“You!” Elinore pointed her blade at Malcolm.

“Help me with his armor, since you are the only man without work to do.”

“You despise my idleness?” He chuckled, deep and as intriguing as midnight.

“That and more. Now quickly. I must see the wound. Use my blade.” She jabbed the knife toward him, hilt first.

His big, blunt-shaped fingers curled over the steel weapon, engulfing it. The thick blade appeared like a toy against his size and dark, lethal power. She read the cynical darkness in his eyes, hated the strength in his rock-hewn body. The latent power to kill rested in the thickness of his arms and shoulders, chest and thighs.

Malcolm both took her breath away and made her blood run cold. He was a beautiful masculine form. He was a destroyer of life. The irony beat at her.

Truly this was the epitome of man…!

Dear Reader,

The perfect complement to a hot summer day is a cool drink, some time off your feet and a good romance novel. And we have four terrific stories this month for you to choose from!

Jillian Hart made her writing debut in our 1998 March Madness Promotion with her outstanding Western, Last Chance Bride. The same emotional and gently passionate style she’s developed in her Westerns is ever present in Malcolm’s Honor, Jillian’s first medieval romance. Set in England, it’s the story of Malcolm the Fierce, a loyal knight who captures a noblewoman suspected of treason. When Malcolm brings her to the king, the king awards Malcolm with the woman’s land…then forces him to marry her! Malcolm soon finds himself falling in love with his beautiful wife, but is still unsure he can trust her….

In Lady of Lyonsbridge by Ana Seymour, another wonderful Medieval, an heiress falls in love with a knight who comes to her estate on his way to pay a kidnapped king’s ransom. Judith Stacy returns with a darling new Western, The Blushing Bride, about a young lady who travels to a male-dominated logging camp to play matchmaker for a bevy of potential brides—only to find herself unexpectedly drawn to a certain mountain man of her own!

Rounding out the month is Jake’s Angel by newcomer Nicole Foster. In this book, an embittered—and wounded—Texas Ranger on the trail of a notorious outlaw winds up in a small New Mexican town and is healed, emotionally and physically, by a beautiful widow.

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

JILLIAN HART

MALCOLM’S HONOR

Available from Harlequin Historicals and JILLIAN HART

Last Chance Bride #404

Cooper’s Wife #485

Malcolm’s Honor #519

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

On the road to Dover, 1280

“By the rood, we have company.”

Lady Elinore of Evenbough turned at the sound of her protector’s voice. The tall knight, harsh as the night was long, did not seem alarmed at the cluster of men drawing closer along the forest road, only amused.

“’Tis thieves. Look how slow they ride,” her father said with a laugh. “Luck is with us. We have been journeying for a good part of a sennight and still no sign of Edward’s knights.”

“Do not speak of luck, my lord.” The knight took hold of his sword. “Nor believe the king will forget your transgressions.”

“Yours, as well.”

Elin considered her father’s words. He had told her little the night he’d interrupted her dreams, rousing her with only a shake of her shoulder and a stern order to dress to ride. Was the castle under attack? Mayhap an illness? Her questions had gone unanswered. She had packed a sack of clothing and two small crocks of herbs, and joined her father in the bailey.

There had been only a handful fleeing that night, if indeed they were fleeing. Three of Father’s most trusted knights, and her elderly chaperon, Alma, who had cared for Elin since birth. Father had bidden them to remain silent as he’d led the way down the shadowed road. It had been thus for four nights, traveling beneath the cloak of a new moon, keeping out of the sight of travelers brave enough to risk the dangerous roads after midnight.

Now it seemed their luck had turned. Elin bit back questions she dared not ask her father, a harsh and severe man—questions about why one loyal and close to the king would need to hide in the darkness.

“Thieves can be easily dealt with,” Alma whispered in her ear. “But methinks those are knights. Look how black they are, for there is no moon to gleam off their mail. Were they thieves, they would wear even a small amount of colored cloth.”

“Quiet, old woman,” her father’s knight ordered.

Had they not been in such danger, Elin would have spoken. No matter his worth as a warrior, Brock could improve his manners, especially toward the elderly.

“By the blood, they are knights.” Father’s voice resonated with a hollow sound—fear, mayhap. Or something worse.

“Many knights,” Alma whispered again.

Elin’s grip tightened on the reins. Without doubt, there would be a battle and much danger. She had learned long ago to think of her own safety, for her father had little concern for her or Alma’s welfare. In truth, why he’d brought her with him remained a mystery. Since her brother’s death in the Crusades while fighting at Edward’s side, the mere sight of Elin angered her sire.

“Come.” She spoke low and touched Alma’s cloak. “We must hide.”

A battle was no place for unarmed women. Had Father allowed her, she would not hesitate to carry a sword for protection. Her hand crept to the knife she kept at her girdle. She was not helpless. And any man foolish enough to believe so would discover how fine a warrior she could be.

“Dismount,” Elin instructed when the forest proved too dense for the great horses. It mattered little if they were on foot. She had all she needed—a weapon in hand and the cloak of darkness. “Father will chase off those arrogant knights. Look how they challenge him.”

“Do not be so certain,” Alma warned. “See that big knight, the one atop the black stallion? He is Malcolm le Farouche. Malcolm the Fierce.”

“The king’s protector? You must be mistaken, Alma. What could Father have done to bring the king’s men after him?”

“Treason.”

“Nay, it cannot be. Father is loyal to the king.”

“Your father is loyal to gold coin.”

Elin could not argue that truth. She had long witnessed that flaw in her father’s character. His love of money had nearly been the ruin of the barony. His conscience did not so much as twinge at the thought of others going hungry in order to feed his greed. But treason?

“Put down your sword, Baron Philip of Evenbough, by command of the king,” the black knight ordered.

“I trust you not, Farouche. You have long been known for your dubious misdeeds.” Father’s sword slid from its scabbard, a sound of metal upon leather in the still night. “I command you, le Farouche, to put down your arms and let us go as peaceable men.”

“Since when are a murderer’s deeds peaceable?”

Elin could see the knight’s great gleaming darkness as, clothed in shadows, he lifted his sword. Malcolm the Fierce. His voice came as sharp as his sword, hard as his name. She could see broad shoulders, wider than she’d noticed on any man, and the power of his arm. Painted in shades of night, he led the charge.

“No!” She could not hold back the cry that tore from her throat. Her hiding place revealed, she slapped her hand to her mouth. But she remained unnoticed as the clash of sword upon sword and the blood cry of battling men filled the forest. She could smell the sweat of horses, the fresh musk of upturned earth beneath their hooves and the sharp scent of blood.

“Down, girl.” Alma’s hand curled in the fabric of her sleeve. Not until that moment was Elin aware she’d risen to her feet.

She knelt back in the shadows, her fingers growing clammy around the hilt of her dagger. Violence frightened her, but something terrified her even more.

It came as a whisper in her mind, a shimmer of foreboding as intangible as the night. Her father would lose this battle. Had King Edward’s knights tracked them from Evenbough to kill or capture them? Or was Father right? Was le Farouche working against the king for his own vile agenda? Either was possible. There had been rumors, aye; there were always rumors. But as flawed as her father was, Elin found it hard to believe him capable of murder. And yet—

“We must escape whilst we can,” Alma whispered, her voice raspy from age and fear. “Come. That is Brock who has fallen. There, on the ground by the lee side of that boulder. Do you see him?”

“Aye.” Cold hard fear clenched Elin’s belly. Brock had failed to stop the dark knight, Malcolm the Fierce.

“They may not know we are here,” Elin said. “If we attempt to move, they may spot us.”

“Not in the heat of battle.” Alma tugged hard on Elin’s cloak and, stooping so as not to disturb tree boughs, took a small step. “Those knights are no fools. They are the best in the realm, chosen by Edward himself. They will count the bodies—”

“Then count the horses, and come looking for us,” Elin finished. “We have no choice. We must run. Quietly, now.”

A twig snapped. The fingers gripping her cloak let go. Was she alone? The dark shadows beneath the trees made it impossible to see. “Alma?”

Cold metal touched her throat, and then a hard male hand gripped her shoulder with crushing force. Sinew and bone bruised beneath those mighty fingers, and Elin cried out. “Where is Alma? She’s an old woman. If you hurt her, you devil’s spawn, I shall make you pay.”

Male laughter rang above the sounds of the forest. “God’s teeth, a warrior woman. I truly quake in fear.”

She jabbed her elbow backward and struck chain mail and immovable man. Let him jest. She had not yet begun to fight. She lifted her right hand and slashed at the hard male fist holding a knife to her throat. She hit a steel gauntlet and did no harm. “Fie!”

More laughter. “Easy, little dove. I do not hurt women.”

Before Elin could stop him, he’d stripped the knife from her grip and lifted her into the air. She fell hard against the jagged surface of his mail. It bit into her flesh and she cried out again. When she kicked, trying to flee, he held her more tightly to his chest. Such a broad, unyielding chest.

“Set me down.” She would not allow this man or any man to ravish her. Not without a fight. If only she had her knife. “Set me down, cowardly knave.”

“As you wish.”

Her feet touched ground, and she saw her father. She twisted away from the dark knight’s steely grip, running toward the old man who knelt on the bloodstained road, head bowed. “Father. You’re hurt.”

“Wrongly accused is more like it,” he growled, anger fueling his voice.

Elin knelt beside him. “You’ve a cut to your head.” She reached to better inspect the wound, but steel wrapped around her wrist.

The great black knight stared down at her, and they glared at one another, eye-to-eye. Even in the shadows she could measure the power of the man, the strength and cunning that all should fear.

But she would not. “Are you proud of your deeds? You’ve injured an old man and kidnapped an old woman. What a brave warrior.”

She saw darkness in those hard eyes, a glint of warning. “Do not fool with me, maiden. I strike with the authority of the king. If you have more to say, then tell it to Edward.”

“Nay, I—”

“Silence,” he hissed through clenched teeth. His voice was low and dangerous.

No good would come from pushing one so fierce. But Elin was not through with him. Not by far.

“The old woman you speak of is safe with the horses.” The dark knight raised his sword. “Prepare for travel. We have a long ride this night.”

Elin met his gaze, already hating this man of war and violence who had used brute force to carry her from the woods and who now raised a sword against her father.

What knight was he who made the weak and the old cower before him? Well, Elin would not cower. She was not weak or frightened.

But as she allowed another knight to help her onto her palfrey, she knew she ought to be afraid of the man of darkness, of Malcolm le Farouche.

Malcolm looked down at the baron, wounded and dishonored. Had Philip of Evenbough committed another crime, Edward may have found some way… Nay, regardless of rank, a grave punishment awaited the man. Philip would pay with his life for killing Edward’s cousin.

Now, what was to become of the girl? She ought to be safe in a husband’s bed, not journeying along dangerous roads with a traitor. A thorough search revealed only enough food to see the party to the coast, but no gold. Passage to Normandy had its price. Either the girl had been brought along to be sold, or Evenbough had a supply of hidden coin.

Was she innocent or criminal? Had she known of her father’s actions? She was young, between fifteen and twenty summers, he wagered, and weighed little more than a child. Yet she was not helpless, as she appeared. The traitor’s daughter was no peaceful dove.

“Bind him,” Malcolm instructed his men, pointing his sword at the dishonored Evenbough. “We take him alive to the king, as ordered.”

“And the women?”

He remembered the knife, now in his possession, and recalled how the maiden had wielded it with skill. “Bind them, but do not strike them. And take care not to tie the old one too tightly. Tell her that if she escapes, I will take her charge’s life. She will believe me.”

Malcolm the Fierce had killed many and often. Even now three more bodies littered the road. But none were his men, of that he made sure. He worked them hard so in battle they would not be defeated, would not lose their lives carrying out the orders of a fickle king. What was justice in a world ruled by men? They were easily led astray by gold, power and women. Malcolm sighed. He’d seen too much in the Crusades, fighting for a cause he no longer believed in. He no longer believed in any cause.

“Unhand me, you knave.” The girl’s voice rang with a bold fury.

“Ow,” Hugh cried.

Malcolm gave more orders to his men and, certain he would be obeyed, strode to the horses, arriving in time to see the traitor’s daughter land a mighty kick on the young knight’s shoulder.

“Cease, maiden. Or I shall be forced to treat you in a like manner.” Malcolm wrapped his hand around her slim ankle, preventing further abuse to his knight.

“You bade me not to strike her,” Hugh explained as he rubbed his shoulder. “Though I am sorely tempted.”

“I admire your restraint.” Malcolm laughed as the female tried to kick her way free from his steely grip. “Behave, maiden, else I will let Hugh have his way with you.”

“Ha! As if I would want one such as this,” the knight replied. “Give me a soft woman who knows naught of fighting, but much of loving.”

Malcolm bade the young knight to tend the old woman, while the girl, mounted on the gray palfrey, seethed with silent fury. Decisions must be made. The journey ahead was long and brought with it danger, even for the best knights in the realm.

“If I release hold of your foot, will you cease this unruly behavior?”

“Mayhap.” Shadows shaped her face and cloaked it, too. He could not read her intent, but he heard the lie in her voice.

Ah, so she was not as skilled a criminal as her father. Perhaps she was innocent. ’Twas not his place to judge. “Your ankle is finely shaped and delicate, but I am not fooled by your small size. Tell me, warrior maiden, do you carry another knife?”

“Nay. You took my only one.”

“And there is not another hidden beneath your mantle?”

“Why do you doubt me, Sir Cowardly Knight? I speak the truth.”

He caught sight of her chin, a chiseled curve of both silk and defiance.

“Then you will not protest if I search for more of your weaponry. A king’s knight must take precautions.”

“A king’s knight should not attack innocent travelers and force them to his will. I think you are not so brave, sirrah.”

“’Tis not your regard I seek,” he retorted with a laugh. The maiden had the fire of a young mare, not yet tamed or ridden by man. “My loyalty is to the king. Only his opinion matters. And he wishes Evenbough and all who accompany him delivered to his court. You chose the company of a traitor. Do not blame me.”

“I am no more a traitor than you. Mayhap less of one.”

“Watch yourself, maiden, else I may be forced to treat you more harshly. But I am not yet cruel. Here is your choice. Either I search for the knives you keep hidden beneath your mantle, or I bind you like a prisoner.”

Her mouth clamped shut. He could see the generous cut of her lips, bow shaped and tempting. ’Twould be a sad day when Malcolm le Farouche was tempted by any woman.

“I would rather be bound by chains than have a cowardly knight disrobe me.”

“We agree.” For even the sight of a woman’s bare, silken curves could never entice more than lust from him, and even then, a fleeting lust.

He was, as they said, the fiercest of knights, void of conscience, void of passion. A man without heart or soul.

“Mount up, we ride,” he commanded, and bound the woman’s wrists.

Chapter Two

“Take care how you speak,” Alma whispered while they rode side by side. Their horses were led by the knight called Hugh, who kept a careful eye on the position of Elin’s feet. “’Twould not be good to tempt Malcolm le Farouche’s anger.”

“He is a villain.”

“He strikes with the authority of the king. We are at his mercy. Pray do not forget that the next time you speak to him.”

“If I speak. I want naught to do with that cowardly knave.” She could see him up ahead. He was touched by stardust now that the clouds above had parted. Though he shone with silver light, he was still more shadow than substance as he led the entourage, sword raised, an image of power and might.

“See? Again you speak without thought. I bid you to cease with the insults. Call him neither coward nor knave. You have yet to see the world as I have, little one. He has done naught but bind our wrists and your feet. Look how loosely Sir Hugh tied me. ’Tis far better than abuse and rape, so mind your tongue.”

Fine. But Elin’s anger grew. She was no chattel to be bound like a cow on butchering day. Or a weakling afraid to stand up to tyranny. Look how he rode, spine straight and those broad shoulders gleaming with dark light. Triumph and arrogant pride held him up, no doubt. No matter the cost, she refused to be at that knave’s mercy.

“Elin, what are you about?” Alma muttered, and drew the attention of the knight called Hugh, who kept peering with suspicious eyes over his shoulder, despite the restriction of his armor.

Surely Elin’s few kicks to his chest and shoulder had done no more than bruise him. How else was she to fight when she had no weapons—well, none she wanted to reveal?

“I am locating my dagger,” she whispered when Hugh turned forward to watch the road.

“Toward what end? Pray do not tell me you wish to wage war against six knights with one small blade?”

“I intend to cut our bindings, silly goose.” Elin shook her head. “I shall outwit those knights. They are far too sure of themselves.”

“As are you.”

Elin frowned at Alma’s wry comment. Didn’t she have every right to be furious? She was trussed up like livestock. And worse, she had deeper fears she would not confess to Alma. Whether true or not, her father was being taken to the king under the charge of treason. She had at first thought such accusations unlikely, but Father’s righteous fury changed her mind. An innocent man would not spout death threats and then offer bribes to anyone who could free him.

Was the dark knight correct? Would she face the same charges just by being in her father’s company? But what if le Farouche followed his own agenda in kidnapping them? If he’d concocted the accusations against her father, what future awaited her then?

Either way, escape seemed the best course.

As if sensing her intentions, Hugh turned to study her carefully. Grateful for the shadows of a grove they rode through, Elin froze. She tried to appear innocent until he faced forward again. Then she wiggled the knife tucked against her waist so that its hilt caught against the inside of her elbow. With a little concentration, she freed the blade from the small scabbard beneath her mantle.

So far so good. Now to retrieve it. She had to appear innocent every time Hugh turned to spy on her. That damnable knight was truly annoying.

Finally the blade slid down the length of her sleeved arm and into her palm. The sharp point nicked her flesh, but she didn’t even wince. Such victory! With the way that dark knight led his men, eyes straight ahead and nose to the sky, he would never know she and Alma had slipped away into the darkness.

But Hugh would notice. Something had to be done about him.

“I see what you are up to,” Alma whispered, piquing Hugh’s interest once more.

“Alma! Stop this! How are we to escape if you keep drawing that annoying knight’s attention?”

“We ought not to escape.” Alma drew herself up straight, her low voice ringing with authority. “Listen to me for once, Elinore. They will set us free. We are innocent. Edward is a fair and just king.”

“I trust no man, not even the king.” And not Malcolm le Farouche. “Neither should you.”

“And tell me what harm can come to two women traveling these woods unarmed and unprotected? Nothing worse than what will befall us by staying beneath the fierce knight’s protection.”

Elin hated it when Alma made sense. “I will protect you.”

“You have no sword or armor, little one. You are brave, but do not consider it. I pray you, stay with me. No harm will come to us. You wait and see.”

Now what should she do? Elin waited until Hugh faced forward again before she positioned the hilt in her palm and worked the tip of the knife into the bindings.

“Surrender your weapon, maiden warrior.” A deep voice shivered over the back of her neck, vibrating down her spine.

She jumped. The knife fell to the ground, lost forever. Le Farouche rode half a hair’s width beside her. How had he gotten there? He’d been at the lead just moments ago. He made no sound as he rode alongside her. Was he part demon? How would she fight him now?

“As you can see, I have no weapon.” She held flat both palms. “I speak the truth.”

“Then why do you bleed as if pricked by a sharp blade?”

“’Tis from the bindings.”

“Do not mistake me for a fool.”

She lifted her chin. “Or me, cowardly knight.”

“Hsst!” Alma whispered, scolding her.

The dark knight’s laughter boomed through the silent forest. “I see that at least one of you females has good sense. Listen to the older one, dove. Escape would only bring peril and prove your guilt to the king.”

“I have no guilt.” She’d had her share of misdeeds and misadventures, but not treason. “If you believe in our innocence, then release us.”

“And risk the king’s wrath? ’Tis unlikely.”

“The king need never know.”

“You are not just fierce, you’re clever, not a typical maiden. I like that.” His great voice thundered over her, at once powerful and kind.

Kind? Now, where had that notion come from?

He leaned close and she could smell the night scent of him, mysterious, wooded, crisp like cool air. “If I see any knives, I will seize them. Do not reveal your weapons and I will allow you to keep them.”

He spurred his destrier forward, leaving her behind with the shades and shadows of night.

“’Tis twice he’s forgiven your transgressions, Elin. Do not tempt his anger further,” Alma murmured.

Elin cursed at the loss of her knife and felt some satisfaction that she had another tucked inside her mantle. Just one weapon left.

’Twould have to be enough.

“We are being watched,” Sir Giles said in a low tone so that his voice wouldn’t carry.

“That has not escaped me.” Malcolm did not look around. He saw no reason to alert whoever watched them that he knew of their presence. “I sense two riders keeping just to the east of us in the wood. They ride distant enough so we hear naught of their movements but close enough to strike quickly. See how my stallion senses them.”

“I hear now and then the sound of hooves on dried twigs.”

Malcolm pulled off his helm. Cool damp air swept across his brow. “At least two ride west of us as well. Did you hear the sound of a horse exhaling?”

“Look how your stallion swivels his ears.”

“More will be waiting on the path ahead of us. Expect an ambush. Alert the men. Quietly.”

“Aye. We will fare better if we are not surprised.” Giles fell back to speak to each knight in turn, giving no sign of alarm.

Malcolm slid his helm down over his face. He neither loved battle like some nor hated it like others. ’Twas something he excelled at, however. His blood heated with anticipation. His grip on his sword tightened.

“What of the women?” Hugh rode up beside Malcolm for a moment. “If you count four men, surely there will be more. I cannot sit by and watch a battle. I must fight.”

“We may well be outnumbered. Leave the women to their own devices. The girl is armed.”

“She mayhap could level an entire army with that kick of hers.”

As a knight, one who made his way by fighting and war, Malcolm admired courage and strength in all forms. Even in a girl-woman who knew not enough of the world to be afraid of it.

“Look to. Up ahead the road narrows.” The perfect spot for an ambush. Malcolm studied the lay of the land. Enormous boulders blocked his view of the shadowed lane. The stillness of the forest told him his instincts where correct. Their opponents would strike from both the front and behind, an organized charge. By whom? Why?

He drew to a halt. His men, ready to fight, positioned themselves. He heard the girl, Evenbough’s daughter, demand to know why they were stopping. Then why Hugh was cutting Alma’s bindings. Malcolm thought to bid her to silence, but he felt it then, the expectant charge in the air right before battle, as if nature could sense the impending clash of men and muscle and sword, and the resulting injury and death.

He lifted his shield. “Who challenges us?” he bellowed into the night.

There was no answer. “You think you have surprised us? Cowards, show your ugly faces.”

No movement.

Then a stallion trumpeted in the dark, and hooves drummed upon rock and earth. Figures burst out of the brush in front of them and at their flanks. Malcolm met the first man with the might of his sword. He landed a blow to the knight’s shoulder and deflected a thrust with his shield.

The crisp focus found only in battle filled his head, beat in his veins. Malcolm wheeled his stallion around and charged, knocking the knight to the ground. As another attacked him, he easily landed a bloody blow.

Not even breathing hard, he drew his mount to a halt. Blood thundered in his head. Battle cries and the clash of steel surrounded him. He counted three knights on the ground. Saw Giles in trouble and rode to his aide. Together, they fought side by side. But the two knights proved difficult to defeat. Malcolm took a bruising blow to his collarbone and another to his ribs before he felled them.

“We are sorely outnumbered,” he shouted as he engaged another knight. “Look to Hugh. He’s injured.”

“I cannot,” Giles cried as more knights descended upon him.

Malcolm spun his destrier and charged deep into the fray. He took another blow, this one to his helm. Blood filled his mouth, though ’twas hardly more than a split lip. “Behind you, Hugh!” he called, lifting his sword.

Hugh turned to face his enemy, but Malcolm could not reach his friend in time. Every galloping step of his stallion seemed in slow motion. The enemy knight evaded Hugh’s shield and drove his sword deep into the young man’s abdomen, breaking mail and flesh. Hugh fell bonelessly to the ground.

“No!” Malcolm cried. In an instant his sword lanced the knight’s side. He knocked away the weapon, then the shield, then dragged the knight to the ground with him. He’d found the man in charge of this attack, for this was no band of robbers. He tossed the knight against the broad trunk of a tree and held his blade to his throat. “Do you yield?”

“Not without the woman.”

“Are you a fool? Attacking the king’s knights? Yield, I say, or I will drag you to Edward myself.”

He felt his enemy tremble. No courageous knight, this; not even a fine mercenary, but one grown soft working for some lord or baron, protecting his fences and castle walls. “I yield.”

“Call off your men. Now, I say!”

“Beo! Cedric! Hold!” The enemy lifted his helm.

“Tell me your name,” Malcolm demanded, the edge of his sword tight beneath the leader’s throat.

“I am Caradoc of Ravenwood and I claim right to the baron’s daughter.”

The little dove? “Is she your wife?”

“Nay, Philip had agreed on a match between us.”

“Philip is bound for the king’s court, as will you be.”

Even in the darkness, Ravenwood paled. “My intent was to capture the woman, Elin.”

“Then you know of Evenbough’s flight?”

“We tracked him.”

Tight with fear, that voice. Ravenwood’s body felt tense. Not with the anticipated bunch of muscles ready for a fight, but with true terror. This was no warrior. This was a man without courage.

“Pray,” Ravenwood begged, “do not kill me.”

Malcolm’s sword hovered while he decided his course. “Bid your men to lie facedown, arms spread. We will take them as prisoners.”

“Why? We want only the woman. She’s a maiden, an innocent.”

“A woman has no innocence.” Malcolm pressed the edge of his blade to Ravenwood’s throat until he drew blood. “’Tis not my place to judge your intentions or the girl’s. Like you, her future will be determined by the king.”

“Then you are the greater fool, Malcolm the Fierce.” Ravenwood’s eyes glittered in the way of men who cannot win by their battle skills, but by deceit and manipulation. “I am a favored nephew of the king. He will have your head, if I do not have it first.”

“You are the fool, Ravenwood. Do not threaten one who has spared your life. Else you may not have the same fate when we meet next.”

“You are not a lord, sirrah, but a hired man of the king’s. A barbarian sired you, and a barbarian you will always be. I know your ilk, le Farouche, and I spit on it.”

“You are a brave man with words, but you mistake my sensibilities. I know I am like my father, a killer to the bone. And knowing this should frighten you.” Malcolm tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “Do my bidding while I am still of a mind to spare your life.”

“Kill me and earn the king’s disfavor.” Ravenwood laughed with the cocky ease of a lord’s spoiled son, born to a life of uselessness.

“I do not fear the king’s disfavor.” Malcolm tossed the traitor to the ground, pressed a foot to the small of his back to pin him there, and eased the sharp point of his sword into the vulnerable spot between his hauberk and the back of his helm.

“Lie on the ground or your lord will be run through,” he commanded the others.

The half-dozen remaining knights eased themselves to the bloodstained earth, wary and uncertain of their fate.

“Bind them. We’ll have more prisoners for Edward’s dungeon.” Malcolm knelt with some satisfaction to tie Caradoc of Ravenwood’s hands behind his back. “Pray your uncle looks upon you with favor, for being found trying to rescue a traitor is a damning act.”

“I merely wanted the shrew.” Caradoc’s words were muffled from the dirt in his mouth. “I will have your head, le Farouche, one way or another.”

“You are not warrior enough to win it in a fight.” Malcolm did not value his head overmuch. “I will gag you as well. I grow tired of your threats.”

Malcolm stood careful watch while Caradoc of Ravenwood and his bound men were chained to trees like dogs.

“You did not take his head,” Giles observed. “You have taken far more from those who have insulted you less.”

“He is a relative of the king and a powerful man.”

“You are afraid?” Giles’s astonished whisper carried in the still night air.

“Nay, but wary. I never turn my back on a serpent.” He’d seen the contrivances of men like Caradoc and had recognized in his manner a man who took triumph in hurting others. “Is Hugh dead?”

“Mortally wounded.” Giles gestured toward the road, where their men had gathered. “We lost no others.”

“And the women?”

“Escaped during the fray. Shall I track them?”

“The king will be displeased if we do not.” His thoughts turning to the wounded man, Malcolm raced across uneven ground toward the fallen knight. Men parted to allow room at Hugh’s side. Silence and sorrow scented the air.

Grief tore at Malcolm’s heart as he knelt, knowing he was helpless to repair rent flesh and shattered bone. Someone had removed Hugh’s helm and had bathed his sweaty face. Faint starlight showed the deathly pallor tainting pale skin. Hugh would die, and Malcolm seethed with anger at his powerlessness to save him.

“We have not long to wait,” Lulach whispered, so Hugh would not hear.

“Then we wait,” Malcolm decided. He would let the young man, once so eager to serve beneath him, die in peace.

Hugh’s fingers gripped his. “I fear I have done you shame. I am not the knight I prayed to be.”

“Fear not, Hugh. You fought like a true warrior. I am proud of you.”

“’Tis all I ever asked.” Hugh let out a rasping breath, and Malcolm closed his eyes, unwilling to watch another fine man die.

Such was a knight’s life, easily spent, easily expended, lost on a dark road for no reason. The injustice of it beat at him like a wielded spike, but there was naught Malcolm could do to change the way of the world or turn back the tide of death.

He had survived and was left to mourn—as always—those who did not.

“The young knight has fallen,” Alma whispered as they galloped down the dark lane. “We must help him.”

“He trussed me up like a pig. I’ll not risk my freedom and welfare for any man.” Elin thought of the dark, fierce knight and how he’d taunted her. And then of the younger knight, who had shown kindness toward Alma. “I shall not return.”

Yet she slowed the mare from a gallop to a trot. Then she halted the animal entirely. What was her freedom worth? If the king wanted her at his court, then nothing would spare her. That little voice inside her head had been smiting her since she’d fled Hugh’s watchful eye.

“’Tis an unwise decision,” she informed Alma.

“But a noble course.”

“Fie on nobility! The true reason I turn this palfrey around is so that I might sleep at night. I’ll not have some man’s death on my conscience!” Truly, she was no soft-hearted female. She could wield a sword as well as her brother and run twice as far. And a pox on anyone who thought her weak and sentimental.

They had escaped the moment Hugh had dropped hold of their reins to raise his sword in battle. Whoever challenged the king’s knights could only mean more complications. ’Twas rumored few could outfight Malcolm the Fierce. Alma had refused to flee, but Elin could taste freedom. She did not trust even the king’s knight to be true.

So she’d caught hold of the old woman’s reins and galloped off into the night, unnoticed as the clash of steel and the roaring cries from bloodthirsty men rang in her ears. Only a fool would return.

Now, when she reached the last bend in the road, silence met her. Dark shadows revealed the forms of men kneeling in the way, forming a ring around a death-still body.

Unnoticed, Elin dismounted. Her limbs quaked with the act of walking back into the hands of her captors, whether they took her in good faith or bad, yet all she could see was Hugh. Too pale of face meant he had lost too much blood. She had seen that ashen sweat before in the gravely injured, as she had the shallow breathing and loss of consciousness.

There was little time if she held any hopes of saving his life.

“Are you men knotty-pated dolts? Hugh is cold. Fetch me some blankets. You, the tall one. Make a fire over there by the bank. Quickly now. Do not sit there staring at me.”

The dark knight rose from the fallen Hugh’s side. “Do as she bids, men.”

He lumbered close, the jangle of his mail loud in her ears. He turned his forceful gaze upon her. “Have you healing knowledge?”

“More than most.” She refused to tremble beneath the power of his scrutiny. “I need water boiled. You will see to it?”

“As you wish.” He nodded and was gone, barking orders. Authority rang in his voice, in his manner. He was not just a man of war, but a commander of men.

She knelt beside the injured knight, clutching the few crocks of herbs she had in her possession. She reached beneath her mantle for the knife and bared it.

“Look! She has a weapon!” a man cried, and hard fingers imprisoned her wrist.

“Are you mad? Unhand me!” She looked up into eyes of the one who assisted le Farouche.

“Nay, I will not have you slit his throat, you witch.”

“I am more likely to slit yours.” She still gripped her knife and fought with muscle and strength to keep the much larger knight from forcibly lowering her arm.

“Release her, Giles.” That dark voice was rich with both power and amusement. “I trust her to see to Hugh.”

“She is a sorceress, sir, if she thinks she can bring back the dead.”

“He is not dead. Yet. Merely unconscious. Leave me to my work,” Elin demanded, her temper ready to flare. She had not returned for abuse, but to help the knight who had been kind to Alma.

“I share your suspicions, Giles.” Teasing laughter filled that dark voice. “She does possess the unruly manner of a sorceress.”

Elin did not think she could hate le Farouche more than she did at that moment. She had given up her freedom and mayhap her life for a hired killer’s jesting? Fury drove her, and she tore her hand free before the knight, Giles, released her, earning his surprise and a nod of approval from le Farouche.

Fie! As if she needed his approval.

“You.” She pointed her blade at Malcolm. “Help me with his armor, since you are the only man without work to do.”

“You despise my idleness?” He chuckled, deep and as intriguing as midnight.

“That and more. Now, quickly. I must see the wound. Use my blade.” She jabbed the knife toward him, hilt first.

His big blunt fingers curled over the steel weapon, engulfing it. The thick blade appeared like a toy against his powerful bulk. She shivered and bowed her head. She had watched him slash the life from men she’d known much of her life, men who had protected her while she rode the countryside gathering her herbs.

Now, gazing up the length of the dark knight, she knew some measure of fear. She felt the weight of his gaze, read the cynical darkness in his eyes, hated the strength in his craggy body. The latent power to kill rested in the thickness of his arms and shoulders, chest and thighs.

He both took her breath away and made her blood run cold. He was a beautiful masculine form. He was a destroyer of life. The irony beat at her. Truly this was the epitome of man—a beautiful destroyer—and the reason she both feared and hated men so.

“Do you think me a witch?” she demanded.

She watched Malcolm’s impassive face, well molded with high cheekbones and a straight blade of a nose. “Nay, else you would have uttered spells and curses when I captured you. Instead, you relied on more honest weapons.”

Her knife in his hand glinted once in the starlight, illuminating briefly the man kneeling beside her. His head bent with his work. She could see his black hair curling at his nape, could see the fine lines etched around his dark eyes, caused by time and war and too much sun. He was rumored to have fought in the Outremer, as her brother had. ’Twas unbelievable. This dark knight, as frightening as death and midnight, had fought for Christ?

Impossible. He had the coldness of a mercenary, the mockery of a knave and the… She hesitated, watching him separate the unconscious Hugh from his chain mail. He had the hands of a healer. They were strong and gentle, as if he was well acquainted with death and life. Nay, it could not be. Not this man.

The scent of freshly spilled blood reminded her of her purpose. She bent to remove the lids of her unmarked crocks and, because of the darkness, sniffed each one. She recognized the sharp smell of marigold. And then the sweet odor of camphor.

“Blankets.” Giles returned, careful to keep his distance.

She took the wool coverings he offered and was not amused when the knight stepped back. Out of fear? Revulsion? She noticed now that others did the same, suspicion written on their shadowed faces. The same suspicions she always raised when she acted differently from the obedient baron’s daughter they expected. Fie on them! As if she could sit at embroidery all day without going insane. Men did not do it. Why should she?

“Do you wish him covered?” Malcolm’s voice drew her back to the task before her.

Now that Hugh was free of his armor, she could begin her work. “Aye. First I want him off this cold ground. Spread out one length of wool, and you and I together will lift him onto it.”

“You and I?” He crooked his brow skeptically.

“How stupid of me to forget my lack of muscle! I will just have to try all the harder. Now, grab his head. Lift him gently on count of three.”

“Let one of my knights…”

Elin was used to the foolish beliefs of men. She grabbed Hugh’s ankles firmly, eyeing the stain of blood from his neck to his groin. A mortal wound. Sadness filled her. At least Hugh was unconscious and out of his misery. ’Twas always her patient’s pain that caused her the most sorrow. “One, two, three,” she counted, and lifted.

As le Farouche hurried to secure Hugh’s head, knights rushed to Elin’s side, obviously doubting her strength. But she lifted Hugh almost as easily as the fierce knight did, and when they laid the injured man on the warm blanket, she saw the approval in Malcolm’s eyes—eyes like night without shadows. Light from the nearby fire chased away the deepest shades of darkness, giving more shape and substance to the knight. Dried blood marked his face in two places, above his brow and on his swollen lower lip. He was injured, but she read in his actions, on his face that he thought only of the one gravely wounded.

“Looks like a deep gash to his abdomen. ’Tis not good.” She probed the wound with careful fingers. Blood rushed from the raw cavity. She scented severed intestines. “Alma, I shall need bandages and a good light.”

“Giles,” Malcolm ordered. “Bring a torch.”

In seconds a torch on a long handle was impaled in the ground at her side, revealing without remorse the neat and terrible wound. “I need to stop the blood first.”

“There’s naught you can do.” Worry and regret weighed down le Farouche’s words. “Unless you truly are a sorceress.”

“I have been called worse.” She thanked Alma for the needle and thread. The old woman hurried away to make ready bandages and to check on the water’s progress. “Take my knife and cut his flesh here. And here.” She pulled at the raw skin at the edges of the wound.

“I’ll not worsen it.”

“Then I will.” She snatched at the knife he held, but his fingers of steel would not release it. “I do not know if I can save him,” Elin confessed. “I have lost men injured far less seriously. But if I cannot bind the entrails and stem the source of blood, there will be certain death.”

“You cannot be a healer. No one claiming to cure would carve a deeper wound.”

“Then let your friend die. But know this, le Farouche— Sir Hugh’s death will not be on my conscience, but on yours.”

Chapter Three

Hugh would soon be dead, Malcolm knew, but the maiden’s challenge goaded him. Regardless if he allowed her to continue her ghastly work, his conscience would never forgive this senseless death. He had failed to protect the young knight, a responsibility he felt toward each and every man who fought at his side, who willingly risked their lives at his command.

The old woman ambled forward with a trencher of steaming water and a pile of torn undergarments. “Shall I soak the bandages?”

The girl nodded. She looked like a witch—not knobby nosed and wart ridden, but different from most women. Strong willed, the way a man was. And strong of body. He’d had difficulty keeping hold of the knife when she’d tried to take it from him, and ’twas amazing how easily she lifted half of Hugh’s weight. A sorceress, Giles had declared.

Hugh lay dying, his face a deathly gray. Soon he would bleed to death. Malcolm would have to trust her. His experience told him to be wary of women holding knives, women who gazed at him with that confident knowledge of a battle-experienced leader. Her strength beguiled him, contrasting sharply with the fragile cut of her face, at once beautiful and innocent; to her lithe grace and womanly curves. Truly such a sorceress could enchant a man. Or worse.

Yet she gazed at him with human eyes, waiting patiently for control of her knife. He saw in those blue depths a wise purpose. She had healed others gravely wounded before. He could read her confidence in her stance, feel it like an imminent storm on the wind—half instinct, half experience, but certain.

He’d seen evil, and it was not Elinore of Evenbough.

He released her knife. “Do what you must. But I will have you know Hugh was my friend.”

“I will do him no harm, fierce one.” She was young to be so confident, but her words eased his fears. She tapped herbs from a small crock into the steaming water and then dipped her blade into the mixture. “I learned my meager healing arts from a wise woman. She was skilled in anatomy and cures.”

Malcolm’s stomach turned as Elin slipped the blade into the red-edged flesh and tore widthwise across the gaping slash. The skin opened wider, like a hungry mouth. Blood rushed with renewed fury, and he almost stayed the girl-woman’s hand.

“I was not surprised to return and see your knights victorious.” She soaked strips of cloth in the trencher, then stuffed them into Hugh’s wound. They became colored with blood. “Tell me what fearsome enemy of the king’s you have overpowered now. An old man? Mayhap a lame woman? A goat?”

“Take care, dove, else you shall offend.”

“’Tis good to know I come close to succeeding.”

He snorted. What manner of woman was this Elin of Evenbough? He believed women should be tamed like a good horse, bridled and saddled and prepared to answer a man’s command, and this girl was not. Yet he couldn’t deny a grudging respect for her. She did not flinch as he did at the sight of the wound. He was used to inflicting them, not studying them.

“See, there is much damage.” She removed the cloths and probed the pink cavity with knowing fingers. “I note two tears, here and here. Look how deep they are.”

“I prefer not.”

She laughed. “Can it be such a great warrior has a weak stomach? Aye, ’tis not pretty to see the damage done by a man’s violent sword.”

He heard the censure in that and chose to remain silent. She had returned of her own accord—why, he could not fathom. Surely not to heal a fallen man, one she had not thought twice about kicking like an angry donkey. Yet Malcolm could not deny her touch was tender and her intent to heal sincere. She stitched and cleaned, studied her work, then stitched some more. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead and dampened the tendrils of gold gathered there, curling them, though the night was cold.

He could not deny how hard she worked. And for what? This daughter of a traitor ought to be bound like her father to a tree. She ought to fear for the crimes she faced. And yet she saw only Hugh and uttered commands to the old woman as if she were a king at war.

Light brushed her face, soft as the fine weave of her gown and cloak, stained by travel. ’Twas a pretty face, not beautiful, but striking. She had big, almond-shaped eyes, blue like winter, direct, not coy. Long curled lashes, as gold as her hair, framed those eyes. He admired her gently sloping, feminine nose. And her mouth! God’s teeth, ’twas bow shaped and as tempting as that of the moon goddess herself.

Then Elin sighed, a soft release of air, all emotion, all sadness. Her unblinking gaze collided with his directly; there was no flirting, no shyness, no feminine submission. “I fear there is more damage than I can repair, but the wound, both inside and out, is closed.”

He swallowed. “Hugh will die?”

“There’s no fever yet.” She laid a small hand to the unconscious knight’s forehead. “A fine sign. Now we must pray he is strong enough. I will do all I can.”

“You will, because I command it.” She may have returned of her own volition, but Elin of Evenbough was his prisoner still. He would not fail his king.

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth, and that defiant chin firmed. “Again you try to terrify me, a woman half your size. Always the valiant warrior.”

Anger snapped in his chest and he held his tongue. She challenged his authority; she rebelled at something deeper. He was, as she said, twice her size and twice her strength. And he had her knife—her last one, he guessed—in his keeping. The only weapon left her was her tongue, and he could withstand those barbs. And if not, he would gag her, as he had her betrothed, the treacherous Caradoc.

“Old woman.” He caught the crone’s gaze, and she trembled at the attention. Though old and stooped, she possessed a strong set to her jaw, too. “See that your charge tends the injured men, mine and those captured. But not her father. Let the man suffer like the men he left to die.”

“Yes, Sir Malcolm. I will see the rebellious one obeys.” Head bowed, she scurried away.

Malcolm stepped away into the darkness. The wee hours of morning meant there would be little, mayhap no sleep for him before dawn. And then another day of raising his sword for the king.

Elin of Evenbough had the freedom to speak as she wished, whether innocent or criminal. But Caradoc was right. Malcolm was a peasant born, a barbarian king’s bastard, and both peasant and bastard he would always be. A savage hired merely because he was useful. Useful until another took his place, his livelihood or his head.

