An Oath Taken (20 page)

Page after page, crimes, often vicious in nature against England and Scotland, were listed in macabre detail with perverse indifference. As with every other raid, Lord Dunsten's name accompanied those who'd ridden at his side.

Anger crawled in his gut at the previous castellan's audacity; so sure he would never be caught, but these pages exposed the full extent of his treachery.

As Nicholas continued to sift through the yellowed pages, he noted a pattern. Twice a month a schedule was mapped out detailing locations of shipments and deliveries, along with contacts for future runs.

Paper scraped against his fingers as he scoured the notations. Several ports were listed over and again, obviously favored for the receipt of illegal goods, but that wasn't his biggest concern. The fishing village listed several times over on the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth was Terrick's final destination. He riffled through the pages, anxious to find the most recent annotation, cursing what he might find.

Foreboding filled him as he turned to the final annotation. He flipped back a page and skimmed up the parchment until he found the start of the last listed entry. The date, two days before the castellan's recorded death. The entry compiled a complete list of the next two months' deliveries with the date of the next arrival.

Tomorrow.

The destination—the fishing village on the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth.

He slammed the book shut, praying Terrick had become delayed in his travels. But he knew, from his brief time spent with the Scot, that Terrick was a man who finished what he started. Odds were at this very moment he rode toward the fishing village along the river Annan. In all probability, he had sent Elizabet's brother to his death.

His body shook with rage. Proof—he held it in his hands, but at this moment he would trade it without hesitation for a guarantee for Terrick's life.

“Nicholas, what is wrong?”

“ 'Tis here, all of it,” he stated, the words thick and bitter in his throat.

She gave a slow nod as her eyes searched his. “But there is something else.”

A hint of desperation edged her voice, and he longed to deny the fact. He released the leather journal, stood, and drew her into his arms. The kiss spoke of his love, his need, and of never wanting to hurt her.

Trembling, she pulled away. “Tell me.”

“A shipment of goods is due to arrive tomorrow at a fishing village along the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth.”

“What has that got to do with . . .” Her face paled. “ 'Tis Giric's destination?”

He nodded, hating that in a sense he had failed her. “ 'Tis the last location on the list that I gave him to seek information.” Nicholas rubbed his temple. “He was only supposed to ask questions, not be placed in danger,” he continued, his voice harsh with his battered thoughts, “but if Dunsten sees him—”

“He will kill him!”

Angst churned in his gut. “I must leave immediately to warn him.”

 

Fear sliced through Elizabet's heart for her brother, but the rawness of Nicholas's despair made her pause. “ 'Tis nae your fault.”

“I sent—”

“Nay. Your decision was made in good faith. You freed my brother, gave him a chance to prove his innocence.”

He stroked his thumb against her cheek, his gesture tender, his expression savage.

“If the conditions had been reversed,” she whispered, “Giric would have done the same.”

“That is not the point.” His face twisted in pain. “I do not want to hurt you. Ever.”

What if Nicholas reached Giric too late? What if he arrived in the midst of battle and was killed fighting to save her brother? And she realized that she was a fool to throw away a chance at love.

In the past she'd made decisions on impulse, her reasons to prove her worth. But she had grown. And she was wrong to compare Nicholas to her father or any other person in her life. He loved her for who she was. To doubt his love, to nae trust her own love to be strong enough, and to even walk away without a fight for what they had, was wrong. If Nicholas would still have her, she would give him what before she had only dared to dream. “Nicholas.”

He lifted his head, his eyes stark and glazed with pain.

Elizabet pressed her lips to his, savoring this moment. “I love you.”

His gaze softened, and he tipped his head forward to lay his brow against her own. “I know.”

A half-laugh, half-cry fell from her lips. She shoved against his chest and pushed him back. “Nay, you dolt.”

His brow lifted in a wry grimace. “You flatter me.”

“Shut up so I can tell you that I will marry you!”

Surprise then joy flickered over his face. “You will?”

“Aye.” She lifted her eyes to his. “I promise to weigh my decisions before I act, but my fear is that like I did with my father for so many years, and often with Giric, I will let you down.”

He lifted her chin. A warm smile touched his face, and love glittered in his eyes. “You are intriguing, challenging, and at times frustrating, but you will never disappoint me. Is this why you would not agree before?”

Heat stroked her cheeks. “I know it sounds foolish.”

“No, it sounds like a woman who loves deeply.” He pressed a soft kiss on her lips. “I love you with all of my heart. Your father was wrong if he made you feel less of a person. I am not sure of his reasons, but he overlooked a wonderful and sensitive woman. Never doubt that.”

