by Diana Cosby
Terrick.
Terrick.
Terrick.
The cadence of his horse’s hooves slammed out his name. Each beat of his blood pounded with unleashed fury.
Ravenmoor Castle’s walls rose before him, clawing toward the heavens like talons of stone. The bells of None pealed as the guard’s distant call announced his arrival.
He glared into the churning clouds, daring the heavens to interfere. A man who prided himself for his strict self-control, the rage burning through his veins shook him to the core. He understood his anger at finding out his squire was a woman, the breaking of his trust, but as he rode toward home, the sense of betrayal took its toll.
Hooves clattered upon timber as he cantered across the drawbridge. The pointed spears of the portcullis hung in a foreboding arch over his head.
He entered the courtyard and headed toward the stable. The empty outline of the timber portrayed the deception. Nay, his squire would not meet him this day. After his abrupt departure, terrified for her lover, no doubt she was racing back.
He drew to a halt, dismounted.
Malcolm rushed out from the stable.
Nicholas handed him the reins. “When my squire returns, tell him to await me in my chamber.”
At his hard tone, the lad gave a wary nod. “Aye, Sir Nicholas.”
Memories of the enchantress slicing through the river seared his mind, evoked unbidden thoughts of lust as he strode toward the keep. The taste of her lips, the feel of her pressed intimately against him tempting, teasing, seducing with the skill of a courtesan.
He struggled to block his erotic musings, not wanting them. Failed. Blast it! How dare she enter his home and betray his trust for another man.
Lightning severed the blackened sky as he reached the keep. He stormed through the great hall, took the carved stone steps two at a time.
The guard outside of Lord Terrick’s chamber nodded at his approach, then stepped aside.
Fury hazing his mind, Nicholas entered the room, slammed the door shut. What he had to say to the earl was personal.
Lord Terrick, standing by the window, whirled.
Thunder shook the heavens as Nicholas glared at the ice-blue eyes, eyes of the man who’d known all along of the deception, and was the reason for this living hell. The urge to unsheathe his sword and slay his rival slammed in his gut. Never had he been played for such a fool.
Through the open window, lightning illuminated the sky. Thunder crashed in its wake, and the stench of heat, wood, and anger permeated the room.
Leather slapped against stone as he strode toward Terrick.
Instead of fear, the earl stood firm.
Most men would’ve shrunk back at his charge, but Terrick wasn’t most. Nicholas’s admiration for the noble grew. This man commanded respect, honor, and devotion, proven by his lover’s efforts to free him at the risk of her life.
He halted a hand’s length away. “I know Thomas is a woman.”
Ebony hair framed his sharp, unforgiving features as Terrick watched him with incredible calm; the only visible reaction, a slight darkening in eyes.
Nicholas wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. His fingers trembled with the need to usurp justice in this unforgiving situation. But the noble remained unarmed. He dropped his hand.
Silence.
“I came upon her bathing in the river—naked.” He waited for his reaction, pleased as the man’s lips thinned. “A delicate and appealing form,” he added to appease his wounded pride.
The noble’s eyes narrowed. “Leave the lass out of it.”
Nicholas cocked an arrogant brow. After his last few weeks of personal torment, Terrick could go to the devil. He would deal with her as he chose fit. “Who is she?”
The hard set of his jaw underlined his determination to withhold the information, but the angst in Terrick’s face violated his plight.
Tension sung between them, alive, breathing.
A faint clatter of hooves cantering over the drawbridge shattered the taut silence.
Wind whipped through his hair as Terrick glanced out the window. His pale face blanched. “Bedamned.” He turned back and eyed Nicholas, his gaze feral.
’Twould seem the object of their discussion had returned. Nicholas muttered an oath at the man’s stubbornness, matching that of the woman below. As a prisoner in his castle, his options were nonexistent, yet Lord Terrick remained defiant. Wouldn’t he react the same if the positions were reversed? He squashed the thought. There was no room in this quarter for pity.
