An oath broken, p.9
An Oath Broken, page 9
A woman alone, afraid to reach out. A woman who hid her fears behind a barrier of false bravado. He’d observed it last night to a degree, and now, with her mind raw from her horrific dream, and her defenses shattered by fear, he again witnessed her vulnerability.
His earlier physical desire for Sarra paled in comparison to another need so basic it made him tremble. The need to draw her into the very sanctity of his life.
Her eyes darkened with unspoken desire, luring him into the moment.
On a shaky breath, he skimmed his mouth over hers, and then settled against the soft fullness, tasting, savoring, and wanting her with every essence of his being.
On a soft moan she curled her hands into his hair and pulled him closer.
As their bodies entwined, he cupped the soft fullness of her breast, and she arched against him, her heated response a potent drug.
“Giric?”
Sarra’s velvet plea threatened to sever the last thread of his rational thought. He lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged. What he’d almost done, taken from her, slapped him like ice. His entire body trembling, he rolled to his side and pulled Sarra against him.
“Gir—”
“In a moment,” he stated, needing time to subdue the rush of passion.
She looked away.
Did she regret what had happened? As if he needed a blasted answer? “What did you dream?” he asked, fighting to clear his mind and bring lucid thoughts to the fore.
She lifted her gaze to his. In the flickers of firelight, passion still simmered in her eyes, but now sadness as well. “My parents.” She started to draw away.
Calling himself every kind of fool for trying to deepen their connection, Giric caught her hand. “Please, tell me.”
She watched him with a wariness that made his heart ache, then nodded. “When I was eight,” she began, a waver in her voice, “my parents and I were returning to Rancourt Castle from an important meeting my father had attended in Scotland. ’Twas winter and snow had fallen most of the day.” Her eyes clouded with the memories, and her voice lowered to a rough whisper. “’Twas beautiful with the hills covered with snow. As if we were traveling in our own fairy tale.” She curled her hands into tight fists.
Giric pressed a soft kiss on her brow, feeling her pain as if his own.
“Then, bloodcurdling cries sounded, and from a nearby stand of trees, men attacked.” She shook her head, her eyes wide with horror. “The stench of death was everywhere. Tainted everything.” Her breathing quickened. Her entire body trembled.
“Shhh.”
Sarra blinked then met his gaze. “’Tis all right,” she replied, but from her stricken expression, he had his own doubts. “Our carriage tipped on its side into the river. Water, cold with ice, filled our carriage, while our attackers slew our guard.” She closed her eyes. “My father climbed out to defend us, but a blade ended his fight. Then they dragged my mother from the carriage and . . .” A tremor wracked her body, and she buried her face against his shoulder.
“God, lass.” Giric held her tight, and her pain shuddered through him. The bastards! How could she nae feel this disgust, a loathing for the men who had stolen her whole life.
“Once they brutalized my mother and left her to die, th—they dragged me from the carriage. After searching my clothes and the carriage for valuables, they rode off.” She looked at him, her expression that of a wounded doe. “I am unsure why they did not kill me, but I”—she swallowed hard—“I hated them for what they had done. For leaving me to freeze while I watched my mother die a painful and humiliating death. And for taking everyone I loved away.”
Aching at the travesty she’d witnessed, Giric held her while the tears she fought rolled down her face. After a while, her tormented sobs slowed to a fragile shudder, and she clung to him as if a lifeline in a storm. And within this fragile moment, a bond formed, linking them in the most basic of ways. He understood the pain of loss too well, the damage it could bring.
Sarra sat back, her eyes troubled. “Th—The men,” she breathed, and watched him nervously, “were Scots.”
He struggled for a reply, but what could he say? There were good and bad men in his country. He would nae forgive their murderous act nor offer excuses. They deserved none. “I am sorry.” Giric cupped her chin, but she pulled back.
“Reivers,” she whispered.
His entire world stilled. “Reivers?”
