Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) (24 page)

He sensed the ambush even before he saw the glint of chain mail in the dappled shade.

“Prepare for attack!” He drew his sword and charged just as a ragged army galloped into sight—a collection of Welsh and Spanish and any outlaw who would fight for gold. They were not a fine lot, but a fierce one. And many in number.

“Your garrison?” Malcolm knocked a few mercenaries aside as he followed Ian through the crowd. “Such a fine manner of warriors you command. You do yourself proud, Ian, for you've found your true match.”

Ian swung his stallion around, sword drawn. “My force
outnumbers you five to your one. My victory is assured.” He charged.

Malcolm swung his sword and blocked the powerful strike with ease. He jousted hard, checked his back, and struck down a mercenary who threatened from behind. “My strength is returning, Ian, and you have no advantage. Remember, I always defeat you.”

“Not this time, le Farouche.” Ian's face reddened as he raised his sword for a lethal blow.

Rage spurred inhuman strength into Malcolm's arm as he deflected the strike with the swing of his blade. As his sword's edge bent a row of steel links on Ian's chest, a movement in the shadows caught his gaze. Another mercenary?

Nay. A friend, not foe, burst out of the cover of the trees and joined the fray. Ian's shout of rage brought a smile to Malcolm's lips.

“Watch your back, le Farouche!” Giles's shout rang above the clash of fifty blades.

Malcolm wheeled and met another challenger. Three to his one, and Giles was surrounded by a ring of hired swords.

“One more warrior on your side will make no difference.” Bitterness clanged like old metal as Ian gathered three of his men. “You will die just the same, old friend.”

“If I do, then I will take you with me.” Malcolm charged as the three enemies lunged together, destriers beating toward him. He wheeled his stallion, calculating the best course, and swung his sword. He leveled a mighty blow to Ian's shoulder, then spun and knocked another man from his horse. “Even with three to my one, you cannot defeat me.”

Ian swiped at his wound. “This contest is not yet over.”

Malcolm deflected a blow from one man, and sent yet another from his saddle. “Where is my wife?”

“In bed with Caradoc.” Ian's sword dipped, low and deadly.

Malcolm deflected it, but took a stinging blow to his wrist. Again two men charged him, and he felled one, then the other. “You lie,
friend.
And well I know it. Why have you done this?”

“Why else?” Ian charged.

Steel clashed. Malcolm spun his destrier around to check his back, then lunged at Ian. The knight toppled from his horse and struck the ground hard.

Malcolm swung down from his saddle and pinned his enemy to the grass with the tip of his sword.

Ian's face twisted. “I wanted to be the greatest knight in the land.”

“You will be the most disgraced.” Winded, Malcolm heard the stinging silence and knew the battle had ended. The only contest remaining was between them. “Why betray me for a title? You would have earned one in time.”

“Twelve years I have fought at your side. Twelve long years you've been the victor. The most decorated. The most praised.” Ian's hand crept to his side. “While I went unnoticed and unpraised for the same work. You were given a barony, when I was the knight who earned it.”

Malcolm's sword slipped to Ian's belt and handily flicked the dagger from its sheath. It flew through the air, landing safely away in the grass. Distaste soured his mouth. “You fought for Edward. How could you work for his death?”

“Why not? 'Tis he who wronged me by rewarding you. Always you. Do you think you've won? Edward will pardon Caradoc, and he'll talk the foolish king into honoring
the marriage with Elin. After all, she carries Caradoc's child.”

Black rage choked Malcolm. “I'll not believe such a lie now. You've proven false, Ian. For a dozen years I trusted you.”

Ian's eyes narrowed. “Then grant me mercy. I'll ride to the border and never step foot upon English soil. 'Tis the bargain you gave Giles.”

Hard emotions beat within Malcolm's chest, and he struggled with what to do. “Bind him well, Giles. And remember, Ian betrayed you, too.”

“He betrayed us all.” Giles knelt with chains ready.

“You helped turn the battle in our favor.” Malcolm lowered his sword, grateful for Giles's sacrifice. “You shall have men and arms so you can attempt to find your sister.”

The flash of a dagger gleamed in the sunlight. Ian sprang to his feet, clutching the weapon in both hands. The villain lunged with a hair-raising bellow.