Terrick curled and uncurled his hand. He glanced from Nicholas’s sword to his face.
Nicholas wrapped his hand around the hilt of the blade in quiet assurance. He was in control of the fate of the woman, of this prisoner, and he would leave naught to chance.
The noble cursed again, then stalked the confines like a caged wolf. When he reached the hearth for the second time, he glared at Nicholas.
“She is my life.” His hard-won admission, rough with emotion, fell between them like a gauntlet thrown in challenge.
“I will not hurt her,” Nicholas offered, respecting the man for his honesty, and understanding how a woman like her could incite such ferocious devotion. He felt the same.
Terrick clasped his hand upon the mortar and stone. He shoved away. “Damn her!” He crossed the room and halted before Nicholas, his eyes ablaze. “I warned her to leave, but nay. Pigheaded she is!”
Intrigued as jealous by his passionate display, Nicholas watched with guarded reserve, his body taut, his blade readied. Her devotion toward this man was enviable. A sense of loss as the cold reality of how much he stood to lose came to the fore. She belonged to this man, body and soul.
The thought of Terrick taking what he’d sampled a brief while ago incited Nicholas further. He wanted her. Whatever it took, he would make her his. Enough with the games! He held the upper hand and both knew it. “I will know who she is!”
At his terse command, his prisoner’s eyes darkened with a threat. “Elizabet, my sister.”
His raw words echoed between them, but Nicholas honed in on only one. “Sister?”
As if grudging to admit the relation, Terrick nodded.
Nicholas had prepared himself to deal with the earl’s admission that the woman was his lover, but not his kin. “Why would she . . .” He stared at the noble in shocked disbelief. “She came to set you free?” Even as he asked, the irrationality of the question hit him. Since when had rational thought ever entered into his squire’s frame of mind?
Frustration flashed in Terrick’s eyes. “Aye, ’tis lunacy,” he replied, his burr thick with annoyance. “I told her to leave, but nay. She wouldna hear of it.” He cursed then skewered Nicholas with a hard look; the sickness that had claimed him for days haunting his eyes. “And by God’s wrath, if you have harmed one hair on her head, you will regret it.”
Harm her? Locked within his castle, the absurdity of his prisoner’s threat should have humored him, brought a measure of levity to this tense situation. Instead he found the Scot’s vigilance to protect his sister matched his own. What was it about this woman that could inspire such fierce devotion as quickly as the urge to throttle her?
His anger fell away. Empathy for the man and for the hopelessness of this entire situation weighed heavy on his shoulders. Both sought to protect a woman whose goal was to protect those she loved.
As unusual a means to an end, it appeared that one slip of a woman had found common ground to bridge the gap, and a reason to form an alliance and bring peace to their lands, when logic had made but scant inroads.
Nicholas gave a wry grimace remembering his soul-searching discussions with Thomas in the wee hours of the morning; his squire’s confessions of her father’s death. Harm her? He could never do such.
Nicholas let her name roll on his tongue as if tasting a fine wine. He found it fitting to the spirited and challenging woman he’d come to know. “I care too much for your sister to hurt
her in any way.” He sighed, bound to Elizabet as much as Terrick. “What do we do now?”
The noble eyed him with blatant skepticism. “We?”
“Yes, we.” Though he’d not found the evidence to clear Terrick, from what he’d learned, he believed the noble innocent of the crimes lodged against him by the previous castellan. He glanced toward the door. “Guard.”
The knight strode into the chamber. “Sir Nicholas.”
“If my squire returns, he is not to be allowed access to this chamber under any condition. Is that clear?” Though he’d left orders for his squire to await him in his chamber, in her frazzled state of mind, he had sincere doubts of Elizabet’s compliance.
“Aye, Sir Nicholas.”
“Leave us.”
The guard departed.
As the door shut, Terrick eyed him with caution.
Nicholas poured them each a goblet of wine then held the cup out, pleased when the Scot stepped forward and accepted it. He took a long drink. “I have decided to set you free.”
