An Oath Taken

by Diana Cosby

  With a curse, Dunsten hauled her to her feet. “You are more trouble than you are worth, but that bastard Nicholas will never have you.”

  Furious, she tried to shove him off balance. Failed. “Nicholas is nae the bastard, you are!”

  With an oath, Dunsten’s fist connected with her cheek.

  Pain streaked through her and she dropped to her knees. The salty taste of blood tainted her tongue.

  With an angry curse, he hauled her up and slung her over his shoulder.

  Elizabet worked to catch her breath as the void of unconsciousness lured her. If she succumbed to the darkness now, any chance to escape, however remote, would be lost.

  The blackness hummed around her as Dunsten continued through the maze of tunnels at a slow but steady pace. The smell of the sea grew. The rush of water magnified, filling the inky darkness like thunder.

  A shimmer of light appeared in the distance. With her each step, it grew brighter. Elizabet gained her bearings. Nay! By all the saints, he couldna be headed there!

  She’d believed that he would make his way along the seawall and resurface near the orchards where she’d entered earlier with Colyne’s men, and where he’d left a small contingent outside in case Dunsten somehow tried to escape. In the commotion, she’d forgotten this second escape route!

  The last hints of dusk sifted through the wide opening as the earl moved into the cavern carved by the sea.

  Trying to maintain a degree of calm, Elizabet weighed the situation. The tide was coming in. At high tide this exit became blocked. If they made it out of the tunnel, chances of anyone following them ended.

  She glanced back.

  Gloom fell away to blackness.

  Where are you, Giric? Nicholas? Water sloshed and swirled around her legs as Dunsten dragged her into the foamy waves. Gulls echoed beyond the sea-borne entrance, their high, screeching calls piercing her senses.

  If she didna stop him . . . Nay, she refused to doubt herself now. Twisting in his arms, Elizabet kicked him between the legs.

  He howled in outrage. “You bloody wench!”

  The oncoming wave slammed him, and he started to stumble.

  This was it! She shifted all her weight toward him.

  Dunsten slipped. Water sloshed around them as he landed onto the water-packed sand with her on top.

  She dug her foot in the sand, pushed away.

  “Nay!” He jerked her toward him as the next breaker swept in, catching them both.

  The rush of water battered her, but she continued to fight to break free.

  With a curse, the earl surfaced, dragged her to feet by a fistful of hair, slammed her into the incoming surf.

  Water pummeled her.

  His face twisted in outrage, he caught her neck and held her under.

  Panicking, Elizabet struggled to reach the surface.

  He hauled her up. Veins popped out on his face, carving intricate paths of rage. “Do nae fight me. I can give you everything you want and more.”

  “Rot in Hades. Nicholas is a better man then you will ever hope to be.”

  “Then that is what you shall have. For if I canna have you, no one will.”

  Water surged into the cavern sloshing up the time-worn walls. She barely caught her breath as he shoved her to the sandy floor. Salt and sand filled her mouth as the wave crashed over her. The water began to recede, and the current tugged at her mercilessly, trying to wrench her from his unyielding grip. Her eyes stung. Nausea and fear collided, threatening to extinguish her last hope. She pulled at his hand, fought to loosen his grip as her world spun, then faded to blackness.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dizziness threatened, and the taste of blood stung Nicholas’s senses. He clutched the wall, tried to focus, to listen to the faint struggle ahead that he had followed this far.

  He drew in a ragged breath, then another. His legs trembled. The pounding in his head slammed like a smith’s hammer to his skull. He closed his eyes, fought against the pain. Doubts toppled onto one another as blackness threatened. Mayhap he should have bid Terrick to come instead.

  Bedamned, the time for regrets was long past. He’d not made it this far to lose her. He shoved from the tunnel wall, staggered forward.

  Elizabet’s scream echoed in the distance.

  Blackness tangled around his consciousness like demons. Nicholas clawed his way along the damp, cool walls, cursing each twist and turn that threatened to lay siege to his goal.

  Murky gray light wove before him like a silken promise. Shapes jutted from the sand. Water, dark and angry, churned up the steep incline like an outraged lover.

