Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) (16 page)

“He does not believe so.” Elin knelt on the bed at Malcolm's side.

His face was still turned, and the rigid bunching of his muscles told her he was in much pain. She laid her hand
there. How she wished he would reach for her and allow her to comfort him.

Jonna knelt beside her. “Tell me what to do.”

'Twas strange that even now Malcolm refused to speak with his sister. 'Twas stranger still that Jonna didn't expect his attention. Elin brushed her hand along his back and felt his muscles quiver. He was as hard and as distant as stone, and she knew then why he would not look at his sister. He believed himself unloveable.

“I shall need this filled halfway with water.” She lifted a small wooden bowl from her basket.

Jonna leaped to the task, returning before Elin could finish opening the leather pouches.

“This is marigold, camphor and bartwart.” Elin dropped pinches of each into the steaming water. “'Twill be used to clean the wound. When I ask you, you'll need to soak one bandage at a time.”

“I can do it.” She took the bowl and set it on the nearby table.

Elin unsheathed her dagger and crossed to the crackling hearth. Dread filled her. Kneeling, she wrapped a thick linen cloth around the hilt and then thrust the blade into the flame. Heat seared the steel, and when she was certain the dagger was hot enough, she carried it to Malcolm's side. Head still adverted, he made no sound.

She laid the knife on his wound. The blade sliced through the scar and skin to the infection beneath. Malcolm's fists clenched. The muscles in his back bunched and snapped taut. Blood and pus seeped from the gash.

Elin set the dagger aside and demanded the clean cloths. She pressed the infection from the incision, and then returned to the fire. Thrice she did this, until the blood ran clean. Then she laid the cloths over the wound.

Still Malcolm remained rigid and silent.

Did he think he was made of stone? Elin pressed her hand to his back and felt the pain gathered there.

“Here.” She pressed a goblet of herbed wine to his lips. He kept his gaze distant, but drank. “'Twill help take down the fever.”

Shadows could not hide the agony harsh upon his face. Teeth gritted and jaw locked, he drained the goblet. Then, before she could see more, he pressed his face into the pillow.

“Oh, Malcolm.” She laid her hand on his head and wished he would let her comfort him. For once she wished he was not strong and fearless, but a man who needed her.

H
e woke with his head in Elin's lap. She sat against the headboard, her chin bobbed forward in sleep. So innocent and sweet she looked, no longer the warrior maiden.

She was his lover now. That truth made his far too heavy heart sag. Shame at his weakness assaulted him like a spike's blow. Memories from last night battered him—memories of firm creamy breasts and her gloving tightness and how he'd clung to her with need.

'Twas dangerous to have needs. To show such weakness. The soft linen shift was warm with her body's heat, and he hated moving away from the pleasing pillow of her thighs. Weakness spilled through his muscles, but he managed to sit, then stand.

“Where do you think you're going?” She didn't scold, and there was no mistaking the caring in her voice.

'Twas a caring he did not want. “To fulfill my duties.”

He tugged on his chausses, careful and slow. The newly stitched wound in his back pained him with every tiny movement. He grabbed his tunic but couldn't lift his left arm to fit it into the sleeve, for it moved the muscles beneath the newly lanced wound.

“Malcolm.” Her hand was gentle on his arm. “Please stay. You need your rest to fight that fever.”

“I am responsible for the prisoners I brought Edward.” He gritted his teeth and struggled into the tunic.

Her fingers caught the left sleeve and helped him into it. “Tear those stitches, and you'll see that I'm more terrifying than Nels the Hawk.”

“I already know this, dove.” He fought the urge to wrap her in his arms and hold her to his chest. He fought the weakness that would make him care. “The day ahead will be long and filled with trouble. Please, do your best to behave.”

“What? You're leaving me here?” Elin handed him his sword when he would have reached for it.

“Aye, come with me and see the prisoners questioned.”

“I'm not overly fond of dungeons.”

He chuckled; he could not help it. “Then wear a gown instead of squire's clothing and try to act mannerly. The queen may send for you.”

“What?”
He was teasing, wasn't he? Nay, he was not. “By the saints, what if she expects me to do needlework?”

“Then do needlework until I return.” He pressed a kiss to her sweet mouth, a brief one, but it tugged at the emptiness in his heart. When he would rather pull her to the bed and seek her comfort, he buckled on his sword and left the chamber.

The sight of Giles in the hallway, armed and rumpled from a night upon the floor, reminded him of many things. Of the dangers that he sensed. And of the mercenary who had wanted Elin. Malcolm turned in the doorway and let his gaze stroke the curve of her face. “Do me one favor.”

“You, sir, have used your last one.” A smile teased her tempting lips. Fie, but he was beginning to like her smart remarks.

“Wear your dagger.” He grabbed the door to close it. “The sword will no doubt get in the way of your needlework.”