“Why?”
Nicholas set down his goblet. “Because I believe you are innocent. And I need your help to prove it.” The steady beat of rain outside echoed in the tense silence. “I found several log entries of Sir Renaud’s activities within his ledger, but they are incomplete. They could be the tie-in I need to prove his involvement with smuggling. Until I have confirmation, they are useless.”
“And how can I help?” Terrick asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
“I suspect there is another ledger hidden within the keep,” Nicholas admitted, “but I have yet to find it. If you are well enough to ride, I have a few leads across the border that I need looked into. Due to my position as castellan, I cannot travel the distance required. Besides, even if I rode into Scotland, I doubt the villagers would willingly betray one of their own.”
“One of their own?”
Nicholas nodded. “Several entries, each at the beginning of the month, note Lord Dunsten arrived at Ravenmoor.”
Lord Terrick grimaced. “He is a foul lot.”
“’Twas my impression as well,” Nicholas agreed, pleased both shared the same feelings toward the noble. “There is little to go on, but if you could discover any connection of conspiracy between them, ’tis more than I have now.”
He set his goblet down. “What about Elizabet?”
A situation he planned to deal with this very day. “Your sister will be safe here with me.”
Terrick’s eyes flashed. “She is to return to Wolfhaven Castle.”
Bedamned. “I have knights to protect her. To allow her outside Ravenmoor Castle, even with a guard, is taking an unnecessary risk.”
The earl hesitated. A scowl darkened his face but concern lingered as well.
“She will be safe here,” Nicholas assured him. “I give you my word.”
“Blasted Sassenach,” he growled. Terrick paced the chamber, every few minutes turning to shoot Nicholas another distrustful glare.
“If I had wanted to harm her, or have her for that matter,” Nicholas stated with quiet calm, “why would I offer you or your men freedom or a chance to clear your name?”
The Scot halted. “I will leave her, but harm her in any manner, and I swear ’twill be my blade that ends your miserable life.”
“I would expect no less.” Nicholas picked up his cup, took a sip of wine. “Can you ride?”
“Aye,” the Scot spat. “I am more than able to, but I willna say the same for my sister when I am through with her.”
Though the earl’s words prophesied ill, he doubted Terrick would lay more than harsh words upon Elizabet.
Less than an hour later and with the bottle of wine drained, Nicholas leaned back against the wall watching the Scot, pleased by their progress. Terrick would ride across the border to find solid proof that Sir Renaud and Lord Dunsten had conspired to haul illegal goods into England. His suspicions were that whatever the pair had brought in under the cover of night was shipped from France. In the meantime, he would try to find the second ledger while keeping Elizabet safe at Ravenmoor Castle. Tasks that would take immense time and patience, especially the latter.
After returning the Scot his sword, cape, dagger, and a basket of food, Nicholas escorted him from the keep through a secret passage.
A mount, saddled and readied, stood at the edge of the forest. Once they discussed any last-minute concerns, the earl extended his hand.
Nicholas took it.
“Take care of my sister.”
“If necessary, with my life.”
Lord Terrick held his gaze, then mounted. Distant lightning severed the sky as he rode into the trees, his shadowed form lost within the dense stand of silver birch and elm.
Pleased, Nicholas headed back. A shiver raced across his skin as he walked toward the castle, his clothes still damp from his earlier venture, and his boots squishing with each step, but his blood ran hot. The moment of reckoning with Elizabet had arrived.
Upon entering the castle, he headed toward the guardhouse. After informing Sir Jon the earl had departed, Nicholas issued him to pass orders to the men to keep his squire ignorant of Lord Terrick’s release. With this task done, he strode toward the keep.
Mud splattered from his boots as he closed, and sunlight broke through the cloud-smeared sky. Its warmth caressed his face like a lover’s touch. He glanced at his window, toward his destination.
Toward Elizabet.
A twinge of guilt slid through him. Should he keep her ignorant of her brother’s release? If she learned of Terrick’s departure, could he trust her not to flee? No, he couldn’t take the risk, and she needed to learn that she couldn’t always make decisions and follow them on a whim.
