An Oath Taken by Diana Cosby

in Thomas’s gaze—a trick of the light, a bedeviling of his mind. He’d but censored his squire. ’Twas not as if he’d beaten him with a stick.
    And sometimes words hurt the most.
    Guilt erased the hard edge of anger. Battered by self-doubts, he stared at his squire as he hurried away. None of this made any sense.
    Nicholas struggled to pinpoint exactly what he’d said to the lad to instill such a grief-stricken reaction, but as if an illusion of its own, the answer eluded him. He gritted his teeth wanting to scream, but finding through it all that he wanted to help.
    On a muttered curse, he strode to the armory and called himself every kind of a lack-witted fool. No doubt his brother, Hugh, would be amused by his confusion. Until a moment ago, he would’ve joined in as well.
    As he entered the armory, Sir Jon looked over. “Everything is set for this eve’s meeting as you requested.”
    Nicholas nodded. So caught up in the moment, he’d forgotten to inform his squire of the upcoming evening’s events. “I will be pleased when it is over.”
    Sir Jon nodded. “ ’Twill not be a gathering for the faint of heart.”
    â€œIndeed.” Nicholas glanced toward the dungeon. “Take several men and move Lord Terrick to an empty chamber on the second floor of the keep. Ensure it remains under guard.”
    â€œAye, Sir Nicholas.” Mail clanked as the knight strode out the door.
    Though Lord Terrick’s condition weighed heavy on his mind, Nicholas focused on the upcoming eve. Meeting with the Wardens of the Western Marches from both English and Scottish soil, along with other border officials, was a necessary evil. He’d been warned that many times their discussions turned into drunken, fist-crunching brawls, and often the wardens on both sides of the border were as guilty of reiving as those charged. This night he was determined to keep peace between them, or at least a semblance of order for the few hours they would remain within Ravenmoor Castle.
    From their assembly he hoped to establish his quest for peace and unravel any further dealings of the previous castellan, illicit or otherwise.
    He walked to where the weapons were stored. Tonight and its worries would come soon enough. Now, to find Thomas a sword. After skimming through the pitiful selection, making a mental note to send the battered lot to the blacksmith along with a request to forge more, he withdrew the best from the bunch.
    The tarnished steel of the sword would be Thomas’s task to polish and maintain. For now the sharpening of the blade could wait.
    The weapon balanced well in his hand. Pleased, Nicholas moved the sword through a rapid succession of maneuvers, wielding the blade with quick, efficient sweeps. He selected a partially moth-eaten but serviceable gambeson and headed toward the lists.
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    The clang of swords echoed behind Elizabet as knights began to spar in pairs around her while she kept watch for the castellan to appear.
    Inside, her stomach churned. She’d thought herself composed, prepared to face Sir Nicholas upon his return from his rounds. But when he’d ridden through the gates, her emotions had begun to shatter, inch by unnerving inch. Then he’d dismounted and gazed at her with sincere concern, and the last barrier of her resistance had crumbled. When he’d taken a step toward her, it’d required all of her willpower nae to throw herself into his arms.
    The desperate need to be held, to draw from his endless strength, startled her, but her unexpected vulnerability toward Nicholas left her off guard.
    Elizabet glanced in the shadowed nooks of the repaired walls, half-expecting to see fey eyes brimmed with mischief glittering at her plight.
    Blades rang out with a solid clash paces away.
    â€œSaint’s curse!” the knight to her right called out.
    She glanced over as the fighter danced away from the bite of the sword.
    His