He thought of Caradoc’s threat, thought of the unrest of ambitious knights wanting to lead, thought of Elin’s courage in returning to aid her captors.

Lavender light chased the gray shadows at the eastern horizon. ’Twould be another day without peace, without rest, watching his back for treachery and the road ahead for danger.

The lot of a knight was a hard one, but Malcolm was harder.

“Caradoc!” Elin dropped to her knees before the bound man, neighbor and friend to her father. “I do not believe my eyes. What have you done? Challenged the king’s knights and lost?”

He colored from the collar of his hauberk to the roots of his dark hair. “Aye. Your father—”

“You are in league with my father?” she yelped, lowering her voice so it would not carry to the watchful knight keeping guard. That Giles, he looked untrustworthy, far more threatening than poor spying Hugh had ever been.

“Nay, I am no traitor. I would never turn against the king. I came for you.”

“Me?”

“My future bride.” Triumph glittered in his cold eyes.

“’Tis news to me.” She fought to sound unaffected. Surely this man dreamed! By the rood, she would no more marry him than Malcolm le Farouche.

“Your father and I had exchanged words on the matter.”

“We are not betrothed and you know it, Caradoc.” She swiped a clean cloth through the steaming trencher.

“We could be.”

“You only covet my father’s holdings, else you would not risk your life, your freedom and your barony.”

“Your father offered you to me.”

“I am not a cow to be bought and sold.” She brushed at the bloody but shallow cut beneath his jaw. “Look at this wound. Put there by le Farouche’s sword.”

“Loosen my bonds and I will kill him for you. For your honor.”

“Do not do my name that injustice. You would kill him for your uses, not mine, if you could.”

“He defeated me unfairly.”

“Most likely the unfair warrior was you.” Elin knew Caradoc, not by rumor, but from experience. He despised her, as she did him. Worse, she was afraid of him. Hard and dark were his eyes, not lethal like Malcolm’s, but colder still, like a man who killed for pleasure.

As she thought of Malcolm, she looked up and saw him, a fierce knight shrouded in darkness and shadow, standing away from the shivering light of the fire and torch, alone with the night. He had removed his helm, and the wind moved through his long tresses, which were as black as the night. His gaze fastened on hers, and she read his suspicions like a thought in her own mind. As if he were part of her, or she part of him.

Traitor. Malcolm thought her guilty of her father’s crimes. She shivered inside as he strode toward her. He moved like a predator, with silent, powerful strides, until he towered overhead, all tensed male might.

“Do you conspire with this man, this suspected traitor?”

She blanched. “Caradoc is no traitor! Do you accuse every man, woman and child?”

“Silence. I forbid you to speak further with this unworthy lord.” Le Farouche’s lethal look came as a warning.

Yet two different responses sparked to life in her breast. Fear, because she knew Alma was wrong: the fierce knight had his own dark agenda, and Elin knew now to be wary of it. And a light, hot flutter of attraction, because his steely presence stole the very breath from her lungs and stilled the blood in her veins. She fought this response to him. No man of war and killing could attract her. Not even a man this compelling, this beautifully made.

“’Tis just as well, for I will have naught more to do with Ravenwood.” Let le Farouche think she was following his bidding. She had her own reasons for keeping distance between herself and Caradoc. “May I tend my father now that I have treated all other manner of men?”

“You have yet to tend me.” Brows arched across his blade-sharp gaze.

“I refuse to touch the likes of you.” Elin lifted her chin, certain now of the danger she was in. “Even a lowly woman unable to bear weapons has her standards.” She rose.

The fierce knight towered over her, as immovable as a great stone mountain. His mouth twisted when he spoke, mayhap in anger. “Tempt me any further, maid, and I will care naught for your skills to heal, and bind you to a tree like the rest of the traitors.”

“Then bind yourself as well, for you keep to your own agenda in holding captive whomever you come across, be it lord or unarmed woman.” She balanced the trencher so as not to spill it. Curls of steam rose in the chilly dawn air. “I will tend my father.”

“I say you shall not.” His grimace flashed in the waning darkness. “Try me no further.”

“What will you do? Slay me here in the road? ’Tis better than waiting for the same fate in London.” Fear trembled through her, for she was no fool. She heard both anger and truth rumbling in that voice.

“You think I will strike you down?” he roared. “Have I raised my sword to you? Have I struck you? Ravished you? Given you to my men to suit their pleasures?”

She felt small as his wrath filled him, making him seem taller, larger. The air vibrated with his keen male power, and she shivered. “I cannot say you have.”

“Nor will I, on my honor.” He spat the words, and fire-light caught on the steel hilt of his sword, glinting with a reminder of his undefeatable strength. “You have endured no more than being carried from the woods and forced to ride with us. Do you think your betrothed, Ravenwood, would be less cruel?”

“He is not my betrothed,” she declared savagely. If she married the man, ’twould be like ordering her own death. “Never call him that to my face.”

“The maiden warrior is not so easily bent. Do you not fear me?”

He leaned close. She saw the flash of black eyes and white teeth and the hard demanding countenance of a man used to leading battles, of a man used to facing death. She shivered again. “I both fear and loathe you, sir.”

“A true answer, at last. I despise liars, dove. And the company they keep.”

“As do I.”

“Then keep this in mind.” His gaze bored into her, as sharp as any dagger. She stepped back, but he followed, intent upon dominating her as a wolf stalks wounded prey. “I despise your sharp tongue and your rebellious ways, and ’tis clear your father failed to beat you properly.”

“Beat me?” She seethed. What was this? “A knight such as you would surely think violence is the greatest teacher.”

“What I think matters naught. Only how the king judges you. Keep this in mind, fighting dove. I tell no lies to my king. If Edward asks if you fought, if you lacked respect, if you gave any indication you were guilty, then I will tell him what has transpired between us.”

“You would condemn me either way.”

“Nay. Only you have that power.”

She shivered yet again. The threat of such a future felt real for the first time. In Malcolm’s eyes, she could see the grim reality ahead. Would she truly be seated before the king and judged a traitor?

“I am a terrible daughter for certain,” she confessed. Everyone from the lowliest peasant farmer to the highest knight would agree. “But I am loyal. To friend, family and country. Believe me, or condemn an innocent.”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “I am not your judge, Elin of Evenbough.”

“Do you mock me?” There, on his bloody swollen lip, shone the barest hint of laughter. “Does talk of an unjust traitor’s punishment amuse you?”

“Nay.” That humor waned, as silent as the night. “You amuse me—the cruel world does not. Take care in how you act from this moment on. You have tended my men. That will serve you well in the king’s court. I will tell how you worked of your own free will until day’s light without food or water or rest.”

“I came to tend Hugh. I shall not have a dead man on my conscience. I returned to care for his wound, not to prove my innocence or earn a better judgment from the king.”

“You ought to worry about proof, or you will watch your entrails be cut from your body as they draw and quarter you. I have seen enough of such punishment to know it one of the cruelest. You will be alive when they begin butchering you. Remember, innocent or guilty, all that matters is proof of innocence.”

“And I have no proof, no lies to cover, no one to bribe, no way to show I know what my father plotted.”

“You know he plotted?”

“He plots constantly. And as he sits weeping there in the shadows, he still plots a way to escape.” Tears knotted her throat and she fell silent. Anger, fear and an enormous chill of betrayal cloaked her body. What had her father done, involving her in his escape? Had she known he sought to evade the king’s protector, she would have held fast to her bedpost and refused to let go.

Now she would face court. With no way to prove her innocence, save Caradoc, the king’s nephew, trussed up to an oak tree. She could not ask his help. Not from a cheater, a killer and a wife beater. To enlist his aid would mean she would have to agree to his outrageous claims of marriage.

What she needed was a plot of her own. She needed to avoid the king’s court, Caradoc’s influence and the strong sword of Malcolm le Farouche. Already the lavender tint to the horizon began fading to peach. Soon the sun would rise, and they would journey toward London and her fate as a traitor’s daughter.

An idea came to her, and she could not take time to think through the consequences. Being kind to the fierce one would not be easy, though she vowed to do it. For both her life and her freedom. “You bleed, sir.”

“What? No insults? No name-calling? Not ‘sirrah,’ or ‘cowardly knave’?”

Let him mock her. He might be twice as strong, but she was twice as smart. “Nay, I must apologize for my disrespect. You speak truth. I have a rebellious nature, but I have neither the power nor the will to conspire against the king. I will seek to show from this moment forth that I am innocent, and each action will prove this to you and to the king.”

“Well chosen. I will do all I can to aid your cause, for you have given all to tend my wounded men.” The frown faded from his mouth. Though he did not smile, she saw a glimmer of kindness, another puzzle to this man of steel and might. “How fares Hugh?”

“He lives yet.” She selected a clean cloth from the many slung over her shoulder and dipped it into the trencher she held. She stepped close to him—close enough to inhale his night forest and man scent, to feel the heat from his body and see the stubbled growth on his jaw. She dabbed at the cut to his lip and he winced, but did not step away. “Hugh cannot be moved.”

“We cannot remain here.” He gestured with an upturned palm at the road.

“To move your knight is to kill him. He must remain still for the stitched wounds inside to heal. Else I guarantee he will bleed to death. I recall a village not a league from here. It must have an inn. I believe Sir Hugh can travel that far.”

Malcolm caught her hand, his fingers curling around her wrist and forcing the cloth from his face. The power of his gaze, unbending and lethal as the steel sword at his belt, speared her.

“Is this a plot?” he demanded. “Are you attempting to fool me into a trap you and your lover have devised?”

“Lover? You mean Caradoc?” Outrage knifed through her. “What has that addlepated knave told you?”

“Only that he is your betrothed.” Was that amusement she saw flash in his dark eyes?

“As I said, ’tis untrue. He covets my father’s holdings. Seeing him bound like a scoundrel gives me great pleasure.”

Malcolm laughed, the sound rich and friendly this time, not mocking. “You need not tend my wounds, dove. They will heal in time. Day breaks. See to Hugh and prepare him for travel. We will leave him at this inn you know of. If I spy any act of treachery, I will chain you to the wall of the king’s dungeon myself.”

Aye, but you will never be able to find me. Fear trembled through her, and yet she forced a smile to her lips. Her heart thumped with some unnatural reaction to this man of sword and death, dark like the shadows even as the sun rose and brought light to the world.

Chapter Four

A sense of doom settled in Malcolm’s chest as he watched three of his knights lay an unconscious Hugh upon a rickety bed covered in fresh linen. He did not care what the traitor’s daughter predicted. They had brought Hugh here to die.

Malcolm could not stomach how he’d failed the young knight, who’d often proclaimed his eagerness to serve his king and fight beneath the Fierce One’s command. Bitterness soured Malcolm’s mouth.

“I’ll need hot water. You—” Elin pointed a slim finger at one of his men “—see to it.”

“Dove, these are my men to command. Lulach, Hugh needs fresh water. We cannot send the traitor’s daughter for it.”

“True.” Anger burned in resentful eyes, for Lulach, as Malcolm suspected others did, blamed Elin and her father for Hugh’s injuries. “I’ll go, but make no mistake. I’m no criminal woman’s handmaiden.”

Malcolm watched Elin of Evenbough blanch, and saw the denial sharpen her face. She muttered something beneath her breath—and he knew he would have objected had he heard it—then she knelt gracefully at Hugh’s side.

The poor knight’s chances were not good; Malcolm knew this even before she rolled back layers of wool and linen. A neatly stitched gash stretched from Hugh’s ribs to his groin. She bent to study it, her golden hair, with a hint of red, like a flame that caught and shimmered in the sunlight slanting through the open door. She was liquid fire, and when she tilted her face up to meet his gaze, his chest burned as if a firestorm raged there, wicked and untamed.

“I see no sign of fever. Look, no redness marks the edges of the wound.” A measure of joy filled her voice. Not triumph or pride, for Malcolm knew those well enough, but gladness. And her gladness surprised him. “I predict Hugh will live.”

“Do you always predict what you cannot control?”

“What? You doubt my abilities?”

“Aye, I doubt all women.” The girl was too green. She’d not seen death and dying the way he had. A gray pallor clung to the wounded man’s face and took hold, growing stronger as the light shifted and deepened.

“Truly, a man such as you sees naught but dying. What do you know of the living?” She turned her shoulder to him, as if he’d insulted her.

He could not argue. For once the dove was correct.

“Where’s Alma?” Her low voice wobbled a bit.

“I sent her to aid the innkeeper’s wife, who is crippled with joint pain. They are not accustomed to receiving so many men at once. ’Tis a small village, and these roads not often traveled. Only a traitor evading the king’s knights might choose this path.”

“You needn’t remind me of my plight.” Elin bowed her head, searching through the satchel she carried. Crocks clattered together, and the dull clunks and thunks chimed noisily in the somber tension of the air. “Bring me Alma.”

“Nay, dove. If you need assistance, I shall give it.”

“You?” Her eyes widened, and she lifted one corner of her mouth in disbelief. Then, mayhap remembering her vow to behave, she erased that sneer from her delicate lips, pearled with early morning light. “You admit you know naught of healing.”

“I can hold a trencher well enough.” He hid his chuckle behind a cough, amused at her valiant effort not to insult him. Aye, the poor girl was trying, but like an untamed horse facing the prospect of a saddle, she could not hide her unwillingness. “Besides, you are my prisoner. I’ll not leave your side, traitor’s daughter.”

Temper flared in her eyes, glaring like sunlight on water. Her fists curled, but no anger sounded in her voice. She was like any woman, always pretending. “I will honor your offer of assistance, for you are the greatest knight in all the realm.”

“Not so great.” He waited, and although he sensed them, no insults spewed from her sharp tongue. He accepted the trencher of steaming water Lulach handed him. “I’ve seen many manner of men, dove, and not one has been so noble as to bear that title.”

“In this we agree.” She tapped herbs into the water, her gaze avoiding his. “Do you think the king will believe Caradoc’s claim?”

“I cannot say. The king has a mind of his own, though he’s known to be fair. It depends on your father. Whether he chooses to speak the truth, or if he is swayed by Caradoc’s false promises to help save him.”

“Caradoc, aye, he is my fear.” She dipped the cloth into the trencher, leaning close. Her delicately shaped mouth frowned as she worked, and with it her entire face. Soft lines eased across her brow and crinkled at the corners of her eyes. His gaze flickered across the cut of her lips.

Aye, she was young, far too spirited for his taste and much too soft. Yet his chest tightened, and air caught with a painful hitch between his ribs.

“Caradoc is a man of much weakness, many lies,” he admitted.

“What? You believe me? That I am not betrothed to him?” Her measuring gaze latched on to his.

He could see the intelligence in those eyes, the thoughts forming behind them. “I know the like of Ravenwood far too well. I’ve seen many brutes of that ilk.”

“He’s nephew to the king.”

“Aye. I’m well acquainted with that fact.”

Hugh murmured, as if fighting to awaken. Malcolm reached for his hand so the young knight would know he was not alone. But Elin’s fingers were already there, and her compassion glimmered, as unmistakable as the steady glow of sunlight into the dim room. Hugh quieted, and she continued her work bathing his wound.

“Then he will awaken?”

“Aye.” She cast Malcolm a mischievous smile, quick and fleeting. “You doubt my knowledge, but you’ll soon see. Hugh will live.”

“Then he’ll owe his life to you.”

“Nay, to Alma. She pecked like a troubled conscience until I had to return to aid him.”

But Malcolm knew the truth when he saw it. “Nay, I think you returned to aid your betrothed.”

She sparkled with humor. “Go ahead, tease. You shall see what a sacrifice I made in returning, once you spend an entire day with Caradoc. Your knights are likely to behead him just to stop his insults.”

“Does he cast an insult more sharp than yours?”

She almost laughed, and with the sunlight alive in her fiery curls, she was transformed before his eyes into a nymph of beauty and mischief. “I admit I studied Caradoc’s skill, for although I hate the man, I do admire his foul temper.”

“’Tis a skill you practice then? Like wielding a sword?”

“Aye. I am a woman who does both.”

He laughed. How this girl-woman amused him. He’d not been amused by much in more years than he could count. He handed her a fresh bandage when she gestured for one. “Caradoc is trussed up in the stable under guard. At last report, he still had his head.”

Elin gazed at Malcolm with that fire flickering in her eyes, as mesmerizing as a mirage in the desert, when heat and earth and imagination created illusions. “Will the king judge me innocent of treason, but condemn me in marriage to his nephew?”

“’Tis more likely than Edward deciding to have you hanged, drawn and quartered.” A warning twisted in Malcolm’s guts and prickled along the back of his neck. “As long as you continue to prove your innocence to me, you will live.”

“You are not my judge.”

“Nay, but I am your jailer.”

But not for long. Elin thought of the dried oakwood tucked into a pouch in one of her herb crocks. Even a small amount of the berry could render a grown man ill for hours. Ill enough to allow her escape.

Malcolm caught hold of her hand, his big callused fingers rough and strangely fascinating as they covered hers. “Quit your worries, dove. Edward will be pleased that you saved young Hugh’s life.”

For a brief instant she saw behind the heartless eyes, to the ghost of the man he must have once been before he turned killer and traded his soul for the coin it would bring.

’Twas almost a shame she’d have to poison him. But death or marriage to Caradoc? She would not go quietly toward either darkness.

“The crone is serving Giles and the prisoners in the stable. The innkeeper’s wife could not do it.” Lulach settled on the bench and quickly drained the tankard of ale. “I must hurry, ere the old woman begins a plot to free the traitors.”

“Rest and eat, the crone will cause no trouble.” Malcolm took his eating knife from his belt. “’Tis the younger one we must watch.”

“She is a witch, that one. Able to defeat us with her spells and powers.”

“Nay, she’s no sorceress. Look how she works.” He gestured to the young woman emerging from the kitchen, steaming trenchers in hand, her fine wool mantle shivering around her slim thighs with every step she took.

Lulach growled, still disbelieving. “Beware she does not cast a spell over our meal and sicken us.”

“I’ve seen sorcery, and ’tis not what the traitor woman practices with her simple herbs.” Any memories of the Outremer filled Malcolm with blackness and horror. He forced those images to the back of his mind. “But still, I trust her not.”

“’Tis wise.” Lulach carefully studied the food Elin had helped prepare after tending Hugh.

“More mead?” The dove’s voice sang as pleasantly as a morning breeze. With a smile, she handed Malcolm a second tankard.

The back of his neck crawled. Aye, he could sense she was up to no good. When they departed after the meal, he would tie her again to the saddle. While he could not bear to leave Hugh, his king expected the traitor without delay. They would have to leave the injured man behind. The life of a knight was not fair.

“Elin?” He caught the female by the elbow, and she turned to him with concern in her eyes.

“What is it, le Farouche? Is it the food—”

“Nay. I am considering asking Alma to stay with…” His stomach twisted, and he placed a hand there.

An agonized groan sounded in the room behind him, rumbling like a thunderclap. Another groan was followed by an unpleasant sound.

“She’s poisoned us!” Giles accused, arriving breathless in the doorway. Sunlight shifted around his form and betrayed how he trembled. “Men are dropping like flies in the stable. Even the prisoners. Look, I begin to sweat.”

Discord rose as rough shouts and threats resonated in the smoke-ridden air. As if she was guilty, Elin’s eyes widened and she spun away. Malcolm reached out and snared her by the sleeve, but only briefly.

“Silence,” he roared, temper raging with the force of a storm at sea. His stomach squeezed again, and he fell to his knees. “Lady Elinore, what have you done?”

“What I had to do.” She laid a hand on his forehead, a touch of compassion. Her caress soothed like water against the shore.

“Kill the king’s men, and you’ll pay with more than just your life.” He tried to climb to his knees, but his senses spun. His vision blurred. He remained crouched like a dog upon the earthen floor.

“The poison is not a lethal dose. I was careful. Do not fret, Sir Malcolm. You’ll live.”

A sick taste filled his mouth. Strength seeped from his limbs until he could only lie motionless in the dirt. “Then when this poison loosens its hold on me, believe this. I will hunt you down. You cannot hide from me.”

“I can try.” She knelt over him and took the dagger from his belt. He saw her soft leather boots, small and finely tailored, as she stepped over him.

“Elin!” he shouted. “Do not do this! I beg of you.”

But the tap of her step against dirt and stone faded away into nothing, nothing at all.

She was gone, the vile betrayer, and he wretched, groaning in misery.

He would hunt her down. Malcolm the Fierce would not rest until he had the traitor woman’s head.

“I cannot leave.” Alma dug in her heels. “There is Hugh to think of. And look, these men will need an herbed tea to calm their stomachs.”

“Nay, I want their stomachs churning.” Elin gave the cinch a good pull. “Listen, only danger lies ahead for me.”

“Danger?”

“Why did Father bring us on this journey? We have no explanation. Perchance he planned something sinister. Then innocent protestations will not save us.”

“What if justice prevails? I see no danger then.”

“Not for you. But Father’s barony may be lost, and who will be at court to beg favors from Edward? Caradoc. He claims we are betrothed, and there will be no debate. Why should the king not secure the barony with his own blood?”

“’Tis logic you speak. And truth.” Alma frowned, her brows drawn together in serious thought. “Yet I cannot leave Hugh. He needs much care.”

“Aye. It weighs heavily on my conscience.” Elin rubbed her forehead, then turned to her waiting palfrey.

“Elin!” ’Twas Caradoc’s voice, thin with sickness. “You’ve not fallen ill from this vile food. Free me, and I’ll take these black knights to Edward’s punishment.”

Alarm beat in her chest. She leaned close, whispering to Alma. “See what he plans? There still remains doubt over the true cause of his wife’s death. Can you blame me?”

“Nay. Do as you must.” Troubled, Alma laid her hand over the cross at her neck. “Promise to take care. I love you as a daughter and could not bear to lose you.” Tears misted the old woman’s eyes.

And burned in Elin’s throat. “You’ve been a mother to me, Alma. If le Farouche harms you, he will answer to me, king’s protector or nay.”

“Aye, fierce you are.” Alma’s affection whispered in her voice, soft like an east wind. She lifted the chain from her neck. The silver cross, hand hewn, caught a flash of sunlight from a crack in the roof.

“Nay, I cannot—”

“Take this with my blessing. ’Twill bring you safely to Elizabeth’s.” She secured the chain around Elin’s neck, tears on her face. “My prayers are with you.”

“Then I have all I need.” Elin pressed a kiss to Alma’s papery cheek, and then mounted the waiting palfrey before she could change her mind.

She was not sentimental, not one bit, but leaving Alma made her heart ache. As she galloped past the inn, she saw the wide-open door and thought of Malcolm within, the fiercest of knights who now suffered by her hand.

She didn’t like what she had done, but she could not depend upon a knight without heart or soul, without mercy or conscience to save her, to plead her cause, to protect her from Caradoc before the king. Malcolm was more shadow than substance, more killer than man.

Yet she’d seen the pain on his face when she’d taken his dagger. He hurt in the way of a real man.

Giles leaned against the door frame, sagging from weakness. “She left the prisoners.”

“Even her father?”

“Aye. He curses her alongside the proud Caradoc.”

“I curse her as well.” Bitterness soured Malcolm’s mouth, but he was the king’s protector, the best knight in the realm, a reputation earned by his skill with a sword and the cold hard calculation needed to win in battle. He should have watched the woman more carefully.

“I fear we’ve tarried far too long. The king is awaiting Evenbough.”

“I know the king’s eagerness to face this traitor.” The king’s cousin was dead, a young woman Edward swore to avenge. “I’ll not disappoint my king. Giles, take command of the men and prisoners. See them safely to the king’s dungeon. There had better be no more attacks, no more poisonings, no more surprises.”

“Aye, I will see to it. You’ll hunt down the girl?”

“Hunt her?” Full afternoon light burnished the landscape, and he gazed at the lay of the land, at the rise and fall of hillsides, the denseness of forests and groves. She would not be easy to find. “Aye, the traitor’s daughter is mine. Tell that to Edward.”

Only as the sun skirted the western horizon did Elin truly feel hunted. Twilight threatened, and she could feel the danger behind her. The vengeful knight tracked her, and he grew closer. But she couldn’t see him, even when she paused her mount on a rise and gazed over the valley below. She sensed he was there, somewhere in the gathering dusk.

She’d risked her life to escape him, she knew that. If he found her, she would be as good as dead. If I spy any act of treachery, I will chain you to the wall of the king’s dungeon myself.

Aye, ’twas best to keep ahead of him. She nosed her palfrey off the road. Bare limbs grabbed at her mantle and at the hem of her hood. Cool winds through the forest brought with it the scents of the coming night.

He trailed her with a vengeance, driving his stallion hard as twilight thickened. Spears of darkness pierced the somber trees and cast ever-deepening shadows along the forest floor.

Lady Elinore of Evenbough. She’d betrayed him, deceived him, poisoned him. The warrior maiden was no different from all women.

Sweat dripped off his brow and into his stinging eyes blurring his vision. The sickness still lay claim to him, twisting his stomach, but he cared not how he suffered. With every passing league he felt stronger and more certain of his course.

He drove his destrier deep into the forest, following the crash of broken boughs and crushed undergrowth. Though it was almost night, he could see the imprints of hooves upon the rain-drenched earth.

Blood thickened in his veins and quickened his heart. He was close; he could taste it. Aye, he was closer than he’d thought. Malcolm could sense her, like a hunting wolf knowing the hidden rabbit shivered nearby.

Shiver she should. He was no longer amused, no longer curious. In the inn’s chamber, assisting her with Hugh, he’d lowered his shield. For one moment she’d tempted him, just a bit, and he’d looked at her through a man’s eyes.

He would not make that mistake again.

As midnight gathered, she could not see before or behind her. But she could hear the ghostly sound of hooves upon the forest’s carpet of decaying leaves and rotting branches. Night had slowed her escape, but not the fierce knight’s pursuit. She suspected a man like Malcolm le Farouche saw best in the harsh hours after midnight, when not even stars cast faint light from above, when not even heaven dared to watch.

He was gaining. And likely to overtake her as well. She’d not believed he could trail her, for she worked hard to disguise her tracks. ’Twas impossible to hide all traces, and yet she’d not expected even the king’s greatest knight to find her like this, and so swiftly. Especially after a dose of oakwood.

No man was that powerful or that impossible to defeat.

Fear dampened her palms and made her heart kick with a fast, quivery rhythm. Aye, she grew more afraid with each step. She had no doubt he would condemn her, drag her to the king’s court and certain death. Or worse.

Well, the battle was not yet won. Elin snared her satchel from her saddle and dismounted. The palfrey nosed her with an inquisitive gesture. ’Twas her father’s horse, not her preferred mount, and she hoped the animal would not follow her. She gave the mare a sound smack on the rump. Emitting a startled whinny, the animal leaped and ran, crashing through the undergrowth. That was sure to draw the fierce knight’s attention. And as long as the mare galloped, Elin would have plenty of time to escape.

Like dry leaves in a wind, the quiet crackled as he spurred his great warhorse into a similar gallop. He exploded past low boughs and high brambles, thundering through the night like an ancient god.

She crouched low until he was out of sight, and then she headed north, toward the safety of her devoted aunt’s castle. Elizabeth would protect her by cloistering her away until the traitor Philip of Evenbough was forgotten and his daughter not even a memory in the minds of dangerous men.

He found the palfrey, saddle empty, standing in a clearing, munching on last summer’s dead grasses, for stubborn winter still gripped these lands. He laid a hand against the mare’s neck and felt the heat from a hard ride still damp upon her coat.

How long had she been without a rider? How long did the traitor’s daughter think she could outsmart him?

Malcolm retraced his route, and could tell by the change in the depth of the tracks where she’d dismounted. She was not far. He studied the thousand shades of black upon black in the forest and felt her. Yet he saw no movements, no shifting shadows, no human eyes gazing out at him from behind fern or bramble.

She was very close.

He turned and saw only silent forest. Trees reached tall, with shadowed trunks and knobby limbs, toward the starless sky. Bushes covered the ground.

She had hoped her palfrey would keep wandering, leading him away from her. But she hadn’t bargained on his tracking skills. As the king’s favored knight, he was expected to hunt down any manner of men—to search out where they hid, and where they believed they could hide from the power of the king. Or from Malcolm le Farouche.

The soft imprint, barely discernible, was buried in shadow and decaying leaves.

He laid his hand upon the cold steel hilt and drew his sword. “I’ve not been that ill since my last trip across the Channel.”

He heard the slightest whisper of movement, and knew her intent.

“Drop that upon my head and pay, traitor’s daughter. My temper has been tested beyond endurance. Climb down, else I will come up after you. Believe me, you’ll not like the sting of my fury.”

The limbs above shivered in answer. He heard the creak of wood upon wood and the scrape of branches against moss. She was descending, but what plot did she have now? He would not endure humiliation by a woman a second time.

“What? Are you going to slay an unarmed woman, Sir Cowardly Knight?”

“I warned you, maid, tempt me no further.” He spotted her hanging halfway down the tree trunk and wrapped his left hand around her upper arm. She was so small that his fingers easily encircled her. He hauled her, not roughly, to the ground. “Surrender your dagger.”

“I have no—”

“Give it to me.” Cold anger iced those words.

She heard his threat and the fierce control that even now kept him from violence, and knew she’d pushed him too far. Still, ’twas not easy to surrender. “’Tis in my packs. Check my palfrey.”

“You lie, little manipulator.” He drew himself taller, fiercer, then lifted his sword and swung.

She stumbled back, hitting her spine against the tree. Rough bark bit her flesh. Sweet Mary, his blade cut the air soundlessly. In the space of a breath, her fingers curled around the cold hilt of the dagger at her waist and she drew it out. Steel sparked upon steel.

“Unhand the weapon.” He tore the knife from her grip with an inhuman strength, spurred by rage. “Do not think to lie to me again, or you will regret it.”

She believed him. By the rood, she believed him. For the first time in her short life, she’d met an enemy she could not conquer, could not outsmart and could not fight. He stood like stone in the night, living stone that could not be chipped or beaten or destroyed.

She trembled. “You’ll take me to Caradoc and the king.”

“Aye, but ’twill be a gentler fate after enduring my wrath.” He drove the tip of his sword into the soft mossy earth, impaling it there.

Elin watched, horror spearing through her chest and into her heart, as he pulled the length of rope from his saddle and dragged her hard against him. He held her with bruising force to the span of his steeled chest.

“Lady Elinore of Evenbough, daughter to Philip of Evenbough, suspected traitor to King Edward, you are my prisoner. You have attempted to kill the king’s knights—”

“I meant only to sicken—”

“Silence.” His roar echoed through the forest. “Another word and I shall gag you as I did your father. I will do my duty to my king and bring you to him alive, but how I bring you and in what condition, the good sovereign cares not.”

He felt her every tremble, for she was tucked beneath his chin and caught in the shelter of his arms. She was slight and delicate—easily crushed. Now she seemed aware of that fact as she leaned against him, rigid with fear, unable to stand on her own.

Good, ’tis as it should be. She ought to be afraid.

He bound her wrists tightly, so she could not escape. The small noise in her throat, the one that said he’d bruised her, made him wince. He hated treating a woman thus, but ’twas not his choice. ’Twas Edward’s. And Malcolm’s oath to serve his king drove him now.

“But my father’s mare—”

“Will follow us or nay. ’Tis not my concern.” He swung her up onto his saddle.

She clutched the stallion’s mane with her delicate fingers. “But my herbs—”

“Not another word.” He caught her ankle before she could level him with a kick. He bound her well, wise to her tricks of defense, and mounted behind her.

“But my satchel is in the tree—”

“Where you are headed, worldly possessions are of no concern. Now, you’ve disobeyed my order to stay quiet. Open your mouth.”

“Prithee, do not force a gag on me.”

He could see her clearly. The deep pools of her eyes gleamed with honest terror. She was daughter to a brutal man, and at the thought Malcolm’s chest tightened. No doubt she expected all manner of brutality from the land’s fiercest knight.

But he did not harm women, regardless of how they treated him. He relented on the gag, certain now that she would obey him and remain silent. He sheathed his sword and gathered the reins. Imprisoned in the strength of his arms, the warrior woman was subdued enough.

For now.

He spurred his warhorse into a well-disciplined lope and protected her the best he could from the slap of stinging limbs. She still trembled. As she sat in the cradle of his thighs, he was not unaware of her soft, womanly curves. Even through his armor, he could feel her heat and her temptation.

If his shaft hardened and his blood thickened, ’twas a weakness a man who lived and died by the sword could ill afford.

Where once he had vowed to help her, he was now bound by duty to his king to condemn her.

Chapter Five

Afraid to say even one word for fear of the discomfort of a gag, Elin endured the long hours trapped against Malcolm’s steeled chest. She was not unaware of his maleness, of the solid man hewn of muscle and bone, or of the hardness of his shaft, unmistakable against the back of her thigh.

He held her trapped against him endlessly as he drove his stallion across vale and hill and through a world brushed by shades of night. No other living creature stirred until dawn grayed the edges of the eastern horizon and the first birds woke the world with song.

Still she felt the hardness of the man and his virility. His arousal remained solid and rigid, and she feared it. She feared what one as dark and powerful as this king’s knight might do. He did not even glance at her, but the threat lingered.

Aye, she was vulnerable without weapon and protector, vulnerable to this man without mercy.

He sat tall, easily guiding his giant destrier as dawn brightened. He looked magnificent riding in the blinding gleam of the rising sun. Light radiated all around him in eye-watering shafts.

He stopped to allow her to tend to her body’s needs, and then wordlessly offered her drink and food. They rode again, unrelenting and hard. They traveled thus for two days. And when Elin saw the silhouette of a city on the horizon, she knew a different sort of fear. One so quiet and cold it wrapped around her soul like a winter’s freeze.

She would die in that city. ’Twas a certainty. And would Malcolm the Fierce feel even a twist of conscience, knowing that he’d hunted her down like a ruthless wolf, only to deliver her to her death? That he could have shown her mercy and allowed her to escape, but had not?

Eyes averted, he hauled her from his horse and slung her over his broad shoulder. He easily carried her down stone steps into a dungeon rank with the scents of rotting wood and cruelty. He lowered her like a sack of grain to the floor and chained her to the wall.

Terror beat in her heart as she listened to the click of the lock. Though darkness cloaked him, she felt the force of his gaze.

He towered above her like a mythical warrior. Then he turned without a word, leaving her alone in a dark hell.

“Malcolm, I heard a woman got the best of you.” Ian the Strong slapped Malcolm on the shoulder, a gesture of old friendship. “Heard she rendered you and every last one of your men sick as dogs.”

“Tease all you wish. If Edward hadn’t assigned you to a different task, you would have been retching in the courtyard with the best of us.”

“Nay, my friend. I would have had the brains to know a woman should never be trusted. Liars and manipulators, every last one of them. Why, look at the tavern wenches. See how they plot and play for our benefit?”

“For the benefit of coin.”

“Aye, what woman doesn’t? From the queen to the lowest peasant, ’tis how they survive and how they are made.”

Malcolm drained the last of his ale and dropped the tankard on the table. “’Tis true I gave the traitor’s daughter too much freedom. After she saved Hugh’s life and mixed a healing ointment for the old innkeeper’s wife, I grew less suspicious. I thought she only meant to help serve the food.”

“I cannot believe you would give a woman aught but a good swiving.”

Malcolm rubbed his aching brow, where exhaustion and long-pent-up rage tensed the muscles, causing a blasting pain.

“Why, ’tis Sir Malcolm and Sir Ian.” A serving wench well known for more than her skills in dispensing ale appeared at the edge of the trestle table, pitcher in hand. “What a lucky maid I am to host such powerful knights in my tavern.”

“You, a maid?” Ian’s gaze roamed the wench’s form, from ripe, half-exposed breasts to the swell of her generous hips. “I’ve often been between those thighs. You long ago left maidenhood behind.”

“Aye, for womanhood pleases me better.” She winked at him, certain now there would be more coin added to her earnings this night, and ’twould not be only from serving ale. She filled both tankards handily. “And you, Sir Malcolm? Shall I send over a maid for your amusement?”

“Maid?” Ian laughed. “Your maids have too much experience for the Fierce One. They may well overpower him, and his reputation will be in ruins again.”

“Enough with the jests, Ian. Matilda, I have no need of a woman.”

As the wench turned, dropping their small coins into her pocket, Ian watched lustily. “Aye, I have me a liking for that one. Rough she is. Knows how to satisfy a man. I hear the king’s nephew attacked your band and you killed half his men.”

“Aye, but I did not kill the nephew.”

“Edward will owe you a boon, then. Mayhap it will compensate for the prisoner woman’s escape, and he’ll not demote you.” Ian’s eyes teased, but his words held a ring of warning as he lifted his tankard and drank deeply.

Fie, would the traitor’s daughter haunt him forever? Malcolm could still feel the womanly shape of her body pressed hard to his in the saddle, for he’d trapped her there, beneath his arms and against his chest. She’d been his captive, a slim reed of a thing, and the memory of it still ached like an old wound, like a tooth slowly festering. He’d scared the spirit from her and intimidated her until she did not dare even look at him.

He remembered her words, so cocksure and dismissing. Tell me what fearsome enemy of the king’s you have overpowered now. An old man? Mayhap a lame woman? A goat? He could not remember when anyone had dared to demean the king’s favored knight.

And he’d left her in the dungeon.

His guts tightened into hard knots and he drank until the tankard was empty, and the next one after that. But the image of the frightened-eyed maiden chained to the stone wall remained with him and would not fade. Even through a night of sleep and dreams and into the next morning, when word of Caradoc’s fury and Philip’s impending execution buzzed on the lips of the villagers.

Malcolm watched the new day dawn, and the brightness of it never touched him. For he knew there would be no mercy for the warrior dove. ’Twas the way of the world, and the futility of it deadened him. He gathered his men, because it was yet another day of serving the king.

“Elinore of Evenbough?” Booted feet halted before her.

Cold, hungry and stiff, Elin tilted back her head. Her gaze traveled up the hosed legs to the fine tunic bearing the king’s standard.

“Are you Lady Elinore of Evenbough?” This time it was a rough demand.

“Aye.” She tucked her ankles together. “Am I to go to the king? Will he hear my tale? I—”

“Silence!” Unlike Malcolm the Fierce, this man’s voice seemed to resonate with cruelty, as if he treasured doing violence.

She felt the tug on her chains, and the brutal oaf nearly pulled her arms from their sockets before he unlocked her. She stood and her irons clattered. Her knees wobbled. Fiery pricks of pain shot through her limbs, numb from cold and lack of circulation.

“Come.” The guard shoved her roughly, and caught her when she stumbled. “He awaits.”

“Who? Malcolm?”

Why his name came to her lips, she could not imagine, nor the hope that accompanied it. That man had dragged her here and chained her up like a misbehaving dog.

All night she had thought upon it, unable to sleep. The night noises of the dungeon were terrifying, and she had much time to think upon her crimes. She had poisoned the king’s men and she was the daughter of a traitor. No king would allow her to live.

The only man who could stay her execution was Malcolm. And if he’d come for her—

“Nay, Edward has granted Lord Caradoc a boon.” The guard’s laugh rang with glee, as if he enjoyed bringing the worst of news. “’Tis Caradoc who awaits you.”

Defeat lodged like a blade between her ribs. Caradoc was planning to claim that they were betrothed. What had she done to deserve this end? She would refuse it—that’s what she would do. She would rather have a swift death at the hands of the executioner than allow Caradoc the right to finish the rape he’d started years ago.

“Elin, how pathetic you look.” That putrid swine rose from a cushioned chair in a private chamber. He wore an elaborate tunic of embroidered gold on red velvet, and he looked like a rooster, all trussed up for show.

“Caradoc. I am not surprised to see you. As I walked down the corridor, I could not quite place the unpleasant odor—”

“I warn you, Elin.” His hand entrapped her wrist, his grip much used to inflicting violence. His eyes gleamed coldly, bold and naked and brutal. “Tempt me not, for I hold the power to spare your life.”

“What makes you think I want it spared?” She jutted her chin and met his flat gaze.

“No mortal wishes to face the agony of being drawn and quartered. ’Twould be a shame to waste your beauty on the edge of a blade.”

Fear at the king’s judgment lodged hard in her stomach. “’Tis preferable to what you propose.”

His thumb rubbed bruising caresses on her skin. He would not let her go, even as she struggled. “You will marry me, Elin, and your life will be saved. That is, if you hold your tongue and refrain from insulting the king.”

“Insult him? He needs none of my insults, for he is related to you. That is pox enough on his name.”

“Now you anger me.” His hand swung back, ready to land a blow.

She planted her feet and lifted her chin, prepared for the strike.

It never came. Malcolm clamped his unyielding grip around Caradoc’s wrist. “Edward awaits the girl.”

’Twas all he said, and he avoided her gaze. She’d been wrong in believing he might come to free her. He despised her. He’d not forgiven her. She could see it in the cold steel of his face as he released the king’s nephew. His free hand remained on the hilt of his sword.

He’d come to make certain she would not escape her punishment. A cold anger brewed, low and deep. How she despised him, despised both men.

The fierce knight’s fingers bit into her shoulder, as if to remind her of his authority. He would escort her down the passageway to her execution.

She clamped her jaw, determined to hold back the tears balled in her throat. She shook with terror, yet she did not fight le Farouche as he herded her down a long corridor. “I suppose you take great pleasure in my execution.”

“I take no satisfaction.”

She heard no anger in his voice, yet his rage had been unmistakable when he’d chained her in the king’s dungeon. “I sickened your men. I humiliated you.”

“You made me writhe on the ground in intestinal agony, ’tis what you did.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, the only sign of emotion on the rogue’s face. “You leveled a half-dozen warriors with your evil herbs.”

“Herbs are not evil. Only man has the capacity for that.”

“And woman.” His chain mail jangled, echoing in the stone corridor.

“I suppose you intend to stand by my side and make sure I take the noose obediently. Or will you terrify me into it?”

“Your words are far too bold for a disgraced woman facing death.” His gaze did not meet hers, but his voice held censure. He nodded to the guards who flanked a pair of great iron doors. “Consider acting contrite before Edward.”

“What, you give me advice?” Her stomach curdled, and she tried to swallow the sob in her voice. She did not want him to know how terrified she truly was. “A cowardly knight like you? I’d think you would advise me on how best to swing from a noose.”

“Do not call me a cowardly knight.” Low and harsh rang his warning, as lethal as a wolf’s growl.

The ringing din of voices within the hall silenced. Elin looked up to see a tall man robed in brilliance, and she knew at once she gazed upon the king, upon Edward, and that he had heard all that she’d said to his favorite knight.

Heat flamed her face. ’Twas far too late to act meek and contrite now, not that she was good at acting. She might be a traitor’s daughter, but no one, not even Malcolm the Fierce, could call her a coward.

She set her chin and stepped forward. “Your highness—”

“Do not speak until I request it of you.” Like a hard punch, she heard the king’s icy condemnation and knew the truth: death awaited her.