At thoughts of her reiving to gather coin for her brother’s release, any remorse at what he was about to do fled. Any of her victims could have turned on her, and her selfless acts could have cost Elizabet her life.
Like it or not she would remain here, innocent of her brother’s departure. Except his plans for her stay were anything but pure.
CHAPTER 15
Elizabet paced Nicholas’s chamber. From the many times she’d crossed the floor, a track should be worn by now. Where was he? And what of Giric?
The fire she’d built in an attempt to kill time popped cheerfully in the hearth. She glanced toward the window. Between the breaks in the clouds, sunshine flooded the land. She grimaced, finding little relief from the passing storm, nor of the glorious day unfolding. After her confrontation with Nicholas, how could she relax?
On edge, she glanced at the door. Blast him. The castellan was keeping her waiting on purpose. Aye, he had a right to be angry, but she must discover her brother’s fate! Should she try to slip inside Giric’s room? How could she nae? If she remained here she would go insane!
Before she pondered her decision overlong, she fled the room and ran down the corridor toward the turret. When Elizabet reached the second floor, she rounded the corner into the corridor, halted.
The entry to where her brother was staying stood open.
Unguarded.
Giric! She bolted down the corridor and flew into the room.
The scent of wood and herbs filled the chamber, embers glowed in the hearth. Everything was the same as when she’d left a short while before. Except her brother was nae here!
Where was he? Please God, let him be alive! Tears rolled down her cheeks as she searched for any clue of a struggle. The covers of the bed were rumpled attesting to Giric’s recent presence, but naught lay in disarray, no blood smeared the floor, or any other indication of a fight. Where was he?
Heart pounding, she ran to the window and scoured the bailey.
Beneath the swath of broken sunlight, knights trained in the list, two women were hauling water from the well, and three small lads chased a loose pig.
No sign of Giric.
Or Nicholas.
There must be some sign of what happened in the chamber. She wiped the
tears from her eyes, scoured the chamber. On the bedside table stood two goblets. Hope ignited. In her panic, she’d nae noticed them before. Hurrying over she lifted both cups, sniffed. The scent of wine lingered. What had she expected, one to have the faint tang of poison?
Elizabet gave an exasperated sigh. She was going crazy! Naught was amiss here except for the fact that her brother was gone. In Nicholas’s anger, he’d moved Giric. The question was to where?
As if she didna expect retribution? After their explosive kiss in the turbulent churn of water, a kiss that could have easily led to more, she’d witnessed a silent declaration in his eyes—she was his.
Outrage should have shot through her at his silent claim. Instead, loving him, thrills of pleasure had whipped through her. Yet, now he had her lover, or so he believed.
Terrified for her brother’s life, she ran from the chamber. She had to find them before Nicholas did something rash, like kill Giric.
Nicholas scrubbed his damp hair with a dry cloth, tossed the linen onto the bed, then walked to stand beside the hearth. Much appreciated warmth from the flames flickered against his skin.
He narrowed his gaze at the door. Elizabet would come. And with her frantic yells as he’d ridden away, he could well imagine the state she’d worked herself into, an anxiousness he would mold into passion.
Though undercurrents of anger simmered in his blood, Nicholas raised the goblet of mulled wine in a silent salute—to her dauntless spirit, and her fierce loyalty. The warm liquid slid down his throat in a gentle glide, as soft as a lover’s kiss, as alluring as the woman who’d seduced his every defense.
The rush of steps echoed outside his door.
Nicholas leaned back against the stone of the hearth.
The door flew open. Elizabet ran inside, skidded to a halt. Eyes wide with fear met his.
He took in her slender form, accentuated with the lush curves of a woman. How could he have ever mistaken her for a lad?
“Where is he?” she rushed out.
Her forlorn expression tempted Nicholas to admit the truth, but another part of him, the part that had anguished for weeks, withheld any explanation.