Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) (21 page)

The disgraced knight's head hung lower. “They said they would rape and slay my sister. That she is still alive and untouched.”

“I saw no blade,” the commander of Elizabeth's garrison declared. “Nor did my men. Ask them.”

Malcolm faced the knights and saw the truth upon two dozen accusing faces.

“Bind him well.” The order beat at him like an ax's blade. He did not like this turn of events.

“Hands together, traitor.” Ian slid from his horse. “Glad I am that Edward's dungeons are wretched and perilous. You will suffer well before they hang, draw and quarter you,
friend.
”

Malcolm reined his destrier away from the sight. He could not bear to witness another person he trusted placed in chains. A small part of him hoped Giles told the truth, but experience and the twist of his guts told him a betrayer lived among them.

“We will not take him directly to the king.” Malcolm spun his destrier toward Rosecliff Castle. “He suffers in my dungeons first.”

 

After an evening of waiting, Elin saw him against the black veil of the sky, his shoulders braced, looking as invincible as the night. Men flanked him, riding hard to keep pace with him.

“Malcolm!” She leaned over the crenellations and waved, a corner of rock biting hard into her ribs.

He did not glance up as he rode across the drawbridge and past the portcullis. Hooves crashed against wood as his men followed. She ran to the other side of the wall and saw Malcolm dismount. He gestured toward Ian, and then she lost him in the confusion.

A guard appeared at her side. “The baron wishes you to return to your chamber.”

She caught sight of Malcolm in the fray of the courtyard below. Fatigue darkened his face, and the line of his jawbone looked hard as rock. He would need her tonight. She told herself it did not hurt that he'd ridden off without a word today and even now did not glance up and acknowledge her.

But she knew he loved her. He carried great responsibilities on his immense shoulders, responsibilities that distracted him now. But that did not change the truth between them. Tenderness for him welled in her heart. If he hurt, she would comfort him. If he were weary, she would renew him. That was how great her love for him was.

 

“Pray you are not losing your stomach for torture.” Ian leaned his elbows on an edge of the battlement.

Malcolm let the night winds cool his face. “I dislike watching a man brutalized for the sake of the truth. How many seasoned warriors relinquish the truth after torture? Few. They are well used to pain. And bound by loyalties few understand.”

“Aye,” Ian argued, “but I believe my work will be effective. He is starting to break.”

If only Giles would just agree to talk. If only he hadn't participated with men suspected of plotting against the king. Malcolm sighed, deeply troubled. His gaze strayed to a slash of light between closed shutters. He'd watched Elin close those shutters earlier with candlelight like heaven's glow upon her face. Now, thin beams of light shone through the cracks in the wood. She waited for him still.

Footsteps drummed against stone. “Lord Malcolm, the prisoner is unconscious. We've ceased with the beating.”

Sadness tore through him, for Giles had been his friend. “Summon a healer. Patch him up for more torture come dawn.”

The knight rushed off, his footsteps fading in the dark.

“Your lady awaits.” Ian gestured toward the keep. “She loves you, Malcolm. 'Tis dangerous ground you walk upon.”

“Well I know it.” Did she wait for him with the bed turned down? Or did she lay naked beneath the covers? He wanted to go to her. He needed the comfort only she could give.

But he owed Giles a visit. “Ian, see to the night watch. There's a foul stench in the air. Helwain and his conspirators are out there. Mayhap to rescue Giles ere he reveals their plans.”

“It will be done.”

Malcolm headed down the stairs. In the courtyard, he looked up and again found Elin's light. He ached for her, but he turned away and marched down the steps to the dungeons beneath. Water seeped through the stones and splashed against his boots.

He passed stalwart knights, weapons unsheathed, standing guard at every turn in the corridor. One unlocked the steeled door. Through the bars he could see Giles, slumped in the corner, motionless. Malcolm crossed the cell and ordered the guard to lock him in.