Malcolm's sword moved with swift savagery. The tip of his blade caught the hem of Ian's hauberk and drove inside. The dagger fell from Ian's grip as the sword impaled him. The villain staggered and then tumbled to the ground, the life draining from his body.

“You think you've won, le Farouche?” Blood stained Ian's lips. Unveiled jealousy and hate gleamed hard in his eyes. “I may die, but you will never find your wife. Know that the child she carries will perish with her. Your son, after all.”

Malcolm knelt at his enemy's side. Sorrow gathered hard behind his heart as he watched Ian's last breath leave his body. How far would a man let jealousy drive him? And how long had Ian kept such hatred concealed?

Giles's hand cupped his shoulder. “You had no choice.
He was intent on killing you. On finally defeating the one man he could never best.”

“'Twas his voice, just as it was there, that I remember from the Outremer.” Rory sheathed his sword. “Ian was the one who paid Rees the Great for your slow and painful death. He was responsible for Edward's capture and yours.”

“All those years ago. At least the contest between us has finally ended.” Malcolm rubbed his eyes. He'd never trusted any of his men completely, and now he knew that was the only reason he still lived. “Where is Elin? We must find her.”

“I shall see to it.” Rory gazed with distaste at the defeated mercenaries. “If they know the location of her prison or grave, I will have it from them.”

Malcolm's heart tore as he thought of his wife.
Your son, after all.
Ian's declaration mocked him now. Elin had never betrayed him.

His heart rent this time not from the sting of betrayal, but from his own shortcomings. He might be regarded as a legendary knight, but his courage was only a myth. He was terrified of loving a woman, of laying open his heart and trusting her with who he was, behind the steeled armor.

His fighting dove had given him her heart and her love, not just her body. Gifts he could not give her in return.

Shame battered him. For all his strength, he was not as courageous as his wife.

T
he prisoners yielded up no answers as to Elin's whereabouts, and Malcolm believed they truly did not know. It was like Ian to leave the earth with this kind of vengeance.

Malcolm searched the forest. Old signs of Ian's trail remained, and it took him to a holding of Caradoc's. Malcolm and his men spent the entire day searching the grounds and keep. An entire day and night had passed and still they searched, but with no luck.

“Edward has arrived at Ravenwood,” Justus announced as he drew his lathered destrier to a halt in the bailey. “The king bids your presence at the castle immediately.”

“He shall wait this once.” Malcolm accepted the wine-skins Justus handed him. “I will not leave until I find her, dead or alive.”

“You love her.” Justus dismounted. “'Tis a good thing. I did not know if you would ever find your heart.”

“I found paradise.”
Only to lose it.
He held no hope that Elin still lived. But he would not rest until he found her remains.

Grief clung to him, but desperation drove him. He could not stand idle even for a moment without knowing what
had happened to his Elin. “Distribute the meals to those helping with the search. I will return to my work.”

Nearly every last knight from Evenbough crowded the keep and baileys, meticulously searching for their lady. Heavyhearted, Malcolm stepped into the shadows of the keep's stairwell. He joined Giles in the dungeon. Together they examined every crevice in the stone walls and steps for a secret chamber.

He was beginning to think they would never find her, that she was gone from his life forever. What he would give to have a second chance to love her, to find her alive and unharmed. He would love her with all his heart, and believe in her love. His eyes ached with tears, and he forced them back.

“We will examine the dungeon again,” he decided. “Elin hates them most of all.”

“'Twould be a fine prison for her, to Ian's way of thinking.” Giles gestured toward the length of the dark, damp dungeon. “Which end do you wish?”

“The farthest.” Malcolm secured the torch and knelt to his work.

Every muscle ached. Every joint screamed with pain. Exhaustion burned his body, for he'd not slept since Elin's abduction. Still he searched every stone in the floor, and then along the cell walls with infinite care.

“This keep has no oubliette.” Malcolm rubbed his hands along a sharp crevice of stone that appeared slightly different from the rest. “It must have one.”

“The mortar looks newer in that corner of the wall.” Giles crouched closer to observe it.

“Aye, I just noticed that myself.” A faint hope clutched his heart. Could it be? Did he dare hope?

