Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) (13 page)

“Are you seeking death?”

“Nay.” Nels's smirk tainted his words. “Just seeking all that is yours. Beginning with the woman. She is mine, and I want her.”

“Never.”
The thought of that villain's hands upon Elin drove rage into Malcolm's chest.

She moved close to him, a slim reed on these dangerous battlements. “Do you know him?”

“Nels is banished from this land, yet he dares to step
foot upon English soil to take you as his.” Malcolm hardened his heart, but the hot protective rage still burned.

She approached the crenellated wall with careful steps, her slim body held stiff with fear. She gazed down on the army below and quickly stepped back. The squire's clothing she now wore only accented her frailty and how easily crushed she would be in the wrong man's hands. “I know him.”

“She admits her deceit!” Ian grabbed her hard against his chest, sword drawn and gleaming.

“Ian.” Malcolm caught his commander by the arm. “Hold your sword. She's but a woman.”

“I am no betrayer.” Elin fought her way out of Ian's grip. “That man visited with Father several times. I saw him only from a distance, but I know him on sight. This man must have plotted with my father against Edward.”

“Were there others?” Malcolm's demand rang along rock and stone and in the hollow chambers of his heart. “I would have the truth, dove.”

Only honesty lit her face as she laid her hand upon his mailed fist. “Father had many visitors, and I kept my distance from them. When you locate all of Evenbough's knights who've disappeared, then mayhap they could tell you more.”

Malcolm gently brushed his gauntleted hand across her cheek. She was not so bad a wife.

“Le Farouche, send down the woman. And tell me how fares my man in your dungeons.”

Malcolm heard the mocking in the mercenary's voice and tasted the danger. He'd defended many a baron's castle when Edward had ordered it, and experience had taught him well. He spied the silent movement of a few fighters below.

Hadn't Ian noticed? The enemy was busily snaking
around the castle under the cloak of darkness, looking for a way over the walls. “Elin, take Giles and twenty of my men and show them every entrance into the castle, even the ones you don't wish to show me.”

“I already did.”

But a single shout of alarm from below proved it was too late.

“The bolt-hole!” There was no mistaking the terror in her eyes. She'd not betrayed them.

Malcolm grabbed a bow and quiver from his squire and shouted commands. “Chayne, lead the squires in loading. We'll take these foul swine with arrows, for we cannot leave the walls unattended. Giles, lead the defense at the postern gate.”

He sighted a mercenary skulking in the bailey below and let an arrow fly. Malcolm watched the enemy tumble to the ground, only to be replaced by another.

“Raymond, they plan to take the gatehouse.” Malcolm felled another fighter with a well-placed arrow, then saw who knelt beside him, struggling with the bow. “Elin, battle is no place for a woman. Run while you can and lock yourself in the keep.”

“I want to make certain you do not hand me over to that Nels.”

“Then aid Chayne in loading my arrows.” Better to have her behind him where he could keep her safe. His squire handed him a ready bow, and he fired. “Lulach, look over the wall and tell me why they've not begun a frontal attack.”

“By the rood! Another force approaches.” The seasoned knight lowered his weapon and stared over the ramparts.

Malcolm rose to do the same. The shades of night revealed armed men advancing from the cover of the forest and fanning out to challenge the army at the walls.

He could not believe his eyes. “It must be Philip's men.”

“Evenbough's knights have returned.” Elin's pleasure held the luster of starlight. “I feared they were dead.”

“Look, more men on horseback approach. 'Tis Justus and Orson.” Malcolm set down his bow. “The battle is won. Let us round up our prisoners and prepare to deliver these traitors to Edward.”

Malcolm saw the freemen and knights take the last of the invaders, and peace reigned.
Peace.
He'd fought long and hard and had never felt this before, the calm and quiet that could fill a man's soul.

“Tell me, Malcolm. Why did you not give me to Nels?” Elin laid her hand on his arm, and her gentle touch warmed him even through the hard links of steel.

His chest ached looking at her. Her hair rippled with the touch of the night wind, and even the squire's clothing could not hide her beauty.

