Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) (6 page)

Rough hands hefted Elin's father from the floor and dragged him through the crowd toward the yawning doors.

Tears battered her eyes. 'Twas horrible to see Father so humiliated. Pity sliced through her, sharp edged and raw, and so great she could not draw breath. Her father, this man she'd feared and fought all her life, was no longer terrifying. He now cried like a child.

“'Twas my daughter and Caradoc!” Philip kicked and
twisted, struggling to break free. “'Twas they who plotted against you. Caradoc thought himself next in line for the throne, once your cousin and your family were gone!”

“Silence! A true man faces his sins and admits them. He does not blame others.” Edward shook his head, as if truly saddened by events. But there was no softness in the gesture, nothing diminutive about him as he turned his gaze upon Elin's face. 'Twas not a look of mercy.

She quaked before this man of great power who now sought to judge her, who even now might believe her father's desperate accusation. What could she say to save her life? What argument would be good enough?

'Twas all she could do to draw air into her lungs. “Your highness, my father lies.”

“I commanded you to remain silent,” Edward barked, and his words reverberated off the stone and tapestried walls. Shocked onlookers gasped in the breathless silence.

How would he view the traitor's daughter? Elin feared she already knew.

“Your highness, may I address you?” Caradoc's arrogant voice fragmented the silence. His shoes tapped as he faced the king.

Elin's chin fell. She stared hard at the floor.
Please, Edward, do not listen to that rooster.

“Nephew.” Edward nodded. His voice was steady and betrayed no emotion or hint of what was to come. “Speak.”

Behind her, she heard the slight jangle of a knight's chain mail. Malcolm le Farouche stood guard directly behind her, no doubt with his hand on his sword's hilt. Was he so determined to see her punished? Or did he think she would push past the guards and flee?

Well, the thought
had
crossed her mind. But she was no
coward, not like her father. She would face any fate but marriage to Caradoc.

The cocksure Caradoc gave a nod in her direction. “I've long been in love with Elinore of Evenbough and—”

Elin hopped to her feet. “You lie! I despise you—”

“Silence!”
the king roared, striding swiftly toward her, terrifying in his anger. “I'll not warn you again, lady. Sir Malcolm, I see now the trouble you had with this one.”

“Her worst weapon is her sharp tongue, highness.” Malcolm's deep voice held a hint of mockery as his hand gripped her shoulder and forced her back to her knees. “She is not modest or well tempered.”

“'Tis true, sire.” Caradoc wrung his hands together, as if uncertain now of his case with the king. “I heard the lies Philip spewed as he was dragged from this chamber. But pray, do not believe the words of a proven traitor. Philip was sorely angry that I refused to rescue him in the forest, when I came to ensure my Elin's safety.”

By the blood, she couldn't believe this Caradoc's wretched lies. “I'm not your—”

“Lady Elinore.
Silence.
” The king towered over her. “What am I to do with you, a woman who cannot obey a simple order?”

She remembered how Edward had struck her father, and knew that her life was forfeit to this man of wealth and power. She ought to take Malcolm's advice and act contrite. She bit her bottom lip, determined to obey.

“I cannot release you. You are the daughter of a proven traitor.”

Her heart skipped five beats. “That doesn't make
me
one, sire.” Then she clamped one hand over her mouth.

Edward paused, considering. His mouth quirked down in one corner. “Did you attempt to kill my knights with your poisons?”

“Of course not.” How could anyone believe that of her?
“I'm a healer. I could never cause real harm. I was afraid no one in this court would believe me, so I chose to escape. I only meant to sicken your knights like the dogs they are.”

“Dogs?” Amusement glittered in those wise eyes.

Elin did not much like that he thought to laugh at her. Better to let her hang from a noose! She only told the truth. She would not stoop to lying, as Caradoc did. “Mayhap you would want to know how cruel your men can be. They trussed up my helpless old nursemaid, even though it was clear she was no traitor to the king and no threat. Do men of power feel greater when they harm those smaller? Methinks that is a sign of cowardice. And these are the men who serve you.”

“She offends the king!” A guard raised a hand to cuff her.

