Free An Oath Taken by Diana Cosby

skin.
    â€œLad,” Deredere said.
    â€œAy—Aye?”
    â€œYou are white as sun-bleached cloth. ’Tis nae a problem if you decide you canna face the wounded. One of the guards can assist me.”
    â€œNay,” Elizabet said quickly, her breathing shallow, her heart pounding. “I must . . .” She paused and tried to calm her fears before she gave herself away, but flashes of her father’s body ripped through her mind. “I am fine.” Before the healer could question her further, Elizabet jerked open the door and hurried toward the dungeon.
    â€œThe lad has nae a wit of sense,” the healer muttered in her wake.
    Elizabet’s steps echoed around her as she moved up the steps, each haunting her like a drum of death. In moments she would know. Please let Giric be alive!
    â€œHalt.” The guard blocked her path as she reached the landing.
    Sir Nicholas had ordered the guard to nae allow her inside! Frantic, she stepped closer. “Please, I—”
    â€œEnough!” The guard frowned at the healer struggling up the steps. “You should be helping the healer instead of worrying about yourself.” With a sharp look he stepped past her, lifted the basket from the old woman’s hands, then he made his way to where Elizabet stood. “Where is Sir Nicholas?”
    â€œHe is out on rounds.” She held her breath and prayed he didna refuse her entry.
    The guard studied her as if unsure. “You are here to escort the healer?”
    Her every nerve sang. “Aye.”
    â€œNext time, carry her basket,” the guard snapped. “ ’Tis heavy.”
    Relief filled her. The guard had stopped her because she’d nae aided the healer. “The healer said she could carry it.”
    He frowned. “Aye, she is a stubborn one, but ’tis your duty when you are escorting her here.”
    â€œIn the future I will.” As he handed her the basket then stepped back, any worries of Nicholas’s having left orders for her to be banned entry from the dungeon fled. But the castellan would find out. ’Twould nae matter at that point for she would know the fate of her brother.
    Elizabet took in the thick wrought iron door. Please, let Giric be in there and alive.
    Metal scraped as the guard pulled the entry open.
    Shabby sunlight sifted through the dank chamber in faded streams, and the faint odor of death permeated the air.
    Nausea swept her, and she almost wretched. Mary, Mother of God, how could anyone remain in these inhumane confines and survive? Dread filling every step, she scanned the narrow cells. A wash of faces, all familiar, swam into view: several archers, knights, the master of the hunt.
    All except Giric.
    The air grew thin, hard to breathe. He must have been the man who had died this morning.
    â€œLad?”
    The healer’s hand touched her shoulder, and Elizabet jumped. She tried to quell her rising fear. “I . . . I didna expect the conditions to be so wretched.”
    The healer eyed her, then nodded toward the far end of the dungeon. “We will treat the severely injured first.” With a tsk, she took the lead.
    Numb, Elizabet followed her, nae trusting herself to speak. As they made their way toward the back, several men from Wolfhaven Castle eyed her hard, and a new fear arose. Had they identified her? If so, please let them nae call out her name!
    When she passed the falconer in his cell, recognition flashed in his gaze, followed by a scowl. Elizabet pressed a finger to her lips and gave a brief shake of her head.
    The falconer nodded his understanding, his scowl of displeasure remaining.
    However angry the falconer was at her being here, if she saved them, ’twas worth the risk. She glanced forward; the healer was near the end. She hurried to catch up, passing empty cells on occasion, cells that had once housed living, breathing men, mayhap even her brother.
    The heavy wheezing of a man a bit farther