“I would not have given you to anyone. You are mine, dove.” He laid his hand along her cheek, just to touch her, and she smiled at him. Truly smiled.

His heart stopped beating, and for once he wished he was not Malcolm the Fierce, but just a man, any man, so that he could give in to the need to hold her.

 

You are mine, dove.
She hated his claim on her life and body. Worse, she hated the unnatural way her blood heated and her heartbeat quickened whenever she saw him.

His words lingered in her mind as she patched up a few minor wounds the knights had sustained. Then, when she aided Florie serving wine and food, she found her husband seated in the great hall. He looked weary and pale as he accepted the oaths of fealty from the displaced knights who
had once served her father. By the sound of it, the knights were honored now to fight for the great le Farouche.

“See how he watches you.” Florie unloaded a tray of food left over from the evening's feast. “See? He just looked away.”

“He fears I'll betray him. Or try to escape.”

Florie laughed. “'Tis a wicked sense of humor you have, deary. Even with a wound great enough to put a lesser man to his death, our lord commanded the defense of our castle and saved us all. And you hold the honor of being his wife.”

Elin dropped the tray of smoked salmon on the table and watched a handful of hungry squires descend upon it. Aye, she was Malcolm's wife, and that both frightened her and excited her. He'd appeared so invincible on the battlements, she feared how he could dominate her life. What could she do to protect herself? Her sharp tongue did not frighten him. Her skill with weapons did not alarm him. Only her kiss had driven distance between them.

She caught sight of several of the women her father allowed in the castle, the ones who slept near the knights quarters in the gatehouse. One woman was a great beauty and couldn't take her gaze from Malcolm, who spoke earnestly to a warrior kneeling before him.

Well, let the wench pleasure him. He could have her, and all the women he wished. Elin didn't care. He did
not
look for her in the crowded hall, no matter what Florie said. It was as if he purposefully looked the other way, as if the mere sight of her reminded him of her repulsive kiss.

It didn't hurt her feelings, she told herself as she headed back down to the kitchen, where Florie's husband was waiting. She saw how sweetly the old man greeted his wife with a hug and tender words, and her throat ached. It did not matter if Malcolm would never greet her like that. She
would never desire such treatment from a man. She did not pine for tenderness from her husband.

When she next entered the hall, Elin's gaze found Malcolm again. But Florie was wrong. He did not look for her in the crowd.

 

“Elin.” 'Twas his voice and his limping step in the corridor.

She turned, surprised to see no silk-clad wench clinging to his arm. “'Twas good of you to accept Father's men.”

“They aided us out of their own free will, without promises already made.” How exhausted he looked, with bruises beneath his eyes and lines dug deep into his rugged face. “It seems only fair to give them a chance to prove their loyalty.”

She avoided his gaze. “Good night.”

“Elin.” He stopped her with a touch to her shoulder, a touch that scorched like flame. “I'm not used to a woman who helps in battle, and then aids the servants with the food.”

“Florie was too old and tired to do it herself.”

“You are attached to the woman.”

Was that tenderness she heard? From Malcolm le Farouche? “Both Alma and Florie looked after me when my mother died. Aside from my brother, there was no one to protect me.”

Just as there is no one now.
She spun away, knowing her feelings showed on her face. She probably looked like a fool to him, a sentimental woman with fickle feelings. Well, fie on him! He didn't like her kisses, so he might as well just leave. She grabbed hold of her door and shut it.

His hand flew out, keeping the door open. Light flickered across the breadth of his shoulders and chest. His eyes were
dark and pinched, filled with pain. “Elin, I need a new bandage.”

“Oh.” She released the door and bowed her head. She'd treated every other injured man this night, but not Malcolm. He had avoided her. Now she held her heart quiet and tried not to feel any warmth for this man. “Are you bleeding?”

“I want you to see.”

She snatched the basket of herbs from the floor and followed him down the corridor. His solar was warm from the crackling fire in the hearth, but only a single taper gave light to the room.

