by Jillian Hart
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 answer 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.” Edward 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 deflat
ed 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.
“Stand, traitor’s daughter.” Edward towered overhead, fiercely determined.
Malcolm’s armor jangled as he approached. “Lady, the king ordered you to stand.”
She scrambled to her feet, but the knight’s grip curled around her arm. His hold was one of steel and male strength, and trapped her obediently at his side. He was big and mighty. A calm horror filled her, and her gaze strayed to the wide doors across the hall, then back again.
“I’ve given this much thought.” Edward reached for her hand. “Lady Elinore, I will grant you the greatest knight in all the land for your husband.”
Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat. He heard the incredulous gasp from the audience, but it could not compare to the icy shock pumping through his veins. “Edward, nay, I beg you—”
“’Tis too late. My decision has been rendered.” The king smiled, actually smiled, as if he found some amusement in this horror. “This is a match that greatly pleases me. I will hear no arguments, Fierce One.”
“No arguments?” Rage tore through him, and he heard his own voice echo in the elaborate stonework overhead. What had happened to his steely control? Ashamed, he bowed his chin. “Your highness, I cannot accept such a position.”
“You can and you will.”
“You well know I am no farmer.”
“’Tis not farming I require from you. The villeins will work the land. You shall protect them. And you will honor your king with your silence and trust. I know what I do.”
Was the king blind? “I cannot. Choose another of your knights. Giles or Ian are more suitable to a barony.”
“I want you, Malcolm, and you alone.”
Fury raged in his chest, but how could he show that to his king? “’Tis folly, Edward. ’Tis disaster you are seeking.”
“I know my course, Malcolm. There is no other I can trust. These are treacherous times.”
“So, you would condemn me to a hell I cannot bear? And this baron’s daughter to God knows what?”
“I do not believe you would harm the girl.”
“Of that I can make no vows.” He thought of the long line of women who’d sworn love to him, and how those liaisons had ended. Every one of them. Except for Lily, who’d paid with her life.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elin’s eyes widen, for she’d heard his words. Her beautiful face donned an expression of silent horror. She looked over her shoulder, again judging the distance to the door. The girl clearly wished to escape. Well, ’twas far better that she betray him now by fleeing than with secrets later.
The king scowled. “I care not about the girl, Malcolm. Only that you hold my most powerful barony. If you refuse, then I will have her executed and you banished.”
“But sire—”
“Choose.” Edward stood taller, seeming more fearsome with this demand. “Obey me or face dishonor. Of all men, I thought you were the one I could trust.”
“I would lay down my life to defend yours, and well you know it.” Malcolm’s heart was torn. Like a cornered lion, he felt ready to explode with fury and lash out ruthlessly. But he could never cause his ruler harm by word or deed. He hung his head, feeling the greatest of losses. “I will obey you, my king.”
“Well chosen. You are a man of duty, if not one of heart.” The king patted Malcolm’s shoulder. “Fear not, for I trust you are strong enough to gentle this spirited filly. Lulach, fetch the priest. He must perform the wedding immediately. I would have this great barony secure from treacherous men.”
Chapter Six
I care not about the girl. The king’s words were not forgotten as Elin faced the priest. She smoldered, but found solace knowing the great le Farouche also took no pleasure in the prospect of their marriage.
She fought to stay her panic. Surely, after Edward was satisfied, the vows would not be hard to annul. For in truth, the king only wanted his trusted knight to hold the barony of Evenbough.
The priest began with a prayer, but the familiar Latin blurred in her mind as she studied Malcolm out of the corner of her eye. Not even in the forest after he’d threatened to haul her out of the tree had he looked this enraged and threatening. Veins stood out beneath his sun-browned skin, and the muscles in his jaw were locked and rigid, a testimony to the fury he controlled.
What a fury it must be. He trembled with it, like grass in a wind, and his chain mail jingled faintly but musically. She could hear his shallow breaths and the snap of his jaws when he clenched them.
’Twas comforting to know she did not suffer alone.
