.”

“You are reprehensible,” she charged in a fierce whisper.

“And you are beautiful.”

His flattering words softened her heart. She lifted her goblet and pretended interest in the wine, praying it would numb her body's traitorous response. How dare he undermine her anger with such ease, seduce her with such endearing charm. “I am tired and wish to go abed.”

His eyes darkened with desire.

Elizabet set down the goblet. “Alone.”

Pride shone in his expression. “You were wonderful this day, Elizabet. A lesser woman would have crumbled.”

She lifted her head with a stubborn tilt, nae wanting his praise or the satisfaction that came with his words. “I am a Scot.”

“That you are,” he said with reverence. “And a beautiful one at that.” He set his goblet aside and stood, then offered her his hand. “Let me escort you to your chamber. The day has been long and I am weary.”

Her hand trembled as she laid it within his palm, aware of those around them who watched, his words of escort offered for propriety. Once the castle had settled for the night, she would slip into his chamber.

His fingers closed around hers, and his eyes held hers as he drew her to her feet. “I would give my life to protect you. Never doubt that.”

And she didn't.

The hot August night embraced her as she entered his chamber hours later, the breeze sweet with the fragrance of heather, warm with a sultry promise. The soft orange glow melded with purple on the horizon.

Nicholas closed the chamber door behind her. It shut with a muffled thud.

His bed loomed between them. Uncomfortable she walked to the window. The hushed song of the crickets filled the oncoming night. She tried to rid herself of thoughts of the rightness of this moment, the intimate solitude that bound them, the endless comfort she found in his arms, or of her desire to never leave. “I was wrong to come.”

Nicholas placed his hands on her shoulders, and she jumped. He turned her to face him. “What are you thinking?”

“Of leaving.”

“Liar.”

The layer of passion in his quiet accusation slid through her like a warm, honeyed mead. “We are nae wed. I should sleep in my room. By remaining here with you, I dishonor my family.” The last stumbled out, filled with the nervousness she'd withheld throughout the day. Now, with the night upon them, her fragile wall tumbled, exposing her soul.

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his dove-gray eyes never leaving hers. “Then marry me, Elizabet, for naught has ever felt so right.”

“Please . . .”

He slid the pad of his thumb over her lower lips, then lowered his mouth until he claimed hers in a tender kiss. “Tell me you do not want me,” he whispered, then skimmed his hands down the curve of her back, drawing her against him until their bodies fit tight.

She shuddered as he nuzzled her neck.

“Tell me now if you want to leave.”

Waves of need swept her, smothering the reasons she shouldna remain. “I—I canna.”

He nipped at the hollow of her neck then teased her with his tongue. “Come to bed. The hours will pass too quickly before you must slip to your chamber.” He captured her nipple through the fabric.

She moaned.

“Let me make love to you, Elizabet. You fulfill my every fantasy, drive me wild with desire.”

And she was lost. She was a fool. And she was in love.

 

Tiredness rolled through Nicholas as he again thumbed through page after page of the ledger, searching for an entry to prove Sir Renaud's deception. After a long and demanding day rebuilding walls and settling minor disputes, 'twould seem that he would discover only frustration, not answers within the previous castellan's records.

“Blast it!” He closed the leather-bound journal, sat back, and rubbed his brow. “I thought I would find some clue, but there is naught more than transactions one would find in any castle's ledger.”

Elizabet studied the jumbled entries on the yellowed pages. “What exactly did you hope to discover?”

Beyond the closed door of the chamber, a woman's muted laughter broke into his musings. The tempting smell of roasting meat for the evening meal and the scrape and shuffle of trencher tables being set up in the great hall echoed in the adjoining chamber.

He shoved the worn book away and stood. “There is evidence that I am missing about Sir Renaud's underhanded dealings.” With a frustrated sigh he paced the small room. Almost another full day had passed and yet they'd found naught more. When he walked to the desk again, he halted, staring at the thick-bound book he'd scoured for the last several hours. “I cannot explain why, but I believe proof is here, and for whatever reason, I am missing it.”

“You have gone through every page,” Elizabet said with understanding, “some twice.”

“And naught. Where is it? What is the fact that I am too blind to see? I thought mayhap there was another ledger, yet I have found none.” Another wave of tiredness swept over him and a dull throb began to pound at his temple.

“ 'Twill be time to eat soon,” Elizabet said. “There is little more that can be done this night.”

He stared at the ledger, the pages jumbling in his mind to a haze. The tallow candle sitting upon the desk sputtered. He glanced over. It had burned to a nub.

“Nicholas,” Elizabet softly urged. “As much as I, too, wish to find the answer, you are tired. 'Twill do nay good to continue this day. Please, put the ledger away.”

She was right. Any answers it held eluded him. Tomorrow, rested and fresh, he would review the pages again. Mayhap then he would unveil its secrets. He lifted the bound pages. The smell of old leather and frustration combined in an unsettling mix.

Ready for this day to end, he jerked open the bottom drawer, tossed the book inside, shoved it shut. Wood scraped then jammed. As before, the drawer became stuck about an inch from closing. “God's teeth!” He wrenched the drawer back open.

Elizabet gasped. “Pull the drawer farther out.”

Tiredness glazing his vision, he glanced up. “I was going to do that,” he muttered. “I am not blind.” The throbbing at his temple grew. “ 'Tis old and needs to be fixed.” Another problem he would take care of when time allowed.

She shook her head. “It may be old,” she said with excitement, “but whoever crafted it knew their trade.”

“Their trade?”

“We have a similar desk in my father's solar,” Elizabet explained, “and it has a secret compartment in the bottom to stow letters of importance.”

Stunned, he stared at the jammed ledger. “You mean the entire time, the other ledger was but inches away?”

“Aye.”

He jerked open the drawer, tossed the exposed ledger onto the desk. In a trice he'd emptied the layer of yellowed papers stacked beneath. Hope built as he skimmed his fingers along the bottom of the wooden panel. At the third corner, his thumb slid over an irregular indent.

“I found it!” He placed his finger into the slight gouge and pulled. Smooth as silk the drawer lifted away. A musty stench of time and an airless mix of old paper greeted him as he exposed the book within.

The second ledger.

He withdrew the brown, leather-covered pages. Parchment crinkled as he shoved the other book aside, then laid the aged binding on the desk. Praying it held the proof he sought, he opened the cover.

Sir Renaud's name lay sprawled boldly across the top, arrogance emblazoned in every stroke.

Nicholas thumbed through a couple of pages. The entries were neater than those logged in the daily ledger, with each describing a detailed account of Sir Renaud's deceit against the crown, and the depth of perfidy involved.

On the third page he paused. With meticulous clarity the entries listed an assault on a Scottish village, the atrocities committed, and the names of those involved.