Sarra exhaled, her eyes never leaving his. “The men who attacked my family were reivers.”
An ache ripped through his heart, and the illusion of any tie existing between him and Sarra flickered out. He could imagine her revulsion if she discovered that he’d lived the sordid life of a reiver. His explanation that he’d been raised to the adverse trade and had followed his father’s footsteps excused naught. He’d grown up a thief, stealing food and when necessary to survive, had taken a life. Nae that he was proud of his actions.
Blast it! Hadna he taken this mission so that he could put his past behind him, and to rebuild his life? He’d vowed to change his lawless ways and become a man he could respect.
Having learned of her past, and with him being a Scot, that she’d accepted him as a person was more than he could ever have asked or expected.
But she could never forgive the reiver.
“It has been a long night and you are tired,” Giric said, doubting if there was anything more left to say. Either way in Sarra’s eyes he was damned. He would accept this moment of closeness, mayhap a few more in the days ahead before he delivered her to her guardian. Then, however difficult, he would walk away. “Go to sleep.”
She watched him a moment. With a nod, in the circle of his arms, she closed her eyes. After several moments her breathing slowed and she slept.
But sleep, like his peace of mind, would nae come.
The warmth sifting through Sarra lulled her to remain asleep. She nestled deeper against the heat, pleased at the reward of the firm, muscled body against her, and the possessive way a hand slowly curled around her breast.
She stilled.
Her heart jumped as she realized who she lay next to. On an unsteady breath, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at Giric’s dark, hair-covered chest. Heat slid up her cheeks as she looked at his hand half atop her breast, then to where his very male leg draped over her hips.
By the rood!
Memories of last night flooded her mind. Their kiss. Her nightmare. How she’d crumbled before him in a pathetic heap. Then, his tenderness and compassion when she revealed her parents’ tragic murder, a fact she’d told no one until now.
Until Giric.
A Scot.
Warnings flashed in her mind and urged her to pull away, but she found herself hesitating. With his unruly black locks, and his expression almost boyish in sleep, she found herself charmed. Somehow, incredibly, he’d touched a part of her that no one had ever reached before.
How could that be?
At what moment had he scaled her defenses and become important in her life? Stunned by the realization, she scanned the hard lines of his face, the contours of a seasoned warrior, a man who made decisions with a quick sureness. But she’d seen beyond his tough exterior. Beneath his fierce countenance lurked a man tender in his emotions and fierce in his love. Yes, this dauntless Scottish knight was a man she could admire and accept into her life.
The immensity of her acknowledgment, unthinkable until this moment, left her shaken. Her hand trembled as she stroked her fingers through his tumbled locks, felt the rough stubble that darkened his chin. By the rood, she wanted him.
As if bidden, his eyes opened, their blueness rich with the haze of sleep. Through heavy lids his gaze slid over her and darkened with passion.
Her desire ignited as if coals stoked by a smith. Before doubts could stop her, caught in the web of this dangerous attraction, she covered his mouth with her own, pleased when he crushed her against his chest. She lost herself in his kiss, in the way in which his mouth feasted on hers.
On a muttered curse, he pushed up on his arms.
She stared at him, her vision clouded, her lips swollen from their kisses.
He eased her away, scrubbed his hands over his face. “Nay, lass.”
The coldness of his voice left her feeling exposed. Hurt and ashamed, she drew the blanket around her and sat up. “I . . .” What? Wanted him? Had acted the wanton? Oh, God. “I am sorry.”
Like a cornered wolf, Giric stood and paced the room. He stopped near the hearth. A muscle worked in his jaw as he watched her, then he walked over and knelt before her, his nearness far from smothering her awareness.
“You are a fine lass,” he started, then released a harsh breath, his eyes fierce as the devil’s own, “but I canna be touching you, nor you me.” He stood. “I am hired to escort you to your betrothed. I will nae be taking what rightfully belongs to another.”