Malcolm grabbed two spikes from the pile of armor near the keep's entrance and presented one to Giles. Together
they beat upon the gray stone. Shards of rock crumbled beneath their mighty blows. The impact rang through the keep and brought others from their work to watch and pray.

“Have you found her?” Justus pushed through the crowd and stepped into the ring of torchlight, a mallet in hand.

“There. We're through.” Stone tumbled to the floor, creating a hole in the wall. Malcolm grabbed a torch and knelt to peer into the darkness. He saw a swatch of brown cloth. Surely 'twas not the keep's money hole. “Again.”

They beat and broke away more of the stone. Finally, Malcolm could see the shape of a cloth-covered head and the narrow cut of a woman's shoulders. Did she live? He could not tell. Giles and Justus crowded close to help him, and together they reached inside and pulled out a limp body wrapped in hemp and linen.

Was she dead?
She did not move. Malcolm felt rage gathering. The fury of loss threatened to tear him limb from limb. He tore at the middle rope and twisted at the knots.

A blade shot out of the cloth. The dagger bit into his arm, and he leaped back.

“Elin?” He saw then that only one rope held the long length of linen in place. The rest had been sawed through from the inside. He tore the knot loose and rent the heavy cloth. He saw her face first, bruised and exhausted. Her beautiful, precious face.

Cheers resounded in the small stone dungeon as more knights and workers from the nearby village pushed close. Malcolm saw the bindings on her wrists and ankles, and he cried out. The hemp had rubbed away all the skin on her wrists.

He tore off the gag. “I cannot believe it. You live. You live.” Tears clogged his throat. He hauled her into his arms and held her tightly.

She struggled against him, still bound, still holding the knife. “You rescue me, when I am near to escaping on my own. I'll not thank you.”

Anger rumbled in her voice, low like a winter's wind. Malcolm caught her before she tumbled to the stone floor, unable to support herself. “Let me cut your bindings.”

“I'll allow it.” Her jaw clamped shut with an audible click. “But I did not need you to rescue me.”

He laid his dagger against the hemp and began slicing it. “I rather thought you would forgive me if I saved your life.”

“You, sir, did not save my life. I am perfectly capable of cutting the last of my bindings.” The rope gave way and she jerked her hands free. “And of bursting through this stone wall on my own.”

“Give her some wine.”

Malcolm thanked the peasant who had thought to fetch some. He held the wineskin to her lips, and she took it from his hands. She fumed, and he could feel the heat of her fury. What did the woman want?

Chains held her ankles, and he struck with his dagger until the steel gave. He knew why she was angry with him. He had made a grave mistake. He had allowed his fears to rule his heart. Could she ever forgive him?

She stood with a wobbly strength, holding the wineskin in one hand. Her long lustrous curls fell over her slim shoulders to shine like gold in the torchlight. She wore squire's clothing, but even in the rough garments she looked as heavenly and as royal as a princess.

The knights and peasants fell to their knees in honor.

Malcolm's heart filled with a love so bright the world seemed to fade away until there was only Elin, bathed in brightness, the center of his life and his heart.

“Will you forgive me?” He knelt before her and took
her hand in his. She was cold from being buried amid stones, but his touch warmed her skin.

“Nay.” Anger rang in her voice, but he saw the hurt in her eyes. It was a pain so great he feared he'd lost his only chance at loving her.

He'd failed her. Failed a test of their love.

He rose and led her through the throng, up the stairs and into the radiance of the day's light.

 

With every passing breath within that oubliette, Elin had felt her anger grow. Anger at Malcolm's doubt in her. At Ian's treachery. At Caradoc for his false betrothal agreement.

During the fast ride home, she quenched her longstanding thirst and quieted two days' worth of hunger. Malcolm rode at her side and never strayed. He did not look at her, even as Evenbough appeared in the distance, a great stone castle cresting a hill of vibrant green.

But it was not her home. Not anymore. Malcolm might be an honorable and true knight, but he did not love her. He had never loved her. They had no future now. She would not return to playing the loving wife, when it was not true. And how could she believe in his kindness when all he wanted was an heir for his wealth?

Spring Wind was the farthest holding in the barony. When she dismounted in the bailey, she tried to calculate how many days journey it would be. When Alma greeted her in the solar, she asked her beloved nursemaid if she would move with her to the small, insignificant keep.

