Outlaw Knight's Broken Oath

Anno Domini 1234 Tristan caught the quick, light steps of a girl racing up the castle stair and let out a breath he had been holding. That delicate rhythm of narrow feet he would have known among a thousand, and never had its sound brought him greater relief. Elara! She still lived! He cast a look from the window of his tower chamber. Outside Ravenhold, the valley crawled with mercenaries. In the darkness their torches flashed wickedly, and their victorious shouts rose clear to the keep. Aye, they had gained themselves a victory. Yet Elara had led her people to safety. The Margrave's men had not laid hands on her, and she was safe. And now she was hurrying back to him. Surely that was a favorable sign, given that less than an hour before he had confessed he loved her. He heard her dash along the passage and, almost without willing it, moved for the door himself, passing the old knight, Sir Aldric, who remained sunk in that unnatural sleep. Outside, she seemed to hesitate before the door for a heartbeat--then shoved it wide. There she was: a slender figure in white, gold hair spilling to her waist, eyes bright as sapphires even by the faint flame of the solitary oil lamp lighting the chamber. She looked every bit as lovely as she ever had. Tristan felt love for her fill his chest to bursting--and it seemed she felt no less. The instant she saw him, the sweetest red rushed into her cheeks, and she flew toward him, lifting an arm as though she meant to hold him.