  The stain of dusk slashed through the tidal chamber as Nicholas stepped inside. In the sky beyond, reds clashed with orange and then wove into hard shadows of black.

  A splash to his left.

  Nicholas turned.

  Hip-deep in the surf, Elizabet flailed as Dunsten pinned her beneath the surge of water.

  Rage, hot and sharp, tore through Nicholas as he sloshed into the water. “Dunsten!”

  Still holding Elizabet’s head under, the earl turned. His eyes narrowed. “Bedamned!”

  For a split second, his grasp loosened and Elizabet surfaced. Her strangled cough was lost in the crash of the next wave.

  Nicholas lunged.

  Dunsten released Elizabet, withdrew his dagger.

  With a growl, Nicholas caught the hilt of Dunsten’s knife. “You”—he tore the blade free; it slipped into the churn of water—

  “will”—he slammed his fist into the earl’s face—“never touch Elizabet again!” He drew his hand back; the next breaker hit him.

  The rush of the surf filled his ears, salt and sand stung his cuts and scraped over his body. Nicholas held on as the wave jerked them back, refusing to lose Dunsten even to the sea.

  Water receded and Lord Dunsten pushed to his feet. “You bloody Sassenach!” Eyes wild, he turned toward Elizabet.

  The next breaker raced around Nicholas in a mad swoosh, chased by the hiss of foam and rolling sand. He dove on top of Dunsten.

  The roil of water swept them under as the earl twisted in his grasp, his hands searching and finding his neck. He squeezed tight.

  Darkness threatened Nicholas as he tried to kick to the surface. Bedamned! He shoved Dunsten’s chest, then moved to the earl’s neck. He squeezed.

  The noble’s hands tightened.

  Another wave of blackness threatened, and Nicholas twisted his fingers deeper.

  The earl’s hold loosened.

  The bastard! In the rush of water, Nicholas tightened his grip.

  Dunsten’s hold fell away.

  Nicholas kicked to the surface. Air, clean, cool, surged through his lungs. A gulp. Then another. His head began to clear.

  Without warning, the earl’s hand caught his leg, hauled him under.

  Water raced down his throat. Sand lashed at his body. Nicholas barely caught a breath as another wave washed in, ripping at his feet.

  Dunsten caught his arm.

  Water rolled back, allowing Nicholas to breathe.

  “Nicholas!” Elizabet’s scream sliced through his pain-fogged mind.

  Clenching his teeth, Nicholas jerked the nobleman’s hand free. “Stay back, Elizabet!” He slammed his fist into the noble’s jaw.

  Rage and pain dredged the earl’s face as he staggered back. With a curse, Dunsten wrapped his hands around the hilt of the claymore on his back, tugged. The sodden leather gushed. The weapon moved a hand’s length. His face carved in outrage, he withdrew a second dagger from his belt, waved it like a madman.

  Nicholas started to move forward, then his vision grew blurry.

  As Nicholas’s body began to weave, panic swept Elizabet. She had to help him! Water sloshed around her legs as she staggered to her feet, hurried forward.

  Dunsten raised the blade.

  The next wave rose up, crashed to shore. In a violent rush, the water ripped both men back.

  “Nay!” Elizabet m
oved deeper into the ocean.

  In the distance they surfaced.The next wave pulled them under.

  Stunned, she scanned the churn of water. In the mix of waves, blood stained the frothy caps. A scream built in her throat as she searched the roiling water, wading deeper.

  A shape rose from the depths.

  Thank God! “Nich—”

  Dunsten surfaced.

  God nay!

  He swam toward her.

  Heart pounding, she scrambled for shore. As she reached the sturdier sand, Dunsten’s hand caught her shoulder. “Release me!” She fought to free herself, but his fingers bit deeper into her flesh. Desperate, she searched for a rock, stick, anything to use as a weapon.

  Dunsten turned her toward him, curled his hands around her neck, tightened. “He is dead!”

  With all of her strength, she fought to break free.

  Malice filled his eyes. “Now you will die—” On a gasp, Dunsten’s eyes widened, then he fell back. Dazed and coughing, she rolled away in case the earl lunged for her.