He knelt at the traitor's side, but Giles did not move. Blood and bruises distorted his face. Aversion for this part of his work had always troubled Malcolm, but this—this was
Giles.

Yet the truth had to be known.

“Why did you do this, my friend?” Sorrow battered him like waves upon the shore. “If they held a threat over your head, you could have come to me. We would have found a way to both defeat the traitors and save your sister.”

A drop struck stone. Then another. Giles's tears.

“I would have helped you. For all the times you guarded my back during battle.” The battering waves within Malcolm's chest raged. “If you would tell me what you know, I would stop this. I would make Edward agree to spare you.”

There was no answer. Only the falling tears.

“Tell me, Giles. Save your life, mine and the king's. The torturer will return at first light.”

“Prithee, do not do this to me.”

“Then speak.” His demand echoed along stone and steel. “Do you know for certain that your sister lives?”

“Nay.”

“Then they could be using your fear, Giles. She would already be dead. A pretty thing like her? Could she survive untouched and unharmed in a tower with barbarians to guard her?”

Giles gave a quiet sob.

“I want the truth out of you, Giles. Ian said you refused to speak.”

“Ian lies. I told him from the beginning of the beating that I would speak with you. I did not plot against you, Malcolm. Helwain's men truly did have a knife to my back. They told me they would not kill our knights if I did as they ordered.” A sob was wrenched from him. “That is the truth.”

A knight banged on the door. “Baron, he uses his friendship against you. I have seen many guilty men in my time. I can recognize the smell and sound of it. This one is guilty.”

Malcolm paced the length of the cell. “When they took you, what happened then?”

“I saw how they made me look guilty to our men. I knew no one would believe me. To my surprise, they didn't kill me, but left me in the forest, where you found me.”

“If they want me dead, why not use you as bait to draw me into the open? It happened in the forest. There could have been an archer in the trees. Nay, your story makes no sense, Giles. If it did, I would be inclined to believe—”

“The truth in this instance makes no sense. Except they told me your wife is the one who dallies with a baron, the baron who would have both your head and your title, maybe more.”

“They told you this?”

“They told me to tell you this, only you. I know not
whether it is true or nay.” Giles struggled to sit up, and his moan of pain rent the darkness.

Malcolm banged on the door, and the knight unlocked it. He strode out into the corridor, troubled and weary.

 

He seemed part of the night, bleak and shadowed, hunched as he was against the sky. His head cocked at the whisper of her slipper upon stone.

She set the trencher on the stone battlement beside him. “You did not eat.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“I heard about Giles.” She leaned against the ridge of stone. “I cannot believe it.”

“He gives a feeble explanation.” Malcolm stared up at the sky, where no stars shone. “One without proof.”

“An untrue explanation might make more sense. And have proof.”

“Aye. 'Tis what troubles me. According to Ian, Giles would not cooperate with the jailers. He took a painful beating and still wouldn't speak. Only afterward did he tell me what he knew.”

“What were the signs that Giles had turned?” She laid both hands on his broad shoulders. “There had to be some indication.”

“None.”

“One would think a man driven to break a close friendship and the sanctity of his word would be troubled over it, or at least not hide his treachery well.”

Malcolm scrubbed his hands over his face, tension tight in his neck and jaw. “Logic and the law dictate he be brought to justice before Edward.”

“Would he be found guilty?”

“With the evidence we have? Aye.” Malcolm propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in both hands.
How tortured he sounded and how sad he looked. “Besides, I've often made the mistake of trusting a betrayer among my friends.”

Elin began to knead his tense shoulders. She wished to give him all the comfort she could. “I waited for you.”

“I know.”

“Your bath is now cold. I planned on washing you.” His muscles were hot and supple beneath her fingertips. She pressed a kiss to his nape, no longer able to fight the love in her heart. “You will have to be content with a back rub.”

Malcolm moaned as his muscles relaxed beneath the firm caress of her thumbs. The guards on that section of the wall turned away, leaving them alone.