Malcolm's hand curled around that offender's wrist and stopped the blow. Elin gazed up into the Fierce One's hard eyes, black and unreadable. Why had he protected her, he who vowed to condemn her?

Caradoc stepped forward. “Uncle, allow me to wed her. I will teach her submission.”

“I've heard from you enough, Nephew.” Edward rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I now require a word with Sir Malcolm. Only then shall I render a decision.”

The anger in his voice was not a good sign. Elin shivered. The room vibrated with sudden whispers as the onlookers speculated on the outcome.

She saw Caradoc's smug grin and the triumph glittering in his cold, flat eyes. He believed they would wed. He believed the king would judge favorably for him.

But not for her.

“The king speaks to the great knight,” she heard one spectator whisper. “I wager Edward will show mercy to the lady and let her live.”

“Aye, else she would be on her way to her death.”

Oh, Edward, pray, do not marry me to Caradoc.
Elin sank to the floor. Outside the hall, she heard the screams of her father, tortured as he died, and those cries echoed in the rafters above. Her chest collapsed with grief, and she could not hope, could not breathe, could not even dream.

The king would condemn her one way or the other. At least being drawn and quartered was a swift death, unlike the one awaiting her with Caradoc.

 

“'Tis not always easy to render a fair judgment.” Edward lifted a goblet from a servant's tray. “What think you of Elinore of Evenbough? Is she guilty or innocent?”

“She is far from innocent, highness. I do not trust a woman like her.”

“Truly?”

With a wave of his hand, Malcolm declined the wine a serving wench offered. “Why do you delay Elin's judgment? She's caused trouble enough.”

“Aye, but she argued well, even for a traitor's daughter.”

“A traitor.” Malcolm curled his hands into fists, frustration building like a pressure beneath his breastbone. She'd been so bold and uncontrite before the king. “She poisoned your knights. She left us writhing upon the ground with our entrails on fire.”

“And yet she saved Hugh's life.”

“Aye, I cannot argue it. She healed him with the devotion of a nun and the mercy of an angel. She was a true godsend that night after Caradoc's attack.” Malcolm would never forget her gentle hands, healing and caring. Or the fatigue bruising her eyes. “And yet she is not angelic. She was often disrespectful, rebellious, and used her healing knowledge of herbs to aid her escape.”

“True.” Edward drained his goblet. “You did not an
swer my question. Is the girl, Elinore of Evenbough, guilty of what her father plotted? Does she covet royal power?”

“In my opinion, she does not.”

“Then I am willing to forgo judgment on the poisonings.”

“'Twould be my recommendation, sire.” Not that he had forgiven the woman of fire and rebellion, but the sickness had been brief and he was no worse for the ordeal. And he did not want to think he had brought her here to a grisly end. “A punishment may be fitting.”

“Nay, she must be safely wed.” Edward rubbed his chin, pacing. “But that could prove difficult. What a sharp tongue she has on her.”

“Sharp as a blade.”

“Yet she is young. Mayhap an able husband can tame her and mold her into the woman she ought to be.”

“You mean marriage to Caradoc?” Malcolm roared, anger bitter upon his tongue. “He is but a beast. Well I know he is nephew to you, but he attacked my men without remorse. He meant to kill all of us, and nearly took the life of young Hugh. In truth, I believe he lies. He and Lady Elinore are not betrothed.”

“Yet he covets more land, does he not?” Wisdom gleamed as brightly as the royal gems Edward wore. “Tell me truly, Malcolm, as friend to friend, as one who saved more than my life countless times. You seem much agitated by this traitor's daughter.”

“She sought to humiliate me and broke what trust I gave her.”

“I have heard the talk and the jesting of how a woman so small bested the great le Farouche.”

“What now, do you jest, too?” Ire boomed in his voice and, realizing he'd shouted at his king, he bowed his chin. “My apologies, sire.”

“Well accepted, friend. I have the answer I need.” Ed
ward gestured to the guard at the door. “I never thought the day would come when your anger ran hot instead of cold.”

 

'Tis not a good sign the king laughs.
Elin bowed her chin for a quick but heartfelt prayer, although it was far too late for prayers to save her. The king had decided her fate, and he found it an amusing one.