  Instead, Nicholas stood in the rush of water, his hand pulling Dunsten deeper.

  Another breaker rolled in, hauled both men under.

  Emotions stormed her as she shoved to her feet. “Nicholas!”

  The next wave crashed, rolled in, then slid out.

  One man stood.

  Alone.

  Nicholas walked toward her.

  “Thank God!” On trembling legs she ran toward him, thankful as he wrapped her into his embrace.

  His mouth took hers. The first taste claimed a fierce, hungry need. The second slid into a warm seduction.

  He skimmed his hands down her back to press her full against him as his mouth grew demanding. In shuffled steps, Nicholas guided her to the shore, where the water nipped at the beach. He pulled her to the ground with him, rolling so she lay within his arms. “I—I thought I had lost you,” he whispered, searching her eyes, his own laced with anguished desperation.

  Emotions storming her, she shook her head. “ ’Tis over.” The fears that had threatened burst. Her first sob rolled through her, then the next.

  Ignoring the pain, Nicholas caught her mouth in a tender kiss, drinking her tears, tasting the fear, but above all her love.

  The sizzle of foam brushed against his legs as he pushed her against the sand and touched her, because he could, because life had given him another chance. He lifted his head, drank in the sight of the woman he loved with all of his heart. “I love you, Elizabet Armstrong.”

  Her eyes shined bright. “Nicholas I—”

  “Say you love me,” he urged on a half-laugh.

  With a smile, Elizabet laid her hand on his chest and pushed him back. “I love you, but do nae let it go to your—” Nicholas smothered further words with a tender kiss. “I am man enough to know that I hold the woman who is my heart and necessary to my life—one that I will cherish always.”

  Delight twinkled in her emerald-green eyes. “And now you think pretty words will make me love you forever?”

  His heart pounded in his chest, but he wanted this tenderness, the lightness of the moment. “I am hoping so.” Her warm laugh had him melting. “Is it working?”

  “Nicholas I . . . Aye.” She wrapped her hands around his neck and drew him close, her eyes darkening with sultry promise. “Kiss me.”

  And he did, savoring the rightness of this moment, and the gift of her he’d been given. When he pulled away, her finger traced his face, pausing at the sharp angle of his jaw.

  Elizabet frowned at his shoulder, then her eyes lifted to meet his. “We need to return. Your cuts need to be treated and . . .Giric.”

  Nicholas smiled. For the moment he too had forgotten her brother. The rumble of water echoed around them as he brushed back a damp lock from her cheek, knowing with her he could never get enough. “He will be worried.” That Terrick had entrusted him with saving Elizabet’s life left him humbled. “One last kiss then we will go.”

  She laughed. “One kiss is it? Nay, one will never do. You will be begging me for more.”

  He grew serious and cupped her face. “Only for you.”

  “Nicholas—”

  At the slap of footsteps over sand and rock, Nicholas glanced toward the tunnel. A faint golden glow flickered from deep within the shaft.

  The jagged light steadily grew. Breaths, rough, harsh, blended with the jostle of leather and steel.

  “Hurry, get up,” Nicholas said. Sand shifted as they shoved to their feet.

  Seconds later, Terrick, holding a torch, followed by a small contingent of men, burst into the chamber. He halted, and his expression of fear transformed to amazement. “Saint’s breath!” He eyed them both as he sheathed his sword.

  The men behind him secured their blades.

  Giric strode to the edge of the incoming tide, stared out the near-filled tunnel at the incoming breakers.

  Understanding, Nicholas drew Elizabet up against him.

  “He is dead?” Giric asked as he stared at the sea.

  “He is,” Nicholas replied.

  Terrick glared at Nicholas. “I almost broke my neck running through the tunnel with—” he made an angry gesture toward the torch, “—with that measly piece of stick dabbed with a flame! And why?” He threw out his hands in exasperation. “I was thinking your bloody carcass was in trouble.”

  Nicholas eyed him, understanding his fear, having lived with it through the past several hours as well. The tension that’d haunted him dissolved. He laughed, enjoying the warm sound in a chamber that moments ago had echoed death.