His hand caught both of hers, and he drew her to his side. The night gleamed with darkness and painted him with shadows. She could see the pinched muscles around his eyes and the tension in his jaw.

His fingers tugged at her collar. “How many barons have you met?”

She arched her neck to allow him to work the tie of her laces. “Father knew most of them, but I never spent much time in the castle when he had visitors. Many of those arrogant barons gazed with such hunger at any female, I had the sense to hide.”

“You know Caradoc.” Malcolm's forefinger sneaked beneath the laces and pulled. “And you knew Elizabeth's husband. You have met no others?”

“Face-to-face?” She shivered when the gown skimmed over her shoulders and breasts. “None.”

“Save Ravenwood and Rosecliff?”

“Aye. I wish I could be more help to you.” She sighed as his mouth closed on her left breast. Shards of pleasure
twisted and pulsed. Already she ached for him. She lifted his tunic over his head and tossed it to the stone walk.

He brushed the windblown curls from her eyes, his touch so tender. How he must hurt. Anger at Giles's betrayal kicked to life in her chest, but she controlled it. Anger would not comfort Malcolm. Only she could do that. Only she could give him a safe, tender haven from betrayal and conflict.

She pressed kisses to his brow. She stroked her hands across the bunched tension in his shoulders and down his marbled back. Her fingers delighted in the rugged feel of him. He made her ache deep inside. Simply touching him gave her infinite pleasure.

She pressed kisses to his throat and ran her fingers across his steely chest, and then lower to loosen his laces. But his hand caught hers before she could take hold of his thick shaft. Silently, he guided her hips over him. Air stalled in her chest at the feel of his hardness nudging her apart. She sheathed him with a slow, deliberate glide.

“Oh, Elin.” His voice broke. His arms enfolded her. Instead of driving hard, he held her against him, their bodies quietly joined. His shaft pulsed and jumped inside her, and she answered with a ripple of muscle and pleasure. Concurrent release rent through them—a sweet aching tenderness that nearly tore her apart.

She knew in that moment, hearing the anguish in his release, that he loved her. For he was right. Nothing hurt like a love tender and true.

 

Only a single torch illuminated the damp stones of the lower dungeons. Malcolm's footsteps rang in the silence. “Guard, unlock the door.”

Inside the cell, a figure huddled motionless. The healer
had come and gone. Malcolm knelt beside his friend and unlocked the chains.

“You did not believe me.” Giles's brow brushed the floor.

“I have been lied to by far too many to believe in anyone.” Hardness lodged in Malcolm's chest. “Get up.”

Giles climbed to his feet, choking back a moan of pain. Despite his ordeal, he stood straight and tall. He would not be broken or look the criminal.

“Come.” Malcolm led the way through the corridors and up the stairs into the bailey, where rain scented the air. “Your horse waits at the gate. I've taken the liberty of packing foodstuffs and weapons and coin—enough for your passage to Normandy. Find your sister, Giles. And if you are a traitor, then have enough honor never to step foot on English soil again.”

“Malcolm, I know not what to say.” Giles fell to his knees. “You give me my freedom, but you still do not believe me. In time you will see I am not the one who betrays you.”

“Go, before I lose this softness and bring you to the king.” Malcolm turned, his chest so tight he could not breathe. He heard Giles limp away, heard the creak of a leather saddle and then the squeak of the gate.

It was Elin causing this weakness within him. He fisted his hands and called himself a fool. But by the rood, he'd grown tired of death and a king's justice.

He only wanted peace and the rare comfort he found in his wife's arms.

A
knock at the chamber door drew Malcolm from her arms. She hated letting him go because she wanted to savor him yet again. But he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his tongue leaving a wet trail, and rose from the rumpled linens. Naked and still half-erect, he hauled a tunic over his head.

“What is amiss, Ian?” he called out as he reached for his chausses.