She laughed, and the music of it rippled through his chest. He closed the door and wished he could stay with her.

Giles merely shook his head. “It has taken me a long while, but I am starting to like her. It does a man no harm to have a woman who can defend him.”

“I need no defending.” He had been alone for so long. “I am capable of fighting my own enemies.”

“'Tis a shame how you have grown weak with fever.” Giles accompanied him down the corridor, shaking his head with mock displeasure. “Next you shall be too delicate to lift your mighty sword.”

“Aye, but at least a woman did not save my life in battle.”

Malcolm led the way down the stairs and into the bailey. First light touched the manicured courtyards, and the grounds bustled with early morning activity. He gritted his teeth against the pain each step brought him, and headed into the towers.

Ian met them in the corridor. “I have been observing Nels the Hawk's questioning. He will suffer a traitor's death by noon unless he confesses who hired him.”

“I doubt he will tell.” Malcolm peered into the squint hole and saw Nels chained to the wall.

“My lord, come with me.” Ian tugged open a door. “Edward awaits.”

“Edward?” Malcolm saw at once his king, shadowed in the stone chamber, and genuflected. “Pardon my tardiness, sire.”

“Truly, Malcolm, I did not expect you to appear. Ian
informed me of your fever. The healer is here, and now she will take a look at your wound.”

Only a table and a few chairs adorned the otherwise empty chamber. Malcolm pulled out a chair and eased into it, determined to hide his weakness from the king. “My wife tended to my injury last night.”

“Perchance my healer will be more trustworthy.” Edward signaled to the woman in the corner, who limped forward with her basket of herbs.

“Truly, Edward. Elin did a fine job. She has only poisoned me once.”

The king did not so much as blink. “Jest all you wish, my friend, but Nels the Hawk has admitted some truths about your wife.”

“About Elin?” Malcolm allowed the healer to tug up his tunic and inspect his wound. “What truths?”

Ian left Giles's side at the door and approached. His chin was set and his gaze unwavering. “Long have we been friends, since before the Outremer. Remember this when you hear what I have to say. On the night of the siege at Evenbough Castle, after Nels was defeated, you bade me to check the bolt-hole Elin had told you of.”

Discomfort clawed in his chest. Malcolm bit back a groan at the healer's touch to his wound. “Where is this leading, Ian?”

“I found the bolt-hole she spoke of, and the small door was not beaten in, but merely unlocked.”

“Unlocked?”

“Aye.” Regret weighed down Ian's chin. “Someone from within had released the lock and allowed the mercenaries entrance.”

Shock rattled all the way to Malcolm's soul. “You should have told me this earlier. Who betrays us to the enemy?”

Edward cleared his throat. His face was stern and his eyes reflected weariness. The tight twist in Malcolm's abdomen told him he would not like Ian's answer.

The knight placed an object on the table. “I found this dagger. It must have fallen when the traitor knelt to unlock the door. This is Elin's blade. Look at the markings. This proves she was in the bolt-hole. That she invited the enemy into the castle. Nels has admitted he was hired to kill you.”

“She did not do this.”
Emotion roared through him, knocking the chair to the floor as he stood. “Although this is like the dagger she uses, she would not…”

She would not.
He thought of her tender care last night and the way she'd made love to him. Time and time again she had the chance to betray him and had not.

“I know how this pains you.” Ian's hand found Malcolm's shoulder in a brief show of understanding. “But this is not the first time a woman has turned you over to the enemy. And this one never wanted to marry you. They say she is no virgin. Mayhap she has a lover she is loyal to.”

Anger tore through Malcolm's chest. “I took her maidenhead.”

“Truly?” Ian looked surprised. “Still, she is no innocent. She wields weapons and casts insults on
you,
the strongest knight in the land. She is the daughter of a traitor. Who knows the color of a woman's heart?”

Malcolm crossed the room, fighting back the old memories that would not desert him. He stood alone and tried to hide his trembling. The wound and fever weakened him, and Ian's accusations tore at his heart. His thoughts turned to Elin. Was she guilty? His throat tightened, shame building. Her touch had been tender last night, and he'd wanted to believe in it, weak man that he was.

Ian's chair scraped against stone. “If you remember, she disappeared when Nels's army approached Evenbough.”

“She went to change her clothing.”

“There are but three flights of stairs between her chamber and the cellar.” Ian's footsteps tapped behind him. “How many women have there been, Malcolm? How many eager to sleep with Edward's greatest knight? How many paid by others to find your vulnerabilities?”

Malcolm clenched his jaw against those truths. “You know there have been many.”

“And one who stands out the most.”

Darkness bound his heart. The healer offered him a goblet and he drank despite its sour taste. “Have I no secrets from you?”

