Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) (14 page)

Surely he did not still suspect her after all this? Her heart wrenched, but she answered his question. “It is in the wine cellar. There is a shallow door in the wall, where some spices are stored. If you look behind the shelves, there is another door.”

“Who knows of it?”

“I think only Father and I did. Not even Brock knew, and he was the commander of my father's garrison.”

“I'll tell Ian.” He rose and strode from the room, leaving her alone in the shadows. He was gone a long while.

Since the first day she'd scared her father off with the sharp end of her sword, Elin knew she'd never again be victim to a man's dominance. Never again let him have control over her life.

She'd not forgotten it was Malcolm who'd chained her in the dark recesses of the king's towers, who'd left her alone, terrified of the vermin and cold and death.

And yet she knew now he was not a cruel man.

You are mine, dove.

His steps drummed in the corridor, uneven and weary, announcing his return. She looked up as he broke through the darkness and into the solar, where light and shadow met.

Surprise softened his warrior's face. “You stayed.”

“Aye.” She stood, not afraid and not unafraid. “I've not changed the bandage on your arm.”

“'Tis fine.” He held out his hand, palm up. “It grows late. It has been another busy night.”

“Life is not uneventful around you, Malcolm.” She
stood and laid her hand in his. Her fingers burned with his heat.

A dimple quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Trouble often follows me. But you, Lady Elinore of Evenbough, have been a handful of trouble.”

While he meant to jest, his voice rang low and neither of them chuckled. Her hand on his felt weightless, yet as substantial as fire. Her small fingers curled around his greater ones with need.

Shadow played upon her face and painted her angelic beauty with a rare light. Her eyes shone luminous, like the richest of gems, and they drew his greedy gaze and held it. He no longer saw the rebellious girl, but a young woman of tenderness and heart.

She needed a landed gentleman, a titled son of a wealthy man who'd known only leisure. Who had not faced his greatest demons and lost. Who had not seen all he believed in destroyed. Who was not so hard that love would never grow in his heart.

Malcolm was wrong for her, and yet he wanted her. He looked at her body, and his blood thickened. A woman in chausses was a sight to behold—a luxury of lean, curving thigh and hip. It made him iron hard.

The tip of her tongue flicked over the bountiful curve of her lower lip, now damp. Fire raked through him, a thousand points of torture and need that made him shake with want. His fingers caught the hem of her tunic. When he tugged it up over the span of her stomach and chest, he saw the flash of creamy skin and the perfection of her breasts.

How he wanted her. He tossed the garment to the floor. Fierce with need, he knelt before her, his gaze drinking in the loveliness of her full breasts and pearled nipples.

Flame scorched his veins and made his shaft pulse and
ache. He pulled down her hose, revealing a smooth belly and pale thatch of hair, creamy thighs and legs so sculpted he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from bringing her hard against his hips.

She would be both soft and tight, fire and sweetness, virgin and goddess. She smelled of spice and sweet apples, like passion and heat. He leaned his brow against the curve of her stomach. He tugged off his own chausses, and his aching shaft sprang free.

He placed his trembling hands on her hips. A need so great rolled through him it was like a wave battering the shore. It dragged him under so that he couldn't breathe, and then there was only this raging need and this beautiful woman.

He stood and caught her mouth with his, intent on taking her under with him, where passion and breath mingled. Her lips blazed against his, laving him with a searing sensation that drove him further. He caught her up in his arms and settled her at his hips.

He held her, cradling the back of her thighs as her magnificent legs wrapped around him. She clung to him, his erection trapped intimately between them. He felt her velvet heat moist against his shaft and wanted her so much he quaked.

But as he carried her to the bed, her shallow and rapid breathing dragged him to the surface, where logic reigned. If she was aroused by him, it was nothing compared to her fear.

He laid her on the bed. He could not look at her or he would take her, so great was his need. Not just for a woman, but for Elin. He needed her brightness, her softness, her sanctuary.

He stood at the window a long while, but his blood did not cool and his heartbeat did not slow. Need hammered
and pulsed, and he could think of little else but the woman naked and vulnerable on his bed, and how it would feel to lose himself within her.