With his belief in her, how could she?

“As much as I wish to remain and make love with my betrothed,” he said with regret, “I must leave.”

She laid her hand upon his cheek. “And I will be here when you return.”

He lay her hand over his heart. “And I love you, Elizabet. Never doubt that.” Somberness crept into his eyes. “Walk with me.” As they entered the great hall, Nicholas called out orders to prepare to leave.

Knights jumped at his command and servants scurried to aid in their preparation.

A short while later Elizabet stood beside Nicholas's steed as his knights mounted and joined the formation behind him readied by the gate.

“Take care while I am gone. I have sent a missive to Lachllan to stay here and guard you until my return.”

Her throat tightened as her fear for him grew. “I love you, Nicholas.”

“I love you, too.” After one last hard kiss, he mounted, kicked his horse forward. His men followed. Hooves rumbled like thunder as they cantered across the drawbridge.

A gust tugged at her blue linen dress, teasing it as she stood alone and watched them fade in the distance, dust churning in their wake. Nicholas was her world, the man she'd given her heart to without reserve. She prayed that he found Giric alive, for their safety, and upon Nicholas's return, for a future warm and bright.

Turning, she walked with dignity to the keep. Her future home, she corrected. She could envision a sturdy lad, their son running down to greet her. Fear that Dunsten would avenge her brother and slay Nicholas eroded the vision. Nay, she believed in Nicholas.

Good always won over evil.

But a sliver of doubt remained.

E
lizabet twisted and turned on the feather mattress. With a frustrated sigh, she opened her eyes. Darkness consumed the chamber, broken by the flickers of golden flames from the hearth. She reached over for Nicholas, and her hand slid along the rich brocade where he should have lain.

Where was he now? She doubted he'd reached Giric, but please let him be close. She shoved herself from the bed, walked to the window, and scanned the horizon. The chill of the late summer morning skimmed over her flesh, potent with the fragrance of the night, thick with the scent of the moors.

She glanced toward the bed. 'Twould be foolish to try to go back to sleep. She would only think of Nicholas. Gathering her borrowed kirtle, she dressed and smoothed the wrinkles from the sturdy but worn linen. 'Twas a bit overlarge, but until she had her own gown, 'twould have to do. Though it was nae yet dawn, she left the chamber. By immersing herself in the running of the keep, she could retain a degree of sanity until Nicholas and Giric returned.

The morning crawled past. Though she'd taken account of the larder, walked through the keep to survey the state of cleanliness and made a list of what needed attention, and then had spoken with the cook to plan the evening meal, she hadna been able to shake a sense of foreboding.

Elizabet turned her attention to the herb garden beside the new stable, determined to erase the chaos of weeds and turn it back to its thriving state.

A short while later, she tugged at another stubborn weed.

It didna budge.

Using both hands, she tore it from the ground and tossed the troublesome plant to the side in the growing pile. The essence of freshly turned earth and the pungent odor of volunteer rosemary, woven with the fresh fragrance of mint, scented the air around her as she worked.

Pride filled her. The small, weed-ensnarled thatch of ground was beginning to represent the makings of a fine garden. With care, the herbs she would plant would thrive, and would be a welcome addition to the otherwise plain fare.

Sweat slicked her brow as she worked her way over the unkempt ground. She wiped her brow and glanced up. The sun hung in a golden ball overhead, and white puffy clouds dotted the sky.

“Riders approach,” a guard at the gatehouse called out.

Hope filled her. Had Nicholas met Giric returning?

“ 'Tis the banner from the Wolfhaven Castle,” the guard yelled down.

Her spirits sank. Lachllan would give her a setdown, one hewn from worry. She tossed the weeds in her hand, dusted off her hands on her dress, and walked toward the entry.

The clatter of hooves echoed as the group cantered into the courtyard. At the front rode her steward.

The dam of emotions she'd kept at bay stormed her, and Elizabet ran to meet him.

The aged Scot pulled up and dismounted. Faded blue eyes swept her with concern. “Lass—”

“Thank God you are here.” She threw herself into his arms.

Without hesitation he engulfed her in a fierce hug. “There now,” he said, his gruff Scottish burr rough with emotion. “What have you done with yourself? When I left Ravenmoor you were dressed as a lad, I return you are now garbed as a lass?”

His gentle censure warmed her. She nodded. “ 'Tis a long story.”