“On your knees, traitor.” A rough hand shoved her to the ground, but it wasn’t Malcolm’s grip or Malcolm’s roughness.

Her kneecaps struck stone, and pain shot upward. She bit back a curse, and then realized she did not kneel alone. Her father huddled at her left shoulder. To see him again made her heart stammer. She both feared the man and pitied him. She couldn’t rightly say she cherished her father, but to see him like this…

Though his head was bowed, he looked furtive. His brown hair, greasy now, had grayed since she’d seen him last. His proud face was haggard, with many wrinkles and lines.

“Philip.” The king’s voice boomed, and riveted the onlookers. Even Elin started at the innate authority in his royal manner. “You have been found guilty of murder and treason. Now, after much consideration, I will sentence you.”

There was no startled gasp from the crowd, and no remorse shown on the king’s face as he delivered his judgment. “Your lands and title will be seized. All your wealth now becomes mine. You shall be immediately hanged, drawn and quartered, a just penalty for the death and suffering you brought to my cousin and her protectors.”

“’Twas not me,” Philip cried pitifully. “I will give you all I own, sire. But pray, spare my life.”

“As you showed no mercy, none will be shown to you.” Edward lifted a hand, as if dismissing a scornful fly on a dung heap. “Guards, give him his just punishment.”

“But you misunderstand, dear sire.” Philip’s eyes sparkled with cunning. “I was Edith’s lover, but not her only one. The killer you seek is Caradoc—”

“Silence.” Fury drove Edward forward, his royal robes whispering of masculine power as he moved. He leveled a mighty punch to her father’s jaw, and the man reeled backward, knocking against the stone floor. “That was for Edith, a gentle woman who suffered by your treachery. Guards, take him.”

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 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 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.

“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.

It was doubly difficult to place her hand in his. She felt the calluses first, for there were many of them, rough and ridged from wielding a sword, and then the sizzling heat as his fingers closed around hers.

“We leave for Evenbough without delay.” He refused to look at her as he crossed the room with his long-legged stride, keeping her hard at his side. He tugged her down one corridor after another. The strength in his arms bound her to him more thoroughly than dungeon chains.

Caradoc’s words taunted her. Think of how brutal his mating would be. Malcolm’s strength was thrice hers. And there was no escape as he pulled her into the grayness of a cloudy morning. Wind flapped the hem of her gown against her ankles. Malcolm barked orders as he went, but did not release her. He held her tight, as if he expected her to escape to make further plans with Caradoc.

“Ian!” Malcolm’s voice boomed through the bailey, where knights gathered on horseback and carts were piled full of gifts from Edward. “Ian, I am pleased to see you among my men.”

A handsome warrior broke through the crowd. The smile on his thin mouth looked shallow. “I would be nowhere else, my lord.”

Such flattery. Elin turned her back on it. Anger burned in her chest. At least I am not married to Caradoc. If she thought it over and over again, then perchance it would make the panic disappear.

“Your lady’s horse.” Ian presented a white palfrey. “Shall I assist her?”

“I need no assistance.” What did she look like? A woman too feebleminded to mount a horse? Elin swung herself up, adjusting the hem of her ragged dress. She needed no aid from a friend of le Farouche.

Malcolm caught hold of the mare’s bit. “I am pleased to see you are eager to head home.”

Home. Her stomach fell to her knees. She sealed her lips tightly, knowing the king watched. She knew she’d been granted a miracle this day, being found innocent of her father’s crimes and escaping a hard fate as Caradoc’s wife. But what would become of her now?

Her gaze fastened on the man who now controlled her fate. Astride his great stallion, he towered at her side. Sunshine glittered off his armor and emphasized the stunning width of his shoulders. “We’ve a hard ride ahead, and I expect no trouble from you, Wife.”

Fie, but she still did not like his tone. It took all her willpower to look away from his masculine beauty and summon a cordial manner. “I am naught but obedient.”

“I’m well aware of your character.” He released her palfrey’s bit, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “I well know you are capable of great deceit. Your life has been spared this day, but do not think I argued for it.”

It did not surprise her. “I rather suspected you did not know Edward’s intentions. You looked ready to burst a vein during our vows.”

“Aye, I married you because I will not deny my king any request. I am a knight, and I’ll always be so, regardless of a title.” His gaze traveled over the bustling courtyard. “Edward in his wisdom has granted me a hundred knights, and I have retained as many.”

“Two hundred knights. You fear me that much?”

“I’m not blind to your flaws or your skill with a dagger.” Wry humor played along the curve of his mouth. “’Tis my opinion you should learn obedience, and so I will teach you. Even if I need the protection of every last one of my knights.”

“Obedience?” How she hated that word. ’Twas what her father claimed he’d taught her, when all he’d done was inflict abuse. “What do you want? A syrupy, mewling wife who preens all day? Who hangs on your big strong arm? Whose greatest achievement is cowering in the corner?”

“Aye, but the king gave me you.” That flicker of a smile broadened.

“Fie! Stop teasing me.” In truth, she wasn’t certain if he teased.

Malcolm’s hand caught hers, and the brief connection felt as searing as a brand. “Edward married me to a traitor’s daughter, a woman with suspicious connections to Caradoc, a man I believe wants Edward’s throne. Tell me what you two plotted today in the hall, and I’ll not punish you.”

“What? You think me guilty?” His insult came like a blow to her stomach. She put her hand there, wondering who else thought the same.

“If you do not tell me now, and I discover your treachery later,” he threatened, “then the fury you’ve seen thus far will be naught in comparison.”

Fie, but he was no better than Caradoc. Hopelessness battered her heart. “It takes a big strong coward of a knight to threaten an unarmed woman. But fear not, le Farouche, if I were to plot against you, I would never seek Caradoc as my ally.”

“Plot against me, and you will pay.” He let his threat linger.

She shivered. This man who distrusted her and expected her to betray him had complete control of her life. Hatred grew in her heart as she watched him ride to lead the knights, so certain of his superiority.

The wind turned cold, and rain scented the air. They rode two miles ere the first drop fell, but it was not cold enough to cool her fury.

Malcolm could taste the danger like wine upon his tongue and hear it like the flicker of the wind in his ears. He rode at the lead, his senses honed, and trusted the instincts that had served him well.

Men were out there, he had no doubt, even if he could not hear man or beast hidden within the woods. Gray rain fell in heavy sheets from sky to earth, diminishing his view of the long road ahead.

Bandits, mayhap. Thieves lying in wait. There were many valuable treasures in the carts, gifts from the king, and not just weapons. He heeded his instincts and remained vigilant.

Evening slipped away and there was still no sign of attack. Malcolm did not like the eerie feeling of danger, however, so they rode without a break until the rain stopped and midnight neared. Only once had he turned in his saddle, to see Elin glaring at him, riding alongside Giles, who watched her with suspicion. The knight had not forgiven her for the poisoning.

“Do you feel it, too?” Ian rode close.

“Aye. We’re being watched.”

“An ambush, then?”

“Worse.” Bandits would wait in the road for a traveler, hide, then strike. They would not follow this long. “Edward said he sent Caradoc straight to Ravenwood, under armed guard.”

“I saw him leave with Sir Matlock and Duncan the Brave.” Ian, too, kept his gaze vigilant.

“Fine knights.” And steadfastly loyal to Edward. That gave Malcolm some consolation. He’d prefer not to have a second battle with Edward’s nephew. “Mayhap I have made other enemies.”

“’Tis certain.” Elin spoke up, riding at his flank. “But I would wager my freedom that Caradoc’s men are the ones who wait to attack.”

Suspicion clamped hard around his guts. “You admit knowledge of his plans?”

“I admit to knowing his vindictive nature.”

His teeth clacked as he clamped his jaw shut. She could feel his anger like the hot lick of a flame. Though the waxing moon was hidden behind low clouds, the veil of night did not seem to touch Malcolm.

He rode ahead of her, gleaming in the dark, as lethal as the sword at his hip. And still his displeasure lingered. He did not like taking her as his wife.

Good. Then perchance they need not make this marriage real, after all. If she worked with him against any threat from Caradoc, then mayhap he would let her go. Her heart warmed with embers of hope.

“There!” Malcolm’s voice rose with a call to arms the same instant the clouds above parted and the heavens illuminated the approaching enemy.

Elin heard the strike of hooves upon the rocky road, the rasp of steel unsheathed and the terrifying blood cries of warriors launching into battle. Her palfrey shifted beneath her, suddenly nervous. She tightened the reins, putting pressure on the bit. All around her, the night came alive with moving shadows in the forms of lunging men and beasts.

“Death to you, le Farouche!” A threat rang above the noises of battle.

“And to you, villain,” the great knight answered, without a fleck of fear in his voice.

Well, she was afraid. Steel swords rang with each impact, and sparks flared. The faint flicker briefly illuminated Malcolm’s face. Hard as stone he was. And astride his giant destrier, he fought two men who challenged him. He blocked two blows and then felled one enemy with a swift, skilled strike.

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 quality 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.”

Malcolm chuckled. “Giles, dawn is not an hour away. I say we wake the men and ride. I cannot shake this feeling there is trouble ahead. I would rather know what it is, so I can best decide upon a course of action.”

“The men have slept long enough. I’ll roust them.” Giles strode away to carry out his orders, and the camp soon bustled to life.

Malcolm’s chest tightened with a strange emptiness. Today he would journey through these cold mists toward the first home he’d had since he was a small boy.

Elin appeared at his side. Sleep had eased the smudges of exhaustion from her face, but the worry remained. “If we are to ride, then I want my sword.”

“You shall have it, true to my word.” He took the weapon from his belt and handed her the cold steel hilt. She hefted it with her right hand, and he suspected her shoulder was still sore.

He watched her walk away, chin down. Her ragged gown was too big on her, and she looked more like a waif than a baroness. “Elin?”

She turned, a ribbon of shadow against a thousand shades of night. “What is it now?”

He produced a crock. “Lift up your sleeve.”

In answer, her sword gleamed silent and menacing. “You may not touch my person.”

He easily pushed the weapon aside. “This will help your sore muscles. You have your herbs, but we knights have our solutions, too. ’Tis a balm of oils. Let me rub it on your shoulder to ease the hurting.”

“I’ve no need of your weak balm.” Her chin shot up, but the challenge in her voice did not sound convincing.

’Twas as he thought. Her shoulder was very sore. He stepped closer. “What if you need to lift that sword? You’ll fight better without an aching shoulder.”

Silence lengthened, and the muscles in her jaw tightened. She stared up at him with a hard gaze, debating silently. Then the tensed muscle in her jaw relaxed.

“’Tis sense you speak, le Farouche.” She leaned the broadsword’s hilt against her abdomen and rolled up her sleeve.

Malcolm uncapped the crock and scooped up a dollop with one finger. How pale her arm was, her skin so creamy it glowed like stardust, white and enchanting. And how soft. Why, ’twas the softest skin he’d ever touched.

He rubbed the balm against the curve of her shoulder joint, making certain to cover well the muscle above the socket.

“’Tis hot and it has burned away most of the soreness.” She rolled down her sleeve. “Thank you, Malcolm.”

“My pleasure.”

He watched her walk away, her right shoulder sagging beneath the weight of the gigantic sword, determined and proud and so very naive.

He hated to think what trouble awaited them at Evenbough Castle.

Chapter Seven

“We dared not scout farther,” Giles reported as his destrier’s galloping hooves churned up earth and stone. “But I’ve no doubt. Evenbough Castle has been seized.”

Fury drove deep into Malcolm’s heart. “Who dares such treachery?”

“I see no colors, but I suspect more mercenaries.”

“Men for hire.” He peered through the budding foliage on the hill, through leaves just opening, to the moated walls beyond. “’Twill be a hard castle to storm.”

They had split into two parties, a smaller group traveling swiftly, while the bulk of the men stayed behind to guard the slower moving carts. Malcolm would wait for his knights to arrive, then take what was his.

Giles wheeled his stallion to a skidding stop. “Malcolm, the castle looks well defended, but the walls are not manned. Mercenaries, by the looks of them.”

“Scoundrel!” Ian rode close and cuffed Giles along the back of his head. “Address Malcolm as lord. He is our better now.”

“Hit me again and you’ll lose your head, friend!” Giles’s hand curled around his sword’s hilt.

“Hold, you two. We have troubles enough.” Malcolm rubbed at the tension behind his brow. “They do not yet know we have arrived.”

Ian released his sword. “Mayhap they are not expecting us. Mayhap those murdering swine do not realize whose keep they have seized.”

“They know.” Malcolm lifted a hand to point at the tall towers, ill concealed weapons, and the pails of rocks and oil and sand, ready and waiting for an anticipated attack. “This is the king’s most valuable barony. Nay, they’ve been paid well to seize this land.”

“I had the bolt-hole key.” Elin moved her mare alongside him. “In my packs on the mare you left behind in the forest.”

“You insult our lord with your tone, woman!” Ian scolded, his fury unveiled. “Cease—”

“’Tis to be expected, Ian. I’m used to her sarcastic tongue by now,” Malcolm interrupted. The solution was simple. “We will pull back and make camp out of their sight. Giles, scout us a site. Elin, I need to speak with you alone.”

“Alone?” Her eyes rounded. Her hand settled upon the huge sword’s hilt.

Did she think she could defeat him in a fight? “Pray, fierce warrior, do not run me through.”

“You insult me.”

“No more than you insult me.” He spurred his stallion deeper into the woods on the rise overlooking the great castle. “Have you lived in this keep all your life?”

“Aye. I know it well.” She lifted her chin, challenge hard in her jeweled blue eyes. The gauntlet had been thrown. “If I help you, I will expect much in return.”

“What do you wish?”

“One favor of my choosing to be granted upon my request.”

He had no time for a woman’s games. “How about the request to drive those abhorrent vermin from your home?”

Sunlight filtered through the reaching limbs to illuminate the anger upon her face. Obstinate, she was. And prideful. And the loser of this debate.

He sent his stallion into a trot. “Come ride around the hillside, and you will see what I already suspect. The village is in ruins.”

“The village? Why, it was full of good people. Surely they were not harmed.”

“By violent mercenaries?” He maneuvered his destrier to the edge of the woods, where bramble and fern gave way to the lush meadowland below. The walled town lay in ruins.

“Those filthy swine! A pox upon them!” Anger twisted her voice and she sounded like any warrior, brave and fierce.

But when he looked at her, ’twas a woman’s tears staining her face, trailing from eyes filled with horror and pain. “Those poor villagers! What has become of them?”

“They have likely fled into the forest or run to Caradoc’s Ravenwood for protection.” Malcolm’s heart was hard—he’d seen far too much of this type of destruction and knew it to be not the worst in life.

But looking into Elin’s eyes, he saw differently. To a peaceful town and to a peaceful people, this was sin enough. How amazing those tears were, shimmering in her eyes. They did not fall, and he looked for a long while upon her face, soft like an angel’s.

He did not like how this woman attracted him. “I can make the villains pay for their attack on these unarmed people. But I could use your help. Tell me about the castle.”

“What do you need to know?”

“The weaknesses and strengths in defense.” He dismounted, snagged a broken limb from the ground and began to draw in the dirt. ’Twas best to concentrate on the attack to come instead of her beautiful face. “Here are the castle walls and the baileys and keep within.”

She knelt beside him gracefully, and he could not fight his awareness of her. She smelled like spring wildflowers. Like sunshine, she warmed his blood and, in turn, warmed every part of him.

He’d never before plotted strategy with a beautiful woman. ’Twas damned distracting.

“Here is the portcullis.” She grabbed the stick from his grip. The brief brush of her fingers against his left a heat upon his skin that radiated and grew. “The front gates will be well guarded. But I know a back way into the keep.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s a hidden gate within the wall. I used it often as a child to escape my father, but then he assigned knights to guard me and I no longer used it. I wager none of those vile mercenaries in my castle will know of it, either. Look, they guard here, at the front gate and the back.”

“And leave the keep and curtain walls less protected. Where is this secret entrance? Draw it.”

She knelt over her work. Her slender hand gripped the rough stick. “How many men must we fight?”

“There cannot be more than a hundred.” Malcolm gazed off at the castle, at the crest of a rise, where new spring green struggled to life amid the old dried grasses. “Evenbough is a large castle and their knights will be pressed to defend it. We have a good chance with just my men.”

“You do not wish the help of Caradoc’s army?”

“Nay. ’Twill be best to work with the knights I know well.” And could trust not to betray him.

“How do you know the number of mercenaries?”

“Look at the number of horses that have traveled the road. Look at the crenellations. They must expect our arrival soon and our challenge, yet I see but ten men. Look, their helms reflect the sun’s light.”

“But will your armor?”

“’Tis why I keep to the shadows.” His gaze fell to her mouth. Her lips were a lush pink and generous. How soft they looked. His blood beat with a strange yearning. This woman was his wife, and she belonged to him. Yet he did not know the feel of her kiss. He cleared his throat. “Come, mount up and show me the location of this hidden gate.”

“I do not have that key, either.” She grabbed the mare’s reins and refused his help into the saddle.

He swung up on his stallion and followed Elin’s lead through the dense underbrush. He ducked when the limbs grew too low.

“There.” She pointed to the distant wall, unbreachable and strong. “The kitchens are but a step beyond. The servants are loyal to me.”

“Those who still live.” Grimly, he rubbed his chin. ’Twas a finely built castle Edward had granted him. Too bad he was on the wrong side of those walls.

“I say we gather the knights driven from Evenbough, plead for help from neighboring Ravenwood, and storm the walls.” Ian’s voice rose amid the whisper of breezes through greening trees and grabbed Malcolm’s attention. He signaled Elin to follow him.

“I say we wait until nightfall and surprise them,” Giles proposed. “We could have entry through the sally port in a few minutes of battle, and then take the castle by stealth. ’Twould cost less in the lives of our men, and of the servants and hostages within the keep.”

“Giles, you are no bold strategist, and ’tis your weakness—”

Malcolm rode his stallion into the clearing. “Ian, Giles thinks as I do. Justus and Raymond, mount up and ride to meet the rest of our party. Bring them as quickly and as quietly as you can. They must be here by dusk, for I plan a night battle.”

“Those are the most treacherous, my lord.” Ian stood respectfully, but his pride still obviously prickled. “We would be going blind into a keep we are unfamiliar with.”

“I am familiar with it.” Elin dismounted, chin high.

“Why would the traitor woman help us?” Ian’s hands fisted with undisguised anger. “Lord Malcolm, pray, do not listen to her. She would have us all betrayed into the hands of the enemy. We both witnessed her plotting with Caradoc after your marriage. ’Twas not long after that we were attacked by mercenaries. Now they happen to inhabit her castle.”

Malcolm harbored the same doubts.

Elin stalked toward him, radiating fury. “If I were to betray you, I would not rely on any man to do so. I would do it myself.” She met his gaze, but only he was close enough to see the quiver of her lips and the way her fingers itched to take hold of her sword’s hilt. “I’ve sworn to never be at any man’s mercy.”

“Yet you are at mine.” He did not know what to make of his wife. “I do not like these events, but they can be overcome. Work against me, Elin of Evenbough, and you’ll find me a fearsome enemy.”

“You have no need for threats, le Farouche.” Her chin trembled, but no fear showed in her eyes. “That is my home.”

He’d made the mistake of believing in a woman’s promises before. “Giles, set up a watch and make sure our men get some rest. We have a battle ahead, and how deadly and dangerous depends upon the traitor’s daughter.”

By midnight tonight he would know if he took Elin of Evenbough as his true wife or if he would be sending her back to Edward as a traitor.

Hopelessness beat within his chest, hard and unyielding.

“I will not betray you.”

He turned to see her posed in the shadows. The sunshine from above followed her and found her wherever she went, crowning her golden-red curls and limning her slender, womanly body. It haloed her as if she were heaven’s only angel.

Yet he knew a woman’s nature, and it was far from angelic. “I learned long ago never to trust any female. Lies come easily to many women.”

“I do not want those demons hurting the servants in my home. Is this too much to believe?”

“I have no beliefs, dove.” He stared down at the castle, impenetrable and proud, constructed of gray stone that gleamed among the first vibrant colors of spring.

“Surely you have even one belief.”

“I’ve found but one truth in this harsh world to cling to—that of loyalty. Through all the battles I have fought and the horrors I faced, defending Edward is the only good I have done. Do not betray us in this battle, Elin. Do not make me forsake this one goodness now.”

She looked away with a heavy silence.

There was no way he could know the color of her heart—whether it was a traitor’s or if it were true.

“Heaven smiles upon us tonight.” Giles gazed at the sky above. “Look, clouds have rolled in to cover the light from the waxing moon. ’Twill make us harder to see from the battlements.”

Elin clutched the sword in her left hand as she slid down the embankment after Giles. Danger surrounded them. Ahead were the mercenaries and their deadly arrows. Behind were Malcolm’s troops cloaked by night, ready to storm the castle upon command.

“Keep to the shadows, Giles.” Malcolm took the lead. “We do not want to draw their attention.”

The night claimed him before her very eyes. Like a mantle, it wrapped around him until he was more wraith than man and his armor reflected only darkness. “Here is the wall. And your hidden gate?”

“This way.” She took the lead, aware of the fierce knight half a step behind. The heat from his breath fanned the back of her neck. The steel of his gaze prickled along her spine.

“Men, quietly now.” Malcolm’s words sounded hardly human, more like the whisper of low grass beneath their feet. “A watchtower lies ahead.”

Any sound would alert the guards. Fear crackled in Elin’s chest, and she set each foot carefully upon the earth. Her fingers found by memory the crack along the wall. The night hid all manner of shadows, and she had to find the old lock by feel.

It was directly beneath the watchtower and the mercenaries searching the night for signs of them.

“’Twill make too much noise to break the lock.” She leaned close so that her words carried only to le Farouche.

“Then you climb the wall and draw the enemy’s fire away from us.”

“What?”

His chuckle brushed heat across her brow. “Fear not, dove. I’ve been a warrior for many years, and I have managed to solve problems greater than this one.”

Fie on the man and his sense of humor.

’Twas too dark to see what he did, but she heard the rustle of wool and the slight creak of the old lock. Giles moved close to aid him. She saw Malcolm’s powerful arm raise, and the deadly spike he held struck the lock with only a muffled thud. Why, he’d wrapped wool around both the weapon and the lock.

“Quietly now.” His strong fingers gripped her elbow. “Remember we work together on this, Elin, and I depend upon your loyalty. Do not disappoint me.”

How many times must he warn her? He was a distrusting fellow, but her temper died at the silence behind his words. She felt his grim sadness, and any protests stilled upon her tongue. Why did he believe she would side with murderers?

“It would take but a word from you,” Giles told her, “and we would all be killed. Even the great le Farouche cannot fight a hundred men.”

Her throat closed. Despite the cloak of night she could make out the silent plea on Giles’s face and on the visages of the men flanking him. They truly believed her to be like her father, a traitor and a killer. And it daunted her that even believing this, they would follow her. They would risk their lives to take back this pile of rocks for their king.

Well, she would show them. She might be a woman born, but she was warrior trained. Peter would not hesitate were he alive, and neither would she.

“This way.” She drew her sword, as they did, and followed Malcolm through the gate. “The kitchens.” She gestured at the stone building ahead, tucked against the curtain wall and the towering keep. “There is a door just to the right. Follow me.”

Malcolm could see the devastation. Workshops had been laid to ruin, littering the bailey with wood and thatch and broken furniture. He scanned the yard and the crenellations above. He saw no sign of guards closing in on them, but he could sense the danger.

Elin led them through the deep shadows between the wall and the kitchen. He heard the creak of a steel hinge. “In here.”

She could be leading them into a trap. But he had to follow her. He would risk this and more for his king.

Spices and smoked meats scented the air. The boards beneath his feet creaked as Elin led them past the buttery and into the kitchen. No fire burned in the pit and no light glowed in the room.

Then he heard the scrape of a leather shoe upon stone. Something stirred in the darkness. Had the woman betrayed them? He caught her shoulder and dragged the sword from her grip. She fought him, but he shoved her back to Giles.

He should not have trusted her, but she had gotten them into the keep. He pushed aside his disappointment in her and took another guarded step. He could not tell how many warriors hid in the dark, ready to attack.

“Pray, do not harm me,” a thin voice called through the blackness. “I am but an old woman. If the Great One wants a meal, I’ll heat him one.”

“Light a candle.” Malcolm’s demand echoed against the high ceiling above.

A single flame flared to life, illuminating that end of the kitchen. He saw no fighters, but only a frail old woman with dried blood at her temple.

“Florie!” Elin tore past him and into the woman’s outstretched arms. “What have they done to you? I’ll make those brutal pigs pay for hurting you.”

“I thought you were gone!” Tears leaked from the old woman’s eyes. “Linus said your father sold you to pay his passage across the channel. We mourned never seeing you again!”

“What? Why, that no good—”

So, she had not betrayed them. Yet. Malcolm held the small sword out to Elin. “Talk later. We have no time to waste.”

Light brushed her face as she looked at him, and her beautiful eyes betrayed her fear—her fear of him. His chest tightened.

She took the sword he offered. “See? I did not betray you. No doubt those mercenaries would want me dead, too.”

“Or worse.” He would not feel guilty. He’d seen the deceptive side of this traitor’s daughter. He addressed the old woman. “Tell me the name of their leader.”

The crone trembled. “His men call him the Great One.”

“Rees the Great?” Could it be the same man? Black fury blinded Malcolm. “That whoreson tried to turn Edward over to the Saracens. I gave up a year of my life to those bastards. Where is he?”

“Malcolm.” Giles stayed his sword. “We will kill the great betrayer later, after our men have joined us. To do it now would be suicide.”

“I care not. Where is he?”

The old woman paled. “He sleeps in the lord’s solar. ’Tis up the main stairs from the great hall—”

Long had he waited to get his hands on that betrayer. Malcolm dove out the door, sword raised in one hand, spike in the other. “Giles, Justus, keep an eye on Elin.”

“This way to the sally port.” She dodged in front of him, graceful even now, when his vision was distorted by rage.

“You will lead the men there.” A year of torture he’d endured in the Outremer. Now the time had come to avenge that suffering, and if it cost his life, then so be it. ’Twas a price he’d willingly pay.

“Hold,” he ordered in a whisper, but Elin darted ahead, drawing the attention of a guard.

He spread the alarm with a shout, and a weapon glinted.

“Go!” Malcolm commanded. “Carry out our mission. The gate must be lowered.”

The guard lunged, and Malcolm met his blade stroke for stroke. He heard the drum of more boots on the wall overhead. He thrust hard, and his blade dropped the mercenary to the ground.

“Go!” He caught a glimpse of Elin hesitating at the door to the keep, mouth open and eyes wide. He saw Giles pull her by the arm into the keep and out of sight. Malcolm swallowed, raising his sword. A dozen warriors raced down the stairs toward him. His meeting with Rees the Great would have to wait.

More mercenaries descended, and he was alone with them. He kept his sword ready, and the wall at his back.

“Death to you, le Farouche!” one enemy shouted, and he was the first to attack.

Malcolm blocked and thrust, and his blade sank deep into the enemy’s abdomen. But another attacked, then another. He swung and parried.

“I will not leave.” Giles joined him, sword ringing as it struck a foe’s. “Justus and the men will complete our mission.”

“’Tis death to stay.” Malcolm dodged a lethal thrust and wielded one of his own.

“I have not met death at your side yet, my friend.”

There were too many armed men descending upon them. Alas, that meant success for his knights. These heathens had not spied the forces gathering in stealth at the back of the keep, or they would not be fighting him in the inner bailey.

“We cannot leave him!” Elin fought against Justus’s grip as he dragged her up the narrow steps. Stone bit into her shin as she tried to break away. “He is outnumbered. We must help.”

“We must follow his orders.” Justus hauled her up the stairs after him. “I cannot stomach abandoning him, but he knows what he does. He is the great le Farouche. He alone saved Edward from a thousand Saracens. He alone.”

“’Tis only a tale. He is made but of flesh and bone like any man, and if they kill him, I’ll probably end up married to Caradoc. Even Malcolm is a better choice.” Elin batted at the tears in her eyes. “They will kill him, Justus.”

He hung his head, releasing his steely grip on her sleeve. “I cannot disobey him. I cannot!”

“Then send back the one with the crossbow.” What was wrong with this man, that he would abandon Malcolm to certain death? “One archer can take out many warriors.”

“’Tis a wise strategy.” In the dim stairwell, Justus eyed her cautiously. “Lulach, take your bow and hurry.”

“But who will protect our men as they storm the castle?”

“I will.” Elin saw the doubt on the knights’ faces and pitied these men their ignorance. “I know where the weapons are stored. I’ll take a crossbow and enough arrows to fell every one of these vicious murderers.”

Tears twisted in her throat, for in truth she did not know if she could make good on her promise.

“Then go, Lulach,” Justus commanded. “Elin, let us arm you first. We’ll need the power of a crossbow before we lower the bridge.”

Air caught in her chest and hurt with every breath she took. How scared she was. But she kept up to the trained knights. They dashed up flights of stairs and down corridors. She gave directions to the sally port, and the men raced to carry out their orders.

Justus ran with her down a dark passageway to the armory. The door was unguarded, and it took her but a moment to locate a crossbow and a small barrel of bolts. Her fingers shook with uncertainty as she clutched the weapons.

“You look unsteady.” Justus caught her gaze. “Can you do this?”

“I gave my word. I will.” Somehow.

“Good, because our men await. They need your protection, lady.”

“You will go with me?”

Kindness flickered in his eyes. “Aye. You’ll need a strong sword at your back. ’Tis dangerous what you’ve volunteered to do.”

She led Justus to the back of the keep and up the stairs to one of two towers. Fie, how her knees knocked. Justus burst out onto the battlements, sword raised. Surprised mercenaries shouted and charged. Justus brought down one man, then two. Elin tasted death in the air, and the horror of it raced in her blood.

Men’s lives depended upon her. Somehow she forced her feet forward. Her fingers trembled as she dropped the barrel on the stones near the crenellations.

“Elin, begin. Our men must be advancing!”

She fitted a bolt into place. She placed the bow on the steady stone wall and drew back the windlass. The string stretched taut, building tension. Behind her she heard the shouts of battle and the clash of swords. Below her she felt the stealth of the advancing troops. The drawbridge squeaked as it was lowered. Men’s surprised shouts came from the adjacent tower. The hiss of arrows sliced the air. The shout of a wounded soldier rose from below.

She could not do this. She could not kill anyone. And yet Malcolm’s knights depended upon her to defend them.

“Protect our men!” Justus shouted. “You need not try to kill the mercenaries. Just aim your bow in their direction and fire as many bolts as you can. ’Twill distract them from trying to destroy our men.”

She released the nut. The bolt hissed through the air. She reloaded the crossbow, and fired at random, again and again. With fear beating in her heart, she worked as fast as she could, raining arrows on those horrible murderers.

The battle on the wall behind her continued. How long could Justus fight so many men alone? He was outnumbered, just as Malcolm was. How could either of them win?

The night looked bleak, with heavy rolling clouds cloaking the sky. Giles was wrong. Heaven did not smile upon them this night. Only darkness watched as the battle raged.

Despite the wound in his back, Malcolm served the last of the paid killers a fast death. No more came, and he heard the rising shouts of alarm from the darkness above.

“You’re wounded!” Giles tossed down his sword and helm. “Let me see. Fie, ’tis a bloody rent. I failed in protecting your back.”

“You were busy protecting yours.” He did not feel the pain. Too much fury roiled within his veins. “Come, you need to help our men. By the sound, they are within the castle.”

“If your wife did not betray us to the enemy.” Giles inspected the wound. “Malcolm, you cannot fight with this.”

“What choice do I have?” He could not lift that shoulder and arm well, but it did not matter. “What would you have me do? Go hide in the kitchen with the women? Grab your weapon and follow me.”

They saw the flare of torches suddenly light up the battlements. Mercenaries dashed the length of the high walls, their shouted orders sharp with alarm.

“Mayhap I was wrong about your wife,” Giles admitted with humility. “I was harsh to her.”

As was I. Yet she’d not failed them this night, just as she vowed. “Make certain she returns to the kitchens where she’s safe. I am handing over the command to you. I have an old battle to fight.”

Malcolm kicked open the keep’s door and was relieved when no armed warriors greeted them. He headed up the stairs. “We have their garrison outnumbered. Protect the men, Giles, and see to their victory. If I die, tell Edward of these events. Tell him I want you to take my place. And be good to Elin.”

“Speak not of such things! You’re injured and rambling from blood loss. Pray, do not—”

“The men need you, Giles.” He towered on the steps above, cold as steel. “Obey me.”

“Then let me say this. ’Tis been an honor serving you, Fierce One. May you teach that vile betrayer the greatest of lessons.” Giles turned, weapons in hand, and disappeared down the unlit corridor.

Aye, he would serve Edward well.

Only the distant sounds of ringing shouts and clashing swords echoed throughout the keep. Malcolm ascended into the thick shadows, and not even his boots made noise upon the stones. His fate awaited him up these stairs, a destiny that had been born in the brutal deserts of a faraway land.

A sword rose out of the dark corridor. Instincts honed, Malcolm attacked. He knocked the sword away with swift ease. “Where is Rees?” he demanded as he shoved the armed soldier against the cold wall.

“Malcolm? You’re hurting me!” Elin scolded.

“Why are you sneaking about?” Malcolm saw that it wasn’t weapons she carried but a basket of crocks and bandages. He heard a shout from down below and knew the battle was already close. By the rood, he could not spare the time to guard her. “Run to the kitchens ere it is too late.”

“The kitchens? Malcolm, you’re bleeding.” Surprise lit her voice. Or was that concern? “Why, ’tis a deep and dangerous wound. Come, my chamber is just up these stairs. I can mend that so you can continue to fight.”

Her eyes alone could lure a man and surprise him with their depths. For whatever her nature, Elin of Evenbough was no traitor, and her concern touched him, but it was misplaced. “Do as I say. You’ll be safe enough in the kitchens.”

He released her, and it took willpower to turn his back on her. “Obey me, Elin.” He wanted her safe.

“Where are you going?” Her voice rang in the corridor, high with emotion. “Have some sense. You’ll faint or bleed to death ere you lift that sword ten times. Let me—”

“Nay, dove. You’ve fought like a true warrior this night. Your brother no doubt watches from above and is proud of you.” He kept walking, but looked over his shoulder. He saw the glint of tears upon the little dove’s face.

It only made him hate what he’d become. He was no fit husband for a woman of gentleness and fire. ’Twas just as well. Rees awaited him in the dark, and two men without souls would find their just punishments.

Chapter Eight

“I knew you would come, le Farouche.” Rees’s deep voice grated with a cold confidence. “Your knights attack in vain. My men are greater than yours, trained to kill and not to defend. ’Twas always your weakness, the need to protect others.”

“There was a time you thought otherwise.”

“’Twas a time when I called you friend.” A single taper filled the room with webby shadows, and they flickered across Rees’s face. “Le Farouche, you and I are wiser now.”

“True. I no longer trust a friend.” All these years, Malcolm had not forgotten. And that rage burned like ice in his veins. “You handed me over to the Saracens and sold your king for gold. Did that gold serve you well?”

“Aye, I’ve enjoyed pleasures you have never dreamed of. Yet I’ve not grown soft. I am still a seasoned warrior.” Rees unsheathed his sword, ornately hewn so that it glittered like fire when the meager light touched it. “A warrior able now to defeat you.”

“You could not win in the Outremer.” Calm and cold all the way to his soul, Malcolm faced the man who had cost him much more. “And you will not win now. I took down fifty of your warriors in the bailey with just two of my men.”

“Ah, I’d not forgotten the great legends of Malcolm le Farouche.” Still, Rees circled. Tension crackled in the thickened air. “They even know of you in Spain. Too bad the tales are only exaggerations. They do not know of your weaknesses.”

Malcolm let Rees set the pace as they slowly circled through the undulating light and shadow. “I care not what others think. Did you believe you could defeat me for this castle?” He chuckled when Rees volleyed, a vicious thrust that he knocked aside with one sparking blow. “Run while you still can.”

Rage reddened the mercenary’s face. “Mayhap the legends are right. You’re not the weakling I once knew.”

Malcolm easily parried Rees’s next thrust. His rage grew colder and more deadly. He swung with lethal power and Rees’s sword met his, stroke for stroke. “I will enjoy collecting the bounty on your head.”

“You will not live to count it.” Rees’s blow ricocheted hard up Malcolm’s arm.

“I say I will.” He returned a blinding blow and was pleased to see the flash of pain upon the mercenary’s face. Malcolm lunged and drew the first blood. “I have not yet grown deadly. Surrender now.”

“Not upon my life.” Rees swiped the blood from his cheek with his free hand. “I hear Edward gave you an insult for a bride. Not a beautiful wife any man would die to possess, but a hellish witch who tried to kill you. Is that how the great king rewards his most loyal knight? You give your life for him every day, and yet he values you so little. How angry you must be.”

“If I were you, I would not waste my breath on harmless insults.” Malcolm lunged again. Rees’s sword was swift and mighty, but Malcolm’s was faster. More blood flecked the traitor’s face.

Malcolm struck swiftly, once and twice, drawing blood each time. But he felt the weakness growing. Elin had been right. He would weaken as more blood sluiced from his wound.

Rees chuckled. “You nearly tripped on your own feet, le Farouche. Put down your sword, and I’ll not separate you from your head. I will pay you well to fight for me.”

“You think I would trust you?” Malcolm circled quickly to hide his wound from his enemy’s sight. “Gold cannot tempt me. It gleams like heaven’s light and drives men to dark acts.”

“There is power in that brand of darkness.”

“I choose death, then. I’ll not be swayed from my loyalties. I would rather die by your sword.” Malcolm raised his blade.

When blow met blow, he felt the hot burst of blood pour from the wound in his back. He thrust fast and hard, landing strike after strike, feeling the life bleed out of him.

If he died, then by the rood he would take this whoreson with him.

Riveted by the sight of power and rage, Elin could only stare into the chamber where the two men fought. A single taper tossed weak light over the aggressors. The candle’s flame twisted and writhed as if in pain, losing its battle to the darkness.

Still the men fought with great strikes of their broad-swords, clashing with enough power to vibrate the mortar and stone. She spied the sheen of blood staining the back of her husband’s hauberk. Sweet Mary, how could she best help him?

“Remain silent,” Justus whispered, standing a hairs-breadth behind her. “To distract him now would be to cause his death.”

“But he’s bleeding.” Badly. She clutched the sword to her chest. She could fight, but she was not strong enough to defeat that mercenary. She’d never seen battle like this before. The sheer might of muscle drove each powerful strike. ’Twas as if two unearthly powers clashed and struggled for victory. Both men, as enormous as myth, circled and thrust and thrust again.

She shoved her broadsword into Justus’s hands. “Malcolm’s men occupy the castle. Stop this fight. The battle is won.”

“Nay, the Fierce One fights for far more. Rees is his greatest enemy, the man responsible for his capture and torture by those Saracen dogs.”

She studied the deadly mercenary. “There are no legends of the great le Farouche chained in a dungeon.”

“Some acts of courage are too painful to be told. They make for unpleasant stories.” Justus pressed the sword back into her hands. “The Fierce One must face his enemy.”

Was Justus mad? More blood sluiced down Malcolm’s back. He could not go on without weakening or fainting. “Look how he’s injured. His blood stains the rushes.”

“Aye, but the deeper injuries, the ones that will never heal, pain him more.”

Elin felt Justus’s sorrow whip through her, leaving a crushing sadness she couldn’t bear. She wanted to throw down her basket, rush out into the chamber with her crossbow and sword and aid the great knight. Her hatred of le Farouche felt petty now. He was injured and suffering, like any man did.

The battle turned fierce when the enemy’s sword struck Malcolm’s fighting arm. ’Twas a blow of strength and steel, and she clamped a hand to her mouth to cover her gasp of horror. She saw that Malcolm’s armor had broken, and blood stained those chains, too.

He is going to lose. She dropped to her knees and felt the sting of tears hot on her cheeks. Already, in her heart, she knew how this contest would end. She’d seen evil men triumph too many times in her life. Malcolm was now twice injured, and he stumbled, weak from blood loss. The red-faced monster of a man raised his sword for a deathblow.

Nay! She felt her heart rend with the knell of the ringing blow. She could not bear to see Malcolm killed. She buried her face in her arms and wept. Silence vibrated in the chamber. The battle was over.

Footsteps scraped upon the stone floor. “You cry for the mercenary, dove?”

Could it be? She looked up the thick, muscled columns of his legs to the broad glory of his chest. His rugged face was lined with soul deep fatigue and stained with blood.

“You live! I cannot believe…” By what miracle had he won? Yet he stood before her, victorious and real. “Look how you bleed. ’Tis another miracle that you can stand upright. Let me see the wound to your arm.”

“No need to feign concern.” Weary eyes studied her and condemned her. He swung away. “Justus, I want this body taken to Edward.”

“Aye, I’ll take Orson with me.”

“Good choice. Let our king see the man who betrayed him to the enemy, who would still take his life for enough pieces of gold.” Shoulders strong but head hanging, Malcolm limped across the chamber, eased down upon a sturdy trunk in the far corner and buried his face in his hands.

Should she stay? He did not seem to want her. Yet how could she go? Her heart still pounded with the sight of him fighting for vengeance. In victory, he was even more a man of dark strength and great power. She’d never seen the like, and both fear and awe filled her being.

Elin’s every instinct told her to run, to put as much distance as she could between herself and this bringer of death. If he could destroy a man of his own strength, then what would he do to a woman a third his size? And yet…

Not even to save her own life would she run. Malcolm the Fierce had tried to save her brother in the Outremer. He’d suffered untold tortures to free Edward from his Saracen captors. He risked his life every day out of loyalty to his king.

He was a man of honor. Elin dared to cross the room, her soft leather boots whispering upon the soiled rushes. She forced down the tears that ached in her throat and burned in her eyes.

He did not look up at her approach. “Go away, dove.”

She knelt at his side, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Leave me be. ’Tis a mortal wound.”

“I must do what I can.”

He would not meet her gaze. “Spend your talents on the other knights, the ones who fought for your castle.”

“They fought by your orders, not mine, and for your castle.” Elin dug through her basket and laid out the wrapped tools. “Justus, send for boiling water immediately. I’ll need someone with a steady hand to assist.”

Malcolm’s giant fists clenched. “Elin! Heed my orders and leave me to die in peace.”

He was not even afraid of death. Tenderness flamed within her chest for this man of such greatness. And sympathy for him brought more tears to her eyes. “You want peace?”

“A moment of it would be nice.”

“’Tis my job as your wife to vex you, so abandon all hope for a peaceful death.” She hid her tears behind her sharp retort and turned to her basket. “Besides, you’re now too weak to argue with me. I could push you over with my little finger.”

“Justus, take her from the room.” Fury crashed in his voice like thunder over a valley.