When he heard her sobs, quiet and sorrowful, he grabbed his clothes and left the solar. He did not glance at her, for his control was tenuous. Calling himself a fool, he closed the door behind him. For once he was grateful for the dark.

S
he heard footsteps outside the solar door. She pulled the fur to her chin. It was not Malcolm returning. She knew he did not desire her, and that humiliation was worse than the sexual act she feared.

The hinges whispered open and Ian stood on the threshold. “Lady Elin? Lord Malcolm leaves at first light. He's bid you to come.” A note of distaste soured the commander's voice. “Do as he orders, for he'll not wait.”

The cold cloak around her heart remained. She climbed out of bed and shivered in the cool air. Why had Malcolm left her last night on his bed, breathless both with fear and a strange excitement? And now, when he had a chance to be rid of her, invited her to go with him?

She packed quickly, then dressed for the trip. She chose an unadorned kirtle and tugged on the borrowed chausses beneath it. She pulled her hair back with a length of ribbon and then buckled the sword at her hip. She found a dagger and wore that, too, hidden beneath her wool riding mantle. She grabbed her sack and hurried to the bailey, where already the men gathered.

Malcolm was avoiding her. She did not find him in the
yard directing his men or in the stable where horses were being saddled.

“'Tis a dangerous thing, escorting fifty prisoners,” one stable boy said to another. “Lord Malcolm said I might journey with them and take care of the horses. My mother cried, thinking I'd be run through if the prisoners escaped.”

“Lord Malcolm is the finest of knights. None shall escape his guard,” the youth answered.

Elin heard a sharp welcoming whinny and tugged the apple from her pocket. The sorrel mare snatched the treat from Elin's palm without even a hello. “Has been a long time, Blaze.” She rubbed the white streak down the middle of the horse's pretty nose. “Did you miss me?”

The horse, the treat consumed, pressed her nose against Elin's hand, inviting more caresses. Her heart warmed. Blaze had been Peter's gift for her birthday five years ago. A fine blooded mare, and powerful, Blaze would have no trouble keeping up with the warhorses. Elin grabbed Peter's old saddle and cinched it on. She led the mare out into the bailey, unnoticed in the fray.

It wasn't until she mounted up that she spotted Malcolm leading the prisoners, ringed by fierce knights, toward the outer bailey. Even on horseback he towered above the others. His dark locks tangled in the wind, rakish and untamed. He emanated power and authority, but he looked pale. Far too pale.

“Lady Elin?” Justus galloped to her side. “Malcolm wishes you to stay with me. I'll be riding postern, and mayhap you can help me watch for a rear ambush. I packed an extra crossbow with the arms. Just in case.” He winked, but he did not tease.

She pressed Blaze into a slow trot as the squires, horse boys and knights fell in line. “This is a dangerous journey.”

“Aye, and no place for a lady, as others argue. But 'tis my opinion Malcolm could not bear to leave you behind.”

She remembered how Malcolm had abandoned her on the bed last night. How he'd turned his back to her then and kept from her presence now. “'Tis because he fears I am a better warrior and might lock him out of his own castle when he tries to return.”

“I heard that, Elin.” Malcolm's voice rang out above the clomp of hooves and the musical jingle of chain mail.

Her heart constricted. He did not look happy to see her. His jaw appeared to be clenched tight, his brows tugged together in a frown. His gaze slid over her, as if she were unimportant.

“From this point on there will be silence. That includes you, dove.” Malcolm spun his destrier toward the front gate.

She could not help her flash of anger. “See? 'Tis his fear,” she whispered to Justus.

The knight smothered a chuckle. She looked up into Malcolm's gaze. She read censure there and something she could not name. Longing speared through her heart. She wished she did not repulse him. She would enjoy riding at his side. But it was not to be.

 

Malcolm drove his men and prisoners hard. They'd not stopped, despite the storm, but rode straight through, their journey lengthened by the inclement weather. It grew harder and harder to hide his exhaustion and the pain that worsened instead of fading.