Heat raced up her face that he could talk of her innocence with such candor. As if she could forget her betrothed? But for a moment she had. What did that say about her, that she could block out responsibilities for a man she desired, something she’d never done in her life. Until now. Damn Giric for making her care!
“Get away from me.” The pain of rejection and her own shame raked through her voice.
He didn’t flinch or show any other outward emotion to her outburst, which cut her deeper.
“ ’Twould be for the best,” he said with unnerving calm.
Again, the cold, dangerous Scottish knight she’d first encountered at Rancourt Castle stood before her. And for that she despised him—for all of her shattered dreams, and for the moment of hope he’d bestowed upon her. And, he was right. Naught but his escort could ever be between them. Humiliated, furious that she’d allowed her emotions to guide her, she withdrew.
Giric gestured toward their clothes that’d hung near the hearth overnight. “Everything is dry. You would be wanting to get dressed. Once I have donned my garb, I will ensure that we are nae snowed in and can depart.”
He watched her expression of hurt spill into regret. How could he have been so blasted stupid? In her weakness, when nightmares had exhausted her strength to fight and left her helpless, he’d allowed himself to think that he could be a person she could rely on. At least for a while. And in his delusions, he’d almost given in to his desire.
Now he would pay for his foolish thoughts.
’Twas best that he allowed her to believe that he didna care. Bittersweet emotions curled through his heart. As if she could ever love him—a reiver.
The anger in her gaze brewed to fury. Once again she’d resurrected her icy walls, but he would have to live with that. To accept their relationship as anything but a sterile companionship would threaten the very essence of his mission.
And with the men who pursued them in addition to the dangerous winter conditions, they had problems enough to deal with without the complication of intimacy. And yet, with all of the reasons he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t want her, he still did.
She glared at him. “All you care about is the gold.”
Giric shrugged and dressed with a casual ease he didna feel. “The gold will buy food to fill my belly on a cold winter night, but then you wouldna be knowing what that is like. With your wealth your larder stays filled.”
Sarra stiffened.
“I will be back.” The cold slap of the wind hit him as he exited. He pulled the door shut.
Good going, Terrick! He headed toward the makeshift stable, stopped. As he neared, his senses came on full alert. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he stared down the rambling hillside that opened into a long, tree-lined valley. On his initial scan, except for a Goshawk circling above the trees, he saw naught but the pristine lay of the land, ripples of snow blanketing the glen bound by a sturdy line of ash, oak, and pine.
Another wash of unease rippled through him. His instincts hadna failed him in the past.
A distant crack echoed from the far end of the field.
He turned, searched every shadow, every crevice of blackness for any sign of life and prayed it was a hart or another large animal.
A movement caught his eye. The fleeting cast of brown disappeared from view, but he didna need a second look to understand.
That’s what you get for having your mind on a woman and nae your task.
On a curse, Giric scooped up an armload of snow and ran back inside. Kicking the embers, he threw the snow atop the glowing coals. Steam sputtered and spit with an angry hiss. With a gasp, Sarra grabbed the blanket and covered herself. “What do you think—”
“Get dressed—now!” Giric jerked her clothes from where they’d dried during the night, tossed them to her. “The men who are after us are about an hour away.”
The blood rushed from her face.
“Move!”
The blanket fell to the floor as she tugged on her clothes.
He walked over to help her, and she froze. “Before you can give me any charming advice about your nae wanting my assistance, we need to get out of here.”
“’Tis the only reason I would allow you to touch me,” Sarra stated, wanting him as far away from her as possible.
Nerves whipped through her as his fingers secured her gown with familiar ease. No doubt he’d had plenty of experience seducing women with his practiced lines and devastating smile. At what moment had she lost her wits and deluded herself that he was different from other men? When he secured the last tie, she stepped away, unsure of everything.
His cold eyes held hers. “Put on your cape and come outside. I will be waiting.” Giric grabbed the blanket and exited.
