An Oath Taken (26 page)

“Even if the lady in question appealed to me, which she does nae, she is betrothed.”

His friend gave a resigned sigh. Then a glint of mischief sparked in his eyes. “But could be wooed for a wee kiss.”

“You are a bloody pain in the arse.” His appetite gone, Giric shoved away the half-eaten trencher. “I have nae figured out why I brought you along.”

With a hearty laugh and his dimples giving a fine show, Colyne raised his cup in a toast. “Why, to keep you out of trouble,
Sir Giric.
”

At his friend's emphasis on his title, Giric's irritation fell away. He was right, 'twas best to remember the humility of his position until he'd delivered Lady Sarra to her betrothed.

The clank of tankards melded with the voices of the men around him. Smoke, thick and pungent, sifted overhead. “I am ready for this journey to be over,” Giric said. “ 'Tis long past time to return home.”

“But it will be quiet without your sister, Elizabet, in residence.”

“Aye, but she is safe. Though English and sworn to serve King Edward, Sir Nicholas has proven to be a good husband and fair to the bordering Scots.” Though Colyne nodded, Giric didna miss the shadow of hurt that crossed his face. Over the years when his friend had visited Wolfhaven Castle, the love Colyne held for his sister hadna escaped him, nor his intent to offer her marriage.

Except, true to her unconventional manner, Elizabet had fallen in love and wed a man who by rights should be their enemy. And blast if Giric didn't like the Sassenach.

In these troubled times, where rumors of war between England and Scotland rumbled as often as thunder, that his sister had found a man worthy of her love, made their union all the more precious.

He glanced at Lady Sarra who maintained her regal pose upon the dais and toyed with her food. Regret sifted through his mind. It appeared she, like most women, would marry for obligation.

A knight slammed his fist upon the table several lengths away and laughter broke out around him.

Lady Sarra turned toward the warrior, then her gaze shifted to Giric.

Their eyes locked.

Anger flared in her gaze as she stared at him. For a split second, they darkened with awareness, then her mouth parted in surprise.

Heat stormed Giric's body. The temptation of how her mouth would feel beneath his shoved his need up another notch.

Her finger touched her lips as if she could read his thoughts. Then, the heat in her gaze iced, and her tempting mouth thinned in a haughty line.

An air of challenge snapped between them, and at her clear dismissal of him, Giric's regrets of moments ago faded.

But nae his desire.

He held her gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. Her contempt toward him, for God knows whatever reason, was her affair. Like it or nae, if she agreed to her guardian's writ, they would be traveling together.

A long moment passed.

Redness crept up her face, but from the hard set of her expression, it wasna from embarrassment.

Giric narrowed his gaze.

She tilted her head in defiance, almost daring. Then, her nostrils gave a slight flare and she looked away.

His body thrummed with unspent energy, unsure if he should be pleased or aggravated by her bravado.

After a sip from her goblet, she leaned over and whispered to the priest, then pushed her chair back and stood.

“You will nae avoid me this time,” he muttered beneath his breath. Giric snatched the cloth nearby, wiped the grease from his mouth and hands, tossed it aside.

Colyne laughed as he watched the heiress depart. “Methinks the rose has thorns.”

“A bloody bushel of them.” Giric shoved to his feet. Rushes crunched under his boots as he strode after her. He kept his pace steady. Nae too fast as to alert the guards or her of his intent, but enough to keep her in sight.

Three blasted days now she'd made him and his men wait, and if she had her way, the lass would make it four. By God, he would speak with her this night!

Once shielded from the great hall, he took the steps up the turret two at a time. As he ascended, the light scent of heather mingled with the moors and the night. A wisp of her ivory linen gown twisted ahead of him with an elusive swirl as she made to take a step, then was lost in the shadows.

Giric rounded the corner and caught her figure clearly silhouetted from the torch in the wall sconce. “Lady Sarra.”

Leather kid slippers scraped over stone as she whirled to face him. The flutter of flames outlined her like a dark angel. Wariness flared in her eyes.

He took a step closer, damning her beauty, lured by her spirit.

Her hand slid to the side of her gown. With a flick of her wrist, she withdrew a slim dagger from the folds. “Halt.” Her ominous warning echoed in the darkened void, edged with a hint of fear.

Giric dismissed the knife. Did the lass think she could hold her own against him with a mere blade? “I mean you no harm, my lady. I wish but a brief moment of your time.”

That small pert nose lifted a fraction, like a warrior would raise his shield. “How dare you steal about and corner me in my own home.”

“If you had talked to me instead of avoided me, I would nae have had to resort to such extreme measures.”

A sliver of torchlight glinted off the dagger in her hands. “Leave me. I will grant you an audience when I deem the time appropriate.”

If she believed he could be swayed by flashing a weapon before him or a terse command, she was about to learn otherwise. He wasna one of her servants she could order about. He took a step closer. “We need to discuss our departure.”

She flinched, but she held her ground.

Determined to keep his temper, he took a slow breath and started again. “My Lady, our acquaintance has begun poorly.” Her narrowing eyes chinked at his hard-won control, and the fact that she hadna lowered the blade didna help either, but he pressed on. “Let us begin anew, this time in the proper manner. Let me introduce my—”

“No!” She stepped forward, the dagger tight in her grip. “I will leave Rancourt Castle at my discretion. Your name as well as your demands are of little consequence. Try my patience further, Sir Knight, and you will find yourself housed within my dungeon this night instead of on a pallet of straw.” As regal as a queen, she sheathed her dagger and strode up the steps.