“Giles is gone,” Ian answered through the closed door. “The guard on duty said you took him from his cell.”

“I did. I will be down in a moment.” Malcolm finished dressing, then grabbed his boots and sword. “Elin, can you stay out of trouble?”

“I shall try. What did you decide about Giles?” She grabbed her shift and slipped from beneath the linens. Malcolm's eyes darkened with renewed desire, and that pleased her. How it pleased her.

“I released him, although all will think that I killed him in anger. Watch.” Malcolm caught her mouth with his and pulled her hard against him.

She could not halt the moan of want.

“I ask you to pack our things.” He kissed her tenderly
again, until she moaned once more. “We return to Evenbough Castle.”

“Not to court?”

“Nay.” Merriment flickered in his eyes. “A certain lady I know has been banished from Edward's sight forever.”

“I was desperate to save the man I loved. Can he not understand that?”

“He cannot understand why I would not tame my wild, weapon-bearing wife.” His lips brushed her brow. “We will leave shortly, in the time it takes for me to gather my knights.”

She watched him go, a man made stronger by compassion.

 

Sunlight sifted through broad green leaves in the woodland not far from Rosecliff Castle's front gates. 'Twas a poor choice of meeting times, but Caradoc had no recourse. When the messenger arrived, he made it clear there was no way to speak with the knight who sent it, but to meet him as he asked.

Those men on the lookout tower appeared vigilant today. They carried bows in hand. If the castle was on alert, then that could only mean Giles had been found in the forest as planned. Stupid loyalty drove a man like le Farouche. How furious he would be at his friend's betrayal. And less one loyal knight who would avenge the Fierce One's death.

A rustle in the undergrowth ahead riveted Caradoc's attention. His grip on his sword tightened. He could hold his own in a fight, but he was no knight and now fervently hoped he'd not been spotted from the tower.

“Brother.” The tarnished knight stepped into the shadows, careful to keep low and out of sight. “Good you came at my request. 'Tis a sad day when a bastard commands a baron.”

Relief weakened him, but Caradoc did not release his hold on his weapon. “Enough with the insults. What news of le Farouche's plans?”

“He travels soon. Back to Evenbough, along the forest path between this holding and yours. With his wife and at least a dozen knights for protection.”

Caradoc's rage caught fire and flamed. “That woman! She is a pox on me, I swear it. Long has she plagued me with her sharp tongue and even sharper weapons. 'Tis why I cannot receive the respect I deserve. But soon all will change.” Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes like the rarest of rubies, bright and bold and as red as spilled blood. “All of England will bow at my feet, for the ruin I will cause Edward. Imagine him casting me from his court because of my association with Helwain.”

“You paid the knights who freed him from le Farouche's men.” His ally chuckled. “Le Farouche has been a sword in my side, always the best and taking by rights all that should be mine.”

“Fear not, there will be plenty of gold to fill your pockets.”

“You know I want more than gold,” the tarnished knight growled.

Caradoc smiled. “I will leave you to kill le Farouche as you please. As long as it incriminates another, especially that harridan of Evenbough, I care not how the bastard dies. I want him out of my way within the sennight. If I am to secure the throne, then he must be a pile of bones six feet under.”

“I live to serve,
Brother.
Lord Malcolm will not live long.”

 

Evenbough gleamed like a great pearl upon the emerald land. Sunshine had coaxed flowers and leaves from their
buds and warmth into the air. The beauty felt infectious and took hold of Elin's heart.

She had never imagined marriage could be so wonderful. She rode at Malcolm's side, not behind him as custom dictated. He gazed vigilantly upon the road ahead and behind, now and then speaking to Ian in low tones about hidden dangers.

But the roads to Evenbough were safe ones, and Elin enjoyed riding next to her husband. Birds chirped merrily in the high boughs as they left the shelter of trees. The castle towered ahead, all signs of battle gone. Even the village looked nearly restored.

