An Oath Taken Read Online Free PDF

donned his tunic and cinched his belt, eyeing the ledger on the desk in the small but serviceable chamber where the castle records were kept. Mayhap he could make a degree of headway reviewing the previous castellan’s entries in castle’s operations before the meal.
    A knock sounded upon the door.
    He grabbed a towel and wiped his face. “Enter.”
    The door groaned open and Sir Laurence, a slender English knight who’d served the previous castellan, entered. “Sir Nicholas.”
    He lowered the towel. “You have news?”
    â€œOf sorts. ’Tis the prisoners in the dungeon.”
    â€œPrisoners?” Nicholas eyed the knight hard. “I have been here over a sennight. When I asked if there was anything of importance that I should be informed, why was I was not appraised there were prisoners?”
    â€œMy regrets, Sir Nicholas. Sir Renaud had issued strict orders not to be bothered by the prisoners’ welfare, and I . . .” Sir Laurence cleared his throat. “ ’Tis an oversight that will not happen again.”
    Blast it, he’d believed he’d addressed all immediate issues. “Tell me.”
    â€œThe healer requests that the bodies be moved.”
    Nicholas slapped the towel onto the chair. “Bodies?”
    The knight shifted uncomfortably. “Sir Renaud—”
    â€œI do not give a bloody damn about Sir Renaud. Tell me about the prisoners—no.” Nicholas strapped on his broadsword, strode to the door, and jerked it open. “Take me there. I will see for myself.”
    â€œYes, Sir Nicholas.” The knight hurried through the entry.
    After exiting the keep, they crossed the courtyard and entered the far turret. As Nicholas reached the top of the stone steps leading to the dungeon, the guard at his post snapped to attention.
    Sir Laurence shoved open the aged wrought-iron door. “This way.”
    Torchlight sputtered as a cool slice of wind whistled through the dank confines. As he stepped inside, the stench of bodies and refuse struck Nicholas like a catapult. Within the broken cast of yellowed light, he found men huddled inside narrow cells no larger than a coffin. Some dying, while others lay unmoving, their gazes fixed.
    Furious, Nicholas strode up the narrowed center path, repulsed by the foul conditions and the basic lack of respect shown to their fellow man. In his many years of service to the king, never had he witnessed such atrocities as those sprawled before him. ’Twould sicken the stoutest man.
    â€œSir Laurence,” Nicholas boomed, “I want the dead removed from the cells immediately, and bid the healer to return. Those who live will be tended to posthaste.”
    â€œAye, Sir Nicholas.” The click of hurried steps against stone echoed as Sir Laurence rushed out.
    With methodical precision, Nicholas scanned the cells. Three cells down, his gaze collided with a pair of ice-blue eyes bright with fever. The coldness in their depths pulsed with rage. Hair as black as soot framed the rigid determination set within the stranger’s face, and several dark bruises with an angry purple-black hue cut across his cheeks and forehead. Though the prisoner only stared, his silence spoke volumes.
    The man was dangerous.
    Nicholas acknowledged him with a brief nod. As a warrior he understood the risks this man had taken in fighting for his beliefs. He also understood his part in this lethal game—as castellan, he must serve justice to those who went against his king. These men were prisoners because they’d broken the law in opposing England’s rule. Still, he would ensure they were treated with respect.
    Accompanied by the soft moans of the wounded within the cells, Nicholas walked over and stood before the dangerous man’s cell. This close, he caught the sheen of sweat on his brow, the gaunt appearance of his face, and the tremors that wracked his body. A hand’s length away lay the