Fury slammed through Giric. He was wrong. With a woman like her, nae even a saint could keep his temper in check.

On a curse he bolted up the steps.

 

The angry scrape of the knight's steps gave Sarra a second's warning as the Scot caught her arm, spun her around, and pinned her against the wall.

Pressed in a firm hold, the coldness of the stone seeped through every pore as the heat of his hard, sculpted body leaned inches from hers. She stared at the large hand clasped on her arm, lined with scars and calloused by hours of maneuvering a sword. On an unsteady breath, she looked up.

His large frame blocked the light, leaving his face partially shadowed. Hard, unforgiving angles that served a fitting canvas for ice-blue eyes that held no quarter. And his devil's black hair added an ominous edge to his dark looks.

Fear surged through her, a hard brutal force that threatened to undermine her hard-won control. The man was dangerous, a fact she'd noted from the first. What had possessed her this evening to challenge him on any level?

But she knew.

So caught up in her anger over her guardian's news of her betrothal, she'd ignored the knight's requests for a meeting. But, once in her chamber and with time settling her thoughts, she faced the reality that once she left her home, if Lord Bretane denied her request and forced her to marry his son, she might never return to Rancourt Castle.

And her intent to depart immediately to confront her guardian had become smothered by fear. She hated her indecision, it but postponed her inevitable fate.

Shame filled Sarra at her poor manners. The knight was hired to perform a task. He didn't deserve her dismissal. Except his dark presence churned up painful memories of the reivers who'd murdered her parents, and reminded her of her future promised to a Scot she abhorred.

“Apologize,” he breathed.

His voice, as potent as thunder, rattled through her senses, jerking her thoughts back to the fore. Sarra shoved against his muscled chest.

He didn't move.

“Release me.” At his noncompliance, her mouth grew dry. She licked her lips; his eyes followed the act.

The knight muttered a soft curse, and a new worry shot through her. Oh, God. She glanced past him down the spiral steps to where her men ate, oblivious to her peril.

The knight tilted his head and fragments of light spilled over his angled face. Anger still raged within his ice-blue eyes, but now desire churned as well.

Stunned by his boldness, she shoved harder. “Comply or I will order you hanged!”

The knight loosened his grip, but he didn't let go. “Rest assured, my lady, I have no personal intentions. A boar would offer more warmth than you.”

“Ho—How dare you!”

“And how dare you stand before me in judgment, casting aspersions on my person when you know naught of me.”

He was right, but he didn't understand her aversion to his people or what they represented to her. “My decisions are those of the mistress of Rancourt Castle. And 'twas not I who skulked through the castle without permission.”

He leaned an inch forward. “ 'Twas your rudeness that forced my hand.”

“I am firm but fair.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “Have you deluded yourself into believing that as well?”

The coldness of the night seeped through her skin, leaving her chilled. “You know naught about me.”

“Then we are even, are we nae?”

Again she shoved against his chest. To her surprise, this time he released her, but he didn't step away. His gaze shifted to her lips. Raw hunger burned in his eyes as they lifted to hers. Then they grew cold, distant.

A sense of loss infused her, followed by shame at her untoward thoughts. For a moment, trapped within this rogue's embrace, she'd wanted his touch.

God help her.

She looked away, but the sense of loss remained.

“Yell.” His challenge, as hard as seductive, ripped through her tangled emotions and threw her further off balance.

Sarra met his gaze, confused by the urgent roughness of his voice.

He caught a lock of her hair and threaded it through his fingers. “Call for your guards to come and rescue their fair maiden.” With devastating slowness, he lifted the tendril to his lips.

Silence clattered between them. She should be afraid. Terrified. Never before had a man dared touch her so. But she remained still, as intrigued as afraid.

“ 'Tis what you are good at, is it nae?” he pressed. “Ignoring those you do nae wish to see. Allowing others to deal with issues you canna, or that you refuse to face?”

The coldness of his words shattered her delusions of desire. Humiliated to have been so easily seduced, she felt heat steal up her cheeks.

The Scot held his position, one hand pressed against the wall where he'd held her trapped moments ago, his ice-blue eyes riveted upon her.

The image of a wolf flashed in her mind. Dark. Wild. Untamed.

A tremor rocked her, then another. Her knees wobbled and threatened to give. Refusing to allow him the satisfaction of knowing he'd unnerved her, she tilted her chin in defiance. An error as it brought their faces within a hand's breath.

Shaken by everything this warrior made her feel, she drew a steadying breath. “My doubts have left me indecisive. Once I leave, fate may never allow me to return.”

“So you ignore me? Refuse to explain your reasons?”

What did he know about her and what did she care? “My reasons are not your concern.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked up the stairs. The lonely shuffle of her slippers on the stone steps echoed around her, but she sensed he still watched.

Waited.

Though the writ from her guardian had tossed her organized life into chaos, it appeared with the arrival of the Scottish knight, fate had thrown in another curve as well.

Whatever lay between them was far from over.