Lachllan gave a soft chuckle. “As if with you I would expect different? Now then, let me take a look at you.” He held her at arm's length. A frown wrinkled his aged brow. He scoured the keep. “Sir Nicholas has left?”

“Aye. We must talk,” she said, fighting to regain composure, “but nae here.”

Understanding darkened his eyes.

A short while later, with the horses tended to and the men taken care of, she led him inside to the castellan's chamber adjacent to the great hall and began to explain.

Lachllan scrubbed his chin as she closed the door behind him. “A second ledger you say?”

“Aye. It holds names, dates, places of rendezvous points for the previous castellan's illegal activities. Which is why Nicholas left. A shipment is due to arrive today in a small fishing village along the river Annan at the mouth of the Solway Firth. 'Tis one of the destinations Giric was sent to in search of more information.”

Lachllan's eyes narrowed. “Who is behind this, lass?”

“Lord Dunsten.”

His weathered hands fisted tight. “A thieving scoundrel. I told your father we should have held him accountable for his crimes before, now look—” He mumbled a curse.

Her interest peaked. “What crimes?”

“ 'Tis long done.”

Elizabet's thoughts spun to her youth, to the day when Giric and Dunsten had deteriorated from friend to foe. A day Giric refused to speak of. “I am nae a child. 'Tis Giric's life and perhaps Nicholas's that are at stake.” She stepped up to him. “I will know.”

His eyes filled with regret.

“Please,” she said, her voice softening. “It has something to do with Giric and Dunsten's rivalry, has it nae?”

“Aye.” He released his breath in a sharp hiss. “When Giric was ten and six summers, he and Dunsten came upon a lass in the woods gathering herbs when they were out on a hunt. After bidding her good day, they rode past. A short distance later, Dunsten said he didna feel well and was heading home. A sennight later they found the woman's body. She'd been raped and brutally murdered.”

Horror swept through her. “Lord Dunsten killed her?”

“There is nay proof,” he said with soft fury, “but Giric watched Dunsten ride off in the woman's direction. When your brother confronted him, Dunsten only laughed.”

“I have never heard of a charge against him for her murder?”

“Nay,” Lachllan spat. “Dunsten's guilt was never proved.”

Nausea swept her. It explained Giric's loathing toward Dunsten and her brother's insistence that Elizabet nae wed him. “He is evil,” she whispered, shaken by the man's depravity.

“Aye.” Lachllan set his hand on her shoulder. “A bad one he is. We must hope Sir Nicholas reaches Giric in time.”

Indeed.

He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. “Now, tell me why I am looking at a lass now and nae Thomas?”

Heat stole up her cheeks. “Oh . . . I . . .”

A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head. “I can only imagine.”

“ 'Tis nae what you think.”

“Did I say anything?” But his eyes twinkled with humorous anticipation.

As she recounted the sordid tale, the expression on Lachllan's face shifted from shock to worry. Finding it prudent, she omitted the intimate details. If her mentor knew she and Nicholas had made love, he would be furious.

Her steward shook his head as she finished the tale. “And now?”

She held her breath as she lifted her gaze to his.

His eyes widened. “You love him?”

“Aye,” she replied, her voice trembling. “He asked me to marry him, and I have agreed.”

“Then why are you trembling?”

“I am afraid that I will let him down.” She crossed her arms, the small chamber as stifling as her fears. “Nicholas thinks I worry overmuch, that my doubts are groundless, but he knows so little of me, hasna seen the countless times I let my father down.”

He eyed her hard. “Is that what you think, you let him, us down?”

Elizabet dropped her gaze. “Though I tried to prove myself to Father, throughout the years, in the end I only earned his disappointment. Now 'tis too late. He is dead. I failed him.”

“Oh, lass.” Lachllan lifted her chin until he stared straight into her eyes. “Understand, 'twas nae you. Your father loved your mother dearly. When she died, he withdrew. He couldna deal with her loss.”

“But I thought 'twas because Giric—”

“His withdrawal toward you had naught to do with Giric. You look too much like your mother,” Lachllan explained. “Every day when he saw you, your father saw her. And it hurt.”

Stunned, she shook her head. “But he never told me, he never . . . I only wanted to know that he loved me.”

“I wish 'twas otherwise, but he couldna. He never recovered from your mother's death, and for him, seeing you each day was a haunting reminder.”

She nodded, the woman understanding, the little girl still aching for her father's love, an acceptance and caring that now would never come.