Justus hesitated in the threshold. The respect he held for his commander shone in his eyes. “Nay, my friend, this is one order I will not obey.” Then he disappeared, intent upon fetching the water.

“This is your fault.” Malcolm turned to her, rage staining his voice. “Twice this night my men have disobeyed my commands.”

“Not from my example.” She set out the mortar and pestle, the bowls and new bandages, on a fresh piece of linen. Her fingers trembled. “Mayhap these men respect you so much they want you to live. I cannot fathom why.”

“They’re good and true knights.”

“No doubt made that way by your example, le Farouche.” Sentiment lodged like a hard ball in her throat, refusing to budge. She didn’t like this man, truly.

So why was her heart aching? Why did tears burn her eyes and blur her vision? “Scoundrels they are, every last one of them. Now remove your armor.”

Again he covered his face with his hands. He turned his back to her, his steel-covered chest and shoulders burnished by the flickering persistence of the candle’s light.

“Let me help you.” She knelt to untie a protective plate from his shoulder.

He refused to look at her. She could see the hard, clenched line of his jaw and feel the great remorse in his soul. Her hands fumbled with the unfamiliar pieces, and yet he did not stop her. She grabbed the hem of the mailed hauberk and began hefting it up his abdomen.

Steps came from behind and a pail of steaming water dropped to the floor at her knee. “You do it wrong.”

“Fie!” It was not likable Justus, but foul Giles who brought the water. “I am no squire.”

“You may have saved Hugh that night, but we’ve still not heard if he survived all your poisonous brews.” Giles jerked the chain mail from her fingers and worked the armored shirt off, careful of the wounds.

Malcolm’s eyes squeezed shut, and he didn’t so much as groan in pain. The amount of blood that stained his quilted hauberk made her heart weak.

“Fetch some wine,” Malcolm ordered in that voice as deep as the night. He did not sound like a man in great pain.

“I shall send for it.” Giles’s gaze met Elin’s, full of grief. He rolled off Malcolm’s last protective garment, his face haggard with concern for his commander.

Elin gasped. A horrible wound rent Malcolm’s perfectly shaped back. He twisted to look up at her, and her limbs weakened. His bronzed skin drew all the light from the room. The wondrous stretch of his muscled shoulders and chest gleamed like pure gold.

They called him the Fierce One, but he was not. She could see this now. He was hewn of a strength so great it only seemed fierce.

A knight raced into the chamber. “Your wine, sir.”

“My thanks.”

As Elin knelt to study the wound in his back, she realized his greatness. No man could fight to the death, walk across the room and sip wine with this manner of injury. No one except Malcolm the Fierce.

She refused to let him die. “Hand me that goblet.”

When Malcolm did not heed her, she grabbed her leather sacks of herbs and sprinkled the correct dosage into the dark liquid he held.

“Hold your potions, dove.” He sounded harsh, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw that he was not.

“You no longer give the orders, le Farouche. I do.” She held the goblet firm, her hands covering his stronger ones, and pressed the golden rim to his lips. “I’ve an army of knights ready at my command.”

“Your command?”

“Aye. I wager these men would do aught to save your life. All I have to do is say the word.” She watched his lips brush the goblet’s rim. She was so close she could see the stubble of whiskers on his chin and the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes. Nay, he was no legend, but a man of flesh and bone.

“I’m not worth your ministrations, dove. Tend to those who are.”

“You intend to die, then?”

But he smiled, actually smiled—a gentle curve of his hard mouth. “Dying is the only way to escape our marriage.”

“’Tis a good plan.” Her throat aching, she sprinkled more medicine into his wine, then pressed the goblet to his lips again. “But Giles here will no doubt turn me in as a traitor for not trying to save you, so grant me this one favor.”

“I thought we agreed upon no favors.”

“Then I ask a boon of a dying man. Live, and help me to look good before the king.”

A wry grin quirked the corner of his mouth. “I’ve noticed you were a woman much concerned with appearances.”

“Aye, that is why I married the greatest knight in the land.”

“Stop with this teasing. You make me laugh.” He coughed. “How that hurts.”

“Well, ’tis a better fate than being poisoned.” She guided the goblet to his lips one last time, then took it from his beautiful hands. “Come, lie down. I want to inflict what pain I can while you’re awake to suffer.”

“Now we get to the truth of things.” But he stood and ambled to the bed, refusing all offers of help. He was strong and proud, even now. He bit back a moan as he settled upon the mattress. “Glad I am that this is now my bed. ’Tis soft.”

“What? A soft bed will not make you suffer.” She let her voice tease, to hide her growing fear that this husband of hers would soon make her a widow. “Mayhap Giles will bring up bricks for a bed.”

“Pray, do not make me laugh. It hurts.”

“Good. I must repay you for your treatment of me. Be glad I’ve decided not to chain you up in the dungeon.”

“I said, do not make me lau…” He fell silent, his great body still.

“Oh, my lord.” Giles fell silent.

“’Tis only a sleeping draught I gave him.” Elin bowed her chin so the knight couldn’t guess her foolish sentimental feelings. “Pour some water into that basin.”

Giles jumped to comply. “Have you treated this manner of wound?”

“Not an injury like this.” She sat on the bed to study the gash. “Look, the blade sliced through his lower ribs and into his vitals. Ask Florie, the woman in the kitchen, to send for the old wise woman. I’ll need her help to save Malcolm’s life.”

“’Twill be done.” Giles barked orders at one of the men in the room.

Only then did she notice that a hundred knights had crowded into the solar. They now ringed the bed, keeping silent vigil over this man they honored.

Dawn came and still the soldiers remained. Elin rubbed her eyes, gritty and dry with exhaustion, and found another candle for old Tamassa. A peach glow glossed the windows and radiated into the room. But the first light of day did not touch the man on the bed. He lay motionless, with only the slight lift of his chest to show that he lived.

“He’s a strong man.” Tamassa pressed salve to the stitched wound in his arm. “If he does not succumb to a deadly fever, I wager he may be awake and grumbling by noon.”

“This man? Nay.” Elin lit the fresh candle with the stub of the old, then exchanged them. “He’ll be in a sword fight by then.”

“If not two,” Malcolm moaned from the bed. He didn’t move, but his gaze fastened upon hers. For a heartbeat they seemed connected, and she read his thanks. Her chest hurt with the silent gesture. Truly, he was not so terrible of a man.

The hundred knights still crowded into the solar and a hundred more in the corridor all fell to their knees in thanksgiving. The clang of steel striking stone resounded like a thunderclap.

“You’re a hard man to kill.” She laid her hand to Malcolm’s brow and felt his body’s heat. His dark hair tumbled across her fingers like roughly textured silk. “We feared you would not live.”

“So did I. I lost far too much blood.”

“Aye, ’tis why you must not move now.” There was no fever, and it was not merely gratefulness she felt. “Lie still, Fierce One. Your enemies are all subdued. For now.”

His hand covered hers. His grip was weak and yet, to her, he was still a knight of myth and legend.

“Here. Drink.” She held a cup to his lips.

He sipped until the goblet was empty and closed his eyes. But his fingers remained curled around hers, the need in his grip never waning.

She sat by his side. Sunlight moved through the room and faded with twilight, and she did not leave. The full moon peeked into the chamber to worship him with its magical light, and still she would not leave this man of power and might.

Nightmares were etched upon his lids—dark, hopeless images of pain and torture he swore would kill him. Yet he lived, so they made him a slave. They worked him like a dog in the brutal desert, and he labored and sweated and bled beneath a relentless sun.

Malcolm opened his eyes, and the images faded. Dawn glowed in the chamber, glinting on the windows and casting a golden hue across the floor. Grateful he was that the hard night was past.

“My hopes are dashed. You live.” She sat at his side, exhaustion harsh upon her delicate face, a face that was soft with concern. “I cherished grand hopes of being a widow with no man to rule me.”

He could not stop his grin. “Edward would have you married again. I recommended Giles.”

“Giles!” Elin reached for a goblet. “Why, I think he would make a terrible husband. Too sentimental. He’s been crying and praying and having the priest give him penance. He blames himself for that wound to your back.”

“Ian, then?”

She wrinkled her nose and pressed the cool rim of a goblet to his lips. He drank as she spoke. “Ian is decidedly handsome. Mayhap the most comely of the lot, but he is far too arrogant. I would have to teach him humility.”

Malcolm sputtered, nearly choking on the spiced wine. “I believe he would suffer too much, married to you.”

“Then Justus, mayhap. He is at least pleasing. And absent. He raced with that dead man’s body to Edward like Lucifer was on his tail. I like absence to be a trait in a husband. Yet now it matters not. You live.”

“More’s the pity.” He swallowed both his chuckle and his wine. He had to be careful. Elin had earned his admiration with her courage, and she might win more with her sense of humor. He had work to do. He struggled to sit, despite the pain. “Does Ian command the men?”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her hand splayed across his chest and pushed, but he resisted. She sighed in exasperation. “Malcolm, stay in that bed. You must let those stitches heal.”

“I’ve incurred injuries and labored hard the next day.” He hated those memories and how close they were to the surface of his thoughts. “I’ve work to do.”

“Do it when you are well.” She pushed with all her strength against him.

“I am not so weak that I will let a woman push me around.” He laughed, and it hurt. “Dove, cease this before you harm yourself. I’ve slept a night—”

“Two nights.”

“Two? Then I’ve had more than enough time to heal. Let me up.” His heart kicked at the sight of concern stark upon her face. She fought him, using all her strength to keep him in bed.

“You shall listen to me, you big brute.”

“Even as you fight me, you may be tearing open my wounds.” He meant to tease, but horror filled her angelic face and she released him.

“Oh, Malcolm.” She bowed her head, a woman’s softness gleaming in her eyes—eyes that revealed a tender heart. She was not so disagreeable after all. She bit her bottom lip with worry. “I want your wounds to heal. You’re a fearsome man.”

“So I have been told.”

“I believe we can work together. As I see it—”

The gentle morning’s light touched her, adding its glow to her complexion and its fire to her golden curls. She looked like all he was not and could never be—fire and softness, spirit and heart.

“—the king need never know.” Her voice dipped with excitement. “You’ll remain true to him if you allow me to leave. You will never need to see me again, and I’ll have my freedom.”

“Freedom?” What was she talking about?

“Aye. We can disregard this marriage. You can go your way, and I mine. You are Edward’s greatest knight. Surely you could say I proved too troublesome—”

Now he saw what she proposed. The warmth in his chest faded. “What manner of man would that make me, that I could not subdue one tiny woman?”

“Mayhap you could plead unhappiness?”

“Nay, there will be no freedom for you, dove. Only duty, just as I have.”

Her brightness dimmed. “You’re right. ’Tis not the time to plot our separation. There will be time later, when you’re strong enough to discuss such plans. Let me send for some broth. You must eat.”

He caught her wrist as she stood, ready to dart away from him. “There will be no separation.”

Although ’twas better for the girl if there was. A part of him ached to let her go, to agree to whatever plan she devised, and he would tell Edward…

Well, he could tell him something.

But a baron needed sons, sons who would remain loyal to the king and defend him from all threats from without and within.

“No separation? You mean to make good on this marriage?” The gentleness on her face faded, replaced by an obvious horror. “But in the king’s forest after I poisoned you, you tried to strike me down with your sword.”

“’Twas the quickest way to find your dagger.”

“Then you chained me to the dungeon wall. Pray, what horrid actions will you take next? I’m but a piece of furniture to you, to be used and tossed away according to your pleasure.” Like flame she burned with a pure brilliance. “I’ll not be your wife, Malcolm le Farouche. I will be your enemy instead.”

Fie on the nature of woman, always manipulative. But when he looked at her, he saw tears—so bright and clear and genuine, his chest ached with an old sadness. “I do not wish to be enemies with my wife.”

“What would you have me do? Tremble beneath the great knight’s power? You can do as you want with me. My sword and my dagger are worthless. I might be warrior trained, but I cannot fight the way you do. Few men in this world can.”

“We do not need to fight, dove. I’ll not harm you.”

“Then tell me you want no children.”

The pain from his wounds now felt unbearable. “I will want sons from you, Elin. Though I’m not pleased with our match, I cannot deny that any sons of yours will make fine warriors.”

More tears leaked from her eyes, eyes so blue they made him think of dreams, the rarest kind even a man like him had once believed in. “You will destroy me, then? Chain me in the jail of marriage?”

“I am no jailer, dove.”

“Nay, you’re the great Malcolm le Farouche, the strongest knight in the realm. ’Tis worse.” She shot up from the bed, the bulky man’s tunic she wore hiding the sway of her lissome form. Her boots stomped angrily across the stone floor.

“I’ll fetch your meal.” She halted in the doorway to glare at him through her silvered tears. Then she fled, leaving him with a horrible, helpless feeling.

Had she helped him with the hope that he would release her from this marriage? He hardly noticed the pain from his wound, the ache in his chest was so great.

He should have expected much plotting from a traitor’s daughter, but he’d hoped to find even a small bit of honor in the woman now his wife.

But in this he was wrong.

He tugged on a tunic and chausses, careful not to move his injuries overly much, and strapped on his sword. His gaze landed on the chair where she’d perched at his side. Had she remained there throughout the two nights and a day as he slept? Then he remembered the gentle strength of her hand in his and cursed Edward for this marriage.

Chapter Nine

“You should not have allowed him out of bed,” Tamassa scolded from the kitchen doorway, her face crinkled with disapproval, her eyes accusing. “He could bleed anew and there would be naught we can do, he’s lost so much blood. And there’s the worry of a fever.”

“What would you have me do? Chain him to the bed?” Elin ladled broth into a trencher. Anger still burned in her chest, hard and hot. He wanted a real marriage and sons—and sex. She quaked at that thought.

“You’re his wife, Elin. You must make the Fierce One see reason. He has much responsibility upon his shoulders. He needs comfort and care from his wife.”

Malcolm did not need her. The images of his unconquerable power still remained bright and crisp in her mind. “Do not worry, Tamassa. I plan to change his bandages and cleanse his wounds after he eats.”

“See that you do. I’ve been summoned to a difficult birth over at Ravenwood. ’Tis one of the serving wenches carrying another of Caradoc’s bastards.”

Elin’s knees weakened and she nearly spilled the trencher. A cry rose in her throat at the thought of what Caradoc must have done to that poor woman. “Do you need me to assist?”

“Nay. All will be well.” Tamassa marched toward the door, distaste for the neighboring baron twisting her weathered face. “Summon me if the Fierce One weakens.”

Elin set down the trencher, hands shaking. If she had never learned how to wield a sword, then she would be in that poor servant’s position.

“You’re one lucky lady.” Florie sighed as she placed a trencher piled with smoked meats, cheeses and bread next to the steamy broth. “’Tis an honor to be a servant in the castle of the great le Farouche. But to be his wife? Why, what an honor you hold. Those shoulders alone could make an old woman like me swoon.”

“Truly, Florie, the king decreed the marriage between us. It is no love match.” Elin found a tray and loaded it.

“No love match? I cannot remember the last time I saw you working in this kitchen.”

Truly, Elin had no soft feelings for her husband. “I’m here because he’s weak and needs food.”

“He commands an entire garrison of men. Any one of them would wait upon him, but you are the one here.” Florie gave the most exasperating wink.

“I am here because I do not wish for him to die. The king would blame me, and then who will defend my castle?” Elin hurried out into the sunlight falling between the kitchens and the keep, and blinked in the welcome brightness.

Florie’s words lingered in her mind. What kind of husband would Malcolm make? Would he be domineering? Harsh? Uncaring? How could she protect herself against such treatment? She could not escape, for Malcolm was a great tracker. She could not fight him, for he was the strongest of all warriors. She could not refuse him, for the king had ordered them to marry.

Malcolm made it clear he expected sons. What would it be like to share his bed?

She shivered, even as the sunshine warmed her.

“We’ve tortured him, but still he will not talk.” Ian met Malcolm in the corridor that stretched along the row of barred dungeon cells.

“Mayhap he tells the truth.” Malcolm couldn’t hide his limp, but he gritted his teeth, determined to hide his pain. He longed for the comfort of his soft bed, and could not bring himself to admit he needed more rest. He wondered what Elin would do when she returned to the solar with food and found him missing.

Ian scowled. “That foul mercenary is being obstinate. He claims he was paid to fight and that is all.”

Malcolm halted before the cell that held the prisoner. He saw a man in pain, shoulders hunched, eyes shadowed. They were not furtive, but proud. “Soldier, why have you not given my commander the name he seeks?”

“I told him I fought for Rees the Great. I had no command, but was a common warrior.” There was integrity to that voice and strength in the mercenary’s spine. He did not look away when Malcolm met his gaze. He appeared neither arrogant nor rebellious. “I have no knowledge of the answer you seek. I asked to speak with you, but your commander refused.”

“You were injured and we feared you would die,” Ian explained quietly. “I feared he would keep silent if he knew his leader had succeeded in his quest.”

“I will speak with him now.”

Ian unchained the door. “Careful, lord. He is treacherous, and you are deathly pale. I shall remain at your side, should he try to cause you harm.”

Malcolm felt grateful for his friend’s concern. Ian had guessed his true condition. It took all his strength to remain standing. He ambled into the cell, where dampness made the stones slick beneath his unsteady feet.

“Sit here, my lord.” Ian provided a crude stool.

Malcolm thanked him, glad for the darkness that hid his wince of pain. “What are you called?”

“I was once Rory of Baines. Now am I known as the Fearless. I’m a third son of a lesser lord of little worth.”

As Malcolm’s eyes adjusted to the thick darkness, he could see the slant of nose and cheek and a calm steady gaze. “How long have you fought for Rees?”

“Since the Outremer. He saved my life and I swore my fealty to him then.”

Malcolm understood well the ties of loyalty. “Did you know what manner of man he was? Even when he brought you here to defeat the king’s baron?”

“Not for some time. But I had given him my loyalty and my word, so it mattered not.” Rory shrugged, then winced with pain. “We were told we came to England to fight the Great One’s enemy, the one who’d turned the king against him.”

Malcolm could hear the ring of truth in those words. “’Tis true that Rees and I were enemies.”

“And if you defeated him, you are truly a great warrior. While I mourn his loss, he was not a good man.”

Malcolm heard the whisper of steps upon stone and turned. Shadows cloaked her, but already he knew the sound of her gait. Why had Elin followed him here? To haul him back to the solar? “Ian, have food sent for the prisoner. And put a halt to the beatings.”

Ian sheathed his sword. “’Tis not a wise move, my lord, but it will be done.”

Malcolm limped out of the cell to see the corner of a tray in the shadows. Elin hesitated on the last step, glancing around with wide eyes. How pale she looked and how exhausted. Her golden-red curls caught the light and shimmered. Even in her squire’s clothing she looked every bit as regal as a princess.

The tray she held wobbled. “I’ve been looking hither and yon for you.”

That she brought him food touched him. He’d not had anyone take that much care of him in a long while. “Come down, dove.”

She shook her head, causing her wool tunic and silken curls to rustle. “I cannot.”

“I’ll not chain you to the wall. This time.” He held out his hand and wrapped his fingers around her slender forearm. So warm she was, yet she trembled. His chest tightened. Again he saw her fear.

How could he reassure her? “Elin, you were kind to follow me here, but ’tis not—”

She shoved the tray into his hands. “This will give you sustenance to torture the poor man further.”

“Elin.” But she was gone, a swift movement in the shadows. The single rush torch caught her in its glow for one brief moment, illuminating the stark dismay on her face.

“Let her go.” Ian dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “You think the choking chains of marriage are forever, but fear not, good friend. I see an easy solution. Swive her until she is increasing—it should not take more than a month or so—then hide her away in your farthest holding. You’ll not have to see her again, unless you want a second son.”

“And all say I am a heartless bastard.”

“’Tis why you are the best and I am the second best knight in the land.” Ian stepped into the light. “We’re heartless to the core. Aught else would be weakness.”

It was true. There lived no gentleness inside Malcolm’s heart. None that he could use to comfort a noblewoman’s fears. None that could make a husband out of a warrior hardened by years of battle.

His gaze lingered on the corridor where Elin had fled. He did not cherish the task of taking her to bed and making her his wife. She was far too young and fragile to be bound to a man like him.

Swive her until she is increasing, then hide her away in your farthest holding. Ian’s words rang in her ears as she worked throughout the day. Rees the Great’s warriors had done much damage to the castle during their brief stay.

While Malcolm remained indoors, probably torturing the prisoner in the dungeon, she and Giles helped the freemen clear the bailey and take stock of the destruction. Ian even showed up to help for a short while, and every time she saw him, she remembered his horrid advice.

Well, she would agree to living in a far-off holding. But it was the swiving that terrified her. Would Malcolm want her in his bed tonight?

She kept her distance from him all the day through. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for the mercenary in the dungeon. She knew just how he felt.

People bustled in steady streams through the bailey, busy with work. The freemen and servants discussed how fortunate they were to have such a great knight as their lord, declaring that King Edward had blessed them with a true honor.

Despite her fear, Elin could not contradict them. She alone knew what this battle had cost Malcolm. His reputation and his honor were hard won.

“Elin.” Ian returned when the shadows lengthened along the ground. “The lord requests your presence.”

“Tell him I am helping the freemen. Their workshops and homes have been laid to ruin. I—”

“Lady, he wishes you to look at his wound.” Censure wrinkled that peacock’s face.

Alarm sliced through her chest. She had failed to tend to him today, as she’d vowed to do. “Tell me, is he bleeding?”

“He would not say.”

Elin couldn’t explain her flash of anger, because she did not care for le Farouche. “He might well be the greatest knight in the realm, but he is still a man of flesh and bone. He is human, after all. He does not seem to think so.”

She found him in the solar gazing out the window. Even without his armor, he looked hard. Muscles bunched and twisted beneath his wool tunic. Slanting sunlight flashed on the glass and sent shards of light across his rugged face and shoulders. He didn’t look terrifying, but she knew he was like a sleeping dragon, his power latent but ready.

“I saw you working beside the freemen.” His gaze fell heavy and curious upon her face. “I should have expected the warrior dove not to laze in her chamber when there was work to be done.”

Elin hid her pleasure at his compliment behind a shrug and circled around him. “Florie will not often allow me in the kitchen. I once set it afire.”

“Let me guess. You are unskilled in the domestic arts.” He pulled off his tunic in one agile tug. Muscles rippled beneath bronzed skin.

Her heart stopped beating at the sight. “My father forced me to learn. But after Peter taught me warriors’ skills, Father could no longer force me to sit and attend to my sewing. I was better at the sword than he.”

“I, too, had to learn swordplay to survive.” Malcolm sighed, a sound of regret. He gazed out the window overlooking the inner and outer baileys below.

His skin gleamed beneath the kiss of the sun, drawing her gaze and holding it. His back was ridged with cords of muscles that bunched and stretched all the way to the band of his chausses. Oh, the power of him. His beautiful male strength made the breath catch in her chest and her stomach flutter.

His skin was hot to the touch. She untied the bandages and unwound them. He did not move or wince, although she knew even her careful handling had to cause him pain. She saw again the mass of scars deep in his skin. She could see the snakelike ridges from a whip, representing more blows than she could count, long cuts as if from a sword’s blade, and short scars as if from torture.

She remembered Justus’s words. Malcolm had spent a year too horrible to mention in a Saracen dungeon. All the sharp insults she’d planned faded upon her tongue. Whatever manner of husband he would be, he had lived her worst fears and survived them.

She peeled away the last of the bandages, fearing what she would see. When she saw the wound, relief fluttered through her. Only a dab of fresh blood came away with the herb-soaked cloth. “You are a lucky man, but you need more rest.”

“I’ve rested far too much.”

“Then why do you sound exhausted?”

“Weary, not exhausted.” He gazed out at the spreading hills and vales, the fresh green fields and thriving forests. “I believe Edward was right. I was not aware how I needed a home until I first gazed out this window.”

“’Tis a beautiful sight.” She spread a thick glob of healing salve on Malcolm’s wound. A small amount of warmth gathered in her heart.

Although the injury looked raw and terrible, he didn’t wince at her ministrations. “I have not looked upon beauty in so long it hurts my eyes.”

“There are beautiful women at court. I’ve no doubt you took what appealed to you.”

“There are many types of beauty.”

She felt the muscles of his back work beneath her fingers. He twisted to look at her, his eyes speculative. “Elin, I’ve taken only what has been offered me.”

“You are like all men. You can take what you want and do not have to wait for an offer.”

“Nay, I am not like all other men.” Was he laughing at her? She could not tell by the sparkles in his eyes, for his mouth was downturned. “I am not Caradoc.”

“’Tis true.” A great sentimental tenderness ached in her heart. “Some men are more brutish than others.”

“I suppose I am brutish.” He chuckled and faced the window. “Do you worry about sharing my bed this night?”

“What?” Heat stained her face. “I have no worries.”

“Truly?” He quirked one dark brow.

“Truly.” She firmed her chin. What would he think of her if he knew she was terrified?

“Good. Then you’ll not mind if I chain you to the bed.”

“Sweet Mary! You’re not so different than Caradoc!”

“I only tease, dove. Next time I ask a question, tell me the truth.” He chuckled, and the warmth of his skin and the ripple of muscle grazed the whole of her hand.

She felt the wondrous heat of his textured male skin. ’Twas as if her flesh had caught fire from this simple touch. His shoulders towered over her, spanning the width of the window. He was steel hard and hot male everywhere, of that she had little doubt.

He both terrified her and captivated her. Her fingers ached to explore more of him, and to know the beautiful side of this man. It was the memory of her father taking the serving maids at his pleasure and laughing at their tears of pain that kept her from rubbing the heel of her hand up the corded marvel of his spine.

“Tonight I’ve ordered a celebration.” His voice rumbled beneath her fingertips as she wound the clean bandage around his ribs. “The men fought hard for this victory, and they deserve a night of merriment.”

“It seems hardly fitting, seeing the ruin of the village.” She gave the bandage a hard tug.

“’Tis why the freemen and the villeins will celebrate in the bailey. Pleasure will be had by all.”

“Not by all.” How grim she sounded, how full of censure.

Mayhap she was worrying about the marriage bed. “You do not enjoy celebrations?”

“When there is aught to celebrate.”

He twisted to see her face, half shielded by the fall of golden curls. Flaxen light sheened like precious metal, brushing the curve of her cheek and jaw, and drawing his gaze to her mouth. He wondered what her kiss would taste like. Not sweet, he would wager, but bright and smoky like a new candle’s flame.

He took her small hand within his. “You led the knights into the keep. You terrified the mercenaries with your crossbow while the men stormed the castle. You helped assure our victory.”

“I merely showed you the gate in the wall.” She shrugged, a lithe movement of one slim shoulder, and withdrew her hand. “And I learned there are men so powerful and strong I could never defeat them.”

“’Tis a warrior’s truth and not just a woman’s.” He gritted his teeth when she began to wind a second strip of cloth over his wound. ’Twas not the pain that troubled him, but the silken glide of her hand over his skin. She felt like morning sunlight, gentle and warm. An answering warmth thrummed in his groin.

“There is no man greater in strength and courage than you.” Her hands stilled, resting innocently on the curve of his ribs with a taunting bliss. “You are invincible.”

“I’ve taken my losses, dove.” Fie, but he was hard as stone with the way her fingers brushed, light and shy, upon his body, which hadn’t known a woman’s caress in far too long. He screwed his eyes shut. Need gathered, and he vowed not to act upon it—not to draw fragile Elin into his arms and bury his aching shaft into her sweet body.

He gritted his teeth, forcing his thoughts to the evening to come. “Grant me a boon and dress well for the occasion. You’ve redeemed yourself in the eyes of my men, and they wish to pay you their respect.”

She stepped away, her work complete, and stared down at her tunic, men’s clothing she still wore from the night of battle. Pink flared across her cheekbones. “I hadn’t thought. Of course, I look ugly.”

“Nay, just like a warrior.”

“I suppose you think as my father did, that not even a gown could transform me, that I am naught but an embarrassment.” Her throat worked and her chin came up aggressively.

But the sadness in her eyes threatened to undo him. He’d been harsh without meaning to. What was a trained knight to do? He wasn’t suited to this. But Edward needed him to manage this woman and the holding that bore her name, and he would do his best.

“Not so.” He took her hand gently, although he felt awkward. “’Twill not kill me to sit beside you at the feast. As long as you leave your herb basket in your chamber.”

“Aye, but I may bring the oakwood berries just for you.” She smiled, a gentle curve of those enchanting lips, but the sadness in her eyes remained.

He called for her maid and issued orders. He watched Elin sweep down the corridor to the chamber at the end, farthest from his. The torch flickered as she went, brushing her with the beauty of flame. She shimmered with a brightness that both lured him and made him afraid.

His harshness had driven every woman from his side. But he would try harder, for Elin.

Color and light surrounded him. Festive costumes, bright candles and music like heaven’s smile transformed the great hall into a merry place. Yet he didn’t feel a part of it. The light did not touch him; the music did not move him.

“Have some of the king’s finest wine.” Ian pressed a golden chalice into Malcolm’s hand. “He sent it as a gift, and that shows how much you’ve pleased him.”

“I’m best suited for work behind a sword, not a baron’s title.” Malcolm studied the bloodred wine and inhaled its richness. His mouth watered but his stomach turned, and he could not drink.

“The kitchen wenches are said to be in a frenzy preparing a feast fine enough to celebrate this victory and the great knight’s health.”

“Stop teasing, Ian. I’ve little to celebrate.”

“You live, and that is a great cause to celebrate.” Ian’s brashness faded to that of a concerned friend. “Giles is still distressed. I have tried to reassure him, but he blames his own weakness for the wound in your back.”

“I was charged by five men and he was no less engaged.”

“Aye, but he will not forgive himself. He is even now in the chapel, and in such anguish the poor priest has given him penance in hopes it might ease his misplaced guilt.”

“I shall speak with him.” Malcolm set aside the goblet. A murmur rose through the crowded room and drew his attention toward the wide doorway. A woman in a gown of sunlight and flame emerged.

Malcolm hardly recognized the warrior dove. A bath had transformed her and erased the exhaustion and smudges of dirt from her cheeks. Without her loose tunic and usual defiance, she looked like the maiden she was, young and vulnerable.

The gown she wore emphasized her delicate build. The neckline was cut low to show the ridges of her collarbones and the satin of her creamy skin. A braided gold girdle hugged her lean hips. She was like the very sun, so bright she shadowed the great hall and, from what Malcolm could see, all the world.

“Lady Elinore.” Ian reached her first, bowing to show his respect. “Let me be the first to pledge my honor to you, the wife of our great le Farouche. You led us into the keep to ensure a victory over Rees the Great. And you tended our lord with care through his deadly injury.”

A cheer rose through the hall, a roar so great it echoed like thunder and brought a blush to Elin’s face. She looked to Malcolm for help. She did not lap up the attention like a cat placed before a saucer; she did not preen like any number of women he’d known.

He reached for her hand. When she placed her cool fingers in his, a heat sparked between them. The cheers and applause increased, so there was no point in talking. She couldn’t hear him if he tried. ’Twas a good thing. In truth, he simply lost his voice looking upon her. He had never gazed on such beauty.

He led her to the table, captivated by the way candlelight burnished her locks and wove her tresses with gold. She caught him watching her and bowed her chin self-consciously, the way sunlight hid its brilliance behind clouds.

He held up a goblet of Edward’s wine. The cheering faded as his men did the same, awaiting his toast. “My lady and I owe you, my loyal knights, great thanks. If not for your courage, we would be sleeping upon the hard ground and making a meal from what we could catch in the forest.”

Chuckles rumbled through the room.

“I am grateful for your help in seizing this castle, in the past days working to guard it and in aiding the vassals of this holding. Many of us have been driven wherever duty has dictated, but now we have a place to defend and call home. We will no longer be fighting for our living, but for our own peace and prosperity.”

More cheers erupted, and Elin did not need to wonder why Malcolm instilled such loyalty in his men. Her heart ached with a strange feeling, and she could no longer say she hated him. He gleamed like a dark knight of legend. She could not force her gaze away. Then he laid his hand on her wrist and ordered the page to serve his wife first—an astonishing show of respect.

“Your gown is becoming.” He leaned close to speak only to her, and his breath skidded along the back of her neck like blazing heat.

Her heart twisted. “I do not embarrass you, then?”

“Nay.” His broad shoulder brushed hers, kindling sparks of flame. “There are many kinds of beauty. Yours is one of them.”

He had to be jesting, but his sincerity touched her like a long-yearned-for comfort. Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she held them back. By the rood, she would not develop a weakness for this man of might and majesty. She would not.

Sex with him would but hurt. This is what she told herself when the meal was followed with a minstrel’s performance. The merriment did not touch her as she worried over what was to come. Malcolm was such a big man, fearsome in size and strength. And tonight, as he remained at her side, she had no doubt what he expected from her.

He had been jesting over chaining her to the bed, but she’d learned from her mother that there was no amusement for a wife surrendering to her husband.

She remembered her mother’s tears, the horrible sounds of pain whenever Father visited Mother’s chamber. Her sorrow had sifted through the thick stone walls and, even now, a dozen years later, Elin could still hear the sound in memory.

Would Malcolm make her cry? In truth, he did not look so harsh now, with his hard features relaxed and the candlelight gentle upon his rugged face. He looked younger when he laughed, and the harsh lines carved around his eyes and mouth faded. His lips might not be punishing.

’Twas a small hope, but she clung to it. Mayhap mating with him would be brief. Her mother’s cries had not lasted long. The physical pain would end, and then afterward he might hold her in those rock-hewn arms. He might gaze at her as he did now, with a look that made her feel worthy.

And yet, wouldn’t the humiliation linger?

“You look weary.” Malcolm’s hand covered hers in a grip both gentle and binding. “We can leave the men to their merriment. Come, let me take you to your chamber.”

She stood on wobbly knees. Fear beat in her chest and she struggled not to weaken. She took the stairs slowly, heart beating, unshed tears gathering in her throat. Just how much would it hurt?

Malcolm pushed open a chamber door. Her chamber, not the solar where their marriage bed awaited. The air wedged in her chest. She watched her husband bend to light a candle. Flame reached into the corners of the room and illuminated naked lust for her in his eyes.

Her stomach fluttered. She took one step away from the bed.

“You have naught to fear from me. I left my chains in the dungeon.” His fingers cupped her chin and tipped her head back, drawing her gaze to his.

When he brought his mouth to hers, she was powerless to move away. His was not a wet, slimy kiss as the one Caradoc had imposed upon her once, before she’d unsheathed her blade and ended it. Malcolm’s kiss did not make her stomach clench and sicken.

Nay, her husband’s lips were satin strength upon hers. His kiss was not bruising, but spiced like mulled wine. The caress of his mouth on hers was dry like a touch, not sloppy with saliva. In all, it was a kiss she could tolerate over and over again.

He broke away, his eyes glazed, his breath short. His gaze fastened upon her bed. His throat worked, and she could see the tendons in his neck cord and strain. Then he released her.

“Sleep well, dove.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. To her amazement he left and closed the door behind him.

Mayhap he hated her kiss. Mayhap when his lips met hers, he felt the same repulsion she’d experienced with Caradoc.

Good. She hauled the gown over her head and sat in her shift, tears of confusion hovering. She was glad he didn’t want to touch her. Her nights would not be spent crying like her mother had, trapped on a mattress beneath a man’s strength.

And yet Malcolm’s kiss had been tender. Tender, not hurtful. She sat at the window much of the night and watched the waning moon move against the spinning wheel of stars and sky.

Chapter Ten

Malcolm took the back way through the keep, avoiding the great hall, which rang with the sounds of drunkenness and ribaldry as the men still celebrated their victory. He kept to the shadows. The corridors were dark and silent.

“Giles?”

“Malcolm.” A shadow moved among the carved wooden pews. The slivered moon cast faint light through the hues of the stained glass, but ’twas not enough to illuminate the knight climbing from his knees. “My lord, you should be in bed regaining your strength.”

“I am well enough. You were not at the celebration.”

Giles hung his head. “I’ve much to answer for.”

“Stop blaming yourself. We were under attack and outnumbered.”

“You protected my back, but I did not do the same for you.” Sorrow knelled in those words. “I almost got you killed.”

“’Twas not your fault, Giles. Cast aside this misplaced guilt. Now, before you scare off the priest.”

“I failed you.” Giles ambled forward, a strong man weighed down by his imagined shortcomings.

“We fought fifty men, and forty-nine you kept from my back. There is no shame in that. If you had received the wound, would you blame me for it?”

“Nay, there were so many….” Giles paused. “I see where you lead.”

“Good. There is still some of the roast pig left. Quit this fasting and go celebrate with your men. I command it.”

The knight’s throat worked; he opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it again and left. The sound of his boots faded with every step.

Malcolm turned to leave, but the peace of the sanctuary drew him back. The empty chapel felt alive with light, even in the overwhelming darkness. Mayhap it was the shift of soft moonlight upon the gleaming red and yellow glass that drew him toward a pew. He’d not been to church since his capture in the Outremer.

’Twas a place of light. Even at night, the darkness seemed different, less bleak.

He retreated back into the shadows in the corridor. His wound hurt, and he paused to catch his breath. He was still restless when he spotted the light glowing beneath Elin’s closed door.

Aye, how he wanted her. The brush of her lips had been tentative beneath his, unschooled and surprised. He’d not expected to feel such a surge of desire for her. She was all he would not choose in a woman—willful and stubborn and disobedient.

And yet the sight of her thickened his blood and teased at a lust deep within. At a lust that grew and raged as he remembered how she’d looked this night in her dress of sun and flame. Her breasts were ripe and full, and how gracefully her hips had teased that gown!

Fie, but he grew hard thinking of it.

She was his to possess. All he had to do was walk through that door. It was his right. Blood thrummed through his groin and ached in his straining shaft.

She was but a maiden, and he a man of the night. ’Twas a combination he’d known far too often. He thought of another woman, also delicate and gently raised, and how his heartlessness had wounded her.

Even the bravest candle burned itself out giving light to the darkness.

A call from down below spun him around, and he took the winding stairs as fast as his wound would allow. He burst into the great hall, seeing at once the disheveled knights heading for the towers. “What is amiss?”

“My lord! I was on my way to warn you.” Ian skidded to a halt on the rush-strewn floor, breathless and grim. “Just now we’ve learned a party approaches the castle under the cloak of night. An army of several hundred men—”

“What men?” Fury drove Malcolm toward the stairs. He’d had enough challenges for this castle. Who else in this land did not want to see him a baron? For none was more loyal to Edward than he.

Ian dashed after him, concern sharp in his voice. “My lord, you cannot fight with that injury.”

“Is the drawbridge up?” He would make sure his castle was well defended, wound or nay.

“Those were my orders to the men on duty.”

“How many men keep watch on the walls?”

“But a handful.”

’Twas not good. Malcolm burst onto the battlements, the cool night bringing with it the scent of danger. All was chaos as men raced along the walls toward the gatehouse, where their weapons and armor were stored. “With the cover of dark and the distance involved, we must prepare for the worst. Where is Elin?”

“Do you expect her hand in this?” Ian’s voice turned as cold as the night.

Malcolm could not speak ill of the woman who’d saved his life. Nor could he rightly say he thought her a traitor, not after the courage and the heart she’d shown him. “I only know there are those not pleased I was given this barony.”

“Would she betray you to your enemies?”

Other women in his past certainly had without an ounce of regret. And if he drove them to it, well, he was a man not suited to a woman’s clinging needs, and was not surprised by vengeance when the liaison ended. Elin would not prove different in this. “I am not certain of my wife’s loyalties. She knows this castle well. There may be others who—”

“Fie on you, my lord.” Sarcasm dripped in her words, blended with irrational fury. She marched into sight, every footstep punctuated with anger. “You have no reason to suspect me.”

“Elin, you misunderstand.” He could not tear his gaze from the sight of her. “I’ve much to attend to and have no time to spare. To your chamber—”

“This is my castle.” She circled him, all bewitching female and temper. “I would never allow the enemy to step foot inside, do you hear me? Those servants who waited on your men this night are people I have known my entire life. ’Tis my duty as lady of this castle to keep them safe from violence.”

He was beginning to like her temper. “Easy, dove. I apologize for my words.” The breeze shivered through her curls, and his fingers ached to touch those silken tresses. “Women are treacherous creatures, and—”

“Treacherous?” Her temper flared higher. She took a step toward him with a clenched fist. “Woman do not make war like men, or rape or pillage or hurt whomever they please.”

“Women make their own brand of war.” Was she not aware of her power? Of any woman’s power over a man? She gazed up at him, eyes snapping with outrage. He did not think she knew how vulnerable a woman could make a man. “Are women not capable of great hurt and deceit?”

“I am not.”

Moonlight stroked the length of her locks, transforming gold to platinum and gilding her nightdress with silver. The fabric shivered around her slim form, teasing at her womanly curves beneath. She was enchantment and temptation, like the moon goddess of old, and all alluring beauty.

The sights and tension and sounds of impending battle faded. Malcolm could not resist reaching out to touch the radiant bounty of her curls or feel the light upon her hair. She was real and did not fade when his fingers wound through her tresses.

“Do you still think me a traitor?” He saw the tears in her eyes, stubborn and emotional, as she spoke. “I fought beside your men for this keep. Does that not prove my loyalty?”

“A woman’s nature is fickle, dove.” He heard Ian’s shouted commands as he positioned archers along the walls, Giles’s orders to find a way to secure Elin’s secret door. His men did not trust her. Sad the day when le Farouche gave his own complete trust to a female.

“Fickle! I am not fickle. I’m stalwart and—”

“You are emotional. Emotions are unreliable.”

“What kind of person has no emotions?” Her question lingered, and Elin knew the answer as if the night itself had breathed it. “You must have some amount of feelings? Some regrets?”

“None.” He gazed out at the battlements, where his men now wore armor and swords. He looked as bleak as the night. “The last we spoke, you swore to be my enemy.”

“Aye, but I am not an enemy of Evenbough Castle.” How her throat ached. She turned away before foolish sentiments made her cry like a weakling for this man so hard that he could not feel even the goodness of living. “I’ve come to fight.”

“You wear your nightdress.”

“I did not know what the ruckus was about until I climbed the stairs. I can cause much chaos with a crossbow.”

His face hardened. “I cannot allow a woman to fight.”

“Too fickle?”

He passed a hand over his brow, his rigid jaw. Exhaustion made him pale, and the pain did not relent. “Nay. ’Tis just not done. Women are for—”

“I will send a word of warning to the servants and villagers.” She lifted her chin, not certain if he would have her hauled off and locked in her chamber. “I can be warrior enough, as long as I am not forced to kill anyone.”

He shook his head, scattering dark locks across his broad shoulders. Then he chuckled. “Fine. Go see to the servants and villeins. You may cause enough chaos with your crossbow that it will terrify the enemy into submission.”

“Tease all you wish, but you just never know. I am the wife of the fiercest knight in the realm.”