Home.
The enormity of it struck her as she led the way across the drawbridge. Never had she been safe here and never before felt a joy riding through these gates.

Cheers rose from the freemen and servants gathered in the bailey. She watched Malcolm glance around, stunned, and draw his horse to a halt.

“We feared you dead of poison,” one villein explained, kneeling before his lord. “And you, Lady Elinore, we praise you for saving him.”

“I could not have a better champion,” Malcolm quipped.

Laughter roared through the yard. Elin's heart flipped end over end as his hand caught hers. His grip felt unbreakable. Something greater than pride flickered to life in her chest. Every moment she was with him she found more to love.

Malcolm dismounted, then reached up to help her down. She did not need help, but would take any opportunity to touch him. Her shoes settled on the ground, but she feared her feet did not. She walked upon air—that was how greatly he affected her.

He led her through the bailey, accepting congratulations, bestowing compliments on the construction of the new
workshops and praising the hard-working people. The malty scent of brewing ale seasoned the air as they passed the restored alehouse.

Once in the keep, Elin led Malcolm up the stairs, her fingers twined with his. In the solar, made new and awaiting them, she undressed her husband and led him to the steaming tub.

She soaped a cloth and knelt at his side. She felt the caress of his gaze upon her face. He looked so serious, when she was so happy. “What troubles you?” she asked.

His throat corded, then he spoke. “You cannot guess the rage I felt when Edward announced we would marry.”

“
Your
rage? What of mine? All I could see was the demon man who'd overpowered Father's knights and threatened me with the dungeon. I would rather die a thousand painful deaths than spend a night in those dark depths. And yet that is exactly where you sent me.”

“I was only keeping my word to my king.”

“I should have known you were a good man then.” She stroked the soapy cloth up his arm and across his shoulders. How she loved touching him. Even now heat built low within her stomach. “You never harmed me, though many men in your position would have.”

“You made me hard as rock even then.” He caught the soapy cloth, and his fingers caressed hers. His eyes flashed. “You need not serve me, Wife. Take off your garments so we can wash one another.”

“We'll likely do more than wash.”

Gladly she shed her clothes to climb into the tub with him. Water sloshed over the rim and they laughed. His arms folded her close to his chest, and his hard shaft jutted against her stomach. He guided her onto his lap so she was straddling him again.

“You take such liberties, sir.”

“Not nearly enough.” He brushed the hair from her brow, both big hands cupping her face gently. “You have laid my heart wide open, Elin of Evenbough. You have a greater power over me than my greatest enemy.”

“Your greatest enemy is dead.” Her hands covered his, her heart beating with tenderness for him. “And I will never hurt you. I give you my word.”

“A woman's word.” How dark his eyes, as if he could not quite believe her. As if he did not like the power love gave a woman.

But it gave like power to a man. “As my husband you have complete control over me. And yet you allow me to ride and walk beside you, not behind.” And it mattered to her, truly mattered how well he treated her.

“I would fear turning my back to a woman warrior.” He teased, and yet he did not. The sting of old betrayals and new ones darkened his eyes.

“Oh, Malcolm.” Hurt tore through her chest and she launched herself against him. Upon her life, she would give him all the love she had. She would heal his scars. She would chase away the last of his pain.

When she rose up over his stiff shaft, it was with this same vow. He entered her with urgency. His hands gripped her and he drove up into her with all his strength. 'Twas as if he believed this bliss between them would be short-lived, and he had to gather all the love and comfort he could for the time when there was none.

Oh, Malcolm.
Her chest squeezed with pain for him. For as much as he wanted her, he could not allow himself the weakness of being loved. It hurt that he would not believe in the strength of her word, of her love and her honor.

She pressed a kiss to his brow as release broke through him, hard and pounding and taking her with him.

 

They told me your wife is the one who dallies with a baron.
God's teeth, but Giles's words haunted him like a persistent ghost.