Malcolm answered the priest with a terse growl that left no doubt of his true feelings.
“My lady?” the priest prompted.
She blushed and said her vows. The words felt strange upon her tongue. They tasted of anger. They tasted of rebellion. She heard the catch in her own voice and knew Malcolm heard it, too.
She hated that he knew how she feared him. She’d learned long ago the only way to stay safe was to be stronger than her enemy, be it family or stranger.
The priest pronounced her Malcolm’s bride, binding her with holy blessings to this man of war. To Malcolm le Farouche. To the one man she could not defeat by thought or word or deed. To a man who would not even kiss her at the end of the vows.
’Twas his only saving grace.
“Sire, I wish to leave immediately. I seek to make Evenbough secure in your name.” Malcolm turned as if she did not exist, and focused his attention on the pleased king.
“I approve.” Edward stood, clapping his hands. Guards and servants responded. He barked out orders.
Elin’s gaze strayed to the door.
“So, you have whored yourself to the fiercest knight in the land.” Caradoc’s damp fingers encircled her elbow. “I ought to curse you for spreading your thighs for le Farouche when you would not for me.”
Fie, but his foulness offended her. And his arrogance. She turned her back on him. “I would rather spit on the both of you.”
“Then you kept your maidenhead?”
Bile spilled across her tongue as she remembered. “You are bold for a man who nearly lost his head today.”
“Aye, but sentimental foolishness saved it. Praise be that my father is Edward’s favorite. Such family ties were enough for me to keep my life, but not good enough to win the sweetest prize.” He wrapped a curled lock of her hair around his forefinger.
She struck his hand away. “Would that I had my dagger! You would be missing one whole hand.”
“Save your threats for le Farouche. You will need them.” Caradoc’s smile twisted his face. “Surely you know of the tales. He drives women to their deaths.”
“What man would not?” She shook with fury. Caradoc had her trapped against the wall, and she could not escape him. How she wished for her dagger.
“Look at him.” A smirk twisted his boyish face. “Mark how violent he is. Le Farouche makes me appear
like a harmless kitten.”
“A kitten? None I’ve ever seen.” Her fingers itched for a weapon.
“Jest all you want and deny the truth, Elinore of Evenbough, but you are afraid. I can see it in your eyes. Remember this, we can work together, you and I. We can defeat the fierce knight and keep him from taking your life.”
“Says one murderer of another.” He was a handsome blackguard, there was no doubt about it, but she looked at him and saw only ugliness. “I wish to hear no more of your plan.” Loathing soured her stomach. Wanting distance between then, she caught his arm and gave him a hard push. She rushed past him.
His grip spun her around. “Help me, and I will ensure the Fierce One never hauls you to his bed. Look at the strength in his arms. Think of how brutal his mating would be. Think upon it, ’tis all I ask.”
“Fie on you!” She fought to free her arm—and won.
“What’s this?” Malcolm’s voice boomed above the din in the hall. “Caradoc, touch my wife again and I’ll separate your head from your neck. With or without Edward’s approval.”
Elin took her place beside her husband, not behind. She set her chin and refused to look away when Caradoc’s gaze raked hers with disgust. She saw anger darken his peacock’s face, and looked up to see a more powerful anger on Malcolm’s.
He laid his hand upon his hilt, warrior still.
Caradoc paled, but the hatred in his narrow eyes did not diminish. “Watch your threats, le Farouche. My uncle may have granted you a powerful barony, but beware. You may not survive to bear the title long.”
“Now who threatens?” Malcolm’s eyes flashed, dark and deadly. “Go ahead and hide behind the robes of the king. Soon you’ll see that Edward’s good nature extends only so far. Elin, come!”
’Twas the way he said it that angered her. “I’m no dog to jump at your bidding.”
“Aye, but you are my wife.” He held out his hand, his big palm spread wide, awaiting her touch.
She felt the heat of many curious gazes and the censure. She knew Edward’s courtiers saw a traitor’s daughter, dressed in a gown now in rags. She sensed they did not approve of her hatred toward the greatest knight in the land.