Alma burst into tears. “What of the babe?”

“Malcolm will have his son. But if it is a daughter, then I will force him to let her stay with us.” Elin could not bear to think of such a fate. Even though she decided to
hate the man of steel and might, she loved him twice as much.

“But a babe would be welcome in this dismal pile of stones. Think how a child's laughter would brighten the hall.” Alma wrapped her in a sweet hug. “Forgive him, Elin.”

“'Tis not a matter of forgiveness.” If only it were, how simple it would be.

“Let me fix your hair, child, and fetch a pretty gown. Lord Malcolm has victoriously dealt with his enemy. He'll be in a mood to listen now. Tell him again of the babe, and all will be well.”

How Elin wished that Alma was right. She pressed a kiss to the old woman's cheek. “There is no love in Malcolm's heart for me. And I know what he wants. I was naught but a sentimental sop wishing for what only happens in tales.”

“True love is no tale.” Alma laid her fingers to the spot Elin had kissed. “Love is all around us. It is a part of life. It shines in the sun as it graces the land. It shines from mother to child, and from wife to husband. It is a part of all living things. And it
does
live in your Malcolm's heart.”

Tears jammed her throat. If only—

“Alma.” His voice rumbled as he entered the room. “Leave us be. I desire to be alone with my wife.”

The woman curtsied and scurried away, but Elin kept her back turned. She swiped at those bothersome tears in her eyes. She had become far too sentimental.

His fingers curved around her shoulder. “I defied my king for you.”

“What do you mean?” She sniffed. “You would never defy your precious king.”

“I did this day. I sent a message to Ravenwood, where he now stays, that I'll not see him until my wife has forgiven me.”

She swiped at another bothersome tear. “I am not your wife.”

“But you are. The king has determined the betrothal agreement was forged, so that Caradoc could try to claim Evenbough. He will be executed for what he planned.”

“So, you will believe the king and not me.” She twisted away from his touch, from his sweet, wondrous grasp. He followed her across the solar. His step was persistent.

Did he know what being alone with him did to her? It tore her into pieces. Without his love, she would never be whole again. “Leave me alone, Malcolm. Go to your king and battle with your knights and leave me to pack in peace.”

“Pack?” Shock rang hollow in his voice. “Where would you go? Evenbough is your home.”

“Fie!” Were men so dense-skulled on purpose? Or was it an art they practiced? “I go willingly to your farthest holding, now that I'm increasing.”

She spun around to watch realization dawn on his face. Upon his handsome warrior's face. He towered above her like Apollo, more myth than man, but when she felt the heat of his fingers upon her chin, her heart fluttered at the man and not the myth. The man she loved. Still. Even if he did not want her.

“Elin, after this you would listen to Ian's rants?” He frowned in sorrow, his eyes pinched with pain.

“'Twas you who agreed with him. I heard it.”

“Nay, dove. My heart would shrivel up and die without you at my side and in my bed.” His hand cupped her jaw, cradling her face as if she were the most precious of all women. “Dove, never doubt that my love for you is as great as the sky and as infinite as the night. I have traveled through many lands, but for all the places I have been, you are my home. And you always will be.”

“But you don't love me—”

“Why else would I search day and night for you? For what other reason defy and anger my king?” His lips brushed hers with a sweet fire that left no doubt. Absolutely no doubt. “You are the light that guides me, Elin. I would be lost without you. Please forgive me for doubting you. I know how wrong I was. You have proven to be honorable and true, and I would not allow myself to believe it. You are the one passion in my life, and I love you more than I can bear.”

His hand splayed over her stomach. Forgiveness lanced through her heart. “But you could doubt me again.”

“How could I? You carry our babe, a tie that will bind us with more love.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Tears of happiness. Sentimental feelings washed through her heart and she could not stop them. She did not even try.

“I could not have gotten out of the oubliette by myself.” It was not so hard to admit now.

“I know, dove.” His hands pulled the tunic over her head and loosened the laces of her chausses. “Just as I would never have escaped my dark prison without you to light the way.”

She needed him, how she needed him. “Make love to me, Malcolm.”

“Gladly.” His mouth claimed hers and there was no doubt. The truth rang in his voice and sparkled in his eyes. “I will love you for the rest of my life.”