Free An Oath Broken by Diana Cosby

Knight.”
    “Aye.”
    “There is a—”
    “I know what is up ahead.” As soon as he’d spat the words, he could have kicked himself. She didna deserve his poor temper. They would have to make do. “I didna mean to sound harsh. We are both tired.”
    Silence.
    Blast it! He halted his mount, dismounted, and then helped her into their broken-down-yet-temporary lodgings. “We should be safe here.” For a while. Léod and his men would come; the question was nae if, but when. Frustrated, he headed outside.
     
    Sarra’s breath puffed out in a cloud of white as the door slammed shut. How long would Sir Knight remain outside? Chills running through her, she rubbed her hands over her arms. Within the meager light, she made a slow circle of what the Scot had deemed a safe retreat.
    A fine sheen of snow sifted through the cracks in the timber posts and the missing thatch in several places in the roof, and doubts lingered about the safety of this hovel.
    An old but usable hearth sat centered in the single room. Shards of pottery lay scattered around the earthen floor. A broken bench sat in a heap in the corner nearest to the door, and a battered cauldron was tipped on its side beside the fireplace. In the far corner stood a well-worn bed filled with brownish straw. All smeared with a fine dusting of snow.
    Another gust of wind pummeled the aged hut and whistled through the holes.
    She shivered.
    The door scraped open.
    Sir Knight stepped inside carrying a load of wood, then shoved the door closed. “Colder than a . . .” He stomped the snow from his boots, then dropped the wood onto the floor with an unnerving clatter. “The horse is secure. Now I will start a fire.”
    A fire? Was he mad? They had just ridden for more than half a day over this godforsaken terrain and narrowly, only narrowly escaped the Scots who were determined to kill them. Her, she corrected. And now her glorious protector was going to build a fire? Why didn’t he go outside and shout their location?
    At this moment, any doubts of Lord Bretane’s ability for rational thought were erased. Before her stood proof.
    Her guardian had hired an idiot.
    “The men will be able to see the smoke,” Sarra said, unable to keep the temper from her voice.
    The Scot shrugged, knelt, and then began to stack the wood in the hearth. “They are a ways off.”
    His unconcerned reply coated in a soft burr riled her further. When he pulled out his flint and used his dagger to scrape sparks into the small stack of dry timber, her control snapped.
    Sarra stormed over and kicked the stack of tinder. Sticks clattered and shavings billowed up to glide back to the floor in a drunken heap.
    Red slashing his cheeks, Sir Knight jumped to his feet. “Blast it, you have been naught but a pain in the arse from the start! Why had I deluded myself into thinking that at some moment during our journey that you would be of any help?”
    Stunned by his ferocity, she started to take a step back, but indignation forced her to hold her ground. “The men will see the smoke.”
    He took a predatory step toward her. “If you have nae noticed,” he drawled with uncensored sarcasm, “there is a blizzard raging outside. If the men are still attempting to find our tracks, I doubt if they can see a stone’s throw before them, much less a wisp of smoke. That is if I can even get this blasted fire started!”
    “Oh.” She glanced through the holes to outside where the white haze of snow and wind obscured her vision, the same storm they’d traveled through for the past few hours. He was right, but couldn’t he see that she was scared out of her wits? It wasn’t as if being chased by a band of ruffians with intent to kill her was an everyday event.
    His eyes narrowed. “Here I am carting around a high and mighty heiress. I should have expected that you would be dim-witted as a gnat in such dealings. A lad could have divined a fire was nae a threat!”
    The apology brewing in her mind