His loins burned for her. How he hungered to ease his lust and ache and loneliness within her sweet body. To set aside duty for the length of time it took to worship the soft curves of her breasts and hips, and to experience that brief flame of passion. He knew she would burn brightly for him. His blood beat a hard rhythm in his chest and groin as he watched her dash away. Aye, how he wanted to forget a lifetime’s regrets.

“The enemy advances.” Ian’s censure weighed down his words. “They are knights. I doubt they are friendly.”

“Only Edward would send men in peace, no other.” Malcolm strode the remaining few yards to the gatehouse and saw the mass of advancing warriors through the protection of crenellated stone. Chain mail glittered wherever light found it. “Where is my squire? I’ll need my armor. I dare not trust this to end peaceably.”

After he’d pulled on chain mail, he surveyed his defenses. His gaze found Elin in the bailey below, pointing at the walls and speaking to Giles as if she were discussing weak points in their defense. A freeman approached and spoke with her, no doubt worried about the chaos beyond the walls.

As if Elin felt Malcolm’s gaze, she looked up. Her face changed, and his heart stopped beating. In that brief moment before Ian spoke to him and drew his attention, he saw the gleam of respect in her eyes.

No matter how she despised him, she trusted him to keep her people safe.

Malcolm oversaw Ian’s orders and approved the choice of defense. He struggled to hide the pain and weakness from his wound. As the army ahead massed at the moat, Malcolm bid his men to prepare, but hold their fire.

He chose a protected spot behind stone and called out to the forces below. “This is Malcolm le Farouche, baron of this castle. Who approaches in the dead of night?”

“I am called Nels the Hawk,” a harsh voice answered. “If le Farouche lives, then that can only mean the Great One is dead.”

“I killed him. Unless you have plans against this castle or the king, I have no argument with you. Leave peaceably and avoid bloodshed.”

“I cannot.” Below, the mercenary nudged his mount closer, so he stood alone at the edge of the moat with his army behind him. “Are there prisoners?”

“We have but one. My men are well-trained warriors and were victorious against your friends.” Malcolm signaled to Ian to double the watch along the walls. “Nels the Hawk, if I release my prisoner to you, will you go?”

“The prisoner is not my only request.”

“Name it.” A cold prickle scraped down his neck. Malcolm nodded to Ian, ready to give the command to fire.

“I was promised a bride,” came the explanation from below. “I paid for the right to the baron’s daughter, Elinore.”

So it was true. The traitor Philip had traded Elin to pay for his channel crossing. Malcolm glanced toward the bailey, but she’d stepped from his sight. Regret felt heavy upon his heart. “Philip was judged a traitor to the crown and his possessions seized. Any bargains he made I will honor.”

“Then send down the girl and our man, and we will leave you in peace.”

Silence gathered when Malcolm did not answer. The night grew tense as the men poised for battle awaited their commands.

Elin eased around the door of the gatehouse tower and saw Malcolm shadowed on the battlements. How tall he stood, and how strong he looked. Only she knew he was too injured to fight. He hung his head in debate. Armored knights surrounded him, swords sheathed at their sides, bows ready.

By the saints, he was going to give her to that horrible Nels. Now was his chance to be rid of a difficult wife. Her fingers dug into stone, her fingernails breaking. She pressed against the wall, afraid the guards would seize her upon sight.

She closed her eyes. She should run. She could escape through the bolt-hole, and none would find her. Not even le Farouche. By the time he finished with this battle, her trail would be cold and she would be safe.

Safe from what? Malcolm had not harmed her or forced her to share his bed and endure painful sexual humiliation. The memory of his kiss still burned like a brand upon her lips. She had tasted the man and knew he was not always fierce.

He wouldn’t trade her now, would he? She heard the whisper of a step behind her and the cold steel of an armored hand upon her arm. The knight forced her onto the battlements, where starlight gleamed on the shoulders of a hundred knights.

When Malcolm’s gaze found hers, she no longer saw the man who’d kissed her, who’d retreated when he could have conquered her. She saw the warrior.

“The woman is mine.” His decision boomed along the battlements with a striking force.

A mean snicker echoed from the yard below. “Have you formed a liking for the wench? Will you try to trade your life for this one, too? Send her down, le Farouche. One female is like another and this one has been promised to me.”

“Are you seeking death?”

“Nay.” Nels’s smirk tainted his words. “Just seeking all that is yours. Beginning with the woman. She is mine, and I want her.”

“Never.” The thought of that villain’s hands upon Elin drove rage into Malcolm’s chest.

She moved close to him, a slim reed on these dangerous battlements. “Do you know him?”

“Nels is banished from this land, yet he dares to step foot upon English soil to take you as his.” Malcolm hardened his heart, but the hot protective rage still burned.

She approached the crenellated wall with careful steps, her slim body held stiff with fear. She gazed down on the army below and quickly stepped back. The squire’s clothing she now wore only accented her frailty and how easily crushed she would be in the wrong man’s hands. “I know him.”

“She admits her deceit!” Ian grabbed her hard against his chest, sword drawn and gleaming.

“Ian.” Malcolm caught his commander by the arm. “Hold your sword. She’s but a woman.”

“I am no betrayer.” Elin fought her way out of Ian’s grip. “That man visited with Father several times. I saw him only from a distance, but I know him on sight. This man must have plotted with my father against Edward.”

“Were there others?” Malcolm’s demand rang along rock and stone and in the hollow chambers of his heart. “I would have the truth, dove.”

Only honesty lit her face as she laid her hand upon his mailed fist. “Father had many visitors, and I kept my distance from them. When you locate all of Evenbough’s knights who’ve disappeared, then mayhap they could tell you more.”

Malcolm gently brushed his gauntleted hand across her cheek. She was not so bad a wife.

“Le Farouche, send down the woman. And tell me how fares my man in your dungeons.”

Malcolm heard the mocking in the mercenary’s voice and tasted the danger. He’d defended many a baron’s castle when Edward had ordered it, and experience had taught him well. He spied the silent movement of a few fighters below.

Hadn’t Ian noticed? The enemy was busily snaking around the castle under the cloak of darkness, looking for a way over the walls. “Elin, take Giles and twenty of my men and show them every entrance into the castle, even the ones you don’t wish to show me.”

“I already did.”

But a single shout of alarm from below proved it was too late.

“The bolt-hole!” There was no mistaking the terror in her eyes. She’d not betrayed them.

Malcolm grabbed a bow and quiver from his squire and shouted commands. “Chayne, lead the squires in loading. We’ll take these foul swine with arrows, for we cannot leave the walls unattended. Giles, lead the defense at the postern gate.”

He sighted a mercenary skulking in the bailey below and let an arrow fly. Malcolm watched the enemy tumble to the ground, only to be replaced by another.

“Raymond, they plan to take the gatehouse.” Malcolm felled another fighter with a well-placed arrow, then saw who knelt beside him, struggling with the bow. “Elin, battle is no place for a woman. Run while you can and lock yourself in the keep.”

“I want to make certain you do not hand me over to that Nels.”

“Then aid Chayne in loading my arrows.” Better to have her behind him where he could keep her safe. His squire handed him a ready bow, and he fired. “Lulach, look over the wall and tell me why they’ve not begun a frontal attack.”

“By the rood! Another force approaches.” The seasoned knight lowered his weapon and stared over the ramparts.

Malcolm rose to do the same. The shades of night revealed armed men advancing from the cover of the forest and fanning out to challenge the army at the walls.

He could not believe his eyes. “It must be Philip’s men.”

“Evenbough’s knights have returned.” Elin’s pleasure held the luster of starlight. “I feared they were dead.”

“Look, more men on horseback approach. ’Tis Justus and Orson.” Malcolm set down his bow. “The battle is won. Let us round up our prisoners and prepare to deliver these traitors to Edward.”

Malcolm saw the freemen and knights take the last of the invaders, and peace reigned. Peace. He’d fought long and hard and had never felt this before, the calm and quiet that could fill a man’s soul.

“Tell me, Malcolm. Why did you not give me to Nels?” Elin laid her hand on his arm, and her gentle touch warmed him even through the hard links of steel.

His chest ached looking at her. Her hair rippled with the touch of the night wind, and even the squire’s clothing could not hide her beauty.

“I would not have given you to anyone. You are mine, dove.” He laid his hand along her cheek, just to touch her, and she smiled at him. Truly smiled.

His heart stopped beating, and for once he wished he was not Malcolm the Fierce, but just a man, any man, so that he could give in to the need to hold her.

You are mine, dove. She hated his claim on her life and body. Worse, she hated the unnatural way her blood heated and her heartbeat quickened whenever she saw him.

His words lingered in her mind as she patched up a few minor wounds the knights had sustained. Then, when she aided Florie serving wine and food, she found her husband seated in the great hall. He looked weary and pale as he accepted the oaths of fealty from the displaced knights who had once served her father. By the sound of it, the knights were honored now to fight for the great le Farouche.

“See how he watches you.” Florie unloaded a tray of food left over from the evening’s feast. “See? He just looked away.”

“He fears I’ll betray him. Or try to escape.”

Florie laughed. “’Tis a wicked sense of humor you have, deary. Even with a wound great enough to put a lesser man to his death, our lord commanded the defense of our castle and saved us all. And you hold the honor of being his wife.”

Elin dropped the tray of smoked salmon on the table and watched a handful of hungry squires descend upon it. Aye, she was Malcolm’s wife, and that both frightened her and excited her. He’d appeared so invincible on the battlements, she feared how he could dominate her life. What could she do to protect herself? Her sharp tongue did not frighten him. Her skill with weapons did not alarm him. Only her kiss had driven distance between them.

She caught sight of several of the women her father allowed in the castle, the ones who slept near the knights quarters in the gatehouse. One woman was a great beauty and couldn’t take her gaze from Malcolm, who spoke earnestly to a warrior kneeling before him.

Well, let the wench pleasure him. He could have her, and all the women he wished. Elin didn’t care. He did not look for her in the crowded hall, no matter what Florie said. It was as if he purposefully looked the other way, as if the mere sight of her reminded him of her repulsive kiss.

It didn’t hurt her feelings, she told herself as she headed back down to the kitchen, where Florie’s husband was waiting. She saw how sweetly the old man greeted his wife with a hug and tender words, and her throat ached. It did not matter if Malcolm would never greet her like that. She would never desire such treatment from a man. She did not pine for tenderness from her husband.

When she next entered the hall, Elin’s gaze found Malcolm again. But Florie was wrong. He did not look for her in the crowd.

“Elin.” ’Twas his voice and his limping step in the corridor.

She turned, surprised to see no silk-clad wench clinging to his arm. “’Twas good of you to accept Father’s men.”

“They aided us out of their own free will, without promises already made.” How exhausted he looked, with bruises beneath his eyes and lines dug deep into his rugged face. “It seems only fair to give them a chance to prove their loyalty.”

She avoided his gaze. “Good night.”

“Elin.” He stopped her with a touch to her shoulder, a touch that scorched like flame. “I’m not used to a woman who helps in battle, and then aids the servants with the food.”

“Florie was too old and tired to do it herself.”

“You are attached to the woman.”

Was that tenderness she heard? From Malcolm le Farouche? “Both Alma and Florie looked after me when my mother died. Aside from my brother, there was no one to protect me.”

Just as there is no one now. She spun away, knowing her feelings showed on her face. She probably looked like a fool to him, a sentimental woman with fickle feelings. Well, fie on him! He didn’t like her kisses, so he might as well just leave. She grabbed hold of her door and shut it.

His hand flew out, keeping the door open. Light flickered across the breadth of his shoulders and chest. His eyes were dark and pinched, filled with pain. “Elin, I need a new bandage.”

“Oh.” She released the door and bowed her head. She’d treated every other injured man this night, but not Malcolm. He had avoided her. Now she held her heart quiet and tried not to feel any warmth for this man. “Are you bleeding?”

“I want you to see.”

She snatched the basket of herbs from the floor and followed him down the corridor. His solar was warm from the crackling fire in the hearth, but only a single taper gave light to the room.

Malcolm shrugged off his hauberk and let the quilted fabric hit the floor at the foot of the bed. Her gaze became riveted to the burnished plane of his chest and abdomen, then lower. The chausses stretched tight over his groin could not hide his state of arousal.

A very obvious arousal. She swallowed, not at all sure what to think or feel. Panic trembled in her limbs, but she could not force her gaze away.

He sat on a stool near the light. “Do I bleed?”

“Nay.” She’d not noticed the bandage until now, so intently did she study that part of him straining against dark fabric.

Hands trembling, she knelt down and untied the bandage. It came away clean, without blood or seepage. The wound looked puffy, but it was healing. She smeared a thick layer of salve and sprinkled marigold and bartwart on the wound, then rolled a fresh length of cloth over it. “Unbelievable. The wound is healing well enough, but you need rest.”

“I shall take to my bed shortly.” He stood, kicking away the stool.

The clatter of wood upon stone frightened her. But when she saw the look in his eyes, all fear fled. No harshness or anger shone, but a truth so bright it hurt. He was sheer strength and honor. He would not hurt her. He had never truly hurt her. She saw the hard furrow between his brows and laid a hand to his shoulder. “What is amiss?”

Malcolm’s face twisted, and his voice was filled with true concern. “’Tis my belief that Edward’s life is in danger. His cousin’s murder is just the start of it.”

“Why would you tell me this? Because it was my father who killed her?”

“Do you believe that?” His gaze pinned hers.

She remembered the ruthless treatment of the serving maids, of their cries and tears when Father would trap them in the corridor or the great hall, finding pleasure in their hurt and shame. “I believe him capable. I believe many men capable.”

“’Twas not what I asked.”

“Aye. He was my father, and I cannot help regretting his death.” She sank to the window seat, where only shadows reigned. “I believe he was capable of taking the woman’s life.”

“I think your father did not plot alone.”

“Caradoc?”

Malcolm sat beside her, his bare shoulder and hard thigh immovable stone against hers. “The king does not completely believe it, but ’tis one reason why he gave me this barony.”

“Edward gave you the wealth you desired.”

“Nay. ’Tis my duty to protect my king. I’m no baron and will never be, but Edward’s protector. Still. ’Tis the only reason I accepted your father’s title.”

“To watch Caradoc?”

“Aye. I have eyes and see what Edward cannot quite accept. Someone he trusts, and not just Caradoc, wants his throne.”

How her skin tingled where they touched. She tried to ignore it, but couldn’t. “You’ve protected Edward a long while.”

“Aye.” His face softened, and now there was no trace of the warrior. “I have no family who would claim me. Except for you, I am alone in this world. My mother was English born and returned to her family before she died. I earned my sword and fought for a small earl, hired for naught more than a roof over my head and food to eat. But the king had need of men, and the earl sent me to fight. During practice, I defeated every one of Edward’s knights. I earned my place, and when I saved his life during a hunt, he made me his commander.”

Her chest filled with feeling. “You love your king.”

“Aye.” Malcolm bowed his head, and dark locks tumbled across his brow. “He is the brother I never had, and the price of his life was worth all I suffered.”

“In the Outremer.” She could see it, the shining knight Malcolm must have been, strong and young, with a power that rivaled all in the land. But she could see the harshness in him. And she remembered what Justus had told her of his capture. “That is where you received those scars on your back.”

“Many of them. And the rest as a slave in the desert.”

She hung her head. What had this man endured? Of what depth of loyalty was he capable? What was the breadth of his heart that he would trade his own for the life of another?

She was ashamed that she’d hated him so much. He was just so mighty and fierce, hewn of twilight and shadow, and he frightened her. And fascinated her, too.

“I need your help, Elin.” He leaned his elbows on his massive knees and studied her, speculative lines etched into a hard face touched by too much sun and pain. “’Tis not my life that concerns me overmuch, but I am Edward’s greatest ally.”

“You are still his protector.”

“To my last breath.” He bowed his head and studied his hands, callused and battle scarred. “How did the mercenaries get inside the walls? You said the bolt-hole.”

Surely he did not still suspect her after all this? Her heart wrenched, but she answered his question. “It is in the wine cellar. There is a shallow door in the wall, where some spices are stored. If you look behind the shelves, there is another door.”

“Who knows of it?”

“I think only Father and I did. Not even Brock knew, and he was the commander of my father’s garrison.”

“I’ll tell Ian.” He rose and strode from the room, leaving her alone in the shadows. He was gone a long while.

Since the first day she’d scared her father off with the sharp end of her sword, Elin knew she’d never again be victim to a man’s dominance. Never again let him have control over her life.

She’d not forgotten it was Malcolm who’d chained her in the dark recesses of the king’s towers, who’d left her alone, terrified of the vermin and cold and death.

And yet she knew now he was not a cruel man.

You are mine, dove.

His steps drummed in the corridor, uneven and weary, announcing his return. She looked up as he broke through the darkness and into the solar, where light and shadow met.

Surprise softened his warrior’s face. “You stayed.”

“Aye.” She stood, not afraid and not unafraid. “I’ve not changed the bandage on your arm.”

“’Tis fine.” He held out his hand, palm up. “It grows late. It has been another busy night.”

“Life is not uneventful around you, Malcolm.” She stood and laid her hand in his. Her fingers burned with his heat.

A dimple quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Trouble often follows me. But you, Lady Elinore of Evenbough, have been a handful of trouble.”

While he meant to jest, his voice rang low and neither of them chuckled. Her hand on his felt weightless, yet as substantial as fire. Her small fingers curled around his greater ones with need.

Shadow played upon her face and painted her angelic beauty with a rare light. Her eyes shone luminous, like the richest of gems, and they drew his greedy gaze and held it. He no longer saw the rebellious girl, but a young woman of tenderness and heart.

She needed a landed gentleman, a titled son of a wealthy man who’d known only leisure. Who had not faced his greatest demons and lost. Who had not seen all he believed in destroyed. Who was not so hard that love would never grow in his heart.

Malcolm was wrong for her, and yet he wanted her. He looked at her body, and his blood thickened. A woman in chausses was a sight to behold—a luxury of lean, curving thigh and hip. It made him iron hard.

The tip of her tongue flicked over the bountiful curve of her lower lip, now damp. Fire raked through him, a thousand points of torture and need that made him shake with want. His fingers caught the hem of her tunic. When he tugged it up over the span of her stomach and chest, he saw the flash of creamy skin and the perfection of her breasts.

How he wanted her. He tossed the garment to the floor. Fierce with need, he knelt before her, his gaze drinking in the loveliness of her full breasts and pearled nipples.

Flame scorched his veins and made his shaft pulse and ache. He pulled down her hose, revealing a smooth belly and pale thatch of hair, creamy thighs and legs so sculpted he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from bringing her hard against his hips.

She would be both soft and tight, fire and sweetness, virgin and goddess. She smelled of spice and sweet apples, like passion and heat. He leaned his brow against the curve of her stomach. He tugged off his own chausses, and his aching shaft sprang free.

He placed his trembling hands on her hips. A need so great rolled through him it was like a wave battering the shore. It dragged him under so that he couldn’t breathe, and then there was only this raging need and this beautiful woman.

He stood and caught her mouth with his, intent on taking her under with him, where passion and breath mingled. Her lips blazed against his, laving him with a searing sensation that drove him further. He caught her up in his arms and settled her at his hips.

He held her, cradling the back of her thighs as her magnificent legs wrapped around him. She clung to him, his erection trapped intimately between them. He felt her velvet heat moist against his shaft and wanted her so much he quaked.

But as he carried her to the bed, her shallow and rapid breathing dragged him to the surface, where logic reigned. If she was aroused by him, it was nothing compared to her fear.

He laid her on the bed. He could not look at her or he would take her, so great was his need. Not just for a woman, but for Elin. He needed her brightness, her softness, her sanctuary.

He stood at the window a long while, but his blood did not cool and his heartbeat did not slow. Need hammered and pulsed, and he could think of little else but the woman naked and vulnerable on his bed, and how it would feel to lose himself within her.

When he heard her sobs, quiet and sorrowful, he grabbed his clothes and left the solar. He did not glance at her, for his control was tenuous. Calling himself a fool, he closed the door behind him. For once he was grateful for the dark.

Chapter Eleven

She heard footsteps outside the solar door. She pulled the fur to her chin. It was not Malcolm returning. She knew he did not desire her, and that humiliation was worse than the sexual act she feared.

The hinges whispered open and Ian stood on the threshold. “Lady Elin? Lord Malcolm leaves at first light. He’s bid you to come.” A note of distaste soured the commander’s voice. “Do as he orders, for he’ll not wait.”

The cold cloak around her heart remained. She climbed out of bed and shivered in the cool air. Why had Malcolm left her last night on his bed, breathless both with fear and a strange excitement? And now, when he had a chance to be rid of her, invited her to go with him?

She packed quickly, then dressed for the trip. She chose an unadorned kirtle and tugged on the borrowed chausses beneath it. She pulled her hair back with a length of ribbon and then buckled the sword at her hip. She found a dagger and wore that, too, hidden beneath her wool riding mantle. She grabbed her sack and hurried to the bailey, where already the men gathered.

Malcolm was avoiding her. She did not find him in the yard directing his men or in the stable where horses were being saddled.

“’Tis a dangerous thing, escorting fifty prisoners,” one stable boy said to another. “Lord Malcolm said I might journey with them and take care of the horses. My mother cried, thinking I’d be run through if the prisoners escaped.”

“Lord Malcolm is the finest of knights. None shall escape his guard,” the youth answered.

Elin heard a sharp welcoming whinny and tugged the apple from her pocket. The sorrel mare snatched the treat from Elin’s palm without even a hello. “Has been a long time, Blaze.” She rubbed the white streak down the middle of the horse’s pretty nose. “Did you miss me?”

The horse, the treat consumed, pressed her nose against Elin’s hand, inviting more caresses. Her heart warmed. Blaze had been Peter’s gift for her birthday five years ago. A fine blooded mare, and powerful, Blaze would have no trouble keeping up with the warhorses. Elin grabbed Peter’s old saddle and cinched it on. She led the mare out into the bailey, unnoticed in the fray.

It wasn’t until she mounted up that she spotted Malcolm leading the prisoners, ringed by fierce knights, toward the outer bailey. Even on horseback he towered above the others. His dark locks tangled in the wind, rakish and untamed. He emanated power and authority, but he looked pale. Far too pale.

“Lady Elin?” Justus galloped to her side. “Malcolm wishes you to stay with me. I’ll be riding postern, and mayhap you can help me watch for a rear ambush. I packed an extra crossbow with the arms. Just in case.” He winked, but he did not tease.

She pressed Blaze into a slow trot as the squires, horse boys and knights fell in line. “This is a dangerous journey.”

“Aye, and no place for a lady, as others argue. But ’tis my opinion Malcolm could not bear to leave you behind.”

She remembered how Malcolm had abandoned her on the bed last night. How he’d turned his back to her then and kept from her presence now. “’Tis because he fears I am a better warrior and might lock him out of his own castle when he tries to return.”

“I heard that, Elin.” Malcolm’s voice rang out above the clomp of hooves and the musical jingle of chain mail.

Her heart constricted. He did not look happy to see her. His jaw appeared to be clenched tight, his brows tugged together in a frown. His gaze slid over her, as if she were unimportant.

“From this point on there will be silence. That includes you, dove.” Malcolm spun his destrier toward the front gate.

She could not help her flash of anger. “See? ’Tis his fear,” she whispered to Justus.

The knight smothered a chuckle. She looked up into Malcolm’s gaze. She read censure there and something she could not name. Longing speared through her heart. She wished she did not repulse him. She would enjoy riding at his side. But it was not to be.

Malcolm drove his men and prisoners hard. They’d not stopped, despite the storm, but rode straight through, their journey lengthened by the inclement weather. It grew harder and harder to hide his exhaustion and the pain that worsened instead of fading.

As rain again fell, toward the last of their journey, he held his destrier back to check the prisoners chained upon their mounts. His knights silently endured the hard ride and kept a good vigil. He caught sight of Justus and Elin riding postern. Elin’s hood cloaked much of her face, but his chest ached at the sight.

He did his best to avoid her through the length of the trip. He truly wanted her to check his wound, but that meant being near her and feeling her touch upon his skin. By the Book, he did not think he could restrain his base urges if she brushed her feather-soft fingers against him one more time. The image of her naked and vulnerable beat in his blood. Aye, it was best to keep distance between them.

“This journey has been a hard one, but no one attempted to ambush us on the road.” Ian rode close, exhaustion bruising his face. “What think you of that?”

“We were watched. I felt it.”

“But not attacked?”

“Nay. We number two hundred knights. And two of the best in the land, you and me. But I had the squires check the prisoners’ chains often, nonetheless.”

The roads through the city were quiet and the guards at the gates came running, ready to take charge of the prisoners. Glad that burden was off his shoulders, Malcolm rubbed the rain from his eyes. Stable boys ran to take the horses, and he dismounted.

“A private chamber in the south tower awaits you, Lord Malcolm.” Irwin greeted him at the door and summoned a page to lead the way. “’Tis good to have you here again. And your lady.”

Elin. He saw her at Justus’s side. She tromped through the rain without a care for her skirts or hair. The wind battered her mantle against her slender body, accenting the curves of her breasts and hips. Simply looking at her made his blood thrum. ’Twas not a good thing. “Irwin, I must see Edward. Escort Lady Elinore to my chamber and see her taken care of. My thanks.”

He said not a word to her as he strode away, ordering the men to their tasks. Weakness and pain gripped him and he ached for her soothing touch, but he did not want anyone to know how ill he truly was. When this was over, when all was safe, he would rest. But for now, danger fell like the rain from the sky. He would not sleep and he would not stop until he knew Elin and Edward were safe.

“Where is my husband?” she demanded of the polite Irwin, who’d sent a boy to show her to a luxurious chamber. “I need to speak with him. ’Tis urgent.”

“He’s speaking with the king and they cannot be disturbed. I’ll send up a meal and a hot bath.” He spoke as if she were a child, easily pleased by distractions.

“By the saints! I watched my husband grow paler throughout this trip to the king. Edward could have sent his own army to take the prisoners. He could have spared Malcolm the journey.”

“He’s no weakling, lady. Be content with your bath.”

She stormed back up the stairs. Anger and concern tore at her. Malcolm had refused to even look at her during the trip. He’d ridden with a commanding authority, but she recognized the pale tint to his face and the silent wince when his wound pained him.

His injury was not healing. There was no fever yet, but she would have a look at that wound ere midnight passed. There were no more dangerous prisoners to guard or ambushes to watch for upon the road. They were safe, and it was time for Malcolm to rest and heal.

Sleepy-eyed serving girls arrived with a tub and buckets of steaming water. Elin didn’t want a bath, she wanted Malcolm. She could not halt the growing fear that he would not join her this night. Or any other. Shame settled in her heart, and she picked at the sweet smoked cod on a trencher a serving girl had brought. She had no real appetite.

The sight of her repulsed Malcolm. She told herself a thousand times that it did not matter. That she did not care. Let him hate her. She didn’t want him anyway. But her heart twisted, and she knew she lied.

“Lady Elinore? I’m Jonna.” A petite servant dressed in finery befitting a queen’s maid bobbed a polite curtsy. “It is my privilege to serve you.”

“’Tis late, Jonna.” Elin stood, muscles aching from that hard ride. “I appreciate your service, but truly, I can manage my own bath. Please, return to your bed.”

“’Twould not be right.” The young woman looked truly distressed. “You are a baroness.”

There was something startling and familiar about the serving girl, but Elin could not place it. “I promise Irwin will never know.”

“As you wish. I’ve set out fresh linens and soaps, and scented the water. I’ll be just outside the door if you need aught. Just tell me.” The young woman offered a shy smile that flashed in eyes an unearthly black. “I’ve heard of the wedding. How romantic it must have been, Malcolm marrying you and saving your life.”

Elin recognized that shade of black. “You have my husband’s eyes.”

“I am his sister.” She blushed, and her dark locks fell across her brow.

“He said he had no family.”

“We share the same father, and did not even live in the same village. He was a great knight for the king when my mother died from an attack on our village. Malcolm heard of it and had me brought here to serve the queen.”

Why did he not claim his sister? Troubled, Elin escorted the maid to the door. “Truly, Jonna, return to your bed. Malcolm’s sister should not wait upon his wife.”

“But my duty—”

“I can handle Irwin.”

Even Jonna’s smile was like Malcolm’s, hesitant and slow. She hurried off, her gait uneven, quickly lost in the shadows of the corridor.

Malcolm had said he was alone. Did that mean he did not care for his sister? Or that he did not want the ties of a family? Elin undressed, slipped into the steaming bath and closed her eyes. How the water eased the ache from muscles tired of riding and cold from the damp spring rains. But the warmth didn’t ease the worry in her heart.

The door was thrust open and she spun around. Water sloshed over the lip of the wooden tub. Air wedged hard in her chest, and a brief panic gripped her, until she recognized the man towering on the threshold, caught in the haze of shadow and light.

“Malcolm, you about scared me to death.” Water sloshed again as she sank back into the tub. “I have no weapon for defense. That Irwin took my sword and dagger before he’d let me into the castle.”

A slow smile curved one side of Malcolm’s mouth. “A wise move.”

“How is your wound?” She blurted out her concern just like that. Why did she expect him to grab the trencher left for him and flee from her sight? She feared that her feelings showed. She cleared her throat, determined to hide them. “It could be festering.”

“’Tis healing. It itches beneath my armor and has been driving me mad.” He unbuckled his sword. “You tended it well. I saw Hugh. He’s regaining his strength.”

“I’m glad to know that.” Pleasure nudged away some of the hurt in her chest. She had hated leaving Hugh at the inn. She’d known he would live, with Alma to tend him.

Without another word, Malcolm turned his back to her and tugged off his heavy steeled hauberk.

Elin stared down at herself in the water. How small he made her feel, like a reed caught in a strong wind. Mayhap he would be less distant to her if she were dressed. The last time they were alone together, her nakedness had driven him from the chamber. She stood and reached for the linen toweling, and the water sloshed.

Malcolm spun at the sound. He stared at her, eyes wide, as she froze half in and half out of the tub. She felt his gaze like a flame, licking down the curve of her throat and across the rise of her breasts. A flame that left scorching heat across the line of her stomach and the length of her thighs.

In truth, he did not look repulsed. His eyes sizzled with darkness, his mouth slackened, his hands fisted. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. He wore his chausses only, and she saw the great bulge of his shaft.

She clutched the linen to her. “I should have warned you that I was done with my bath.”

“I heard the water and thought you fell.” He screwed his eyes shut and a muscle worked in his jaw. Like the night of the siege, every tendon strained in his body.

She watched him stride to the window and throw open the shutters. His back to her, he stood for a long moment. Heart wrenching, she slipped into a shift. She gathered her courage and dared to approach. “Do you find me repulsive?”

“What?”

She took a breath for courage. “When you see me naked, you walk away. The sight of me does not please you.”

His head hung. He glanced at the bed. “I’ll not sleep here. I should not have come.”

She knew he did not want her. It was hard to believe there was a time when she would have rejoiced at that thought. Now it saddened her and made her feel unworthy. “Is this where you lived when you served Edward?”

“Nay, I had a small cell in the tower with the other knights. I slept there now and again.” He remained at the window, arms braced wide on the stone wall. “Mostly I slept on the floor outside Edward’s door.”

“You?”

“Aye. When there were certain dangers to him.”

How tired he sounded. Not just exhausted from no sleep and hard days, but weary down deep in his soul. She dared to lay her hand on his arm. “Will you sleep there tonight?”

“Nay, another good and trustworthy knight stands guard.”

“What? There is another good and trustworthy knight in this land? I have met many knights and found them all to be vile scoundrels. Except for the one I agreed to marry.”

“It was marriage to me or death.”

How she hurt inside. How she wanted his approval. “Still, I chose you.”

“Over Caradoc, a suspected wife killer.” A tiny smile tugged at that down-turned mouth.

“Aye, but you professed your love for me to Edward in his chamber, and that is why he decreed our marriage.” She laughed. “’Tis what the handmaiden told me.”

“Makes a pretty tale.”

If only it were true. This honorable man had saved her from a traitor’s death, kept her safe from Caradoc and Nels, fought a fearsome enemy for her castle, and never once harmed her in word or deed.

“You tremble, my lord.”

“I am not your lord.” He sank to the window seat.

“You are my husband. What should I call you?” Did he not think himself worthy? Could he not see how great he was? “I have a private name for you, but I doubt you want me to address you that way.”

“Let me guess. Sir Cowardly Knight.”

“Aye. I once thought it fitting.”

He faced her, his gaze shimmering with a strange tenderness. “Not now?”

“You are not the coward I’d hoped for.”

“Fie, but you make me laugh.” Starlight dusted him so that he was more shadow than darkness. “You make me feel.”

“You mean I cause you pain?” Sadness swelled behind her breastbone. “Because I am sharp-tongued and do not simper?”

“Nay. I’ve been coldhearted so long, is all.”

“From the Outremer.” The words whispered across her lips. His sadness weighed as deep as the night and felt as endless. “That time is past, Malcolm.”

“Nay, I shall always carry it inside me.” He bowed his head and dark locks tumbled over his brow.

His pain wrapped around her, thick and choking. Tears beat behind her eyes, and it took all her courage, but she stepped between his parted knees. He did not look repulsed as his steely arms pulled her hard against him. He buried his face in her breasts and held her. Simply held her.

He seemed to resonate regret and despair, and her heart ached. How she wished to do something for him. To take away this piece of his pain and this brand of his darkness. She cupped her fingers around the back of his neck. She held him and did not let go.

“By the rood, but you make me feel.” He lifted his head and loosened his hold. “When I never thought I could again.”

How anguished he sounded. “Tell me what you need, Malcolm. Name aught, and I will do it.”

“You know what I need.”

“Aye.” She shook with the fear of it, but covered that fear with teasing. “’Tis a terrible thing, being close to you, but I shall endure it. The handmaiden said we are in love.”

His chuckle vibrated from his chest to hers. “You make me laugh and feel and live. What am I to do with you?”

“I know not, but pray, do not consider the dungeon.”

That dimple flashed in his cheek as he gave her a smile, slow and lopsided. “You know a way out through the bolt-hole. ’Twould be unwise to leave you there.”

“Then what will you do with me?”

His eyes grew black like midnight and mysterious like shadows. She ran her hands along the line of his shoulders. Muscles steeled beneath her fingertips. Want mingled in her blood. This desire for him was both frightening and exhilarating.

He caught the tie at her waist. Her shift parted to allow a glimpse of her naked breasts. Uncertainty fluttered in her chest as she waited, but he did not touch her. A muscle worked in his clenched jaw, as if he were fighting from within. As if, like a drowning man, he dared not hope to find the shore.

No one in her life had ever needed her. And now this man did. Malcolm with a strength greater than all in the land—he needed her. His chest rose and fell in quick breaths. Want and need darkened his eyes and drummed in his pulse. But he did not reach out.

She pressed him to her bared breasts. He leaned against her with an anguished sigh. She felt the silk of his hair and the roughness of his stubbled jaw, the fan of his breath and then the heat of his tongue. He laved gently, exploring the valley of her breasts. Then his mouth descended hard upon a nipple and suckled with such force her knees buckled.

His big hands clasped the backs of her thighs and kept her from falling. He lifted her onto his lap and straddled her over his erection. She felt his hard shaft nestle against the cradle of her inner thighs. He tugged at his chausses, and soon no fabric separated them. He was all thick stone and jutting heat pressed against her thighs and stomach.

“How I thirst for you.” His hands nudged the linen wrap from her shoulders. They were flesh to flesh. His erection pulsed against her. His fingers smoothed over the curves of her shoulders and down her arms, then up again in a wondrous wash of sensation. It fired her blood and left her aching for more.

“Tell me, Elin. Do you truly want this?”

A strange excitement pulsed within her. He needed her now and in this way. And she would not deny him. Not if it might ease some of his anguish. “I do.”

“By the saints, you make me ache.” His low voice rumbled over the damp peaks of her breasts, still pebbled from his suckling. His thumbs brushed her nipples, circling and teasing.

A band of pleasure stretched from her breasts to the apex of her thighs. The pleasure shimmered like sunlight on water, bright and captivating. “Malcolm, you make me ache, too.”

“Already? I’ve only begun to torture you.” His hands spanned her breasts, kneading them. “Is this not torture?”

His wondrous touch swept over her aching breasts, then down her ribs and over her stomach. His caress lingered there, both demanding and sensuous. Her womb beneath his touch jumped again and again.

Then his fingers grew bold and stroked through her thatch of curls. He found a place that made brightness burst behind her eyes when he touched it.

“See?” he murmured. “Torture.”

“’Tis terrible to endure.” She moaned in pleasure and arched into his hand.

Control snapped. Need quaked through her limbs and tore away the last bit of fear. Want drove her, and Malcolm’s hands gripped her hips. He shook with this same need for completion. Without a word, he eased her over the head of his straining shaft.

The first touch of his hardness against her snapped her spine taut. A quick flicker of fear twisted through her, but only a flicker. He pressed a kiss to her brow and drew her down the length of him. Sweet heaven, but he was fire hot and iron hard, and he filled and stretched her in one long thrust. She felt a snap of pain that evaporated as quickly as it came.

Then she felt a thrilling sensation that burned hotter and brighter. Air tore from her throat. She shivered, awash with so much feeling she did not think she could stand it. Malcolm’s hands on her hips guided her. He showed her how to set a rhythm that made their pleasure build.

“Am I hurting you, dove?”

“If pleasure hurts, aye.”

Malcolm drove into her again and again. She cried out, head bobbing forward, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She clung and met him thrust for thrust. She was a pleasure he could not have enough of, a fire that burned and raged. Buried to the hilt within her gloving tightness, he could not maintain his control.

Release tore through him, and he raged against it. He did not want this to end, but her muscles drew tighter around him. He fought, but her ripples and cries of release crashed through him, like a mighty wave against the shore, and took them both under. He roared with rage, but still he could not hold back the searing pleasure and the pulse of his seed.

He opened his eyes. Starshine dusted through the window to gleam upon her, naked and still impaled upon him. She was beyond beauty. Her mouth smiled with contentment. Her face and chest were flushed. Looking sated, she pressed a kiss to his mouth, then wrapped her arms around his neck. How tightly she held him and how trustingly.

Guilt twisted through him. He’d taken her for his own needs. He’d stolen her innocence. Jaw locked, he buried his face in the curve of her shoulder and simply held on to her.

She moved on his still-hardened shaft, and he caught her thighs to stop her. “Nay, dove. I’ve taken enough from you.”

“Not enough. Love me again, Malcolm. Please.”

How she could make him vulnerable with that husky need in her voice! He would hand over his life to hear it again. “As you wish.”

She smiled, then groaned in pleasure as he drove into her, hilt deep. She held him tight and met his vigorous thrusts. He rocked hard and fast, losing himself again in her bright passion and untamed fire.

The new moon’s darkness sketched the room in black and kept Elin from slumber. Malcolm slept with his head pillowed between her breasts and his body hard and heavy over hers.

She stroked her fingers through his hair lightly, so she would not wake him. How vulnerable he was in his sleep, his substantial body relaxed, his powerful muscles slack. It awed her how much he trusted her, to sleep like this without a thought to his safety.

She pressed a kiss to his brow and felt his heat. Why had she not noticed it before? Malcolm burned with fever; ’twas why he slept. Not because of a bond or a new trust. He was ill.

Why hadn’t he told her? He’d climbed from his bed too early to heal the wound properly, and had gone without sleep. The trip to London had been rainy and cold, and he’d looked more pale every step of the way. Yet he’d denied it and spurned her care.

She slid out from beneath him, careful not to disturb his slumber. A tenderness burned within as she laid him gently on the mattress. ’Twas sweet caring for a man. He was so big and yet helpless, too.

She lit a candle to guide her steps across the room. Chilled, she grabbed her nightdress and her small supply of herbs from her bags. She tested the heat of the water in the basin. Tepid. Not good enough.

She left the chamber and nearly tripped over a body. The shadow shouted and rose, a sword gleaming in the darkness.

“Giles!” She caught his hand.

“By the saints, you startled me. I thought you were a murderer.” He lowered his weapon.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

“Edward commanded it. With Rees dead and only some of his conspirators caught, he thought it best. I agree. How fares Malcolm?”

Elin lowered her voice. “His wound has festered.”

“Nay, it cannot be.” Distress rose in Giles’s voice. “He made the journey without complaint or a hint of weakness.”

“Would you expect him to show weakness? I need boiling water to tend him. Please, run and order it.” She heard the beginning to his protest and silenced it. “I have both a sword and dagger within the chamber. I’ll not let a murderer harm him while he sleeps.”

“You were capable enough to save my life, and I’ve not forgotten. I shall leave only long enough to find a servant for the task.”

“You’re one of my favorite knights, Giles. Thank you.” She dashed inside and barred the door.

A shadow moved on the bed. Malcolm, awake, struggled to sit. “You wear me out and then go in search of another man.”

She heard both the jest in his voice and the seriousness. “Why would I bother? Naught could compare to the great le Farouche. You ought to be sleeping.”

“I heard the door open and Giles draw his sword.” Malcolm reached out. “Come to bed.”

She sat on the edge of the mattress and laid a hand to his brow. How feverish he felt. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Sleepy. Let me hold you.”

“You, sir, are a liar. And here I thought you were honorable.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and an ache built behind her breastbone. “Move from that bed and I’ll take up my sword to stop you.”

His chuckle warmed like fire. “’Tis across the room.”

“Aye, but I run fast.” She stood to light a candle, and the weak light from the new flame flickered along Malcolm’s wide back. The wound remained red and swollen, although the skin was healed over. Fear drummed with every heartbeat. “You should have allowed me to tend this.”

“Forget the injury, Elin. I am well enough.” He rolled onto his back. “If you do not wish to sleep, then we can—”

If she were blind, she couldn’t miss the sight of his jutting hardness. Her body responded with a heavy twist of desire, but she refused to give in to it. He needed a different kind of care from her now. “Behave, le Farouche, because we will not be alone for long.”

“What have you done?”

“I’m disobedient. ’Tis my way.” She tossed a sheet over him, although all it did was form a tent over his erection. “A serving girl will soon arrive with boiling water. Whether you like it or not, Fierce One, I am going to take care of this wound. And if you argue, I’ll fetch Giles and Justus and Ian to hold you down.”

“Elin, I need no care.” How dark his eyes, sincere with belief.

She laid a hand to his jaw and rubbed her thumb over the dark stubble there. His hand trapped hers, harsh fingers banding around her wrist. He was a man who had served others all his life. And who had served her from the moment he’d been proclaimed her husband. Was it so hard for him to need?

“’Tis time to put down your weapons, Malcolm. There’s no one here to protect. Just close your eyes.” She pressed a kiss to his fevered brow. “And let me care for you.”

He turned away as if she’d shamed him, his body rigid. Tendons strained in his neck and muscles bunched in his arms. He would not look at her. She may have angered him, and the possibility wrenched her heart.

