Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519)

by Jillian Hart

  “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.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8382-8

  MALCOLM’S HONOR

  Copyright © 2000 by Jill Strickler

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