Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) (8 page)

Elin saw Giles, practically at her elbow, lift his sword against two men. She spied a third villain approach, intending to run him through from behind. Giles's attention was focused on the two he fought. He could not see the danger! She dropped to the ground, cursing her own foolishness. Her fingers crept along the earth and seized a good-size rock. She aimed and threw. Stone struck steel with a clang, and Elin watched as the villain toppled from his horse and hit the ground with a thud.

Victory bubbled through her chest. She'd done it. She'd stopped him.

Then he climbed to his feet. His gaze fastened on her like an arrow finding its target. He swore viciously, and Elin saw him raise his sword, mighty with rage. “Why, 'twas a woman who felled me!”

Panic gripped her. Her hand flew to her girdle, but her scabbard was empty. Malcolm had taken all her daggers.

“I'll teach you a lesson, vile wench, a lesson you'll never forget.”

By the saints, he meant to kill her. Desperation gripped her. She spied an abandoned sword on the ground and ran to grab it. Her fingers fitted around the hilt, and she swung the heavy blade upward.

It met his sword, so forcefully the impact ricocheted up the bones of her arm and into her shoulder socket. Pain seized her muscles, but anger drove her further. She thrust, her weapon crashing against his with more bone-bending pain.

“What demon are you that attacks a woman?” she demanded as she deflected another lethal blow. “You're but a cowardly speck of—”

“Fight
me,
swine!” Malcolm's demand rang in the air, vast and powerful, her unlikely angel of deliverance. “Elin, mount up and save yourself.”

“Nay, he is mine to fight!” She could not stomach the idea of simply giving up.

But 'twas Malcolm's blade that met the villain's weapon, and Malcolm who stepped forward to protect her from the sharp sword. Steel clashed once and then again. The ground rumbled beneath her feet with each strike. She felt Malcolm's muscles strain as if they were her own, and witnessed his power as he breached the villain's defenses. The killer fell with a blow to the neck.

Elin covered her eyes, but the sight of the gruesome victory remained etched on her lids. As she trembled, the eerie calm of the night enfolded her.

“Are you all right, dove?” Malcolm's hand curled around hers, as if to steal the sword from her grip.

She pulled away, retaining her weapon. “I'm not injured.”

“'Twas not what I meant.” How kind he sounded, not at all like a man without heart. “You've not experienced battle, warrior trained though you may be.”

She knew better than to trust a man feigning kindness. “My brother taught me.”

“Peter? Aye, he wielded the fastest sword I'd ever seen, save for mine.” Malcolm's gloved hand found her shoulder, but his touch was gentle this time and not imprisoning. “If Peter taught you swordplay, then you could not have had a better teacher.”

Her throat ached. “You knew my brother?”

“Aye. We fought together alongside Edward.” That kindness deepened and almost seemed real. “Peter fell not two months after we arrived in the Outremer. I received a sword in the back for trying to save his life.”

Grief still ached within, and she bowed her chin. “I did not know.”

“I do not brag about my good deeds, few as they are.” He turned, and the moment was gone.

“Are there any serious injuries?” he demanded. When none answered, he grabbed Elin's mare by the bit. “Then we ride. I sense trouble in the air. These were no thieves, but men paid to intercept us.”

“How do you know?” Ian demanded. He strode easily through the crowd, winded and limping. “Attacks like these are common enough to those who travel at night.”

“Aye, but these are not desperate men. Look at the qual
ity of their armor. The last bandits I met wore no chain mail, and carried cheap swords, not finely crafted ones.” Malcolm offered Elin his hand. “Mount up.”

She slid the sword into her leather girdle, but he caught her hand. “Nay, dove. Not with the sword.”

How did she say she would feel safer with a weapon at her side? “'Twill help the next time I need to save Giles's life.”

Men chuckled at that, and Giles took some teasing.

“Silence.” Malcolm lifted one hand.

She could not breathe as heartbeats passed. Would he take even this small comfort from her?

He shook his head. “Fine. I'll allow you to carry it when we ride. But do not mistake my intentions, Wife. I do not trust you.”