As rain again fell, toward the last of their journey, he held his destrier back to check the prisoners chained upon their mounts. His knights silently endured the hard ride and kept a good vigil. He caught sight of Justus and Elin riding
postern. Elin's hood cloaked much of her face, but his chest ached at the sight.

He did his best to avoid her through the length of the trip. He truly wanted her to check his wound, but that meant being near her and feeling her touch upon his skin. By the Book, he did not think he could restrain his base urges if she brushed her feather-soft fingers against him one more time. The image of her naked and vulnerable beat in his blood. Aye, it was best to keep distance between them.

“This journey has been a hard one, but no one attempted to ambush us on the road.” Ian rode close, exhaustion bruising his face. “What think you of that?”

“We were watched. I felt it.”

“But not attacked?”

“Nay. We number two hundred knights. And two of the best in the land, you and me. But I had the squires check the prisoners' chains often, nonetheless.”

The roads through the city were quiet and the guards at the gates came running, ready to take charge of the prisoners. Glad that burden was off his shoulders, Malcolm rubbed the rain from his eyes. Stable boys ran to take the horses, and he dismounted.

“A private chamber in the south tower awaits you, Lord Malcolm.” Irwin greeted him at the door and summoned a page to lead the way. “'Tis good to have you here again. And your lady.”

Elin. He saw her at Justus's side. She tromped through the rain without a care for her skirts or hair. The wind battered her mantle against her slender body, accenting the curves of her breasts and hips. Simply looking at her made his blood thrum. 'Twas not a good thing. “Irwin, I must see Edward. Escort Lady Elinore to my chamber and see her taken care of. My thanks.”

He said not a word to her as he strode away, ordering
the men to their tasks. Weakness and pain gripped him and he ached for her soothing touch, but he did not want anyone to know how ill he truly was. When this was over, when all was safe, he would rest. But for now, danger fell like the rain from the sky. He would not sleep and he would not stop until he knew Elin and Edward were safe.

 

“Where is my husband?” she demanded of the polite Irwin, who'd sent a boy to show her to a luxurious chamber. “I need to speak with him. 'Tis urgent.”

“He's speaking with the king and they cannot be disturbed. I'll send up a meal and a hot bath.” He spoke as if she were a child, easily pleased by distractions.

“By the saints! I watched my husband grow paler throughout this trip to the king. Edward could have sent his own army to take the prisoners. He could have spared Malcolm the journey.”

“He's no weakling, lady. Be content with your bath.”

She stormed back up the stairs. Anger and concern tore at her. Malcolm had refused to even look at her during the trip. He'd ridden with a commanding authority, but she recognized the pale tint to his face and the silent wince when his wound pained him.

His injury was not healing. There was no fever yet, but she would have a look at that wound ere midnight passed. There were no more dangerous prisoners to guard or ambushes to watch for upon the road. They were safe, and it was time for Malcolm to rest and heal.

Sleepy-eyed serving girls arrived with a tub and buckets of steaming water. Elin didn't want a bath, she wanted Malcolm. She could not halt the growing fear that he would not join her this night. Or any other. Shame settled in her heart, and she picked at the sweet smoked cod on a trencher a serving girl had brought. She had no real appetite.

The sight of her repulsed Malcolm. She told herself a thousand times that it did not matter. That she did not care. Let him hate her. She didn't want him anyway. But her heart twisted, and she knew she lied.

“Lady Elinore? I'm Jonna.” A petite servant dressed in finery befitting a queen's maid bobbed a polite curtsy. “It is my privilege to serve you.”

“'Tis late, Jonna.” Elin stood, muscles aching from that hard ride. “I appreciate your service, but truly, I can manage my own bath. Please, return to your bed.”

“'Twould not be right.” The young woman looked truly distressed. “You are a baroness.”

There was something startling and familiar about the serving girl, but Elin could not place it. “I promise Irwin will never know.”

“As you wish. I've set out fresh linens and soaps, and scented the water. I'll be just outside the door if you need aught. Just tell me.” The young woman offered a shy smile that flashed in eyes an unearthly black. “I've heard of the wedding. How romantic it must have been, Malcolm marrying you and saving your life.”

Elin recognized that shade of black. “You have my husband's eyes.”