He was not as they called him, Edward the Fair. He was a horrid brute of a man, no different than any other. Her brother had worshipped the king and even fought at his side in the Outremer. But Edward was going to give her in marriage to Caradoc. She knew it with a sick certainty.

“Sir Malcolm, stand Lady Elinore on her feet,” Edward commanded. “There will be no second execution this day.”

'Twas as she suspected. The king would marry her to his cousin, the wife murderer. Is that what he found so amusing? Fie on his cruel sense of humor.

Whispers buzzed in the audience. A scrape of wood hurt her ears and she saw Caradoc, now her betrothed, rise from his bench like a proud cardinal, sharp beaked and pompously bedecked in red and gold.

Elin felt sick to her stomach. Bile gathered, and she bowed her head. How could she face this fate? It was simple—she could not.

“My gracious thanks to my king and uncle for granting me my beloved.” Caradoc smoothed his tunic as he approached Edward. A triumphant sneer twisted his mouth. “Elin has long been in love with me.”

“He lies.” Elin's blood iced in her veins. “I demand the noose, sire. 'Tis only befitting for a woman like me, for I poisoned your greatest knight.”

Caradoc fell silent, his mouth gaping.

“Lady Elinore, you surprise me.” Laughter sparkled in
wise eyes, and the king merely shook his head. “You would die rather than wed?”

Fear washed over her. She trembled with it, clenching her hands. Caradoc's abuse of women was legendary in the small valley she called home. But to endure it as his wife… “Aye.”

“
I
am the ruler here and I shall make the decisions. Remember that, for I have not yet decided on your groom. A sharp-tongued response from you might spur me to choose the worst of husbands rather than the best.”

Protests and arguments struggled for release upon her tongue, but she bit her bottom lip and refused them. A worse husband? Someone worse than Caradoc?

Malcolm's hands gripped her upper arms, and she felt his great strength as he easily lifted her to her feet. In the light of day and in the elegance of the great hall, he looked like a hero of myth and legend.

“My many thanks, Uncle, for granting me this great wish.” Caradoc strolled forward, chest puffed up and triumph bold on his thin face. No doubt he thought himself so fine, yet he appeared like a paste jewel when compared with the hard glittering power of Malcolm the Fierce in armor. “I propose I marry her this day, now before my gracious king—”

“Silence, boy.” The king held up his bejeweled hand. “And seat yourself. I've yet to judge your role in this.”

Whispers from the audience rustled like crisp leaves before a cold wind. Elin's knees buckled and she sank to the floor.

A worse husband than Caradoc.
Edward's threat still lingered in her mind. Who could be worse than Caradoc?

Death was the only escape she could see. Did she wish it that much?
Nay.
Her gaze wandered to the open door where her father had been dragged. Pity for the old man lingered and melded with a sense of aloneness, one of loss.

“Lady Elinore of Evenbough, your father's treachery leaves a great and wealthy barony without a lord to defend and protect it. I fear there are those who covet to own as much English soil as I do.” Edward's gaze landed directly upon his nephew, his silent accusation more powerful than any words. “It would not be wise to put so much land into their greedy hands.”

Caradoc smoldered where he sat, hunching like a deflated peacock. His face soured and his hand disappeared beneath his tunic.

Malcolm stepped forward, wedging himself between the king and Caradoc, his own mighty hand upon the polished hilt of his broadsword. The threat was clear. Caradoc's shoulders wilted, but the malignant anger in his eyes did not die.

The king continued, not unaware. “Therefore, I must ensure Lady Elinore weds a man of great strength, who is vastly capable of defending Evenbough's fertile lands from those who would seek any means, unjust and violent, to steal them. And he must be a man I can trust, a man of loyalty and honor.”

What man could be so bold, so powerful?

A bad feeling grew within her stomach. And she followed the king's gaze to the man standing at his side, chain mail gleaming in the candlelight as if God's own smile glistened there.

Nay, not
him…
How could she marry Malcolm the Fierce? 'Twould be like marrying Satan's henchman. He'd raised his sword to her in the forest as if to strike, and had left her in that cold dungeon alone and desperately afraid. He'd killed her father's knights with swift ease.