As the door closed behind him, a shudder ran through her for what she’d almost given him, for what she’d almost allowed herself to believe.
Sarra donned her cape and hurried to the door. But as her hand curled over the wooden handle, she paused to look behind her.
The simple abode was neat from her cleaning, and the bed tousled from where she and Giric had slept. For a moment she’d found happiness within these shabby confines, a place where her past no longer mattered, where she wasn’t evaluated by her wealth, and with a man who’d soothed her fears.
No. Sarra shoved her foolish notions away. She’d but deceived herself into believing he was the man she’d one day hoped to find.
She again scanned the hovel, this time noting the tattered bed frame, the worn floor, and the blackened fire reeking with the smell of wet ash.
’Twould seem over the last few hours that only her dreams, spawned by her exhaustion, had come to life. Before her stood the harsh reality. Like the barbaric hovel, Sir Knight hadn’t truly softened, only her delusions had made her believe so. A man, he’d seized the opportunity a young, naïve woman had offered. This room held only fragments of another’s humble life, not memories she would ever wish to recall or cherish.
Tears burned her eyes, but she shoved them back. Tears were for a child whose life blessed them with hopes and dreams. Fate had carved her a path where she faced a guardian who would wed her to his son. Her escort was a temporary inconvenience, a Scot she refused to harbor in her thoughts, much less in her dreams.
With her heart secured, her mind refocused on her upcoming confrontation with Lord Bretane, and any silly notions of Sir Knight erased from her mind, Sarra stepped into the cold. She glanced to where Giric stood by his mount, irritation clear on his face as he waved her forward.
With a tug, she pulled the cape tighter, started forward, and promised herself she would not make that emotional error again.
CHAPTER 9
“The men chasing us are beyond the trees and to the left,” Giric whispered to Sarra. His horse shifted beneath them and he murmured a soft command for him to still. Through the thick firs, he watched their pursuers advance on the hovel they’d departed a short while before.
The Scots had known where to look. It made sense that they would understand that with Sarra nae used to harsh winter travel, he would seek a known shelter, even if for a short while. But he’d hoped they’d nae find them so quick.
“I see them now.” Seated on the horse before him, Sarra turned. “Do you think they saw us?”
“I canna say for sure. Though I erased the tracks for quite a distance, they will eventually discover our trail.”
“Where will we go now?”
A question he’d pondered since their hasty departure. With the heavy snow, his plan to head east and meet up with Colyne was dangerous at best. To travel south would put them in jeopardy of meeting up with the other half of their pursuers. Nor would he choose to move farther north and into treacherous mountainous terrain. The best option was to travel a bit farther northeast.
He hoped Colyne had realized that due to the blizzard and time constraints to deliver Sarra to her guardian, their original plan to rejoin the group wouldna work. “We will travel to Colyne’s brother’s home. We can stay until the weather permits us to continue to Dunkirk Castle,” Giric replied, irritated by the thought of her impending marriage.
Would Sinclair care if Sarra’s haughty air was incited by fear? Or, would her betrothed find her resistance an annoyance, and demean her into subservience that would destroy her spirit? The thought of anyone breaking her left him cold. At least he had a reprieve in knowing that Sinclair, as most men in power, often kept mistresses. Odds were Sarra would suffer his touch only until she carried his child.
His grip on the rein tightened at the thought of Lord Sinclair or any other man having her. As if he had a blasted say? He prayed that the baron would value the woman he would wed. Frustrated by his thoughts, Giric kicked his mount forward.
Distant shouts of men melded into the gusty wind, and he thanked nature for that. With the snow swirling and drifting, though it would make travel difficult, ’twould cover their tracks as well. He wished he could erase his anxiety over Sarra’s upcoming marriage with such ease.
For the next several hours they traveled in silence. The sun lent a false warmth, its rays dancing upon the cascading flakes like fairies at play. Wind, rich with the scent of pine and of the cold winter’s day, stung their faces and slipped through their clothing.