Malcolm shrugged off his hauberk and let the quilted fabric hit the floor at the foot of the bed. Her gaze became riveted to the burnished plane of his chest and abdomen, then lower. The chausses stretched tight over his groin could not hide his state of arousal.

A very obvious arousal. She swallowed, not at all sure what to think or feel. Panic trembled in her limbs, but she could not force her gaze away.

He sat on a stool near the light. “Do I bleed?”

“Nay.” She'd not noticed the bandage until now, so intently did she study that part of him straining against dark fabric.

Hands trembling, she knelt down and untied the bandage. It came away clean, without blood or seepage. The wound looked puffy, but it was healing. She smeared a thick layer of salve and sprinkled marigold and bartwart on the wound, then rolled a fresh length of cloth over it. “Unbelievable. The wound is healing well enough, but you need rest.”

“I shall take to my bed shortly.” He stood, kicking away the stool.

The clatter of wood upon stone frightened her. But when she saw the look in his eyes, all fear fled. No harshness or anger shone, but a truth so bright it hurt. He was sheer
strength and honor. He would not hurt her. He had never truly hurt her. She saw the hard furrow between his brows and laid a hand to his shoulder. “What is amiss?”

Malcolm's face twisted, and his voice was filled with true concern. “'Tis my belief that Edward's life is in danger. His cousin's murder is just the start of it.”

“Why would you tell me this? Because it was my father who killed her?”

“Do you believe that?” His gaze pinned hers.

She remembered the ruthless treatment of the serving maids, of their cries and tears when Father would trap them in the corridor or the great hall, finding pleasure in their hurt and shame. “I believe him capable. I believe many men capable.”

“'Twas not what I asked.”

“Aye. He was my father, and I cannot help regretting his death.” She sank to the window seat, where only shadows reigned. “I believe he was capable of taking the woman's life.”

“I think your father did not plot alone.”

“Caradoc?”

Malcolm sat beside her, his bare shoulder and hard thigh immovable stone against hers. “The king does not completely believe it, but 'tis one reason why he gave me this barony.”

“Edward gave you the wealth you desired.”

“Nay. 'Tis my duty to protect my king. I'm no baron and will never be, but Edward's protector. Still. 'Tis the only reason I accepted your father's title.”

“To watch Caradoc?”

“Aye. I have eyes and see what Edward cannot quite accept. Someone he trusts, and not just Caradoc, wants his throne.”

How her skin tingled where they touched. She tried to
ignore it, but couldn't. “You've protected Edward a long while.”

“Aye.” His face softened, and now there was no trace of the warrior. “I have no family who would claim me. Except for you, I am alone in this world. My mother was English born and returned to her family before she died. I earned my sword and fought for a small earl, hired for naught more than a roof over my head and food to eat. But the king had need of men, and the earl sent me to fight. During practice, I defeated every one of Edward's knights. I earned my place, and when I saved his life during a hunt, he made me his commander.”

Her chest filled with feeling. “You love your king.”

“Aye.” Malcolm bowed his head, and dark locks tumbled across his brow. “He is the brother I never had, and the price of his life was worth all I suffered.”

“In the Outremer.” She could see it, the shining knight Malcolm must have been, strong and young, with a power that rivaled all in the land. But she could see the harshness in him. And she remembered what Justus had told her of his capture. “That is where you received those scars on your back.”

“Many of them. And the rest as a slave in the desert.”

She hung her head. What had this man endured? Of what depth of loyalty was he capable? What was the breadth of his heart that he would trade his own for the life of another?

She was ashamed that she'd hated him so much. He was just so mighty and fierce, hewn of twilight and shadow, and he frightened her. And fascinated her, too.

“I need your help, Elin.” He leaned his elbows on his massive knees and studied her, speculative lines etched into a hard face touched by too much sun and pain. “'Tis not my life that concerns me overmuch, but I am Edward's greatest ally.”

“You are still his protector.”

“To my last breath.” He bowed his head and studied his hands, callused and battle scarred. “How did the mercenaries get inside the walls? You said the bolt-hole.”