“Nor do I trust you.” She mounted, refusing his aid.

Malcolm disliked the defiance in her voice. At least the dove was honest. Many women had lied to him, and so often, he began to think it was all they were capable of. And yet Elin seemed different from all the rest.

Moonlight basked in her luxurious hair, making it glint like the rarest of metals. He could not deny the attraction. His fingers ached to touch that luminous silk and to know its sweet, rich texture. His blood heated as he remembered the feel of her hand in his.

Edward did not know what he did in arranging this marriage.

Feeling the heavy weight of exhaustion, Malcolm mounted up. A cold wind chilled the sweat on his face and on the back of his neck.

He was tired, aye, how he was tired. And his duty to his king, the most important yet, had just begun.

Malcolm headed his stallion north toward Evenbough, following the sky's brightest star.

 

“Your lady is some warrior.” Ian sidled close after a long, vigilant silence. “I have never seen a female swing a blade like that.”

“It surprised me as well.” Malcolm looked over his shoulder to check on his bride. She sat in the saddle, washed in starlight that made her look soft and new. Less like the defiant hellcat and more a delicate noblewoman. How tired she seemed. She might have some amount of a warrior's strength, but she was no seasoned knight.

He came to a decision. “We shall make camp there, near that stream. Set up guards to watch the perimeter.”

Ian cleared his throat. “But you said we would not stop until we reached Evenbough.”

Malcolm bit his lip to keep from chastising Ian. Or mayhap to keep from admitting the truth. “Lady Elin saved Giles from being run through from behind. If she needs rest, I will give it to her.”

“Remember that the last time she performed a good deed she poisoned you and your men.”

“I am no wooden-pated fool.” Agitated, Malcolm dismounted and caught hold of the mare's bit. If Elin were all traitor, he'd know how to deal with her. But she was softness and frailty, too. And she'd shown remarkable courage fighting that mercenary dog.

Elin, half-asleep, was startled awake. Her hand flew to the sword's hilt and panic gripped her.

“Hold, maiden warrior.” Malcolm covered her fingers with his, hoping to calm her. “You are in no danger from me.”

She blinked, and that moment of vulnerability was gone. Her chin lifted, and her defenses were back in place. “You're my husband, the most dangerous man of all.”

“Nay, I'm merely the most dangerous knight.”

“My point exactly. 'Tis why I need my sword.”

By the saints, she was a prickly female. But there was no mistaking the pool of fear in her eyes. And although her fear drove her, it did not rule her.

He admired her for that. “Not many females would heft such a heavy sword at a trained killer.”

“My own sword is much lighter, and with it I am lightning quick. Father made me leave it at home.” The wind caressed her rich tresses, and they fluttered against the curve of her face.

'Twas hard not to notice that beautiful face. “You swing a blade the way Peter did, left-handed and mean.”

“You do remember him. It seems as if he's been gone forever.” Sadness touched her, and she no longer looked defiant, but gentle like the morning. Affection softened her countenance.

He was glad there was softness in this woman. “A man never forgets the friends he fights with, nor his failure to save their lives. Come.” He took her arm. “'Tis time to rest. And to give me your sword.”

She dropped to the ground. “I'll need it for defense.”

“From what?” He gestured at the men making a camp. “My knights? They would not dare touch you for fear of my wrath. A thief? My men will not allow one near the camp. That only leaves me, and upon my honor I'll not sleep with you this night. I intend to stand guard over my men.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes curious. “Do you ever sleep?”

He chuckled. He could not remember when he'd last slept a full night. “Not soundly, or I would find a sword in my back, for all the enemies I've made, or for all those who want what I've earned.”

“'Tis easy to see why you've made many enemies.” She
walked among the men busily attending to their work. She moved like a goddess and barely touched the ground.

“Your blade, Elin.”

Resignation punctuated her sigh as she handed over the elaborate sword.

The weight of it surprised him. 'Twas as heavy as his own, and yet she'd swung it well. “How sore is your arm?”