She pressed a kiss to his back, where the massive shoulders met, but he remained silent. Tears pricked her eyes. Had he rejected her? Did he not want affection from a traitor’s daughter?

A rap against the door announced Giles’s return. She opened it to see Jonna holding a steaming basin.

The girl, still in her nightclothes, stepped out from the shadows and into the room. “I’ll build up the fire, too. Giles said Malcolm is fevered. Glad I am that my brother is in your good hands.”

“He does not believe so.” Elin knelt on the bed at Malcolm’s side.

His face was still turned, and the rigid bunching of his muscles told her he was in much pain. She laid her hand there. How she wished he would reach for her and allow her to comfort him.

Jonna knelt beside her. “Tell me what to do.”

’Twas strange that even now Malcolm refused to speak with his sister. ’Twas stranger still that Jonna didn’t expect his attention. Elin brushed her hand along his back and felt his muscles quiver. He was as hard and as distant as stone, and she knew then why he would not look at his sister. He believed himself unloveable.

“I shall need this filled halfway with water.” She lifted a small wooden bowl from her basket.

Jonna leaped to the task, returning before Elin could finish opening the leather pouches.

“This is marigold, camphor and bartwart.” Elin dropped pinches of each into the steaming water. “’Twill be used to clean the wound. When I ask you, you’ll need to soak one bandage at a time.”

“I can do it.” She took the bowl and set it on the nearby table.

Elin unsheathed her dagger and crossed to the crackling hearth. Dread filled her. Kneeling, she wrapped a thick linen cloth around the hilt and then thrust the blade into the flame. Heat seared the steel, and when she was certain the dagger was hot enough, she carried it to Malcolm’s side. Head still adverted, he made no sound.

She laid the knife on his wound. The blade sliced through the scar and skin to the infection beneath. Malcolm’s fists clenched. The muscles in his back bunched and snapped taut. Blood and pus seeped from the gash.

Elin set the dagger aside and demanded the clean cloths. She pressed the infection from the incision, and then returned to the fire. Thrice she did this, until the blood ran clean. Then she laid the cloths over the wound.

Still Malcolm remained rigid and silent.

Did he think he was made of stone? Elin pressed her hand to his back and felt the pain gathered there.

“Here.” She pressed a goblet of herbed wine to his lips. He kept his gaze distant, but drank. “’Twill help take down the fever.”

Shadows could not hide the agony harsh upon his face. Teeth gritted and jaw locked, he drained the goblet. Then, before she could see more, he pressed his face into the pillow.

“Oh, Malcolm.” She laid her hand on his head and wished he would let her comfort him. For once she wished he was not strong and fearless, but a man who needed her.

Chapter Twelve

He woke with his head in Elin’s lap. She sat against the headboard, her chin bobbed forward in sleep. So innocent and sweet she looked, no longer the warrior maiden.

She was his lover now. That truth made his far too heavy heart sag. Shame at his weakness assaulted him like a spike’s blow. Memories from last night battered him—memories of firm creamy breasts and her gloving tightness and how he’d clung to her with need.

’Twas dangerous to have needs. To show such weakness. The soft linen shift was warm with her body’s heat, and he hated moving away from the pleasing pillow of her thighs. Weakness spilled through his muscles, but he managed to sit, then stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She didn’t scold, and there was no mistaking the caring in her voice.

’Twas a caring he did not want. “To fulfill my duties.”

He tugged on his chausses, careful and slow. The newly stitched wound in his back pained him with every tiny movement. He grabbed his tunic but couldn’t lift his left arm to fit it into the sleeve, for it moved the muscles beneath the newly lanced wound.

“Malcolm.” Her hand was gentle on his arm. “Please stay. You need your rest to fight that fever.”

“I am responsible for the prisoners I brought Edward.” He gritted his teeth and struggled into the tunic.

Her fingers caught the left sleeve and helped him into it. “Tear those stitches, and you’ll see that I’m more terrifying than Nels the Hawk.”

“I already know this, dove.” He fought the urge to wrap her in his arms and hold her to his chest. He fought the weakness that would make him care. “The day ahead will be long and filled with trouble. Please, do your best to behave.”

“What? You’re leaving me here?” Elin handed him his sword when he would have reached for it.

“Aye, come with me and see the prisoners questioned.”

“I’m not overly fond of dungeons.”

He chuckled; he could not help it. “Then wear a gown instead of squire’s clothing and try to act mannerly. The queen may send for you.”

“What?” He was teasing, wasn’t he? Nay, he was not. “By the saints, what if she expects me to do needlework?”

“Then do needlework until I return.” He pressed a kiss to her sweet mouth, a brief one, but it tugged at the emptiness in his heart. When he would rather pull her to the bed and seek her comfort, he buckled on his sword and left the chamber.

The sight of Giles in the hallway, armed and rumpled from a night upon the floor, reminded him of many things. Of the dangers that he sensed. And of the mercenary who had wanted Elin. Malcolm turned in the doorway and let his gaze stroke the curve of her face. “Do me one favor.”

“You, sir, have used your last one.” A smile teased her tempting lips. Fie, but he was beginning to like her smart remarks.

“Wear your dagger.” He grabbed the door to close it. “The sword will no doubt get in the way of your needlework.”

She laughed, and the music of it rippled through his chest. He closed the door and wished he could stay with her.

Giles merely shook his head. “It has taken me a long while, but I am starting to like her. It does a man no harm to have a woman who can defend him.”

“I need no defending.” He had been alone for so long. “I am capable of fighting my own enemies.”

“’Tis a shame how you have grown weak with fever.” Giles accompanied him down the corridor, shaking his head with mock displeasure. “Next you shall be too delicate to lift your mighty sword.”

“Aye, but at least a woman did not save my life in battle.”

Malcolm led the way down the stairs and into the bailey. First light touched the manicured courtyards, and the grounds bustled with early morning activity. He gritted his teeth against the pain each step brought him, and headed into the towers.

Ian met them in the corridor. “I have been observing Nels the Hawk’s questioning. He will suffer a traitor’s death by noon unless he confesses who hired him.”

“I doubt he will tell.” Malcolm peered into the squint hole and saw Nels chained to the wall.

“My lord, come with me.” Ian tugged open a door. “Edward awaits.”

“Edward?” Malcolm saw at once his king, shadowed in the stone chamber, and genuflected. “Pardon my tardiness, sire.”

“Truly, Malcolm, I did not expect you to appear. Ian informed me of your fever. The healer is here, and now she will take a look at your wound.”

Only a table and a few chairs adorned the otherwise empty chamber. Malcolm pulled out a chair and eased into it, determined to hide his weakness from the king. “My wife tended to my injury last night.”

“Perchance my healer will be more trustworthy.” Edward signaled to the woman in the corner, who limped forward with her basket of herbs.

“Truly, Edward. Elin did a fine job. She has only poisoned me once.”

The king did not so much as blink. “Jest all you wish, my friend, but Nels the Hawk has admitted some truths about your wife.”

“About Elin?” Malcolm allowed the healer to tug up his tunic and inspect his wound. “What truths?”

Ian left Giles’s side at the door and approached. His chin was set and his gaze unwavering. “Long have we been friends, since before the Outremer. Remember this when you hear what I have to say. On the night of the siege at Evenbough Castle, after Nels was defeated, you bade me to check the bolt-hole Elin had told you of.”

Discomfort clawed in his chest. Malcolm bit back a groan at the healer’s touch to his wound. “Where is this leading, Ian?”

“I found the bolt-hole she spoke of, and the small door was not beaten in, but merely unlocked.”

“Unlocked?”

“Aye.” Regret weighed down Ian’s chin. “Someone from within had released the lock and allowed the mercenaries entrance.”

Shock rattled all the way to Malcolm’s soul. “You should have told me this earlier. Who betrays us to the enemy?”

Edward cleared his throat. His face was stern and his eyes reflected weariness. The tight twist in Malcolm’s abdomen told him he would not like Ian’s answer.

The knight placed an object on the table. “I found this dagger. It must have fallen when the traitor knelt to unlock the door. This is Elin’s blade. Look at the markings. This proves she was in the bolt-hole. That she invited the enemy into the castle. Nels has admitted he was hired to kill you.”

“She did not do this.” Emotion roared through him, knocking the chair to the floor as he stood. “Although this is like the dagger she uses, she would not…”

She would not. He thought of her tender care last night and the way she’d made love to him. Time and time again she had the chance to betray him and had not.

“I know how this pains you.” Ian’s hand found Malcolm’s shoulder in a brief show of understanding. “But this is not the first time a woman has turned you over to the enemy. And this one never wanted to marry you. They say she is no virgin. Mayhap she has a lover she is loyal to.”

Anger tore through Malcolm’s chest. “I took her maidenhead.”

“Truly?” Ian looked surprised. “Still, she is no innocent. She wields weapons and casts insults on you, the strongest knight in the land. She is the daughter of a traitor. Who knows the color of a woman’s heart?”

Malcolm crossed the room, fighting back the old memories that would not desert him. He stood alone and tried to hide his trembling. The wound and fever weakened him, and Ian’s accusations tore at his heart. His thoughts turned to Elin. Was she guilty? His throat tightened, shame building. Her touch had been tender last night, and he’d wanted to believe in it, weak man that he was.

Ian’s chair scraped against stone. “If you remember, she disappeared when Nels’s army approached Evenbough.”

“She went to change her clothing.”

“There are but three flights of stairs between her chamber and the cellar.” Ian’s footsteps tapped behind him. “How many women have there been, Malcolm? How many eager to sleep with Edward’s greatest knight? How many paid by others to find your vulnerabilities?”

Malcolm clenched his jaw against those truths. “You know there have been many.”

“And one who stands out the most.”

Darkness bound his heart. The healer offered him a goblet and he drank despite its sour taste. “Have I no secrets from you?”

“Nay, for you are my friend and lord, and as you protect Edward, I protect you.”

“I need no protecting, Ian.”

“I must try.” Warmth softened the thunderous voice. “Lily loved you and then sided with your enemy Rees when you returned from the Outremer.”

A pain he’d thought long forgotten splintered in Malcolm’s chest. “Many years have passed, and I am no longer naive.”

“Then know the woman you’ve wed can be a traitor, too.”

“A dagger discovered after the fact is not enough proof.” Emotion thundered, but cold logic must rule him now. “Edward, tell me your opinion.”

The king rubbed his brow. “Nels has named Lady Elinore as his accomplice.”

Malcolm remembered her caring touches, and how she’d cradled him through the night. He was a fool wanting to believe in any woman’s innocence. The shadows in the room were not dark enough to hide his grief. “’Tis possible.”

“Would that I had never bound you with her.” Edward’s voice was filled with sadness. “I had hoped she would match you well. That you would find happiness and make a family of your own.”

How dizzy he suddenly felt. Malcolm’s knees buckled. He hit the floor hard, already retching. Giles was at his side in a flash, and as the darkness claimed him, Malcolm thought again of Elin.

Malcolm had left without eating. Elin went in search of him and was told he was with the king. Jonna found her and offered her a meal. They sat together in a small hall and talked. Still she could not force her thoughts from her husband. Or his wound and fever. Why would he not surrender to her care?

“Elinore of Evenbough?” Two knights clanked down the corridor and into the hall, bearing weapons and grim faces. “Lord Malcolm collapsed in the towers.”

“Collapsed?” Her heart fell, and she lunged to her feet. Fear for him wedged into her throat. “’Tis the fever. Bring him to our chamber—”

One knight locked his fist around her arm. “There is a fever, but the healer fears poison is what brought the great baron to his knees.”

“Poison? Nay, he is hiding an injury.” These knights were misinformed. And what kind of healer would blame poison for Malcolm’s collapse? “Where is he?”

No one answered. Ian strode into sight, and he looked as fierce as a tiger ready to attack. “I gave you the benefit of doubt, lady, but no more. Giles, ’tis your duty to watch the wench, lest she tries to escape. The dungeons are full of traitors, and I can never trust a female who would try to kill my greatest friend.”

“What?” She could not believe her ears. She tried to twist her arm free of the knight’s grip. “Unhand me. I would never harm Malcolm. Giles, please. Let me see him—”

“Silence!” Ian’s command boomed with fury. “Another word and ’twill be your last, I swear it.”

She looked into his eyes and believed his threat.

“Silence, lady,” Giles pleaded.

She gouged her teeth into her bottom lip to keep the words of fury inside. Holding on to her temper had never been her strength, but now she fought the urge to rail against them, to fight until she was free. It had been the only way to survive her father’s punishments, but now she would be seen as a traitor. To Malcolm.

Poison, they’d said. Poison! She remembered how he’d endured the horrible pain of the lancing without a flinch. How he’d refused to let her see the pain and humiliation on his face, as if the great knight could never be allowed to seek comfort and gentleness, care and regard.

Where was he? And did he need her? Was he sick and hurting without anyone to sit at his side in comfort?

Agony forced tears from her eyes as they hauled her across the courtyards to the tower. Heads turned, voices mumbled accusations, and a few pieces of vegetable matter sailed through the air, but missed.

She endured the humiliation in silence. But when she was tossed into a tiny cell all alone, a sob escaped her. She cried not for herself, but for Malcolm, who needed her. Two guards chained her to the wall and left her alone in this place where the sounds of the suffering echoed.

“Elin?”

“Giles! Where have you been?” She gritted her teeth against the ache in her shoulders from the heavy chains. “How fares Malcolm?”

“Not well.” The grating sadness in that voice left no doubt.

“Will he die?”

There was no answer.

Tears stung her eyes and she did not stop them. This time she would not be ashamed of her sentimental feelings. “If only he would have done as I asked. I wanted him to stay abed so I could treat his fever. Who did this to him?”

“You did.”

“You know that is not the truth!” Sobs wrenched her. “Tell me what you know, Giles! You saw me fight for le Farouche. You saw me defend his men. I could not betray him any more than you would.”

Giles knelt at the bars, his words but a whisper. “They say poisoned ale was found in your chamber. All believe you served the Fierce One his morning meal and tainted his drink.”

“He did not eat in our chamber this morning. They lie.” Grief made her bold. Fear made her disregard Ian’s threat. She no longer cared for her own life as much as she did for her husband’s. All that mattered was Malcolm. “Giles, you must help me.”

“What can I do? I cannot go against my orders.”

“Which is more important—Malcolm or your orders?” She already knew his answer. “I know he needs me. If you refuse to help me, then I shall rescue Malcolm myself.”

“Rescue? He is dying.” Grief pealed in a voice well acquainted with darkness.

“I did not poison him, but someone did. Someone close enough to put tainted ale in his chamber. That someone could be with him now, standing close to make sure he perishes. Can you not see?” She tugged angrily at her chains. “I will not stay here and let him suffer alone.”

“Even if I wanted to aid you, there is no way I can.”

“Fine. Then at least do not stop me.” Elin caught the blade of her dagger between the inside of her elbow and her ribs. With care, she slowly unsheathed it. The rasp of steel against leather sounded unnaturally loud.

“What are you doing?” Giles’s demand came as a whisper. “The guards will hear.”

“Then stop drawing their attention.” Elin worked the blade until it slid down her sleeve and into the palm of her hand. “Can you unlock the door?”

“Lady, I believe ’tis time for you to confess.” Giles bounded to his feet. “Guards!”

Fie, but he should have given her more time.

“Guards! Le Farouche’s wife wishes to confess. Bring the keys.”

Elin slid the tip of her narrow blade into the lock. The constraint of the chains hampered her, but she managed to turn the knife just right. The lock clicked and the iron bindings released.

She caught them in her gown. The voluminous fabric muffled the clink of the chains. She’d finally found a use for such frippery. She slipped out of the garment and laid the chains upon the stone floor with no more than a whisper.

Boots sounded down the aisle. Elin crouched in the corner nearest the door where shadows hid, and gripped the dagger with all her strength.

“Confess?” A guard scoffed, staring at the gown, barely discernible in the darkness. “She lies on the ground like the dead. Look, she does not seem to breathe. Mayhap she poisoned herself.”

“Mayhap she feigns illness.” Giles urged the guards inside the cell.

The first approached her gown, thinking it was her, and drew his sword. “Fie! She—”

“Silence, men.” Elin wrapped her arm around Giles and pressed the blade to his exposed neck. “Throw down your swords or he is the first to die.”

“Easy, lady.” One guard raised his sword, daring to approach.

Did he think he could disarm her? Elin backed out of the cell, temper flaring. “Giles, look how little that vile guard values your life.”

“Pray, Silas. Do as she bids.” Giles feigned distress. “Have no fear, she’ll not get past the inner door. I am stronger than she.”

“Toss down your sword!” Elin commanded.

The guards reluctantly obeyed. Steel struck stone and their weapons skidded into the aisle.

“Now the keys.”

The guard with the key ring tossed it to her. “You’ll not get past the next door.” His warning rang with a deadly note.

“We shall see.” She caught the keys with her free hand and slammed the door. The lock caught, and she snatched the smallest sword from the floor. Armed with confidence and a fake hostage, she led the way to the exit, where no doubt more trouble awaited.

The sun blazed like flame upon the barren sand. Nightmares drew him back from the light and into the dark dreams. Of Rees’s laughter as Malcolm was torn from the top of the stone fence, unable to follow Edward to freedom. Of the sting of a sword across his back. Of the mention of an English knight who’d paid for the slow, tortured death of Malcolm le Farouche.

“He drifts in and out of consciousness,” a distant voice murmured. “He’ll not survive both the poison and the fever.”

Wood scraped against stone. “I owe my life to him, healer. Do what you must, but keep him from dying.”

“Yes, sire.”

Malcolm fought fire and darkness. He opened his eyes to see the ceiling above. Edward stood at his side. Worry marked the king’s face, making him look old—far too old. Where was Elin? Malcolm tried to ease his head from the pillow to look for her, but pain battered his skull and he could not. “Edward, where is my wife? I want her beside me.”

But the healer was at his side, her face harsh. “Can you move your hand?”

“Fie, I cannot feel it.” In truth, he could not move at all. Every breath was a battle fought and won. His body felt afire. “I want a favor, Edward.”

“No deathbed promises, Malcolm. I’ll not allow you to die.”

Some things not even Edward could command. “Do not force Elin to marry Caradoc. She voiced a preference for Justus, although I think Giles would be a better match.”

Anger distorted the king’s face. “Has the vile strumpet already sought another man’s bed?”

“Your word, Edward. She is not what either of us thought.”

“I will do my best, ’tis all I can promise.”

A step scraped over the rushes. The old woman returned and offered a gold chalice. “Herbed wine, my lord. ’Twill ease your suffering.”

“I have had enough herbs.” He did not think he could stomach more.

Then a loud crash rang through the chamber. Cries of alarm echoed in the corridor. Malcolm tried to see what was amiss. It sounded like a fight. The door swung open and his fingers ached for his sword, but he could not move. A man and woman stumbled into the room, and the edge of a blade flashed in the candlelight. Malcolm knew he was the only knight in the chamber. He could not locate his sword.

“Back away from him.” Elin saw at once the old woman and the king at Malcolm’s side. “I said move away.” She lifted the sword menacingly against Giles’s throat.

“Malcolm,” Edward said, as he unsheathed a sword. “It looks as if your wife has arrived.”

Elin shook with fear, and yet she’d come this far. How pale Malcolm looked, but his eyes were open and watching her. And pleading. Did he think she would harm Giles?

“Woman, you test me.” Ian’s voice sounded in the corridor behind, and he burst through the door, sword raised. His rage flashed in his dark eyes and stirred terror in her heart.

But she pressed the dagger to Giles’s neck. “Come closer, and his death will be on your conscience.”

Hatred glittered in Ian’s eyes. His mouth twisted with distaste. “Giles, at your move, I will stop her. I’ll not let her harm you, too.”

Ian’s tirade did not concern her. That sour scent in the air did. It was pungent and cloying. Elin gave Giles a convincing shove toward the bed. “Healer, what do you give him?”

“Wine herbed with bartwart and—”

“You lie!” Rage drove Elin. She released Giles and raced at the woman holding the poison in hand. “You would kill him? In front of the king?”

A sword shot out, and Edward stood between her and Malcolm’s bed, blocking her way. She heard Ian and Justus and half the king’s army charge in with drawn swords. Giles stood at her back, her only ally. She watched in horror as the healer lifted the goblet to Malcolm’s lips.

“Do not drink that!” Fear left her trembling like a newly opened leaf, but she charged. “Out of my way, Edward.”

His sword blocked hers handily. “Dare you to defy your king?”

She looked up into eyes filled with great anger. Every inch of her froze. What should she do? This was the king, and yet she would challenge Goliath himself to protect Malcolm.

“That and more to save my husband.” She thrust and he parried. “Order your healer to hold. ’Tis all I ask.”

The king’s rage grew, distorting his face and driving his sword. “Throw down your weapon.”

She dodged his mighty thrust and slid her sword to his throat. He froze, and her hand holding the weapon trembled. Fear crawled down her spine, but she dared to meet Edward’s gaze. “You misjudge me, king. I—”

“Elin, lower the sword.” Malcolm’s hand gripped hers.

She gazed up into his gray face and into eyes too dilated, and saw what the toxins and fever had done. He was weak as a kitten, yet still he climbed from his bed. Poison marked the whites of his eyes and the tint of his lips.

“I will tend my husband, and not even your precious king will stop me.” Tears blurred her vision and she caught Malcolm’s elbow. His skin flamed and he shook with weakness.

“Arrest her, men.” Edward’s fury battered the walls.

Elin swallowed and knew she had sealed her own death. “If Malcolm dies, you can do with me what you wish. Until then, do not intervene.”

Justus and Hugh lowered Malcolm to the bed. He was too weak to do more than moan.

“Do not stop her, Ian.” Giles took up his blade. “You will have to slay me to reach her.”

The challenge between the best knights in the realm drew all gazes, but Elin turned her back and knelt at Malcolm’s side. He shook with a pain so great she knew he was burning up from within. ’Twas how the poison worked. “Justus, I need water. Cold and clear. Have them send for it.”

“Do you know what you did?” the knight hissed, dropping to his knees. “You threatened the king’s life.”

“Nay, I only threatened the king. I cannot kill anyone, only frighten them a bit.” Tears wet her cheeks, and she could not hold back her sobs. “Don’t you see? I am too late. I did not fight soon enough. He is such a big man that the poison did not completely work. The healer has given him a second dose.”

She laid her head on Malcolm’s chest and cried. How could she bear to let him go?

Malcolm’s hand found her head and ruffled her hair, just once, but ’twas enough to remind her. He was not dead yet.

When she looked up, she saw Justus and Hugh had taken up their swords and stood beside Giles, protecting her from the knights and the king.

The thin light from a waning moon was not brave enough to illuminate the man who stood at the edge of the gardens, where no one passed so late at night.

“Tell me the news,” he demanded of the second man, who emerged from the hedges.

The shadows gleamed darkly upon his armor. “Le Farouche still lives. The woman escaped from the dungeon using Giles FitzHugh as her hostage, though no one knew he aided her. She held a dagger at his throat and walked through the courtyard and into the king’s apartments without challenge. All were afraid to move for fear of harming the respected FitzHugh’s oldest son.”

“I saw the healer being taken by guard from the castle.” Now it all made sense. “I could not follow for fear of becoming a suspect.”

“The woman pulled a sword on the king, but did not stop the healer from her work. That woman.” The knight spat with disgust. “Who knew Malcolm would need two doses of poison to kill him?”

“’Tis the same berry Elin used to sicken the king’s knights when her father was arrested. I’m well pleased she is still under suspicion, although I had hoped for her death. ’Twould be justice for all the trouble she’s caused me.”

“Many have not forgotten how often she’s fought you off with her blade.” The knight dared to smirk.

“Mind your tongue, soldier, else the good le Farouche will know who betrays him to his enemies.” He could threaten, too. “Few knights have the coin to hire more mercenaries than the king.”

“As a loyal knight, long have I honored our good king. And always will. For the rest of his life.”

“Which will not be long. I’ll have the throne without fear of revenge from le Farouche. And you, trustworthy knight, will have the title and wealth you deserve.” ’Twas a pleasing thought. Caradoc drew his cloak against the cool air and continued on his pleasant stroll beneath the stars.

His condition worsened. Malcolm no longer drifted between sleeping and waking, but remained caught in a nightmare. The poison refused to release him.

“Elin? How does Malcolm fare?” Giles set a pile of clean cloths and a bucket of water at her side. “He looks more flushed.”

“The poison is working hand-in-hand with the fever.” She wrung the cold water from the cloth and laid it across his brow. “He is burning up. I’ve done all I know to do.”

“Will he die?”

Grief struck hard in her chest. “All I can do now is comfort him.” How helpless she felt. How angry at herself for failing Malcolm. Behind the strength he showed to the world, he was but a man hungry for love and tenderness.

And what he gave to her when they made love wasn’t just the pleasure of his body. She’d never known that a man’s touch could heal and not bruise, ennoble, not belittle. That joining with him could make her more, make her better, make her new.

“He is strong.” Giles handed her another cloth. “Mayhap he will live. He’s survived horrors you cannot imagine, without a reason to. Now he has your love.”

“Love? Nay.” Elin bathed her husband’s fevered brow, holding back those warm and tender feelings she was given to lately. “I suppose Malcolm does have some fine attributes I admire.”

“They said he would love no other after Lily.”

“Lily? Should I take up my sword and go find her?”

“Nay, though if she lived I would not stop you. She loved him desperately. And betrayed him to Rees when Malcolm could not return her love.”

That explained Malcolm’s tendency toward distrust. “Did he spurn her?”

“Nay. ’Twas after he returned from the Outremer, before the Great One was banished for good. Rees dared to step foot on English soil to avenge the wound Malcolm gave him during his battle for escape. Lily led him into Malcolm’s chamber while he slept, but Malcolm awoke.”

“And he knew the woman he loved had betrayed him.”

“Aye. He’ll not speak of it to this day.” Giles lit a fresh candle with the old one’s dying flame. “He depends upon you. Do not fail him.”

“I would die first.”

Malcolm’s fevered body twisted and writhed, his agony increasing.

“I am losing him.” She took his hand, for there was naught more she could do. His fingers within hers were slack and as hot as a desert sun.

Giles, Justus and Hugh all fell to praying, and Edward stepped into the ring of candlelight. A priest slipped into the room, the Holy Book in hand, the movement of his robes a whisper against the rasp of Malcolm’s struggled breathing.

A pain as great as a thousand wounds battered Elin. She was not a sentimental female, but tears filled her eyes and sluiced down her cheeks, and she cared not who saw them.

She buried her face in Malcolm’s chest and cried for all the times she had failed him.

Chapter Thirteen

He heard her tears, keen with sorrow. ’Twas Elin, and not a dream. He felt a thirst so great his tongue tasted like sand. Savage spears of heat and pain pierced him like a thousand daggers. It was darkness that called him, but Elin who drew him.

He could hardly feel her through the pain and fever, but she was against his chest, over his heart, her tears hot like liquid gold against his skin.

He placed his hand on her head and wound his fingers in her fiery curls. For some reason, she cried harder. Her hand grasped his as if she alone had dragged him from death’s dark hold. Remembering how she’d taken a sword to Edward, he believed she had.

He woke to savage spears of heat piercing his abdomen. He opened his eyes and the light burned. He endured the pain, searching the room for her.

Dawn gilded her as she worked over the table, mixing herbs with careful precision. Peach light drew a fiery luster to her curls of gold and warmed the ivory beauty of her complexion. How she drew his heart.

As if she felt his admiring gaze, her fingers stilled at her work. She smiled at him with such brightness that it made the sun look feeble. “Look who’s awake. The slugabed, the lazy laggard.”

“Aye. ’Tis disgraceful.”

She knelt at his side and pressed a chalice to his lips. Cool water sluiced over his parched tongue and wet the sand in his throat. “Edward will be here in but a few moments. There is much I need to say before I go.”

His head pounded, but looking at her soothed some of the pain. “’Tis a crime to hold a sword to the king’s throat.”

“I know what I did.” Elin dabbed his chin with a cloth. “Can you believe for once I did not act rashly?”

“That was not a rash act?”

“Nay. I thought it well through.” Her smile dimmed, but her touch lingered against his rough jaw, infinitely gentle.

He savored that touch, drinking it in. ’Twas a wondrous thing, that affection. “You make me a weakling, dove. I have suffered more wounds than I can count. Not one of them has festered. I could miss a summer’s worth of sleep and not fall ill, become puny.”

“Aye, and now true love has rendered you weak and delicate.” Her touch burnished the curve of his shoulder, another cherished caress.

“Elin, ’tis a serious flaw when a knight has a weakness.” He laid his hand against her cheek, cupping the side of her face. “A woman can leave a warrior vulnerable. Like a knight without armor or shield.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. A single tear rolled down her face. “I’ll not betray you, Malcolm. You can sleep at my side and know I would lift my dagger to defend you, not slay you.”

“I know.”

She sank to his chest, holding him sweetly. He knew she meant what she said, and now he wanted to believe it could be different. That he would not wake to find a dagger at his back one night or his enemy in the room. That he would not know the sting of yet another betrayal.

“For nights there have been words upon my tongue.” She sniffed, this warrior woman with a weakness of her own. “But now that you are awake, I cannot speak. I am far too cowardly to admit the truth.”

“Then do not try.” He heard the words in her heart. And it would be easier to never hear her speak of her love for him.

The door burst open and Edward approached, with what seemed like an army behind him. Surprise, then pleasure lit the king’s face. “Malcolm. ’Tis true. You live.”

“Aye. I drank little of the second cup of poisoned wine, what with Elin charging into the room like a madwoman.” He read at once the grim intention on his king’s face. “Do not take her, Edward. She saved my life.”

“She threatened mine and my men’s.”

Elin straightened and dashed the tears from her eyes. “’Tis true. I know the penalty of my actions. I only ask that you not punish Giles, Justus and Hugh. They acted out of loyalty to their commander.”

“And you? What did you act out of?” Edward demanded.

She bowed her chin. A thousand retorts sat upon her tongue, and yet the true answer frightened her because of the hold it placed upon her heart. “For love, sire.”

“And you would risk your life for love? Defy your king?”

She felt so foolish and far too sentimental. “I would not have harmed you. When I smelled the oakwood I knew the danger. I would have used my sword to stop the healer, but you stepped in my way.”

Edward scowled, and she read no mercy on his over-bearing face.

Malcolm sat, then stood, looking as fierce as his king. “Let my wife stay, Edward. Think of the trouble she will cause in your tower.”

“I shall not forgive you, Lady Elinore.” Edward vibrated with fury. “But Malcolm values your life, and so I will grant him this favor.”

Elin watched in disbelief as the king turned, leaving her without punishment. She dropped to her knees. “Thank you, sire.”

“You came close to losing your head.” Malcolm’s touch to her shoulder drew her around. “And what a pity that would be. I’ve grown fond of you.”

“Truly?”

“Aye.”

He was trembling with weakness, but discovered the strength to pull her close. She found a tenderness unparalleled in his arms as hard as steel.

“I was wrong about you, lady,” Ian admitted as he brought her the tray of food from the servants in the corridor. “I beg your forgiveness.”

“You well know I broke a few laws.” Elin took the tray from him and set it down on the table. Malcolm slept on his stomach, sprawled across the large bed. Safe, at last.

“It has already been tasted.” Ian gestured toward the trenchers of steaming food. “Will he recover his strength? Edward feared the effects of the poison.”

“He has trouble moving now, but I believe ’tis only temporary. I’ve seen lasting paralysis from poisons, and Malcolm has few signs of it.” Elin could not stop the warmth in her heart when she looked upon her husband asleep. He was a beautiful man in many ways. “Glad I am he has such loyal friends to protect him.”

“That was the reason I decided not to slay you when you defied the king. Giles stood by you, and he has known Malcolm the longest. He would never do him harm.”

“Nor would any of his men. They are loyal.”

“You would be surprised.” Ian’s face darkened with regret as he stepped from the chamber. “Loyalty is a great bond, but there are stronger ones.”

Like love.

She knew she was becoming victim to sentimental feelings, but she carried a trencher and goblet to the bedside anyway. If she made Malcolm weak, as he claimed, then he made her weak as well. They would be weak sentimental fools together.

“Nay, no more water.” Malcolm stirred. “There was a day when I would have killed for a drop. Now you’ve given me so much, I feel ready to burst.”

“Drink anyway.” She set the goblet to his lips. “The cook has sent up smoked salmon, if you can stomach it. I’m told ’tis your favorite.”

“I am no mewling babe who needs waiting upon.” He sat weakly, his mouth a grimace, his muscles straining. “Just hand me the trencher.”

“Let me serve you.” She broke off a piece of fish and placed it upon his lips.

His mouth took the morsel and her finger in a brief lave of pleasure that left her tingling. “You improve the taste of the salmon.”

“Are you saying I taste fishy?”

“Mayhap I should investigate further.” His lips slanted over hers with a gentle possessiveness that both soothed and excited. “I taste no fish, only passion.”

“Behave, Husband.” She broke off another bite of salmon. “You are an ill man, and this time you will rest and recover. Or else I’ll take my sword to you.”

“I quake with terror.” He ate from her fingertips with the brush of lips and tongue.

“More water.” She lifted the goblet to his mouth and held it steady while he drank. “Your color is much improved. The fever is all but gone.”

“Have you been at my side all night?”

“Aye, and the nights before that.”

“I remember.” He broke off a segment of salmon. The heat of his fingertips sizzled like new embers upon her lips as he fed it to her. “I cannot recall a time when a woman tended me without thought of compensation.”

She claimed the piece of meat with her tongue. How sweet it tasted. “Compensation? Ha! I knew saving your life would bring me some benefit.”

“A few gold coins, but no more.”

“Just a few?” she teased. “Mayhap there are more pleasurable benefits I can reap.”

“Aye, certain physical ones.” He accepted more food from her fingertips.

Heat twisted low in her stomach. Well she remembered their night of passion. Her body burned for more of his touch. “You’re still weak.”

He set aside the trencher. “Aye, but I am a man of great stamina.”

“You, sir, are not as invincible as you think.”

Regret clung to his face. “With the life I live, that is the only reason I have survived.”

She never considered that Malcolm might not have chosen his way of life. He seemed to have been destined for knighthood, with his body of legendary strength. He’d faced battles, criminals, war and slavery. How had the tenderness in him endured through such hardships and horrors?

“Glad I am that you live, Malcolm.” She allowed him to roll her beneath him on the mattress. “I would never harm you.”

“You poisoned me once.”

“Aye, but you were a stranger to me. And a terrifying one.” She ducked as he rolled her gown over her head, leaving her naked before him.

His eyes darkened as his gaze raked over her bared breasts. “Do you poison all unfamiliar men you come across?”

“’Twould be the wisest way to deal with them. I never know when they will strip off my clothes and overpower me.”

“Like this?”

Her breath caught as his mouth descended upon one peaked nipple. “Aye, like that.”

“Then I approve of your manner of dealing with strangers.” His words flickered across skin made damp and sensitive by his demanding mouth. “You are mine and mine alone.”

A bright white pleasure speared through her as his mouth claimed her breasts. She felt tugging arcs of sensation and the stroking heat of his tongue. His fingers dove through curls and dampness to stroke the part of her that opened and ached for him. Sparks of heat bucked through her hips. She arched into his hand and was rewarded with more sharp pleasure.

She wanted to touch him. To know the feel of his beautiful hardness. But when her hands reached out to caress him, he moved away, disregarding her need to give him pleasure. His kiss trailed down the length of her belly, laving and nipping and sucking.

“You taste like flame.” His tongue laved lower still, touching her most vulnerable part. He kissed and caressed, his hands stroking her thighs, his mouth nuzzling heat and skin and that spot that made her toes curl and a moan tear from her throat.

“Malcolm, you torture me.” She clamped her teeth, her hands clenching around the hard columns of his arms.

“You can endure more.” His chuckle raked across heat and dew. His tongue did the same.

“I cannot. I swear it.”

But like breath against embers, the flame grew, building into a fire so great it ignited every part of her. She burned with a need that drew her up and into his arms.

His moan was pleasure against her mouth, and he forced her to her back with the hard sweet burden of his weight. His erection blazed against her thigh, iron hard. She was already open to him as he nudged apart her hot, swollen folds. She felt his back muscles bunch and ripple beneath her hands as he thrust into her.

She moaned at the way he stretched her and filled her. She wrapped her arms around his back and held tight as he pinned her to the mattress, thrusting hard and deep. A thrilling brightness built where they joined. Flare upon flare of luminous pleasure drove her up to meet him and twisted through her arching back.

He bucked ruthlessly in short, quick, unbearable thrusts. Like an explosion of flame and heat, release roared through her with a tight, throbbing radiance. Malcolm growled, pumping his hot seed deep inside her. Ripples shivered through those muscles stretched tight around him, and she cried out again, lost in pleasure.

“Aye, but you are sweetness.” His lips grazed hers, not with a branding strength but a tender affection.

Her heart twisted with a strong, pure love. It hurt so much her eyes teared. She buried her face in his chest and held him tightly. Sobs racked her body, and she fought them.

“Did I hurt you, dove?” He brushed away tangled curls to press a gentle kiss upon her brow.

“Aye.” She burrowed into the curve of his neck and shoulder.

His arms enfolded her with a lover’s care and he sighed. “I was rough with you.”

“Nay, it was not that.”

“Then how did I hurt you?”

“This tenderness.”

“Aye, love is a different kind of pain.” His kiss was soft like the brush of an angel’s wing. “It is one that never stops hurting.”

Her chest ached, her whole heart so vulnerable she did not think she could endure a moment more. Tears came, and with it more of Malcolm’s kisses. He made love to her again, their bodies joining in a conflagration of fire and emotion so great it tore down the last wall around her heart. Vulnerable and defenseless, she held him close as he loved her all over again.

“The healer confessed to being half sister to Rees the Great.” Edward signaled for wine. “She said that a man claiming to work with Rees had her youngest son taken hostage to force your death.” Edward took a chalice of wine from a tray.

Malcolm declined the wine. He paced to the window, where the gardens below shimmered a verdant green in the spring rains. “They are a threat to you, Edward.”

“And to you, friend. The gift of the barony has angered some, but I think that is not the whole story.”

Malcolm closed his eyes. “The question remains. Who would kill for my barony and wants your throne?”

Edward joined him at the window. “Ever since your lady wife first sliced Caradoc’s belly years ago, none save my greedy nephew have asked for her hand, even for so great a barony. It is not the barony Rees wanted, nor was it revenge. It was only money he desired. If I were murdered, what would you do?”

“Hunt down the men responsible and destroy them.”

“Aye. ’Tis the reason they want you dead.”

Malcolm rubbed his brow and stared again at the peaceful gardens. “So, now you believe Elin did not poison me?”

“Aye, although come the morrow, she will be banished from this court forever.” Edward’s jaw tensed. “If you are not happy with her, I can find you another more suitable—”

“Nay.” The thought of losing Elin drove pain through his chest. “I’m pleased enough with the wife I have.”

“A delicate flower of a woman would be easily crushed by you, but Lady Elinore is not delicate.” The king paused. “Is this your motive?”

“Lily is gone from my heart, Edward. I have forgotten her.”

“But not forgiven.”

“Elin is like any woman, and in time she will learn I cannot return her love. I hope that will not turn her against me.” Regret pummeled him. And he wished—how he wished—he were a different man.

“Does she please you?”

Malcolm remembered the blaze of her passion, bright and pure, the grip of her gloving tightness, the cries of her release. His blood heated, and tenderness glowed within his chest. “She pleases me better than any other.”

The king shook his head, disapproving but resigned. “Then if you want the harridan, perchance a babe might keep her loyal to you.”

“Mothers have strong bonds to their children.” Malcolm would consider it. “Such a bond turned a trusted and respected healer into a would-be killer.”

“A mother will do aught for a child, including not hand the father over to his enemy.” Edward turned. “Tell me what you wish done with the healer who nearly killed you.”

Malcolm rubbed his sword arm, which was numb and lethargic, an effect of the poison. “I would rescue her son.”

The king shook his head. “’Tis as I suspected—love would soften you.”

Soften him? Nay. No woman could ever change him that much. “I cannot deny any warmth for Elin, but that is all.”

“We shall see, friend. Come, call your men. Mayhap the boy lives. I’ve kept silent the news of your improved condition. There could still be a chance to catch the traitor.”

When Malcolm threw open the chamber door, he found her there, calm and quiet and beautiful. Even looking at Elin brought him pleasure. His chest tightened. Nay, he could not deny his soft feelings for her.

Lost in thought, she perched on the floor in front of her herb basket. Her reddish-gold tresses curled gracefully down her slim back. Her gown of blue swirled around her. She sat with her chin propped on the heels of her hands.

Starlight graced her in silvery shadows, and she appeared lost in thought.

“Contemplating your next poison?”

She jumped, hand flying to her dagger. “Malcolm! What are you doing lurking in the shadows?”

“Watching you.” He knelt to replace the burned out stub in the holder with a new candle. “Look how disaster reigns in this world. I do a serving wench’s work while a woman sits and thinks.”

A wry humor sparkled in her eyes. “Now I regret destroying those oakwood berries. ’Tis always good to have a way to threaten an insolent husband.”

Her teasing lightened his heart. She burned with a brightness that warmed him, and remembering Edward’s offer to find him a different wife, his chest ached. Truly ached.

He grabbed his bag and tossed it on the bed, preparing to pack. “What weighs upon your mind so heavily, Elin?”

Silence answered as her gaze returned to the many leather pouches and crocks within that woven basket. “My herbs.”

“You’re a woman with much knowledge of them.”

“Aye.”

For all her ferocity, she was a tiny woman, more bone and muscle than generous womanly curves. More character than substance. She looked so troubled. What would she debate so seriously? “I know there are ways to prevent conception. Is this what you are busy pondering?”

“I have not decided.” Her chin jutted forward. Her shoulders slumped. “Are you angry? A new baron wants for sons.”

“I am not angered.” He could not stay the urge to reach out, and his fingers curved around the fragile bones of her neck. “I do not blame you for your uncertainty. Many a woman would not wish to have a babe with a man who can never love her.”

Her chin dipped another notch. “I know not what to do. You possess a kindness well hidden behind your fierceness, but I’ve not seen you with a child. There is much I do not know about you. For instance, would you punish your daughter by locking her up in the dungeon for nights upon end?”

“Ah, dove.” His conscience bit like a dog with sharp teeth. ’Twas a sensation he’d not felt for more years than he could count. “Is that how you knew to force the lock on the chains?”

She nodded, the bones of her spine feeling delicate beneath his palm.

Warmth swept through his chest. Where was this tenderness toward her coming from? It crept up like a silent wave and flooded him with an affection he could not claim. “I would like a son with you, Elin. Think what a great knight he would make.”

He meant to tease a smile to her lips, but her frown remained. She cleared her throat, and her eyes shimmered with vulnerability. “When a wife becomes a mother, she is more bound to her husband than before. If he treats her ill, she cannot fight or flee.”

