An Oath Sworn (The Oath Trilogy #3)

Chapter 1

The rumble of hooves filled the air as the contingent of knights closed.

Lady Marie Alesia Serouge ran faster. Dropping to her knees, she shoved aside the tangle of brush and started to scramble beneath. Stilled.

Fragments of moonlight exposed the outline of a large, muscular male form.

The man turned. His face, savaged by shadows, focused on her. Even in the feeble light, his gaze burned into hers with ferocious intent.

Twigs caught in her hair as she jerked back. Her breath coming fast, she dared a glance toward the advancing riders before facing the lone warrior. She couldn’t leave cover, nor could she place herself in new danger.

The thrum of hoofbeats grew.

With a prayer, and careful to keep her distance, she pushed her way beneath the brush.

The knights thundered past, their mounts’ hooves casting dust, leaves, and sticks in their wake.

Through the branches, the stranger’s gaze remained riveted upon her.

Pulse racing, she edged back.

The stranger lunged toward her. With a groan, he crumpled to the ground.

Marie hesitated.

Another soft moan echoed into the night.

He was hurt! On edge, she scanned the darkened woods where the riders had disappeared over the horizon.

Mayhap she’d erred and the knights were hunting this man?

However much she wanted to believe that, she couldn’t take the risk.

Furious that King Philip’s bastard daughter had escaped from his imprisonment, naught would deter the English Duke of Renard in his quest to recapture her.

On a groan, the wounded man rolled to his back.

She should leave. Flee while she could.

Marie grimaced. As if she could walk away from the wounded man without a care. The scent of earth melded with that of leaves and the warmth of the late spring night as she edged closer. A hand’s width away she halted.

An arrow extended from his left shoulder!

By his unsteady breaths and soft groans, she could tell he was in pain. The shaft must come out.

She must go! Even were she afforded the luxury of time, he was a stranger, nor did she know what had led him to this desperate end.

But what if he was innocent of a crime?

Blast it! She pressed her fingers against the well-corded muscles of his neck. His strong pulse beat against her skin.

A wolf howled in the distance, another replying nearby.

In the silken moonlight, she withdrew the dagger secured within the folds of her dress as she scoured her surroundings. A wolf could detect the scent of blood from a great distance. If attacked, this man would stand no chance of survival.

Unable to discern any immediate danger, she sheathed her weapon and refocused on the stranger. Her whole life had been devoted to helping those in need; how could she leave him here to die? Nor could she linger. She’d help him until his recovery was certain, then she’d depart.

Now, to find a place for them to hide. Marie scanned the grass and tree-shrouded landscape.

A dense blackness loomed through the tangle of limbs ahead.

A cave!

Twigs snapped as she crawled behind the warrior. Careful to keep his left shoulder immobile, she slid her hands beneath his shoulders.

He groaned.

“I must move you, monsieur,” she whispered. Sweat beaded her brow and every muscle rebelled as she dragged him through the brush. He was a goliath of a man, taller and more muscular than she’d first believed.

After several brief stops to rest between tugs, she reached the entrance of the cave. Muscles aching, she collapsed against the rocky ledge and glanced skyward.

The moon had set and the first rays of sunlight streamed across the heavens in a prism of blues and purples.

Marie frowned. Moving him had taken longer than she’d expected.

Ignoring her body’s protests, she dragged him inside and then shifted him onto his uninjured side.

Opening her water pouch, she pressed it against his lips. “Drink.”

With a grimace, his mouth worked as he swallowed, then he shoved the water away.

Rubbing the fatigue from her eyes, Marie secured her pouch and set it aside. ’Twould hold him for now. “Rest. I will return shortly.”

A quick sweep of their path with a pine bough erased any sign of their presence. After, she picked several herbs that she’d need to treat the man’s wounds and then gathered pieces of ash, wood that would burn without a trail of smoke.

Sunlight trickled through the forest by the time Marie coaxed the first embers within the pile of dried moss and twigs into a flame. After feeding several larger branches into the fire, she turned.

Her breath caught.

Until this moment, she’d caught glimpses of the warrior through flickers of moonlight.

Now, embraced by daylight, she took in the fierce warrior.

Long, whisky-colored hair rested upon broad shoulders honed by muscle.

Hard, unforgiving planes sculpted his face.

Unease trickled through her. Until she reached her father and informed him of the Duke of Renard’s treachery, she could trust no one.

Turning to her task, Marie knelt beside the warrior. She clasped the arrow firmly in both hands.

His mouth tightened as he glared at her through half-raised lids. His gaze, even sheltered beneath dark lashes, burrowed deep into her consciousness with a potent reminder of the risk of helping this stranger.

Nonetheless, if he were to have any chance of survival on his own, the arrow must come out. With a jerk, she snapped the shaft as close to the skin as possible.

He gasped and then slumped back.

Thankful when he remained unconscious, she divested him of his mail and gambeson, careful to avoid brushing the embedded arrow.

As she began to remove his undershirt, she paused.

Whorls of dark hair swirled around aged scars, unknown stories chiseled across a battlefield of sinewy muscle.

As a healer, she’d aided many a man injured in combat, but this war-ravaged fighter exuded a dangerous edge. She eased farther back. Only a fool would allow herself to offer this seasoned warrior her trust.

Trust.

Her heart tightened as she recalled the price of allowing herself to have faith in any man.

A mistake she’d never make again.

Marie shoved her thoughts away. She must finish removing the arrow, not wallow in painful memories.

After taking the arrow from his shoulder, she cauterized the torn flesh. Once she’d applied yarrow and toadflax over the wound, she secured the poultice with strips she’d torn from her undergown and prayed he wouldn’t grow feverish.

With her body screaming its weariness, Marie lay down and closed her eyes.

A warm haze fogged her mind. Images of her escape from Renard’s knights, of the terror guiding her every step as she’d fled, flickered through her mind.

Exhausted, she pushed her fears aside and fell into sleep’s welcome embrace.