“Not at all.” She headed toward the fire, leaving him behind.

He grabbed his bedroll from the packhorse, all the while keeping his gaze upon his wife. She warmed herself before the flames and, thinking he did not watch her, rubbed her left shoulder. She was such a fragile thing. She had such a fragile arm. The fight with the mercenary had caused her some injury and she didn't trust him enough to admit it.

His chest tightened. By the rood! He did feel the smallest amount of warmth toward that treacherous female.

“You can sleep here.” He spread his furs upon the frost-crisp earth near the newly lit fire. “'Twill be the warmest and safest place for you.”

“Safe from whom?” Flame illuminated the horror upon her face. “From you?”

“As I said, you will sleep alone.” He'd not had a woman look upon his bed with horror before. “Justus will bring your meal. Sit and rest, dove. It has been a long day, and you've fought hard and well.”

She turned, and the darkness hid her face from his sight, but it was clear she did not want him.

He faded into the shadows alone, where he belonged.

 

“I did not mean it, Father. I swear!”

“So says a child too stupid to learn.” Her father's face
contorted with rage, and his voice echoed against stone and darkness.

“Please, Father. I'll not do it again.”

“So you said last time. Wipe those tears off your face.” Flame from his torch illuminated the door that led to the dungeon below. “I grow weary of your crying.”

“No!” Elin dug in her heels as the light licked at the metal lock. Desperation clawed like talons in her stomach. “I'll not spill my milk again.”

The squeak of hinges and the groan of metal answered. There would be no forgiveness. There never was. So she swallowed her tears and tried to swallow her fear, as well. Father trapped her hard against his chest and started down the staircase. Elin screwed her eyes shut, but the sound of his boots tapping on the stone steps echoed deep in her heart.

Down they went. She could hear the scurry of vermin. She was so afraid of the dungeon. Father knew she was afraid, and held her with bruising force. She didn't dare cry. If she let out any sound at all, then the fear would eat her up.

Father dropped her to the cold floor, and she curled up in the corner. The door rasped shut, and his footsteps faded away—

She sat up, horror clinging to her soul like fog to the ground. She gazed through the mists to see not damp stone walls but stars, open space, trees and the lumps of sleeping knights near the fire.

She had not meant to doze off. But the food Justus had brought her was warm and the radiant heat from the fire had soothed her. She'd lain down, and Malcolm's furs had enfolded her, the softest bed she'd known since leaving home.

She shivered. She'd slept here vulnerable amid so many
armed knights. And yet she'd been safe, just as Malcolm had promised. For now.

She slipped from the warm furs. Her boots crunched upon the frost-crusted earth. She spotted several knights asleep in their armor, swords unsheathed at their sides. If only she could manage to slip one weapon away from its owner. She knelt upon the rocky ground and reached out—

But he stirred, and she snatched back her hand. Were they all light sleepers? She headed toward the bushes, pondering a plan of action.

“Elin.” Malcolm's voice rose out of the darkness, thick with amusement. “I see you sneaking through my camp.”

Where was he? She couldn't see him. “I need some privacy.”

“Why? There's no sword to steal behind those ferns.” Fie! It sounded as if he laughed at her. His chain mail jangled as he stood, rising like a ghost from the shadows. “I'll stand to keep better watch on you.”

“You intend to
watch
me?”

“What if you were to pick some local plant to poison us with? Or run off? Or meet with an enemy?”

“Mayhap I just wish to reflect upon life behind a private bush.” 'Twas annoying how suspicious he was and how hidden by the dark.

“I know better than to trust you, dove.” He chuckled, as if mocking her. “Hurry up with your business.”

By the rood, that man had audacity. “Turn your back. You've the eyes of a demon and can see despite the dark.”

“'Tis a good thing, so I'm not a target for every rock you might throw at me.” There he was, leaning against a tree trunk.

She chose a very dense fern to climb behind. “You hold me prisoner. You have to expect me to try to escape.”

“You are not my prisoner, but my wife.”

“I see little difference between the two.”