Malcolm gestured for the blacksmith to quit with his bowing, and laid a dagger on the table with a clatter. “Is this your handiwork?”

“Nay, my lord. Although I know the brand. I apprenticed beneath Uilleag of Ravenwood. My work is similar, but I shape the hilt differently, for more strength.” Pride beamed on the man's round face. “'Tis your lady's dagger, then? I would have made her any number of weapons to save herself from her father's treatment, but he threatened me with death if I did.”

“So, you sent her to Ravenwood. Hand-forged weapons bear the unique mark of their makers.” Malcolm told himself this did not trouble him, but it did. Helwain's weapons were the same as his wife's, the same as Caradoc's.

“Provide my wife with a new set of daggers, and make certain to seize all her old weapons. I want her to carry a better blade than this flimsy one.”

“Aye, my lord.” Again, pleasure beamed on the blacksmith's face at the compliment. “I forge daggers of great strength. You will be pleased.”

Malcolm retreated into the bailey and headed toward the gatehouse, troubled by yet another piece of evidence that pointed to the man who wished his death. Caradoc was Helwain's overlord. And Caradoc was a baron wealthy enough to afford an army of mercenaries outside of his own garrison.

“Send Ian to the wall above,” Malcolm ordered the guard at the stairwell.

A tranquil sun smiled upon the land. Malcolm faced the breeze and gazed at the village spread below. Most of the ruined dwellings had been replaced. Hammers beat upon
wood as the rest of the buildings were completed. The bray of a stubborn donkey split the air. Larks soared past with carefree songs.

Footsteps drummed behind him. “My lord?”

“Ian.” Malcolm studied the sturdy man, made hard from years holding a sword. “I have a message for the king. Send six of our swiftest men. I would have Edward know what I believe. I want his men to accompany mine when I capture Caradoc for questioning. Though he has threatened me, his ultimate betrayal is to his uncle. I would have the king's approval on this.”

“Edward's torturers are the most successful for obtaining information.” Ian gazed out at the lands below, at the farmers sowing the vast fields. “You are certain, then?”

“I have the evidence I need to raise suspicion. 'Tis Edward's job to judge.”

“May we speak of Giles?” Shadows darkened the warrior's eyes. He was obviously troubled. “Did you put him to death?”

“Nay. I let him live.” Malcolm wondered even now if it was a mistake.

“The great le Farouche would never hesitate to kill an enemy or a traitor to country.”

Malcolm heard the censure in his commander's voice, and it angered him. “I've grown tired of battle. Now I fight only to protect my king and what is mine.”

“Then marriage has weakened you, like many others.” Ian's jaw worked. “Beware placing so much trust in a woman, my lord. Emotions toward a loved one can be blinding. After you swived the noblewoman on our last night at Rosecliff, she left you alone on the battlements and headed for your chamber.”

A chill snaked down Malcolm's spine. “I saw her in the window.”

“A servant vowed she was not alone.”

“Impossible. I would have seen another in her room. She opened the shutters and I could see that she was alone.” Why would Ian say this? Malcolm's temper threatened to flare, and he fought against it.

“But you could not see the bed, my lord. Look, even now rage builds in your fists. Next you will strike me or jail me as you did Giles. But think, I have naught to gain by lying. And I would not have my friend and lord be made a fool. She is but a woman. Swive another and it feels the same.”

Wrath built like flames in a forge, raging enough to melt steel. Malcolm clamped his teeth hard. “Elin was alone.”

“A servant in the corridor heard the sound of lovemaking. Hot and wild, my lord.” Ian's face also twisted with controlled anger.

“'Tis only a rumor.”

“The poison used to murder you was the same she'd sickened us all with. The same. The rest of us know how she makes a fool of you. Emasculating you as surely as a bull becomes a steer.”

“Silence.” Pain sliced like the rasp of a thousand blades upon his skin. “You wait until now to tell me this? If it were true, you would have reported her behavior immediately.”