An Oath Broken by Diana Cosby

start. Now look at them. Guilt swept him as he scanned the toppled mounds of snow. He wasna being fair. She had nae chosen this marriage, to travel in the middle of winter, nor to be shackled with him.
    “Sarra?” His legs trembled as he forced himself to move.
    A moan sounded from behind him.
    Giric whirled.
    Another soft groan came from near a large, jagged bank of snow.
    Thank God she was alive! Giric stumbled forward, cursing every ache, celebrating every step. He rounded the tangled heap of white and found her lying on her back. Shaken, he dropped to his knees at her side and laid his hand against her cheek. “Sarra?”
    Gray eyes flickered open, and she stared at him as if unsure. “Si—Sir Knight?”
    Her whisper, roughed by pain, shot another surge of guilt through him. He’d done a poor job of protecting her. “Aye.”
    “We . . . We made it?”
    He nodded, scanned the slope of the land, and tried to smother a shot of unexpected need and the complications such could bring. “Aye.” They’d made it, but at what cost?
    Her brow scrunched, and she closed her eyes.
    “Sarra, can you get up?”
    Her lids flickered open. “What?”
    “The men chasing us are backtracking. They will be here posthaste.” At the flash of fear in her eyes, Giric damned the pending danger when the lass had already suffered so much. What other choice did he have? None. And that’s what irritated him most.
    Sarra started to sit up.
    He lay his hand on her shoulder. “Before you move, I need to check that naught is broken.” He ran his hands down her legs trying nae to think how good they felt. Confident she’d suffered nay more than minor injuries, he sat back. “Naught feels broken, but you will be bruised and sore for a few days.”
    The doubts on her face of moments ago faded. “I—Thank you.”
    He extended his hand to her. “We must go.”
    “You are bleeding.”
    He glanced at his chest. A small half-frozen stream of blood lay caked down his left side. “I will care for it later. There is nae—”
    “Your wound needs immediate attention.” Her eyes narrowed as if daring him to contest her. “I am not a healer, but I am aware that a wound untended can fester and become life-threatening.”
    He stared at her in disbelief. Of all times for her to give a damn what happened to him, now was nae it. “We have already wasted too much time.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
    “Your wound needs—”
    “Naught that we have time for.”
    Sarra scowled. “I can get up myself.” Though her legs trembled, she stood, careful to avoid his touch.
    Her defiance stoked his ire. “You do nae need anyone, do you?”
    She lifted her chin in that all-too-familiar stubborn tilt. “I will make it fine on my own.” She brushed off the snow that had plastered itself to her body during her fall, all the while keeping a wary eye on him.
    Giric gave a disbelieving grunt. Alone he doubted she’d make it an hour. When she opened her mouth to speak he raised his hand. “Save your flattery for later. We must go.”
    On a humph, she followed him with an unsteady but determined stride.
    He tried to ignore her stubborn pride, but admiration won over. Her rebellious nature reminded him of his sister, Elizabet. Giric slid an irritated glance toward her.
    Her eyes narrowed as he continued to watch her. “I am fine.”
    Let her wear her foolish pride, she would find it a lonely companion.
    As had he.
    Disgusted with the reminder that at times he’d allowed his pride to guide him instead of common sense, he strode to his horse. At its side, he cupped his hands and gestured for her to mount.
    After a wary glance, she accepted his offer.
    “Wait here.” Giric retrieved a broken branch then returned and began leading the horse toward the river.
    “Are you not going to ride?” she asked, her voice hesitant.
    “Nay.” Ignoring the pain, he strode at a brisk pace as he scanned the landscape for any sign of the men.
    “What