“I am his sister.” She blushed, and her dark locks fell across her brow.

“He said he had no family.”

“We share the same father, and did not even live in the same village. He was a great knight for the king when my mother died from an attack on our village. Malcolm heard of it and had me brought here to serve the queen.”

Why did he not claim his sister? Troubled, Elin escorted the maid to the door. “Truly, Jonna, return to your bed. Malcolm's sister should not wait upon his wife.”

“But my duty—”

“I can handle Irwin.”

Even Jonna's smile was like Malcolm's, hesitant and slow. She hurried off, her gait uneven, quickly lost in the shadows of the corridor.

Malcolm had said he was alone. Did that mean he did not care for his sister? Or that he did not want the ties of a family? Elin undressed, slipped into the steaming bath and closed her eyes. How the water eased the ache from muscles tired of riding and cold from the damp spring rains. But the warmth didn't ease the worry in her heart.

The door was thrust open and she spun around. Water sloshed over the lip of the wooden tub. Air wedged hard in her chest, and a brief panic gripped her, until she recognized the man towering on the threshold, caught in the haze of shadow and light.

“Malcolm, you about scared me to death.” Water sloshed again as she sank back into the tub. “I have no weapon for defense. That Irwin took my sword and dagger before he'd let me into the castle.”

A slow smile curved one side of Malcolm's mouth. “A wise move.”

“How is your wound?” She blurted out her concern just like that. Why did she expect him to grab the trencher left for him and flee from her sight? She feared that her feelings showed. She cleared her throat, determined to hide them. “It could be festering.”

“'Tis healing. It itches beneath my armor and has been driving me mad.” He unbuckled his sword. “You tended it well. I saw Hugh. He's regaining his strength.”

“I'm glad to know that.” Pleasure nudged away some of the hurt in her chest. She had hated leaving Hugh at the inn. She'd known he would live, with Alma to tend him.

Without another word, Malcolm turned his back to her and tugged off his heavy steeled hauberk.

Elin stared down at herself in the water. How small he made her feel, like a reed caught in a strong wind. Mayhap he would be less distant to her if she were dressed. The last time they were alone together, her nakedness had driven him from the chamber. She stood and reached for the linen toweling, and the water sloshed.

Malcolm spun at the sound. He stared at her, eyes wide, as she froze half in and half out of the tub. She felt his gaze like a flame, licking down the curve of her throat and across the rise of her breasts. A flame that left scorching heat across the line of her stomach and the length of her thighs.

In truth, he did not look repulsed. His eyes sizzled with darkness, his mouth slackened, his hands fisted. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. He wore his chausses only, and she saw the great bulge of his shaft.

She clutched the linen to her. “I should have warned you that I was done with my bath.”

“I heard the water and thought you fell.” He screwed his eyes shut and a muscle worked in his jaw. Like the night of the siege, every tendon strained in his body.

She watched him stride to the window and throw open the shutters. His back to her, he stood for a long moment. Heart wrenching, she slipped into a shift. She gathered her courage and dared to approach. “Do you find me repulsive?”

“What?”

She took a breath for courage. “When you see me naked, you walk away. The sight of me does not please you.”

His head hung. He glanced at the bed. “I'll not sleep here. I should not have come.”

She knew he did not want her. It was hard to believe there was a time when she would have rejoiced at that
thought. Now it saddened her and made her feel unworthy. “Is this where you lived when you served Edward?”

“Nay, I had a small cell in the tower with the other knights. I slept there now and again.” He remained at the window, arms braced wide on the stone wall. “Mostly I slept on the floor outside Edward's door.”

“You?”

“Aye. When there were certain dangers to him.”

How tired he sounded. Not just exhausted from no sleep and hard days, but weary down deep in his soul. She dared to lay her hand on his arm. “Will you sleep there tonight?”

“Nay, another good and trustworthy knight stands guard.”

“What? There is another good and trustworthy knight in this land? I have met many knights and found them all to be vile scoundrels. Except for the one I agreed to marry.”

“It was marriage to me or death.”

How she hurt inside. How she wanted his approval. “Still, I chose you.”