“Nay, for you are my friend and lord, and as you protect Edward, I protect you.”

“I need no protecting, Ian.”

“I must try.” Warmth softened the thunderous voice. “Lily loved you and then sided with your enemy Rees when you returned from the Outremer.”

A pain he'd thought long forgotten splintered in Malcolm's chest. “Many years have passed, and I am no longer naive.”

“Then know the woman you've wed can be a traitor, too.”

“A dagger discovered after the fact is not enough proof.” Emotion thundered, but cold logic must rule him now. “Edward, tell me your opinion.”

The king rubbed his brow. “Nels has named Lady Elinore as his accomplice.”

Malcolm remembered her caring touches, and how she'd cradled him through the night. He was a fool wanting to believe in any woman's innocence. The shadows in the room were not dark enough to hide his grief. “'Tis possible.”

“Would that I had never bound you with her.” Edward's
voice was filled with sadness. “I had hoped she would match you well. That you would find happiness and make a family of your own.”

How dizzy he suddenly felt. Malcolm's knees buckled. He hit the floor hard, already retching. Giles was at his side in a flash, and as the darkness claimed him, Malcolm thought again of Elin.

 

Malcolm had left without eating. Elin went in search of him and was told he was with the king. Jonna found her and offered her a meal. They sat together in a small hall and talked. Still she could not force her thoughts from her husband. Or his wound and fever. Why would he not surrender to her care?

“Elinore of Evenbough?” Two knights clanked down the corridor and into the hall, bearing weapons and grim faces. “Lord Malcolm collapsed in the towers.”

“Collapsed?” Her heart fell, and she lunged to her feet. Fear for him wedged into her throat. “'Tis the fever. Bring him to our chamber—”

One knight locked his fist around her arm. “There is a fever, but the healer fears poison is what brought the great baron to his knees.”

“
Poison?
Nay, he is hiding an injury.” These knights were misinformed. And what kind of healer would blame poison for Malcolm's collapse? “Where is he?”

No one answered. Ian strode into sight, and he looked as fierce as a tiger ready to attack. “I gave you the benefit of doubt, lady, but no more. Giles, 'tis your duty to watch the wench, lest she tries to escape. The dungeons are full of traitors, and I can never trust a female who would try to kill my greatest friend.”

“What?”
She could not believe her ears. She tried to twist her arm free of the knight's grip. “Unhand me. I
would never harm Malcolm. Giles, please. Let me see him—”

“Silence!” Ian's command boomed with fury. “Another word and 'twill be your last, I swear it.”

She looked into his eyes and believed his threat.

“Silence, lady,” Giles pleaded.

She gouged her teeth into her bottom lip to keep the words of fury inside. Holding on to her temper had never been her strength, but now she fought the urge to rail against them, to fight until she was free. It had been the only way to survive her father's punishments, but now she would be seen as a traitor. To Malcolm.

Poison, they'd said. Poison! She remembered how he'd endured the horrible pain of the lancing without a flinch. How he'd refused to let her see the pain and humiliation on his face, as if the great knight could never be allowed to seek comfort and gentleness, care and regard.

Where was he? And did he need her? Was he sick and hurting without anyone to sit at his side in comfort?

Agony forced tears from her eyes as they hauled her across the courtyards to the tower. Heads turned, voices mumbled accusations, and a few pieces of vegetable matter sailed through the air, but missed.

She endured the humiliation in silence. But when she was tossed into a tiny cell all alone, a sob escaped her. She cried not for herself, but for Malcolm, who needed her. Two guards chained her to the wall and left her alone in this place where the sounds of the suffering echoed.

 

“Elin?”

“Giles! Where have you been?” She gritted her teeth against the ache in her shoulders from the heavy chains. “How fares Malcolm?”

“Not well.” The grating sadness in that voice left no doubt.

“Will he die?”

There was no answer.

Tears stung her eyes and she did not stop them. This time she would not be ashamed of her sentimental feelings. “If only he would have done as I asked. I wanted him to stay abed so I could treat his fever. Who did this to him?”

“You did.”

“You know that is not the truth!” Sobs wrenched her. “Tell me what you know, Giles! You saw me fight for le Farouche. You saw me defend his men. I could not betray him any more than you would.”

Giles knelt at the bars, his words but a whisper. “They say poisoned ale was found in your chamber. All believe you served the Fierce One his morning meal and tainted his drink.”

“He did not eat in our chamber this morning. They lie.” Grief made her bold. Fear made her disregard Ian's threat. She no longer cared for her own life as much as she did for her husband's. All that mattered was Malcolm. “Giles, you must help me.”

“What can I do? I cannot go against my orders.”

“Which is more important—Malcolm or your orders?” She already knew his answer. “I know he needs me. If you refuse to help me, then I shall rescue Malcolm myself.”