“Still, after all we’ve shared, you are afraid of me.” He hauled her against him and saw the anguish upon her face. How it saddened him. “Much has been forced upon you, and quickly. Marriage to a stranger, battle and intimacy. But we’ve spent time enough together for you to see the man I am inside.”

Her eyes brimmed with silvered tears. They did not fall. “I know the manner of the man, but not the husband.”

“You know both.” How he wanted to drive her doubt away. He slanted his lips on hers in a kiss both tender and claiming.

She opened her mouth and her tongue brushed his. She did not hold back her affection. The warmth of it beat in his thickening blood and flamed within his chest. Why he felt this for her, he did not know. But he was glad. Very glad.

“I want a son. I want our lives bound to one another, Elin, for I do not want to lose you.” A better man would command, not ask for an heir. But he knew well how this marriage might end. He caught her mouth with his in a kiss both ardent and sizzling.

She arched against him, and it was all he needed. He carried her to the bed, burrowing beneath her clothes as he went. He laid her upon the mattress and climbed over her. She welcomed him with a heat that drove him beyond all control. He set a fast grinding rhythm and too soon she cried out. His release gripped the base of his spine and radiated outward. She clung to him as pleasure tore through him, sharp and pulsing.

He held her afterward, pressing kisses to her face and breasts. She chased away the darkness within him—for just this moment.

They left in the depth of night, when rain cloaked the sound of their movements. None save Malcolm’s most trusted men knew he was strong enough to leave. Elin had sheathed an extra dagger at her waist. They could not summon attention with a large party of knights for protection. Just four accompanied them—Ian, Giles, Hugh and the mercenary Rory, freed from Edward’s dungeons.

The rains blew against their backs during the fast dash through the night. Malcolm led them north, and Elin rode at his side. Only she knew that he still suffered with weakness, but his weakness equalled another man’s strength. He sat in his saddle with spine and shoulders straight, invincible.

When a castle’s silhouette rose against the landscape, Elin recognized the shape of tower and parapet. “’Tis my aunt Elizabeth’s keep.”

“Aye. I am allied to her through marriage, so I have decided to use her knights on my quest.”

“See what a convenient wife I am?”

“Elin, in all the years ahead of us as man and wife, convenient will never be a term I use to describe you.” Affection stirred in his husky laugh. “Can I trust you to stay with your aunt and cause no trouble?”

“I thought I would accompany you.”

“Nay, ’tis too dangerous.” He drew his stallion to a halt in the shadows of the castle walls. “I would have you safe, so I can give all my concentration to the task ahead.”

Love flashed in her heart, bright enough to rival the largest of stars. He wanted her safe. He cared about her far more than he would admit. She drew her mare to a halt before him. “I will stay with my aunt.”

“Well chosen.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. Moments passed as he studied her without words and without breath, as if to memorize the shape of her face. “Guard! What lazy scoundrel is on watch this night?”

“Who goes there?” A sleepy-faced youth peered from the battlements of the tower above.

“Malcolm le Farouche, Baron of Evenbough, and my wife, Lady Elinore. I request an immediate audience with the baroness.”

“’Tis impossible. She’s abed.”

“I come with an edict directly from the king. You will open this gate and gather fifty of your strongest men. Now, ere I climb up this wall and do it myself.”

“Aye, my lord.” The bridge creaked into place.

“Ian, aid in selecting the knights. Giles and Hugh, see that the men are ready to ride at my command. The boy must be rescued before dawn’s light.” Malcolm wheeled his stallion across the lowered bridge and through the castle gates.

Elin followed him, heart pounding. How could a man so fierce ignite such a softness within her?

“Elin!” Elizabeth dashed through the bailey, her nightclothes gleaming silver in the shadows. “Are you all right? What horror brings you to my castle at this late hour? Did your husband…” Her eyes widened at the sight of Malcolm astride his loyal destrier.

“I fare well, Aunt.” Elin jumped from her mare and raced into Elizabeth’s arms. “Malcolm comes from the king. He needs—”

“Edward trusts you will aid us.” The great knight once more, her husband reined in his agitated stallion and presented a parchment bearing the king’s seal. “Elin shall stay here in your care.”

He wheeled his destrier toward the front gate, his orders lingering in the cool air. He was as fierce as the night and looked twice as menacing.

“Malcolm!” Elin called into the darkness. “You cannot leave until I say good luck. I shall miss you.”

“I’ll not be gone long enough to miss.” But affection warmed his words and he did not look intimidating as he gazed upon her one last time. “Get your rest, dove. I shall need you when I return.”

Her heart fluttered like leaves in a welcome breeze as he charged his stallion into the shadows. Darkness claimed him, but his armor glimmered faintly as he galloped across the bailey.

Elizabeth’s arms wrapped her close. “Oh, Elin. I’d heard of the marriage. I wrote to beg the king to reconsider, but he refused.”

“You pleaded upon my behalf?”

“Aye. Le Farouche may be the greatest knight in the realm, but he is feared, with good reason. He came at the king’s command last summer to fight those who tried to take my castle.” Elizabeth shepherded her into the keep. “How has he harmed you?”

“Not at all.”

“He has humiliated and shamed you. I know how that is.” Elizabeth brushed at the curls along Elin’s brow. “But you must tell me.”

“Truly, he has been good to me.” Elin shrugged out of her wet mantle. A servant appeared to accept the garment, while another rushed to the hearth to feed the fire. “I thought a man’s touch would humiliate, but his did not.”

“He has bedded you.”

“Aye.” Elin knew she blushed, and turned her hands toward the flames, which radiated a welcome heat. “He is not harsh.”

“By the saints, I do not believe it.” Elizabeth took a steaming tankard from a servant’s tray and pressed it into Elin’s hands. “You love him?”

“I am not sure.” Her heart fluttered when she considered it. “Mayhap.”

“Then you are blessed.” Elizabeth drew a chair close to the hearth and gestured for the page to leave. “Few arranged marriages burn with affection’s light. Often they are brutal and cold.”

Like Mother’s. Like Elizabeth’s. “You chose not to give your husband children.”

“Thanks to a cup of tea I drank with every dawn.”

“When did you decide to never carry Barthel’s babe?”

“When he beat me near to death for not conceiving the first month of our marriage.” She stared hard into the flames, face shadowed by the dark fall of her hair. “Glad I am that he is gone from this earth.”

“I wish I can erase the hurt he caused you.” Elin hung her head. “I am now more grateful for my husband.”

“’Tis good that le Farouche treats you well. He wishes for an heir. What man does not?”

Elin remembered Malcolm’s words, and her throat ached with sweetness. “He told me he wants a child to bind us closer.”

“There is a greatness in conceiving with love. To nurture that life within your body and bring that babe into the world.” Elizabeth’s slender fingers traced the proud wax seal on the rolled parchment. “’Tis a bond unparalleled. If you love your fierce knight, then do not be afraid of it.”

Love for him burned in Elin’s heart, her weak and sentimental heart. Other women had shared Malcolm’s bed; he made no secret of that. But she was the one he trusted not to harm him, not to let an enemy into his chamber or lift a dagger to his back while he slept.

He honored her with a precious and rare faith. Giving her life to a man, especially one as fierce and powerful as Malcolm, terrified her. But she would do it. She would give him the babe he wanted, conceived in love and trust.

Chapter Fourteen

“Did you note the make of Helwain’s weapons?” Ian asked as they charged through blooming meadows, fresh from their victory at Helwain’s castle. “His sword matched the dagger I found in the bolt-hole tunnel. They match Elin’s brand of dagger.”

“Aye. Hewn by the same craftsmen.” Malcolm rubbed his brow with his right hand, and it shook with weakness. “You accuse my wife, Ian.”

“Not accuse. Only point out truths. I do not suspect her. I watched her save your life at the risk of her own. Some say she did so to avoid suspicion, but I know emotion and not deceit drove her. She loves you.”

Malcolm’s chest tightened. “Nay, love is a dangerous emotion, for it makes the finest of enemies. Rory, did you know Rees and I were great friends once?”

“It cannot be.” The mercenary was a rough man, but the nobility in his blood rang in his words and voice. This morning, he’d kept his oath of fealty to the crown and tricked the lesser lord Helwain into revealing where the boy was imprisoned. “Rees spoke of you with such vehemence. He swore you stole his rightful place beside the king and brought shame and disgrace to his name.”

“I was young and not wise enough to recognize the jealousy lurking behind his friendship. A former ally knows a man’s weakness better than a stranger.” Malcolm knew this more surely than most.

“Then do you believe Elin betrays you?” Ian asked.

“I believe someone wishes me to think so.”

The walls and towers of Rosecliff gleamed white in the midmorning sun, surrounded by crisp green fields. Flowers warred with the grasses for color; purples and whites and yellows splashed across the meadows and led his gaze to where Elin knelt, gathering flowers.

“Looks like your lady is still not given to obedience.” Anger marked Ian’s voice. “It maddens me how she refuses to respect you.”

“Lily was a woman of great obedience and respect, and her betrayal was the darkest.” Malcolm only had to look at Elin to feel renewed. “Pray, let it bother you not, Ian. I do not mind her spirited nature.”

“Malcolm!” She dashed toward him, breaking past the knights on horseback who ringed her and the baroness. “I was beginning to worry. Did you rescue the child? Where are the others?”

“Guarding Helwain’s keep. Hugh is returning the boy to his mother. Baroness, I thank you for the use of your men, on Edward’s behalf.”

Elizabeth bowed her head, shy and trying to hide her fear of him. “Glad I am Edward has you to defend him.”

“Malcolm, how fares your arm?” Elin caught his left hand and he lifted her up onto his lap. She smelled like spring and looked like temptation. Her fingers massaged his right shoulder. “I feared the lingering weakness would hamper your ability to fight.”

“You feared for naught.” He didn’t wish to speak about the lack of strength in his right side. “I thought I ordered you to stay in the castle.”

“We are upon the grounds, and Elizabeth’s men stood guard. And for what? Only birds and rabbits have bothered us.”

She pressed a kiss to his mouth, and he caught her nape with his hand, balling her curls in his fist. Her kiss was gentle and welcoming, his driven by the need to cherish her.

She was his now, truly his. He could feel it in the way she leaned into his arms, could read it in her beaming smile. He left his horse with a stable boy and allowed Elin to lead him inside the keep.

Her fingers held his tightly, as if she feared he would let go of her. But he followed her up the flights of stairs and into a chamber, where a bed bathed in sunlight awaited them.

“Let me serve as your squire.” She tugged at his shoulder plate, her angelic face twisting with a moment’s frustration. “I know not what to do, but my goal is the same.”

“Your goal?”

“To release you from your clothes.”

Buttercups tucked in her hair caught the sun’s light, glowing with a deep heavenly gold that made him think of a time before the Outremer. He had not much looked at beauty since, but now it was all he saw—the glimmer of her curls, the delicate line of her neck and shoulder and the glimpse of her breasts beneath the flowing gown of white and yellow.

She lifted his metal hauberk and lowered his mailed chausses. He tore off the quilted layers beneath, stepping naked into her arms. Laughing, she fell back onto the bed, bringing him with her.

She tasted like springtime, like fresh grasses, fragrant flowers and warm winds. He stripped her naked, and she laughed again, pulling him over her. With his weight braced on his elbows, he saw in her eyes the fragile heart she protected so carefully. A heart she trusted him with.

How he wanted to be what she needed, a man who could love her the way she deserved. Who would not climb from this bed and attend to the battles needing to be waged, the enemies routed, the truths uncovered. He lived and died by the sword still, and naught in the world, even the saints above, could drive that from his soul.

But for now, for her, he would give her what heart he had. He kissed her when she arched her hips to his, trapping his hard shaft between them in invitation. He did not act, but merely kissed her more, slow and aching until he hurt with it. Her arms clasped his shoulders, and she cried out when he turned his attention to her breasts. He wrapped his tongue around one pebbled nipple and laved and suckled and laved again until her head whipped from side to side and her hands fisted against him.

She arched her hips again, eager to take him. But he was not finished. He rolled her over and trailed kisses down the length of her spine. He stroked his hands over the ridges of her ribs and down the smooth backs of her thighs.

Moaning, she arched her hips, begging for that part of him. When he did not oblige her, she twisted away, caught him around the shoulders and pulled him down into her arms.

She wanted him. Only him. He could read it in the dark gleam of her eyes and feel it in the trembling of her body. He entered her in a slow sweet glide of sensation. She was heaven and fire. She clung to him and pressed kisses to his face. Release shivered through her before he filled her completely.

If only he could make this sweetness last. He clenched his teeth, bridled his lust and thrust into her slowly. Her head lolled back into his hands, and she moaned again and again, release after release rippling through her like the tide upon the shore.

Each climax drained away more of his control until he could stand it no more. He drove fast and ruthlessly until pleasure exploded and he filled her with his seed. With her ankles locked around his hips, she held him there. Soon they were moving together toward an even greater pleasure.

’Twas torture to step away from the haven of his arms. But he slept, finally slept. ’Twas endearing to see this man of fire and steel look peaceful, with every fierce muscle relaxed. Even his big hands lay slack against the pillow.

Pleasure still tingled through her. She slipped a light undertunic over her head, and the linen shivered down her body. She knelt before the fire and fed the dwindling flames. Then she grabbed a pad and lifted the kettle from its hook in the hearth.

She steeped a cup of herbs and tea. Her hands shook with what she was about to do. And yet the thought of a babe no longer terrified her. Malcolm’s love was a gentle one; he’d shown her that today. Not always fierce and overwhelming, but tender and heartfelt.

He was a man who’d risked his life to save a commoner’s little boy. He would not harm a child. He would not lift his hand in punishment. Tears gathered behind Elin’s eyes in gratefulness. Malcolm was hers, and she gave thanks for it.

The brew looked steeped enough. She added a few drops of honey. The cup warmed her hands.

Malcolm’s fingers curled around her shoulder. “You have made a decision then?”

“Aye.” She took a sip.

His fingers squeezed hard, but not bruising. “’Tis as it should be.” He left her, his gait uneven as he trailed his clothes across the floor.

He seemed so sad. Did he think… “This is not to prevent a babe, but to increase my chances of conceiving.”

He stilled, his back muscles bunching tight.

She took an unsteady breath and set the cup aside. “I thought this would please you. You said—”

He turned and dropped to his knees before her. His face twisted with emotion, and his eyes gleamed with unspoken affection. “Aye, ’tis what I wish. An unbreakable bond with you, my sweet wife.”

He kissed her hard, and dragged her above him to the floor. He was aroused and she was wet, and he guided her over his shaft and thrust into her. She cried out at the pleasure. He felt like magic and dreams, and release tore through her once more.

“What happened here?” Malcolm’s fury thundered when he saw the devastation at Helwain’s front gate. Five of Elizabeth’s men lay on the ground, dead. He ordered Elin and Elizabeth to be careful as they rode through the bailey.

A sixth knight moaned, and Malcolm dismounted and knelt beside him. “Who did this?”

“Treachery from within.” The man wheezed.

“One of your men did this?”

“One of yours.” He grimaced as more blood sluiced from the wound in his back. “’Twas an organized attack. Riders approached, and I stood on the wall to see if they were the king’s men. The next thing I knew I was hit from behind, and I fell to the ground with this wound.” He coughed, struggling. “I saw a man in armor open the gate and allow the villains through. I could not see his face.”

“They freed Helwain?”

“Aye.” Pain fractured the man’s words.

“Let me tend him.” Elin pushed past, herb basket in hand. “I need boiled water. Elizabeth, come help me.”

Malcolm stood, trusting Elin to her work, and bowed his head. Rage lanced like a blade. He’d ordered Ian to return and await the king’s guards, when he himself should have stayed. Where were all the men?

He found the knights locked within a dungeon. They were not harmed, but furious. Ian was among them, hard with wrath. Malcolm pulled his commander aside, angry at this failure. “What happened here?”

“Treachery, my lord.” Ian swiped blood from his face. More blood sluiced from his left arm, where a crossbow bolt had shallowly pierced his armor. “I did what I could to stop it.”

“Aye.” A stout knight spit on the ground. “Treachery it was. A band of armed men surrounded us with crossbows. They threw us into a cell like shameful cowards. And ’twas your man’s fault.”

“Giles.” Rage twisted Ian’s face. “He betrayed us to the enemy.”

“Giles led the revolt?” Malcolm turned to face the wall. Disbelief punched him. Nay, not Giles, too. He didn’t want to believe it. He and Giles had fought side by side for many years.

“Think of it, my lord. Giles failed to protect you when we stormed Evenbough Castle. Had he stayed at your back, you might not have been dangerously injured. It was an innocent act at the time, yet now one must wonder. And now this.” Ian rammed his fist against the wall. “I wish that we’d never trusted him.”

“He is not the first to betray me.” Malcolm’s heart felt so weary. Of all his knights, he placed the most trust in Giles, a man dedicated to high ideals. “Giles’s family was ransomed this winter, then killed. The king did not pursue and punish the kidnappers.” Mayhap grief had driven his friend. “I chased the outlaws across the Channel myself and into Normandy. I did all I could to find Giles’s sister.”

“Mayhap that is not what Giles thinks.”

Malcolm knew the taste of betrayal. When he’d been granted the title of Evenbough, what a fool he’d been. He’d stood upon the castle walls and dreamed of peace. For a life without deception, combat and heartache.

Feet heavy, he climbed back up into the light. Elin’s brightness caught his gaze, where she knelt beside an injured knight. She worked like an angel, with a gentle mercy that both invited and repelled his shadowed heart. ’Twas she who made him weak and who made him dream of peace.

“Find Giles.” Bitterness flooded his mouth. “I will not rest until I have that traitor in my dungeon. He will speak what he knows or die.”

“Aye, my lord.” Ian dashed off, barking orders. The bailey burst into activity.

Elin’s gentle voice trilled like lark song upon the wind. Breezes ruffled her hair, bound only at her nape, and she looked fresh and pure, like spring itself.

The bare-chested young man she tended offered another joke. Admiration and lust burned in the knight’s gaze. Malcolm felt jealousy cleave his chest.

All loyalties ended, given enough time.

He ordered half the knights to stay behind, tend to the dead and take his wife back to Rosecliff Castle. “We ride,” he commanded, and led his men into the forest, leaving Elin behind without so much as a glance.

The traitor’s dash through the forest was obvious. Malcolm kept watch for an ambush. But as his destrier chewed up miles of ground, none came. Then up ahead in a clearing, he spotted the tarnished knight alone, resting on a boulder.

“Could be a trick,” Ian warned, his rage unveiled and harsh. “They will coax you into the open and attack.”

“There are no soldiers in the forest. Look, the tracks continue north. I feel no one watching in the shadows.” Malcolm pulled his destrier to a stop. “Giles, what have you to say in your defense?”

Stoop shouldered, the strong knight hung his head. “Naught. Would you believe the truth?”

Malcolm’s grip on his sword’s hilt did not waver. “’Tis the truth I seek.”

“The truth?” Ian raged. “Fifty men and I saw and heard Giles command the mercenaries. He ordered us to lay down our weapons or die.”

Malcolm unsheathed his sword. “Is this true?”

Giles quaked at the thunderous command. “I spoke the words. With a dagger pressed to my spine.”

“I saw no dagger!” Ian drew his weapon. “I would kill you now for how you betrayed us. We trusted you.”

The disgraced knight’s head hung lower. “They said they would rape and slay my sister. That she is still alive and untouched.”

“I saw no blade,” the commander of Elizabeth’s garrison declared. “Nor did my men. Ask them.”

Malcolm faced the knights and saw the truth upon two dozen accusing faces.

“Bind him well.” The order beat at him like an ax’s blade. He did not like this turn of events.

“Hands together, traitor.” Ian slid from his horse. “Glad I am that Edward’s dungeons are wretched and perilous. You will suffer well before they hang, draw and quarter you, friend.”

Malcolm reined his destrier away from the sight. He could not bear to witness another person he trusted placed in chains. A small part of him hoped Giles told the truth, but experience and the twist of his guts told him a betrayer lived among them.

“We will not take him directly to the king.” Malcolm spun his destrier toward Rosecliff Castle. “He suffers in my dungeons first.”

After an evening of waiting, Elin saw him against the black veil of the sky, his shoulders braced, looking as invincible as the night. Men flanked him, riding hard to keep pace with him.

“Malcolm!” She leaned over the crenellations and waved, a corner of rock biting hard into her ribs.

He did not glance up as he rode across the drawbridge and past the portcullis. Hooves crashed against wood as his men followed. She ran to the other side of the wall and saw Malcolm dismount. He gestured toward Ian, and then she lost him in the confusion.

A guard appeared at her side. “The baron wishes you to return to your chamber.”

She caught sight of Malcolm in the fray of the courtyard below. Fatigue darkened his face, and the line of his jawbone looked hard as rock. He would need her tonight. She told herself it did not hurt that he’d ridden off without a word today and even now did not glance up and acknowledge her.

But she knew he loved her. He carried great responsibilities on his immense shoulders, responsibilities that distracted him now. But that did not change the truth between them. Tenderness for him welled in her heart. If he hurt, she would comfort him. If he were weary, she would renew him. That was how great her love for him was.

“Pray you are not losing your stomach for torture.” Ian leaned his elbows on an edge of the battlement.

Malcolm let the night winds cool his face. “I dislike watching a man brutalized for the sake of the truth. How many seasoned warriors relinquish the truth after torture? Few. They are well used to pain. And bound by loyalties few understand.”

“Aye,” Ian argued, “but I believe my work will be effective. He is starting to break.”

If only Giles would just agree to talk. If only he hadn’t participated with men suspected of plotting against the king. Malcolm sighed, deeply troubled. His gaze strayed to a slash of light between closed shutters. He’d watched Elin close those shutters earlier with candlelight like heaven’s glow upon her face. Now, thin beams of light shone through the cracks in the wood. She waited for him still.

Footsteps drummed against stone. “Lord Malcolm, the prisoner is unconscious. We’ve ceased with the beating.”

Sadness tore through him, for Giles had been his friend. “Summon a healer. Patch him up for more torture come dawn.”

The knight rushed off, his footsteps fading in the dark.

“Your lady awaits.” Ian gestured toward the keep. “She loves you, Malcolm. ’Tis dangerous ground you walk upon.”

“Well I know it.” Did she wait for him with the bed turned down? Or did she lay naked beneath the covers? He wanted to go to her. He needed the comfort only she could give.

But he owed Giles a visit. “Ian, see to the night watch. There’s a foul stench in the air. Helwain and his conspirators are out there. Mayhap to rescue Giles ere he reveals their plans.”

“It will be done.”

Malcolm headed down the stairs. In the courtyard, he looked up and again found Elin’s light. He ached for her, but he turned away and marched down the steps to the dungeons beneath. Water seeped through the stones and splashed against his boots.

He passed stalwart knights, weapons unsheathed, standing guard at every turn in the corridor. One unlocked the steeled door. Through the bars he could see Giles, slumped in the corner, motionless. Malcolm crossed the cell and ordered the guard to lock him in.

He knelt at the traitor’s side, but Giles did not move. Blood and bruises distorted his face. Aversion for this part of his work had always troubled Malcolm, but this—this was Giles.

Yet the truth had to be known.

“Why did you do this, my friend?” Sorrow battered him like waves upon the shore. “If they held a threat over your head, you could have come to me. We would have found a way to both defeat the traitors and save your sister.”

A drop struck stone. Then another. Giles’s tears.

“I would have helped you. For all the times you guarded my back during battle.” The battering waves within Malcolm’s chest raged. “If you would tell me what you know, I would stop this. I would make Edward agree to spare you.”

There was no answer. Only the falling tears.

“Tell me, Giles. Save your life, mine and the king’s. The torturer will return at first light.”

“Prithee, do not do this to me.”

“Then speak.” His demand echoed along stone and steel. “Do you know for certain that your sister lives?”

“Nay.”

“Then they could be using your fear, Giles. She would already be dead. A pretty thing like her? Could she survive untouched and unharmed in a tower with barbarians to guard her?”

Giles gave a quiet sob.

“I want the truth out of you, Giles. Ian said you refused to speak.”

“Ian lies. I told him from the beginning of the beating that I would speak with you. I did not plot against you, Malcolm. Helwain’s men truly did have a knife to my back. They told me they would not kill our knights if I did as they ordered.” A sob was wrenched from him. “That is the truth.”

A knight banged on the door. “Baron, he uses his friendship against you. I have seen many guilty men in my time. I can recognize the smell and sound of it. This one is guilty.”

Malcolm paced the length of the cell. “When they took you, what happened then?”

“I saw how they made me look guilty to our men. I knew no one would believe me. To my surprise, they didn’t kill me, but left me in the forest, where you found me.”

“If they want me dead, why not use you as bait to draw me into the open? It happened in the forest. There could have been an archer in the trees. Nay, your story makes no sense, Giles. If it did, I would be inclined to believe—”

“The truth in this instance makes no sense. Except they told me your wife is the one who dallies with a baron, the baron who would have both your head and your title, maybe more.”

“They told you this?”

“They told me to tell you this, only you. I know not whether it is true or nay.” Giles struggled to sit up, and his moan of pain rent the darkness.

Malcolm banged on the door, and the knight unlocked it. He strode out into the corridor, troubled and weary.

He seemed part of the night, bleak and shadowed, hunched as he was against the sky. His head cocked at the whisper of her slipper upon stone.

She set the trencher on the stone battlement beside him. “You did not eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I heard about Giles.” She leaned against the ridge of stone. “I cannot believe it.”

“He gives a feeble explanation.” Malcolm stared up at the sky, where no stars shone. “One without proof.”

“An untrue explanation might make more sense. And have proof.”

“Aye. ’Tis what troubles me. According to Ian, Giles would not cooperate with the jailers. He took a painful beating and still wouldn’t speak. Only afterward did he tell me what he knew.”

“What were the signs that Giles had turned?” She laid both hands on his broad shoulders. “There had to be some indication.”

“None.”

“One would think a man driven to break a close friendship and the sanctity of his word would be troubled over it, or at least not hide his treachery well.”

Malcolm scrubbed his hands over his face, tension tight in his neck and jaw. “Logic and the law dictate he be brought to justice before Edward.”

“Would he be found guilty?”

“With the evidence we have? Aye.” Malcolm propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in both hands. How tortured he sounded and how sad he looked. “Besides, I’ve often made the mistake of trusting a betrayer among my friends.”

Elin began to knead his tense shoulders. She wished to give him all the comfort she could. “I waited for you.”

“I know.”

“Your bath is now cold. I planned on washing you.” His muscles were hot and supple beneath her fingertips. She pressed a kiss to his nape, no longer able to fight the love in her heart. “You will have to be content with a back rub.”

Malcolm moaned as his muscles relaxed beneath the firm caress of her thumbs. The guards on that section of the wall turned away, leaving them alone.

His hand caught both of hers, and he drew her to his side. The night gleamed with darkness and painted him with shadows. She could see the pinched muscles around his eyes and the tension in his jaw.

His fingers tugged at her collar. “How many barons have you met?”

She arched her neck to allow him to work the tie of her laces. “Father knew most of them, but I never spent much time in the castle when he had visitors. Many of those arrogant barons gazed with such hunger at any female, I had the sense to hide.”

“You know Caradoc.” Malcolm’s forefinger sneaked beneath the laces and pulled. “And you knew Elizabeth’s husband. You have met no others?”

“Face-to-face?” She shivered when the gown skimmed over her shoulders and breasts. “None.”

“Save Ravenwood and Rosecliff?”

“Aye. I wish I could be more help to you.” She sighed as his mouth closed on her left breast. Shards of pleasure twisted and pulsed. Already she ached for him. She lifted his tunic over his head and tossed it to the stone walk.

He brushed the windblown curls from her eyes, his touch so tender. How he must hurt. Anger at Giles’s betrayal kicked to life in her chest, but she controlled it. Anger would not comfort Malcolm. Only she could do that. Only she could give him a safe, tender haven from betrayal and conflict.

She pressed kisses to his brow. She stroked her hands across the bunched tension in his shoulders and down his marbled back. Her fingers delighted in the rugged feel of him. He made her ache deep inside. Simply touching him gave her infinite pleasure.

She pressed kisses to his throat and ran her fingers across his steely chest, and then lower to loosen his laces. But his hand caught hers before she could take hold of his thick shaft. Silently, he guided her hips over him. Air stalled in her chest at the feel of his hardness nudging her apart. She sheathed him with a slow, deliberate glide.

“Oh, Elin.” His voice broke. His arms enfolded her. Instead of driving hard, he held her against him, their bodies quietly joined. His shaft pulsed and jumped inside her, and she answered with a ripple of muscle and pleasure. Concurrent release rent through them—a sweet aching tenderness that nearly tore her apart.

She knew in that moment, hearing the anguish in his release, that he loved her. For he was right. Nothing hurt like a love tender and true.

Only a single torch illuminated the damp stones of the lower dungeons. Malcolm’s footsteps rang in the silence. “Guard, unlock the door.”

Inside the cell, a figure huddled motionless. The healer had come and gone. Malcolm knelt beside his friend and unlocked the chains.

“You did not believe me.” Giles’s brow brushed the floor.

“I have been lied to by far too many to believe in anyone.” Hardness lodged in Malcolm’s chest. “Get up.”

Giles climbed to his feet, choking back a moan of pain. Despite his ordeal, he stood straight and tall. He would not be broken or look the criminal.

“Come.” Malcolm led the way through the corridors and up the stairs into the bailey, where rain scented the air. “Your horse waits at the gate. I’ve taken the liberty of packing foodstuffs and weapons and coin—enough for your passage to Normandy. Find your sister, Giles. And if you are a traitor, then have enough honor never to step foot on English soil again.”

“Malcolm, I know not what to say.” Giles fell to his knees. “You give me my freedom, but you still do not believe me. In time you will see I am not the one who betrays you.”

“Go, before I lose this softness and bring you to the king.” Malcolm turned, his chest so tight he could not breathe. He heard Giles limp away, heard the creak of a leather saddle and then the squeak of the gate.

It was Elin causing this weakness within him. He fisted his hands and called himself a fool. But by the rood, he’d grown tired of death and a king’s justice.

He only wanted peace and the rare comfort he found in his wife’s arms.

Chapter Fifteen

A knock at the chamber door drew Malcolm from her arms. She hated letting him go because she wanted to savor him yet again. But he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his tongue leaving a wet trail, and rose from the rumpled linens. Naked and still half-erect, he hauled a tunic over his head.

“What is amiss, Ian?” he called out as he reached for his chausses.

“Giles is gone,” Ian answered through the closed door. “The guard on duty said you took him from his cell.”

“I did. I will be down in a moment.” Malcolm finished dressing, then grabbed his boots and sword. “Elin, can you stay out of trouble?”

“I shall try. What did you decide about Giles?” She grabbed her shift and slipped from beneath the linens. Malcolm’s eyes darkened with renewed desire, and that pleased her. How it pleased her.

“I released him, although all will think that I killed him in anger. Watch.” Malcolm caught her mouth with his and pulled her hard against him.

She could not halt the moan of want.

“I ask you to pack our things.” He kissed her tenderly again, until she moaned once more. “We return to Evenbough Castle.”

“Not to court?”

“Nay.” Merriment flickered in his eyes. “A certain lady I know has been banished from Edward’s sight forever.”

“I was desperate to save the man I loved. Can he not understand that?”

“He cannot understand why I would not tame my wild, weapon-bearing wife.” His lips brushed her brow. “We will leave shortly, in the time it takes for me to gather my knights.”

She watched him go, a man made stronger by compassion.

Sunlight sifted through broad green leaves in the woodland not far from Rosecliff Castle’s front gates. ’Twas a poor choice of meeting times, but Caradoc had no recourse. When the messenger arrived, he made it clear there was no way to speak with the knight who sent it, but to meet him as he asked.

Those men on the lookout tower appeared vigilant today. They carried bows in hand. If the castle was on alert, then that could only mean Giles had been found in the forest as planned. Stupid loyalty drove a man like le Farouche. How furious he would be at his friend’s betrayal. And less one loyal knight who would avenge the Fierce One’s death.

A rustle in the undergrowth ahead riveted Caradoc’s attention. His grip on his sword tightened. He could hold his own in a fight, but he was no knight and now fervently hoped he’d not been spotted from the tower.

“Brother.” The tarnished knight stepped into the shadows, careful to keep low and out of sight. “Good you came at my request. ’Tis a sad day when a bastard commands a baron.”

Relief weakened him, but Caradoc did not release his hold on his weapon. “Enough with the insults. What news of le Farouche’s plans?”

“He travels soon. Back to Evenbough, along the forest path between this holding and yours. With his wife and at least a dozen knights for protection.”

Caradoc’s rage caught fire and flamed. “That woman! She is a pox on me, I swear it. Long has she plagued me with her sharp tongue and even sharper weapons. ’Tis why I cannot receive the respect I deserve. But soon all will change.” Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes like the rarest of rubies, bright and bold and as red as spilled blood. “All of England will bow at my feet, for the ruin I will cause Edward. Imagine him casting me from his court because of my association with Helwain.”

“You paid the knights who freed him from le Farouche’s men.” His ally chuckled. “Le Farouche has been a sword in my side, always the best and taking by rights all that should be mine.”

“Fear not, there will be plenty of gold to fill your pockets.”

“You know I want more than gold,” the tarnished knight growled.

Caradoc smiled. “I will leave you to kill le Farouche as you please. As long as it incriminates another, especially that harridan of Evenbough, I care not how the bastard dies. I want him out of my way within the sennight. If I am to secure the throne, then he must be a pile of bones six feet under.”

“I live to serve, Brother. Lord Malcolm will not live long.”

Evenbough gleamed like a great pearl upon the emerald land. Sunshine had coaxed flowers and leaves from their buds and warmth into the air. The beauty felt infectious and took hold of Elin’s heart.

She had never imagined marriage could be so wonderful. She rode at Malcolm’s side, not behind him as custom dictated. He gazed vigilantly upon the road ahead and behind, now and then speaking to Ian in low tones about hidden dangers.

But the roads to Evenbough were safe ones, and Elin enjoyed riding next to her husband. Birds chirped merrily in the high boughs as they left the shelter of trees. The castle towered ahead, all signs of battle gone. Even the village looked nearly restored.

Home. The enormity of it struck her as she led the way across the drawbridge. Never had she been safe here and never before felt a joy riding through these gates.

Cheers rose from the freemen and servants gathered in the bailey. She watched Malcolm glance around, stunned, and draw his horse to a halt.

“We feared you dead of poison,” one villein explained, kneeling before his lord. “And you, Lady Elinore, we praise you for saving him.”

“I could not have a better champion,” Malcolm quipped.

Laughter roared through the yard. Elin’s heart flipped end over end as his hand caught hers. His grip felt unbreakable. Something greater than pride flickered to life in her chest. Every moment she was with him she found more to love.

Malcolm dismounted, then reached up to help her down. She did not need help, but would take any opportunity to touch him. Her shoes settled on the ground, but she feared her feet did not. She walked upon air—that was how greatly he affected her.

He led her through the bailey, accepting congratulations, bestowing compliments on the construction of the new workshops and praising the hard-working people. The malty scent of brewing ale seasoned the air as they passed the restored alehouse.

Once in the keep, Elin led Malcolm up the stairs, her fingers twined with his. In the solar, made new and awaiting them, she undressed her husband and led him to the steaming tub.

She soaped a cloth and knelt at his side. She felt the caress of his gaze upon her face. He looked so serious, when she was so happy. “What troubles you?” she asked.

His throat corded, then he spoke. “You cannot guess the rage I felt when Edward announced we would marry.”

“Your rage? What of mine? All I could see was the demon man who’d overpowered Father’s knights and threatened me with the dungeon. I would rather die a thousand painful deaths than spend a night in those dark depths. And yet that is exactly where you sent me.”

“I was only keeping my word to my king.”

“I should have known you were a good man then.” She stroked the soapy cloth up his arm and across his shoulders. How she loved touching him. Even now heat built low within her stomach. “You never harmed me, though many men in your position would have.”

“You made me hard as rock even then.” He caught the soapy cloth, and his fingers caressed hers. His eyes flashed. “You need not serve me, Wife. Take off your garments so we can wash one another.”

“We’ll likely do more than wash.”

Gladly she shed her clothes to climb into the tub with him. Water sloshed over the rim and they laughed. His arms folded her close to his chest, and his hard shaft jutted against her stomach. He guided her onto his lap so she was straddling him again.

“You take such liberties, sir.”

“Not nearly enough.” He brushed the hair from her brow, both big hands cupping her face gently. “You have laid my heart wide open, Elin of Evenbough. You have a greater power over me than my greatest enemy.”

“Your greatest enemy is dead.” Her hands covered his, her heart beating with tenderness for him. “And I will never hurt you. I give you my word.”

“A woman’s word.” How dark his eyes, as if he could not quite believe her. As if he did not like the power love gave a woman.

But it gave like power to a man. “As my husband you have complete control over me. And yet you allow me to ride and walk beside you, not behind.” And it mattered to her, truly mattered how well he treated her.

“I would fear turning my back to a woman warrior.” He teased, and yet he did not. The sting of old betrayals and new ones darkened his eyes.

“Oh, Malcolm.” Hurt tore through her chest and she launched herself against him. Upon her life, she would give him all the love she had. She would heal his scars. She would chase away the last of his pain.

When she rose up over his stiff shaft, it was with this same vow. He entered her with urgency. His hands gripped her and he drove up into her with all his strength. ’Twas as if he believed this bliss between them would be short-lived, and he had to gather all the love and comfort he could for the time when there was none.

Oh, Malcolm. Her chest squeezed with pain for him. For as much as he wanted her, he could not allow himself the weakness of being loved. It hurt that he would not believe in the strength of her word, of her love and her honor.

She pressed a kiss to his brow as release broke through him, hard and pounding and taking her with him.

They told me your wife is the one who dallies with a baron. God’s teeth, but Giles’s words haunted him like a persistent ghost.

Malcolm gestured for the blacksmith to quit with his bowing, and laid a dagger on the table with a clatter. “Is this your handiwork?”

“Nay, my lord. Although I know the brand. I apprenticed beneath Uilleag of Ravenwood. My work is similar, but I shape the hilt differently, for more strength.” Pride beamed on the man’s round face. “’Tis your lady’s dagger, then? I would have made her any number of weapons to save herself from her father’s treatment, but he threatened me with death if I did.”

“So, you sent her to Ravenwood. Hand-forged weapons bear the unique mark of their makers.” Malcolm told himself this did not trouble him, but it did. Helwain’s weapons were the same as his wife’s, the same as Caradoc’s.

“Provide my wife with a new set of daggers, and make certain to seize all her old weapons. I want her to carry a better blade than this flimsy one.”

“Aye, my lord.” Again, pleasure beamed on the blacksmith’s face at the compliment. “I forge daggers of great strength. You will be pleased.”

Malcolm retreated into the bailey and headed toward the gatehouse, troubled by yet another piece of evidence that pointed to the man who wished his death. Caradoc was Helwain’s overlord. And Caradoc was a baron wealthy enough to afford an army of mercenaries outside of his own garrison.

“Send Ian to the wall above,” Malcolm ordered the guard at the stairwell.

A tranquil sun smiled upon the land. Malcolm faced the breeze and gazed at the village spread below. Most of the ruined dwellings had been replaced. Hammers beat upon wood as the rest of the buildings were completed. The bray of a stubborn donkey split the air. Larks soared past with carefree songs.

Footsteps drummed behind him. “My lord?”

“Ian.” Malcolm studied the sturdy man, made hard from years holding a sword. “I have a message for the king. Send six of our swiftest men. I would have Edward know what I believe. I want his men to accompany mine when I capture Caradoc for questioning. Though he has threatened me, his ultimate betrayal is to his uncle. I would have the king’s approval on this.”

“Edward’s torturers are the most successful for obtaining information.” Ian gazed out at the lands below, at the farmers sowing the vast fields. “You are certain, then?”

“I have the evidence I need to raise suspicion. ’Tis Edward’s job to judge.”

“May we speak of Giles?” Shadows darkened the warrior’s eyes. He was obviously troubled. “Did you put him to death?”

“Nay. I let him live.” Malcolm wondered even now if it was a mistake.

“The great le Farouche would never hesitate to kill an enemy or a traitor to country.”

Malcolm heard the censure in his commander’s voice, and it angered him. “I’ve grown tired of battle. Now I fight only to protect my king and what is mine.”

“Then marriage has weakened you, like many others.” Ian’s jaw worked. “Beware placing so much trust in a woman, my lord. Emotions toward a loved one can be blinding. After you swived the noblewoman on our last night at Rosecliff, she left you alone on the battlements and headed for your chamber.”

A chill snaked down Malcolm’s spine. “I saw her in the window.”

“A servant vowed she was not alone.”

“Impossible. I would have seen another in her room. She opened the shutters and I could see that she was alone.” Why would Ian say this? Malcolm’s temper threatened to flare, and he fought against it.

“But you could not see the bed, my lord. Look, even now rage builds in your fists. Next you will strike me or jail me as you did Giles. But think, I have naught to gain by lying. And I would not have my friend and lord be made a fool. She is but a woman. Swive another and it feels the same.”

Wrath built like flames in a forge, raging enough to melt steel. Malcolm clamped his teeth hard. “Elin was alone.”

“A servant in the corridor heard the sound of lovemaking. Hot and wild, my lord.” Ian’s face also twisted with controlled anger.

“’Tis only a rumor.”

“The poison used to murder you was the same she’d sickened us all with. The same. The rest of us know how she makes a fool of you. Emasculating you as surely as a bull becomes a steer.”

“Silence.” Pain sliced like the rasp of a thousand blades upon his skin. “You wait until now to tell me this? If it were true, you would have reported her behavior immediately.”

“You were blind to it! I swear, I saw a man leave the keep. A servant swore it was the same she saw enter Elin’s chamber. The lover was disheveled from lovemaking, but he was stealthy. He slipped away through a gate in the wall, I presume, for one moment I saw him in the bailey and the next in the fields heading toward the woodland. Do you doubt me?”

Malcolm saw the pride in his commander’s eyes. He could not believe Ian’s words, and yet why else would Ian make such claims?

“On my honor as a knight, I saw a man leave Rosecliff Castle. I had a servant tell me he’d been with your lady wife.” Ian knelt and held out his sword with both hands. He bowed his head, leaving his neck exposed. “Believe me or take my life. But know this, I have spoken the truth.”

Did that explain Elin’s happiness that morning? Because she had met with her lover? Nay, she would not. “It makes no sense for her to take a lover now.”

“You need not believe me.” Ian remained as he was, head lowered, but his voice rang with conviction. “Have her watched, but do not let her know. ’Twill prove whether the information I received was false or whether your wife would sleep with another man.”

I will never hurt you. Her pledge pummeled Malcolm’s conscience.