“You must learn to forgive him. Your father was a man. Naught more. Naught less,” he said quietly. “Though he never spoke the words, he loved you with a fierceness that none could compare.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Loving Nicholas, she understood how her mother's dying could devastate a warrior even as strong as her father. And all these years, her silent tears, her endless attempts to gain her father's attention and affection were misguided. She'd believed herself a failure, unworthy of love based on her father's rejection, when he'd rejected naught but the reminder of the woman he'd loved. She wiped her cheek. “I am such a fool.”

“Nay.” Lachllan gave her a warm smile. “You are a lass who loves deeply, and I would have you nay different.” Pride shone on his face. “Sir Nicholas obviously sees that. He is nae a fool, but a wise man who will bring peace between our lands.”

Pride filled her. “I believe he will.”

“And he is a man who willna lose what he claims. Be happy, lass. You deserve it.”

“Thank you.” She hugged him, then stepped back with a smile. “I would feel better had I my own clothes.”

He grimaced. “Sir Nicholas's orders were to keep you out of danger.”

Elizabet's smile fell. “He is concerned about Dunsten, who is miles away in Scotland.” Hopefully leagues away from either Giric or Nicholas.

“I will have none of it. 'Tis nae safe for you to be outside the walls of Ravenmoor.”

Anger kindled. “It has been over a month since I have seen my people. I will visit but a short while, gather some of my clothes, then return posthaste.”

Weathered blue eyes narrowed.

She laid her hand upon his shoulder. “Do you think I would leave Ravenmoor Castle without appropriate guard? Nor will I tarry.”

“A man could ride back for what you need,” he said, nae budging an inch.

“If we depart now we will be back before dark. And I promise, upon our return I willna leave the confines of Ravenmoor until Nicholas and Giric return.”

Lachllan's mouth thinned.

At least he hadna said nay. She gave him her sweetest smile. “And once we are back, I will talk the cook into baking you honeyed scones.”

His eyes twinkled at the last. “Ouch, lass. You drive a hard bargain.”

“We will take extra guard.”

“I will likely regret it,” he said with a grumble, “but aye, I will take you.”

Overjoyed, she hugged him. “Thank you.” A shiver of anxiousness slid through her, but she dismissed it, confident her worries over her brother and Nicholas spawned the unease.

 

Sweat melded with exhaustion as Nicholas urged his steed faster. He and his men galloped across the dense turf of the glen, adorned with foxglove, blooming ivy, gowan, and miles of sweet green clover. They'd rested a few hours during the night, departing at the first streaks of dawn to continue their journey.

The rolling valley curved up into a wooded hillock thick with oak and elm. Shadows of the forest engulfed him and his band as they entered, then wove their way through the stand of trees. When they crested the ridge, the small town along the river Annan came into view. Simple huts of turf and earth were scattered on the outskirts of the village, with a larger home standing alone overlooking the bank of the waterway opening to the Solway Firth.

Shielded within the trees, Nicholas signaled to his men.

They drew to a halt.

The scent of the water mixed with that of fish and the richness of the forest. He scanned the sleepy village for signs of suspicious activity as the ledger had indicated he should find, or the clash of blades, signaling Giric's discovery and confrontation.

Naught but the chatter of birds in the trees entwined with the faint echoes of daily life in a fishing village interrupted the tranquil calm.

He scoured the docks edging the shore. Except for several fishing boats pulled up on the banks, and another docked alongside a wooden extension, the piers stood empty. Unease shifted through him.

Had the shipment arrived early? Had he missed Terrick? Lord Dunsten? Their confrontation and resultant battle? Gut instinct denied the latter. There was only one way to find out. “Sir Jon.”

The knight rode up to his side. “Yes, Sir Nicholas?”

“I am going to ride in and scout out the village.”

The knight frowned. “ 'Tis too dangerous.”

“And too dangerous to bring a contingent of English knights into the village and risk exposure,” Nicholas said. “ 'Twill be—”

Sticks snapped, and the thud of hooves on turf echoed in the distance.

Someone was coming! Nicholas signaled his men to draw their weapons. The scrape of his blade on leather filled the moment as he withdrew his sword.

The steady thrum of hooves increased.

From the sound, a small band, ten, fifteen men at most. Mayhap a scouting party to ensure that all was safe before Lord Dunsten entered the village?

Nicholas held his position, prepared to intercept whoever approached.

The crunch of sticks and slap of hooves increased. The outline of men flickered through the breaks in the trees, then the group halted at the edge of the tree line, much as he'd done.