  Terrick opened his mouth to speak, and then snapped it shut.

  Elizabet’s sweet laughter blended with his.

  The Scot’s eyes narrowed. “I bloody well almost got killed. The next time I will leave you both to—”

  “Giric,” Nicholas said.

  “I thought you were in trouble,” the earl repeated, but the anger in his words had faded.

  Nicholas winked at Elizabet. “I am. Watching over your sister is likely to be the death of me.”

  His mouth curved in a smile. “Aye, that she will be.” Giric offered his hand. “You look worse than a grime-covered pig.”

  Nicholas shook Giric’s hand. “You are not much better to look at.”

  Mischief danced in Terrick’s eyes. “Well, we will have to fix that, then.”

  Elizabet moved between them. “What are you—”

  “A pint it will be,” Terrick said as a smile broke onto his face.

  She punched his shoulder but he only laughed. “ ’Tis nae funny, Giric Armstrong!”

  In answer his smile widened.

  “Come on, lass,” Nicholas said in his best deep Scottish burr.

  Her eyes sparkled, filled with love. “You are lucky I love you or I would be tossing you in the sea.”

  Nicholas drew her near until his lips hovered a breath away from hers. “I am at that.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Candles lined the walls, casting flame-softened light over the room like magical fingers. Fragrances reached Elizabet, those of the heather, gowan, foxglove, and the myriad of other blooms placed in baskets throughout the great hall. Elation filled her as she absorbed it all.

  A golden shimmer glistened among the thick swath of heather near the window. She smiled, imagining fairies dancing within. ’Twas as if they had indeed cast their spell over this moment.

  “Let me look at you, lass,” Lachllan said as he stepped forward. Weathered blue eyes scanned her face, eyes blurred by tears. “A picture of your mother you are. And you couldna mean more to me if you were me own daughter.”

  She sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek, then another.

  Lachllan drew her against him. “There now, lass.” He stroked his hand over her hair. “There is no reason to cry.”

  “I almost lost you,” she said on a sniff.

  “Now do nae be fretting over the past. I am fine as you can see.”

  “When we
left you in the woods . . .” Fear stole her words.

  “ ’Tis your wedding,” her steward gently chided. “I will have nay more tears.”

  “Elizabet,” Giric said, striding up. “I will nae let Lachllan keep you all to himself.” He paused, shot a questioning look at the steward. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nay,” Lachllan replied, “the lass is being sentimental.”

  “Again?” Giric grimaced. “Do nae be telling me this is the same woman who dressed as a lad to save me?”

  Her heart warm, Elizabet batted his hand away with a laugh. “You do nae have a sentimental bone in your body, Giric Armstrong.”

  “I am a man who has vowed to set his own home to rights,” Giric said with mock outrage.

  She softened, remembering his pledge to give up his reiving ways and rebuild their ancestral home. “Mayhap I will overlook your shortcomings.”

  “Will you now,” her brother said. “And mayhap I will forgive you for marrying a Sassenach.”

  She smiled, far from worried. For all of his fierce words, the bond between Giric and Nicholas was as strong as if they were brothers.

  With a somber look, Giric held out his hand. “Colyne MacKerran wanted me to give you this after he left.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “If I had nae met up with Colyne and his men, you would have died.”

  “ ’Twas fate,” Giric agreed.

  “Indeed,” Elizabet agreed, “but never did I wish to hurt him. I tried to love him, I swear it.”

  “Shhhhhh, lass,” Lachllan said. “We know, as does Colyne. Neither does Colyne hold it against you.”

  “And now you have Nicholas.” Giric smiled. “One day, Colyne will find a woman who loves him as well.”

  “I pray so.” She paused. “You said he left. Where is he going?”

  “With the unrest in Scotland,” Giric replied, “he is returning to his home in the Highlands, Taigh Castle. Do nae worry about him, Elizabet. At times the love we wish canna be.” With a resolute sigh her brother hugged her one last time, then let go. “Now, onto happier things. I am proud of you, and I will always be wishing you the best.”