He would not believe Elin lied to him. He could not believe it. Or was this like the poison, made to look as if she plotted against him? Had someone paid a servant to spread lies?

And if so, then Caradoc was to blame. “Ready those men.”

The knight stood, proud and tall, and sheathed his weapon. He left with a fast stride, eager to carry out his orders.

Left alone in the comfort and warmth of the sun, Malcolm no longer felt tranquil. There would be no peace as long as his doubts remained.

“Alma, I’ve not seen you since London.” Elin held out her arms to the woman climbing down from the horse. “I tried to find you at court.”

“I had the best visit, and ’twas all Hugh and Justus could do to tear me away.” The old woman’s eyes shone. “Why, I discovered a cousin of mine who sews for the queen. We played together as small children, when her mother once traveled to Evenbough. ’Twas a grand occasion then, and to see her again after a lifetime was a treat. She taught me a few new tricks with an embroidery needle.”

“Why, Alma, you could have stayed with your cousin longer. Mayhap you should gather what fun you can afore there is another babe to tend.”

“Why, Elinore!” Pleasure sparkled in Alma’s loving eyes. “What secrets are you hiding? Tell me, is there a babe on the way?”

“I am not certain yet, but ’tis possible. That is why I’m in the stables.”

“Pray, do not tell me you plan to meet your husband here.” Alma looked scandalized. “Little one, you are a wife now and a baroness. You must no longer act like a wild bird. Look, you wear your daggers still.”

“Malcolm does not mind. He commissioned better weapons for me. The blacksmith only just provided them.” Elin took her nursemaid’s hand and led her down the aisle of nickering broodmares. “Come tell me about your cousin as I choose the horse for our babe.”

“A babe has no need of a horse, Elin.” Alma’s hand never strayed from Elin’s, her affection true as a mother’s.

And how grateful Elin was for it. “By the time I choose the dam and sire and the foal is born, my sweeting will likely already be here. And by the time the foal is ready to ride, so will my child.”

“Most mothers would provide swaddling clothes.”

“Then ’tis a good thing I have you, Alma.” Elin gave her nursemaid a hug, then halted before a mare. “Oh, she is gentle, this one. Look at those eyes.”

Alma shook her head, but her joy was unmistakable. “I have never seen you this happy. Methinks you have found your soul mate in our great le Farouche.”

Elin sent her maid to look after Alma, for she planned to be in the stables a long while. Her palfrey nickered a plea for attention, and so she complied. After offering an apple from her pocket, she scrubbed the horse’s chin and neck with her knuckles.

The sound of steel striking steel shattered the afternoon’s peace. A shout of victory rang from the bailey outside. Cheers rose from the idle stable boys posed in the doorway. Sunlight glinted off blade and armor as the practice began.

A hundred knights filled the courtyard with their glitter and strength. Elin’s breath stalled at the sight of the greatest among them. Malcolm radiated sunshine like the great Apollo as he raised his sword and knocked Ian’s from his grip.

A good-natured victory transformed his warrior’s face. A grin softened his features so he looked young and relaxed, a man of strength and light. Malcolm’s gaze found hers, as if he’d felt her admiring glance like a touch to his cheek, and his smile deepened. Dimples framed his mouth and his handsomeness tore at her heart.

Ian climbed to his feet, wiping the grass blades from his hindquarters. His smile was not so good-natured.

“Elin?” A whisper rasped from the stall behind her and a familiar face peered over the boards.

“Giles?” She could not believe the disheveled appearance of the meticulous knight nor the pain etched into lines on his face.

“Quickly and quietly, lady.” Giles gestured for her to join him in the shadows of the stall.

She glanced over her shoulder. No one watched, so she crept into the straw by the disgraced knight’s side. “Why are you here? Malcolm banished you.”

“My presence here risks not only my life, but my sister’s.” A grim sorrow narrowed his face, pale from grief and injury. “But I cannot leave to rescue her until I know who wants Malcolm’s death.”

“Oh, Giles.” He’d risked his reputation helping her out of the king’s dungeon. “I know you are innocent.”

He hung his head, his throat working hard with unspoken emotion. “I would give my life for Malcolm’s. He is in danger, and not just from those who want this wealthy barony. This is a personal battle. The one who would kill le Farouche wants more than his death. He wants to be seen as innocent of the act, for Edward would sorely punish the man who kills Malcolm. And any number of knights in this garrison would want revenge.”

Elin glanced over her shoulder. She saw no one, but felt watched. “Oh, Giles, you are flushed. You have developed a fever.”

He grimaced as he evaded her touch. “My wounds concern me not, but Malcolm’s life does. Now that I am gone, you are closest to him. I can watch him by day, but not by night. You must make certain no one tries to kill him in his sleep. It has been attempted before.”

“You frighten me.” Elin stood to watch Malcolm through the gaping door. Shafts of golden light enhanced his masculine grace and nobility.

“You are warrior trained, Elin. Your brother taught you well. You saved my life once, and I was not grateful enough. Arrogance has long been my sin, but in my duty I am true. Wear your daggers and keep your sword at hand, especially in bed. If a killer defeats the knights who protect Malcolm, then you may be his only hope.”

“You forget one thing, Giles.” Elin gestured toward the yard, where Malcolm took time to demonstrate a rare defense to Hugh, using Justus as his enemy. “Malcolm is undefeated.”

“But he remains weakened from the strong poison’s effects. He’s said not a single word of it, but I noticed. And you have made him weak, Elin. When a warrior gives his heart, it makes him soft. Makes him less of a killer. Look, he spared my life. Mercy is of no use to a knight.”

“He loves me truly, then.” Malcolm had never said the words.

“Look at him and see the difference.”

Aye, it was astonishing. He was still powerful, but his face appeared different—no longer hard, no longer harsh.

“Protect him, Elin. Do what I cannot.” Giles slipped into the shadows. “I must go.”

“Wait. Let me fetch my herbs—”

“There is no time.” A crackle of straw beneath a boot marked his departure. He moved into the shadows, then was gone.

Remembering his words, she clasped the dagger sheathed beneath her kirtle. Her gaze shifted to the bailey, where Malcolm’s sword flashed with quick skill. She watched him, pride and love mingling inside her chest until it hurt to breathe.

She loved him. How she loved him. Giles had begged her to protect Malcolm. And she would, upon her life.

“My lord.” Ian wiped the sweat from his brow as he trotted down the stone passageway. “A word with you.”

Malcolm halted, studying his commander and remembering his accusations. “Supper awaits.”

“’Twill only take a trice.” Ian slowed, then stopped, face dark with regret. “You agreed to keep a man watching your lady wife. I had wished it could be different. That after years of betrayal, you would find a woman worthy of your trust.”

By the rood, Malcolm felt sick, fearing he already knew the news his commander brought. He fisted his hands and braced his feet against the stone floor. “Tell me what you know of my wife. Say it, Ian.”

Regret weighed down Ian’s shoulders. “A guard saw her meet with a man in the stable during our practice.”

“I saw her in the doorway for a bit.” He remembered how beautiful she’d looked, brushed by sunlight and smiling with happiness.

“There was much that you could not see.” Ian lowered his voice, even though they were alone. “She met with a man in an empty stall. She was there long enough to have a liaison. The guard was not close enough to know for certain; but he did overhear her lover. He asked her to carry her sword to your bed and do what he could not.”

It could not be true. A great crushing blow battered Malcolm’s chest. He balled his hands and clenched his teeth. “I cannot see Elin wanting another man.”

“But what of the words? She would not be the first woman to harm you in order to please her lover.”

“I would have more proof than your word, Ian.”

“Then question the guard.” The knight’s chin lifted in challenge. “I can call him here if you want. He is loyal to you, Baron. He has no desire to hurt Lady Elin. He simply will tell you all he saw. If you want to know the details of her tryst.”

Nay. The image of her with another man tore him into pieces and bordered on violence. It was black and suffocating in its power. How many times had he faced this? He’d been wrong about Giles. About Lily. About a dozen others who never had the power over his heart that Elin did.

“The main course is being served.” She breezed into the corridor, her smile as pure as heaven. Her gaze shone with a look of love that made his knees weak.

And made him feel guilty at the doubt in his heart. But it remained, lurking like a devil’s grip in his soul. He forced a smile to his face. “I was waiting for my lady to escort me to the hall.”

“I can oblige, handsome knight.” She slipped her arm into his. And with the spirit of an unbroken filly, she tugged him down the corridor.

Chapter Sixteen

She smiled like an angel as she shared his trencher. Her touch on his arm, her whisper in his ear and her seeming affection sharpened his sense of guilt for suspecting her. He could sense some manner of danger. He just could not tell what was amiss.

Ian’s words troubled him. Tomorrow Malcolm would question the guard and learn what he’d witnessed in the stable. But what of Caradoc? Malcolm could make no move until Edward approved it. Affection for family created a blind spot in a man’s reasoning.

Elin held a morsel of roasted venison to Malcolm’s lips and he ate from her hand, catching the tips of her fingers with his tongue. Her eyes smoldered with desire and pleasure. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Justus, seated at the next table, teased them.

Malcolm saw only love reflected in Elin’s eyes, in her kiss and in her touch. Her words held him captive. Her smile left him enchanted. Every fiber of his body ached to be with her, skin to skin, tenderly joined as one. With her, there was a flame so bright it left him changed like steel in a forge, newly shaped and improved, forever a part of her.

Did he suffer from that same blindness?

Later, in their solar alone and joined, he tried to drive the guilty doubts from his mind. But this night, her sword stood by the bed within her easy reach.

’Twas the silence that woke him—the tense stillness—and he cursed his own weakness. He’d grown soft as a husband. The warrior in him never gave in to the need for deep sleep. Malcolm rolled from his belly and saw the dark glimmer overhead as a sword swiftly descended. He dodged, wheeling to his feet. The blade cleaved the pillow in half. Fury blinded him as he tore the weapon from her hands. From hands as soft and familiar as morning.

Elin.

She broke away from his grip, and the rasp of metal unsheathed told him she now held a dagger.

Malcolm woke with a start, heart pounding. Only darkness stood over him. There was no blade and no betraying wife. It had been a dream. He blinked, but the image of Elin’s betrayal lingered. It soured his mouth and caused his heart to ache.

She slept in the bed beside him. He leaned on one elbow to gaze down at her. She lay on her side, with the linen sheet puddled at her waist. He brushed the tresses from her face. Faint moonlight cast a luster upon her creamy skin, full breasts and heavenly face. You sleep so peacefully. But she was human, with human frailties. She could be as easily tempted as any woman or any man.

Fie, but she’d weakened him, left him without armor and shield. Naked, he rose from the bed and grabbed his sword. He opened the door, to find Ian gone from his post. The dark corridor was empty, and he was glad.

He’d not thought upon how much he’d come to trust his wife. Sleeping beside her so deeply, he felt refreshed come morning. ’Twas rare in itself. But was it wise?

He forced open stubborn wooden shutters and let the night breezes cool the sweat from his face. One day Elin would be his betrayer—experience had taught him that. Who in his life had remained true? Very few.

Aye, he was not a man to dream of love and peace.

A sting of warning along the back of his neck told him he was not alone in the corridor. Instincts honed, he turned and unsheathed his sword. He dropped belt and scabbard out of the way and searched the darkness.

There—a movement. He lifted his blade and took a swift step. “You lack silence, fiend. What would you do? Think to sink your sword into my back?”

“’Twould be the easiest way to your death.”

“I do not recognize you.” Malcolm saw the shadow of a blade, and thrust with a clash of steel. “Are you one of Philip’s men?”

“Nay. Your wife’s.” Steel lashed out in the darkness.

Malcolm blocked the strike with a spray of sparks. “My wife has no men.”

“Ha! Has she fooled you so much?” Another strike. Another clash of steel against steel. “The great le Farouche has found his vanquisher. And ’tis a tiny woman.”

Rage blinded him. Malcolm lunged and knocked his opponent’s sword to the floor with a clatter. Cold, lethal purpose drove the mercy from his heart. He grabbed his opponent by the throat. “I will have the truth from you, coward.”

“And I will have your death.”

Malcolm heard the whisper of metal against metal. He anticipated the swish of the dagger and dodged it, then struck out with his sword. The assassin screamed as the blade sliced into his arm, and the dagger hit the floor with a clatter. Victorious, Malcolm flicked the tip of his weapon to the killer’s throat. “Name the one who sent you.”

“Pray, have mercy—”

A change of pressure sliced skin.

Malcolm gritted his teeth, rage shaking him. He’d had enough of death attempts. It ended here and now. “Tell me or I slay you.”

“’Twas your wife.”

The air rushed from Malcolm’s chest. He heard footsteps whispering around the corner, and a lit torch bobbed into sight. Darkness turned to shadow, illuminating the slayer’s face.

“’Twas her.” Helwain paled with fear, narrow eyes round as Elin approached. “’Twas Caradoc who ordered me to slip into your solar and bury a blade in your back while you slept. But she paid me. Look, she carries a sword.”

Shock swept over Malcolm with the speed of a storm-driven wave and sent him reeling. He staggered, his sword drawing more blood from the disgraced lord’s throat. It cannot be.

“Malcolm?” She peered up at him with concern gentle in her angelic eyes. “Who is he?” Her gaze swept to the fallen dagger and sword on the floor, and all the color drained from her face. “Oh, sweet Mary, he attacked you.”

She lifted the torch, and light caressed her face. She looked like no betrayer. Heaven’s own light shone in her eyes. By the rood, he could no longer bear these doubts. She grasped her sheathed sword in her other hand, held low in the shadows. Did she think to protect him? Or betray him? Was she guilty or innocent? Malcolm remembered his dream and Ian’s words.

“Elin, you must help me,” Helwain pleaded, his words driven by desperate fear. “Take up your sword now. We can—”

“Enough!” Rage shook Malcolm’s tensed body. He had to know the truth, no matter how it would destroy him. “Elin, did you pay him?”

Her brow crinkled. “Pay him? Who is he?”

Helwain laughed. “See how innocent she looks? Deny my claim, sweet lady.”

“Sir, I do not know you.” Elin marched close, raising her sword.

Malcolm watched that blade gleam in the torchlight. How much more of a fool would he be? He’d been blinded by affection. By a woman’s sweet touch. And now, to have her raise a sword to him…A great tearing rage quivered in his chest. Like a lion’s claw, it threatened to shear him apart. Like a lion’s fury, it roared and grew, driving him past the edge of control.

He spun, knocking the hilt from her hand. The blade crashed to the floor and her gaze, wide and filling with terror, impaled his. He felt Helwain try to move, and drove his sword into the assassin’s shoulder. Wrath blinded him as he stood on the brink, his sword quaking.

“Malcolm?” Elin’s fingers curled around his wrist, gentle and healing.

Oh, so healing. Only she could light the dark places in his soul. Only she could bring love to his heart. But what of his doubt? What belief he’d placed in her broke now, like sodden earth from a cliff’s edge. That faith crumbled and collapsed, until he was no baron, no beloved husband, but merely Malcolm le Farouche. A man who fought and lived by his sword. Who could trust no one.

“Ian!” His shout rousted action.

Ian raced into sight.

“Take him to the dungeon.” Malcolm gave the former Lord Helwain a shove that sent him to the floor, disarmed and disgraced. “He admitted to receiving payment to kill me. Ian, why were you not at your post?”

Other knights filed into the hall, drowning out Ian’s answer. Malcolm issued orders. The knights sensed his rage and ran to obey, and left him alone with his wife. His treacherous wife.

Elin’s hand remained on his arm, gentle as celestial light. “I cannot believe Helwain could get into this castle. Not without help from one of your own knights. That is my belief.”

“Truly?” He watched her face, and saw only innocence. But then, he knew she lied.

She leaned her cheek against his naked shoulder, a loving and trusting gesture. “’Tis true, what you’ve said. You must always watch your back.”

He forced air past the hard emotion balled in his throat. “Aye, ’tis not the first time. I’d forgotten how often this happens.”

Her kiss brushed the back of his hand. “Let me heal what hurts in you.” She set the torch in its holder and leaned her cheek against his breastbone. Gossamer strands of hair tickled his chest and snagged on his stubbled jaw.

Every tender place within his heart yearned for this comfort. Her softness enchanted him and made him want to believe. Even when he knew the truth about her.

She’d hired an enemy of the king to kill him. Malcolm’s muscles tightened with fury and a bone-breaking pain.

“Come to bed.” She rose up on tiptoe to press her mouth to his. The tender flame of her kiss left his blood thick. Her hand slid down his abdomen to stroke his hardening shaft. “You’re still naked, Malcolm. As I am, beneath this shift.”

Betrayer or nay, she made his pulse quicken, made him tremble. He desired her like no other. Even now, after all she’d done, his hunger for her sharpened. He wanted to take her here, against the stone wall, in the darkness where he could forget the accusations against her.

“I will ease the torment inside you.” She knelt before him, taking his rigid shaft in both hands.

What did she wish to gain? A holding of her own? Her freedom? His hands clasped her wrists and pulled her to her feet. She gazed up at him with surprise in her eyes.

“We’re alone,” she whispered. “I thought you might like—”

“I’ll have the truth from you, Wife, but no more pleasures.” He pushed her against the wall, where the torchlight flickered across her face and revealed the growing fear in her eyes. He wanted the truth, no matter the cost. “How much gold?”

“For what?”

Fie, but she truly looked bewildered. He was not fooled. “For my death. How much did you pay Helwain so your hands would be clean of my blood?”

“What?” Her chin lifted a notch. “I would have fought to defend you, not to harm you. Why else would I keep a sword by the bed?”

“Why else indeed?” A hot, flaming wrath beat like fists inside his chest. “Did you pay Helwain to take my life? Did you plot with Caradoc?”

“Nay.” Her chin shot up, and she was all fire, bright and furious. “Someone did, and by the rood, I’ll not leave your side. I shall carry my sword, and between the two of us, we will keep you safe from treachery.”

“Is this your lie?” She must have plotted this innocent act all along. She did not even look distressed that someone wanted his death.

Because it came as no surprise.

“How long have you been rutting with Caradoc?”

Her eyes flashed and her mouth slackened. Then anger shaped it. “Rutting with him? I’d put a sword to his belly afore I would—”

“Enough lies!” he roared, grabbing the torch with one hand and her wrist with the other. He dragged her back to their solar, not unkindly, but not gently. He tottered on the precarious edge of control. “I cannot stand your lies, Elin.”

“Then I’ll only tell the truth.” Her eyes flashed again, with a hard emotion. Was it hatred? He could not tell.

“What does a woman know of truth?” he spat in disgust. Keeping his sword ready, Malcolm kicked the door shut and barred it, so they were alone and she was trapped.

A chill settled in Elin’s limbs. He released her, and she fell onto the bed. The flames from the torch he carried made a flickering crown above his head. He said no words as he set the light in its wall holder, but she could see what he thought of her in the tense muscles of his back and the twist of his mouth.

He hated her. He believed Helwain’s false claims. But how could he? Her gaze traveled to the bed, the linens rumpled from their lovemaking. Had he been suspicious even then?

“What is happening, Malcolm? Why are you doubting me?” She licked her lips, praying for the right words this time. “I have never slept with Caradoc. The very thought makes me ill.”

“Perchance that is an effect of your guilt.” He towered above her, naked and as powerful as the night. “Was I wrong about you from the start? In the king’s court, I told Edward you did not covet royal power. You did not work against him. Was I wrong?”

“How could you doubt me?” Had he gone mad? “Every day of our marriage, I have fought by your side. For you, not against you. Even when I feared you would abuse me. Do you remember? I healed your wounds and I risked my life when Caradoc wanted you poisoned.”

Malcolm’s face looked as unyielding as stone. “Did Caradoc admit his plans to you?”

“If he had, he would be impaled upon my sword. Well, at least bleeding from it. You know I cannot kill.” She brushed her fingers against the back of his hand, and her heart gave a hard thump at the contact. “This time I ask you—how can you doubt me?”

“All women deceive.” He retrieved his belt and scabbard from the shadows and stood, a thousand shades of fury. “’Tis only a matter of time. Tell me of a love that endures.”

“There are many.” She stood, chin lifted, though her knees shook. Fie, but she’d never been this angry in all her life. Or this hurt. “If you do not believe in a woman’s love, then will you believe in the love of a mother for her child?”

A sneer curled Malcolm’s upper lip. “I see where you lead. You think to claim we’ve conceived a babe in our short time together, and to use such a bond to prove your loyalty to me.”

“’Tis what you wished.”

“I wished for my own seed to take root within you, not some weak-fleshed dotard’s!” He roared like a wounded lion, and the anguished fury reverberated along stone and wood. He towered over her, gleaming in the high torchlight, as fearsome and mighty as Zeus enraged. “If a babe prospers in your belly, then do not call it mine.”

“Caradoc? You think—” Fear froze her, made her feel small and insignificant. She could see now he truly believed her to be false. “Malcolm, this babe I think I carry is your child. Believe what lies you choose, but I know this to be true.”

“Enough!” His mouth twisted. The cords in his neck and chest strained with agony. “You kill me with these lies.”

“You still do not believe me?”

“I do not.”

After their nights of passion, did the bond between them mean so little? Perchance it did not exist on his part. Mayhap he would never love her as she loved him. He’d said as much. And now she believed it—believed that no such emotion could grow in a heart so empty and dark.

A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw, yet no regret or remorse gleamed in his bleak eyes. “You are again my prisoner, Lady Elinore of Evenbough. Attempt to escape this solar and you will know the cruelty in my heart.”

“Pray, you cannot believe—”

But to her horror, he grabbed the pile of his clothes on the way out the door. Darkness claimed him as he moved into the shadows, then was gone.

And he accused her of duplicity. All this time she’d risked her heart. She’d thought she saw in him a brand of affection that made her stronger and better.

Or so she’d believed. And believed falsely.

Tears welled in her eyes. What a fool she’d been, to think that a man could love as a woman could. Her tender breasts and absent monthly flux told her she might be carrying his babe—a babe not conceived in love and trust, after all, but in the cold hard way of Malcolm le Farouche.

He’d only wanted an heir.

A bleak darkness gathered in her chest and brought a pain so sharp she could not breathe.

Swive her until she is increasing, then hide her away in your farthest holding. This is what he’d intended all along. Fie, but she was a fool to trust a man. Such a sentimental sop! What would Malcolm do now that he believed those false tales? And who’d reported that she loved another man?

Her tears of rage ceased as she leaped to action. She tore off her nightdress and exchanged it for chausses and a tunic. She might be a wife, but she was still warrior trained. And by the saints, she would not sit idle like a mewing weakling. She belted her sword at her hips.

The door whispered open, revealing Ian on the threshold. He looked as invincible as the armor upon his chest.

“Ian. Quickly. Do not stand there slack jawed. I must rush to Caradoc of Ravenwood. I would have his head for the lies he tells.” She charged past the arrogant commander.

“Not so quick, my lady.” His fingers clamped over her upper arm, spinning her backward into his chest. Metal pinched and bruised her flesh. “You have much to answer to in shaming my longtime friend. Did you know we served the king together even before the Outremer?”

A prickle of warning ran across her nape. “Like Rees the Great?”

“Friends we all were, until the Outremer. ’Tis amazing how a true loyalty can meld into true hatred.” His fingers clamped tighter, his gauntlet digging hard into her muscles.

She knew better than to cry out. Men like Ian wanted to inflict pain. “Unhand me. I can walk on my own.”

“I do not intend to release you. Better for Malcolm to think you betray him. ’Twill be easier than the truth.” His sneer taunted her.

And ignited her temper. He took a step, and she dug in her heels, fighting him. Her leather boots merely skimmed the rough stone floor, and she could not stop him. Like the swing of a sword’s blade, she guessed the truth. “You are the traitor.”

“Me? You sleep with Caradoc. You plot Malcolm’s death.” Ian’s mouth twisted with mockery. He dragged her down one step, and the hard stone slammed into her legs. A moan scraped through her raw throat. She struggled for freedom, but his grip on her tightened yet again. Fie, but he was a strong oaf. Tears stung her eyes.

“What a coward you are, overpowering a woman half your size.” Again she wrenched hard and managed to pull her sword from her scabbard. The upswing struck his gauntlet and did not hurt, but the act startled him.

She tore away from his grip, her weapon held ready. “You are a worthless traitor, and I’ll die before I let you guard my husband’s back.”

“That can be arranged, shrew.” Ian drew his blade and jabbed.

She met his quick thrust, and the clash sent her stumbling backward down two steps. The force of the impact of his blade against hers shot pain up her arm. She was strong, but Ian was stronger. How could she defeat him? He was the second best knight in the realm. Fear pattered in her chest. And rage. This man wanted to hurt Malcolm. This man had turned Malcolm against her.

Ian lunged, but she parried, then struck hard with her sword. The blade cuffed him on the chin. ’Twas a lucky stroke, that was all, but she was glad to claim first blood.

“You will pay for that, hellcat,” the tarnished knight vowed. “Long have I suffered, watching your outrageous ways. Were I your husband, I would beat you into submission, you untamed shrew. And before I blame you for Malcolm’s murder, I will teach you submission.”

His threats drove a shivering fear deep into her limbs. If she did not defeat Ian now, he would try to kill Malcolm, her warrior with the wounded heart.

Ian’s sword clashed against hers once more, and the brute force nearly knocked the weapon from her grip. She took the hilt in both hands and thrust once, twice, thrice. Each time, Ian blocked and returned with a strike of his own.

“Lay down your weapon, witch. I merely toy with you. The next blow will take your head with it.”

“Then ’twill be hard to blame me for Malcolm’s murder if I am not alive to do the deed.” She lunged quickly, and her sword ducked beneath his.

Though the bones of her hand rammed the hilt of his sword with crushing pain, she hung on to her blade. Catching the hem of his mailed hauberk, she drove the tip into his unprotected stomach. It was not a deep wound, but his howl of fury reverberated off shadows and stone. Half running, half stumbling, she made it to the landing.

“Help!” she screamed, racing for the great hall. “Justus! Hugh!”

Helwain stepped out of the shadows and onto the landing, blocking her escape. He raised his sword against her and knocked her blade from her hand.

She was outnumbered.

“Not so brave now?” Ian’s triumph twisted his hard face. “Scream all you want, wench. I ordered every knight to the walls, to defend in case of attack. There is no one to hear you.” He smiled with Caradoc’s twisted smile.

Elin saw the resemblance between the two men. “Why are you doing this?”

Ian raised his blade. “Why? Because after you are blamed for Malcolm’s death, the king will grant me Evenbough and a baron’s title, which by rights should be mine.”

“You fetid, festering rat. Edward will see through your plot. He’ll not believe—”

She saw Ian’s sword swing. In a flash, the hilt struck pain through her skull, and then there was only blackness.

The anguish of Elin’s betrayal fueled Malcolm’s fast trek to Ravenwood Castle. It terrified the guards at the gate and drove acid into his heart. He wanted vengeance. He wanted to lay hands upon the man who’d won from Elin what Malcolm could not.

“Caradoc!” He shoved aside the knight who guarded the door. “Caradoc!”

No answer came from the chamber within. Malcolm heard the clash of steel behind him, echoing in the dark corridors. The opponents raising swords against his men were few. He’d threatened to charge all who opposed him with aiding a traitor to the king. This and his wrath had guaranteed his passage into the heart of Ravenwood Castle.

“Caradoc, unbar this door.” He beat upon the wood with his fists.

From within he heard the rustle of bedcovers. He kicked the door once, then again. Wood splintered at the third assault, ripping both the hinges from the wall and the bar that held it shut. The door hit the floor like a drawbridge opening, allowing him into the solar. He saw the flash of a sword in the candlelight and charged.

“Have you gone mad, le Farouche?” Caradoc parried, then dodged behind the bedpost. “I heard madness is rampant on your father’s side of the family.”

“I discovered ’twas you who paid for the mercenaries.” Malcolm tasted hatred upon his tongue, toxic and cold. “What? You cannot fight me without ten men to my one? Or should you hire another warrior to drive a blade into my back?”

“Helwain failed in his quest.” Caradoc’s eyes glittered with mockery. Again he evaded the blade, a better dancer than swordsman. “As did Elin. I had more faith in her abilities than Helwain’s.”

Fury pounded behind Malcolm’s eyes. “Do you plot against the king?”

“Edward is my beloved uncle.”

“I’ve had enough lies this night.” Malcolm snapped his sword low and struck the hilt from Caradoc’s weak hand. The blade flew across the room. “Admit it, fiend, or you will die.”

“I die either way. Mayhap we can strike a bargain, you and I.”

Rage blinded him. With a roar, Malcolm lunged, and the milksop darted around the bed. “I have more than suspicions to charge you with, Caradoc. I have Helwain’s confession. ’Tis enough for you to hang.”

“Bold threats, usurper.” Caradoc took another lap around the bed.

“Usurper?” Malcolm charged over the mattress and drove Caradoc into the corner. “Explain.”

Candlelight flickered across the villain’s face. “Elin and I had an ugly tiff when her father accidentally killed Cousin Edith. ’Tis why she refused to acknowledge me.”

“You lie. I wager that you had some hand in your cousin’s death.” Loathing caught in his throat. “You aided Philip, and then turned against him. That is how Edward knew who to arrest.”

Triumph glittered in laughing eyes. “Nay, the traitor was Philip alone. I have a rightful claim to Elinore.”

“What rightful claim?”

“Lift the box on the table by the bed. I have the betrothal agreement. You don’t believe me? See for yourself.”

Malcolm’s sword trembled. For once he sensed truth in the deceiver’s words.

“What?” Caradoc chortled. “Is the great le Farouche weakening?”

His sword arched, drawing a streak of blood along Caradoc’s neck. “Enough insults, traitor.”

“First a cuckold, then a failure.”

A growl tore from his throat. Malcolm flipped open the jeweled box with his free hand and saw the sheen of parchment. He grabbed the scroll and broke the seal.

“I see your hand straying to your dagger.” At the edge of control, Malcolm slammed the side of his blade against the traitor’s neck. “One quiver of my arm will bring your death, knave.”

“Have you killed her? Is this what drives your rage?” Caradoc laughed. “Your sword scares me not. My death would bring Edward’s wrath, and the day will not come when you risk angering your precious king.”

“That day has arrived.” Malcolm scanned the betrothal agreement and the marriage record. His stomach plummeted with the sad knowledge this mocking pansy spoke the truth: Elin was Caradoc’s wife.

Whatever conflict separated the pair, Elin had sought shelter in Malcolm’s arms. She’d made false vows. She’d made a ruse of the love she claimed.

A rage so bleak and black pummeled his chest that Malcolm felt his ribs would break. His sword shook and he could taste the need for revenge upon his tongue. Caradoc’s laughter drove him beyond control, past the discipline of a lifetime, to a place of feeling and sorrow and pain.

Then footsteps sounded on the stones behind him. Justus led a small troop into the chamber. “Let me chain Caradoc. The king will want the truth from him, and the king’s torturers are the best in the land.”

Malcolm sheathed his sword. “Bind him, and toss him in the dungeon.”

“The great le Farouche is no longer fierce.” Caradoc’s glee shivered through the darkness. “The king will believe my tale, Malcolm. And ’twill be your head he seeks. You wait and see.”

“He is a festering pox,” Justus muttered as he trailed Malcolm down the dark, abandoned corridor. “He lies.”

But what is the truth? “He and Elin are man and wife.” The words choked Malcolm, and he could say no more.

He wished he had never met the traitor’s daughter on that dark road to the coast. He wished he had never allowed her to lay claim to his heart.

Fie, he was but a fool, wishing for love and dreams. A greater fool than Caradoc, who coveted the royal throne.

Malcolm’s heart closed like twilight fading to night, and no light and no softness remained.

Chapter Seventeen

A warm, grass-scented breeze caressed her face. Dawn played upon the edge of her eyelids, but she dared not open her eyes. Pain drilled through her skull, and the rocking motion against her stomach and hips told her she was tied over the back of a horse. A hard hand pressed against her spine, imprisoning her. He’d trussed her up and gagged her, and the discomfort of it brought her temper to life.

Ian, that swine! Fury roiled, but she had to control it. She had to think of a way to escape and save Malcolm.

“I do not like this,” a man’s voice—Helwain’s—grumbled above the quiet clomp of the horses. “’Twill not take le Farouche long to defeat Caradoc. We must hide the woman and return you to Evenbough ere he finishes at Ravenwood.”

“He is too preoccupied raging over his wife’s supposed treachery to notice my plans.” Ian’s voice was sour with hatred, and his hand pressed harder upon her back.

She struggled to keep from reacting. She had but one dagger hidden beneath her tunic and she could not risk trying to retrieve it now. She only had one chance. Just one. She would wait for the right moment.

Ian kicked his mount into a gallop, and she slammed hard against the animal’s back. Air whooshed out of her chest despite the gag stuffed in her mouth.

“Are you awake, my lady?” How he mocked her with that sarcastic tone. “No sense feigning. I can feel your heartbeat, fast and furious. Glad I am to know you fear me. You should be afraid. This ride from Evenbough will be your last.”

Fie, but she hated this traitor. She had to find a way to defeat him. If she could somehow loosen the ropes at her wrists and grab her dagger—

“We’ve arrived at your final resting place.” Ian skidded his destrier to a rough halt, and from the sound of his voice she knew the tarnished knight took much pleasure in her pain. “Helwain, take the witch.”

She needed more time to loosen the bindings. All she could do was kick out with both feet at Caradoc’s hireling. Her toe cracked him in the jaw, from the sound of it. His teeth clacked together, and he cursed. A cuff from a sword’s hilt struck hard against her spine.

Pain dizzied her.

“That is why I bound you well, Elin.” Dawn’s light brushed Ian with dark shadows as he rolled her into his arms.

Helpless, she stared up at him. With the gag in her mouth, she could not even curse him. Malcolm would discover Ian’s treachery. She had to believe it. Her husband was an intelligent man. He would discover the truth about Ian. And then Malcolm would crush this betrayer.

“He’ll not come for you.” Ian’s face twisted with an ugly, triumphant smile. “He believes the babe is Caradoc’s. I will continue to make certain Malcolm knows how many times you slept with your lover.”

Her heart broke into smaller pieces. The pain sheared her, and she hardly cared how roughly Ian shoved her onto Helwain’s bulky shoulder.

“Malcolm is a proud man.” Ian continued to taunt her as he dismounted. “Once he believes you’ve betrayed him, he’ll want you out of his life.”

She saw a flash of sky and the high tower of a small stone keep. And she remembered Malcolm’s fury. He did not love her. He did not believe she could be carrying his child.

If only she could reach her knife. Helwain strode steadily toward a stone wall. Dew flecked an untended yard. She twisted her wrist, struggling to loosen one hand from the ropes.

Helwain carried her through a doorway and down the keep’s narrow stairwell. Memories rushed back, of her father carrying her the same way, and fear wedged in her throat.

Not the dungeon. She twisted, desperate to break away. Helwain grabbed her before she could wriggle off his shoulder.

Ian’s cruel laugh reverberated along the shadowy stones. “I heard you’re not fond of dungeons, lady. Mayhap you will hate the resting place I prepared for you.”

A torch burned dimly in the back corner and drew her gaze to the small oubliette in the wall—a tiny cell where prisoners were forgotten and left to die. A cramped hole full of darkness and nightmares. By the rood, she could not bear it.

Helwain hauled her off his shoulder and dropped her on the ground. With her hands tied, she could not break her fall. She hit stone, and pain sliced through flesh and bone. She could not cry out because of the gag in her mouth.

“Have no hope, Elin.” Ian smiled, enjoying his cruel victory. “Malcolm will never come to save you. If you hear footsteps, it will be me. Come to kill you for the murder of my dear friend. I can hardly wait.”

Curses died upon her tongue. A horrible falling sensation filled her chest. Ian was right. Malcolm would not care if she went missing from his castle or his life. He hated her now.

Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall. Ian laid a linen cloth over her and wrapped it around her body. So bound, she felt the ropes tighten around her knees and waist and ribs. Ian and Helwain hefted her into the tiny cell. Shivers coursed across her skin. Horror raged in her throat.

Ian bade her goodbye as he sealed the opening. The tiny walls felt as if they were closing in. A cold fear quaked through her. Fie, but she would not give in. That’s what Ian wanted. She would not give that crowing coward the satisfaction of her fear or her death.

“Where is she?” Malcolm threw open the door and stormed into the passageway. “Where is my wife?”

Only startled silence answered. The collection of knights stared at him like statues of glittering steel. Were they all such cowards that they feared his wrath?

“Rory, where is Elin?”

The warrior blanched. “No one knows. Ian sent us all to the walls to keep watch for treachery. I told him I doubted Caradoc could hire more mercenaries after both Rees the Great’s and Nels the Hawk’s defeat. ’Tis why he resorted to using Helwain. Mayhap there’s another who is disloyal among our ranks.”

Malcolm’s very suspicion. And Elin’s false vows rang in his head. I will never hurt you. I give you my word. As with any woman, her quest for power over a man had been disguised as love—a false love he was needy enough to believe in.

Never would he be tricked again.

“Rory, send a messenger to Ravenwood Castle. Tell Justus to expect Elin. I want her held in the dungeon, and search her for weapons. She will accompany Caradoc to the king’s court.”

He marched past his men and down the curving stairs. Dark spots on the stone caught his eye. He knelt to study the trail of blood droplets on the last few steps and noticed the sword scuffs on the walls.

“Where is Ian?” he bellowed at the servants in the great hall, who prepared the tables for the meal.

“We know not,” a page gathered enough courage to whisper.

Malcolm hurled open the door and strode out into the morning. Squinting in the light of the rising sun, he studied the bustling bailey. Where the hell was Ian?

“My lord?”

Malcolm spun at the sound of his commander’s voice. Dirt marked the knight’s surcoat and dried blood stained his face. “Explain your absence,” Malcolm ordered.

Ian bowed his chin, hiding his eyes. “Your lady wife escaped the solar and I attempted to stop her. My regrets, Malcolm, but I failed. She fought me with sword and dagger. I didn’t wish to harm her, knowing how you once cherished her. She claimed to be Caradoc’s wife, and intended to free him. She dashed through the bolt-hole and into the night ere I could stop her.”

The thought of Elin lying with that dandified capon drove Malcolm once more to the edge of control. He charged up the stairs to the battlements above. He didn’t want any of his men to know of this great, shameful weakness. He heard Ian’s step on the stones behind him. It seemed there was no escape.

Ian set a weapon on the ramparts with a clink of steel against stone. “It proves her guilt.”

She lied from the first moment we met. ’Twas a hard truth to swallow. It stuck in his throat like a fishbone. Why had he expected Elin to be different?

Because he’d hoped somewhere to find again the peace and love he’d once known as a boy in a small English valley. To know again a time of innocence and light.

“No one thinks you a fool, Malcolm.” Ian knelt down, gazing out over the village and sowed fields. Cast in shadow, he squinted in the bright sun. “I speak now as friend to friend, not as retained knight to baron. Well I understand your attachment to your lady wife. With her, you sought to make yourself noble. ’Tis always a bastard’s quest, to earn what his father denied him.”

“All I dared hope for was peace, a woman’s tenderness and a son of my own.” It all felt lost to him now.

“Then we as bastards fight to give our sons legitimacy.”

“Aye.”

Ian left, with duties to oversee. Malcolm remained on the battlements to plan his next move, drinking in the beauty of the land. But it was Elin who remained in his soul and would not leave. Elin who dominated his thoughts—the beauty of her touch, the passion of their joinings, the sweetness of sleeping at her side.

After all she’d done, after all her lies, he wanted her still.

The glint of sunlight upon the dagger caught Malcolm’s eye.

’Twas Caradoc’s blade, forged in his village. This was the blade Elin had used in her attack against Ian? It proves her guilt, Ian had declared.

Never had Malcolm seen Elin use violence to attack, only to protect. And the castle’s blacksmith now made all her daggers.

Malcolm searched the bailey below and spotted Ian. Faintly the sound of his orders lifted above the clatter of the busy castle yard. Ian was mounting up to follow Elin’s tracks.

Tracks? She headed for Ravenwood. Justus would be waiting there. What need did Ian have to follow her trail through the woods?

Again that icy prickle of warning gripped Malcolm’s spine. Perchance it was the soft morning light, but Ian’s profile resembled Caradoc’s. He held the same flicker of mockery in his eyes. And his chin was carved with the same dimple. Malcolm blinked again, certain he was wrong, but the resemblance remained.

’Tis always a bastard’s quest, to earn what his father denied him. Malcolm plummeted down the stairs to the bailey below, but Ian was already mounted.

“Hold. I shall go with you.” Malcolm signaled for his squire. “I have unfinished business with Ravenwood.”

Ian’s gaze narrowed. Was it cunning or simply intelligence that gleamed there? “I will be honored with your presence.”

“Mayhap we can find Elin together.” He slid the false dagger in his belt. “I have a matter to settle with her.”

“That of Caradoc’s babe?” All innocent, that comment.

Malcolm’s guts prickled with the sour sting. Those words carried barbs meant to hurt. He shrugged his anger aside. “Aye. That is the matter I wish to punish her for. Rory, gather a dozen men to accompany us.”

“But lord, what of the threat of attack on Evenbough?” Ian’s hand covered his hilt.

“The absence of twelve knights will not result in the castle’s downfall.” Malcolm took the stallion’s reins from his squire. “Let us follow wherever Elin’s tracks lead.”

Panic twisted Ian’s face, then disappeared.

The rage revived in Malcolm’s chest. Why had he not seen it? Ian wanted legitimacy, as all bastards did. Was it this that had driven him? Had he wanted a baron’s title? Was he furious that Malcolm had been granted that honor by the king?

Worse, had Ian planted false rumors and reported false events? And yet Caradoc had confirmed Ian’s tales. The brothers worked together in this.

Leaving Lulach in charge of the castle’s defense, Malcolm led the way down the drawbridge and into the dew thick fields. He saw two separate tracks. A faint, older trail had knocked the drops from wildflowers and grasses. A bolder path marked Ian’s return to Evenbough.

Malcolm sidled his destrier alongside his commander’s. “Look, my wife’s trail heads east.”

“She turned toward Ravenwood once she reached the trees.”

Malcolm watched the lie flicker in eyes as dark as Caradoc’s. “Let us follow her trail. No doubt it will lead us where you say.” Although he had his doubts.

“Then let us all proceed to Ravenwood.” Ian’s hand settled again on his sword’s hilt.

“Look, Elin’s trail continues east.” Malcolm, too, laid his hand on his weapon. “And she rides a warhorse and not her favorite palfrey. ’Tis strange.”

“Very strange.” Rory sidled next to Malcolm.

For a brief flash, he feared the mercenary’s loyalty was false, but then he saw the tension cording the muscles in the knight’s neck. Rory suspected Ian, too. Thank the rood for this curiously staunch knight.

“Mayhap she needed a fast mount to aid her plans to flee.” Again Ian’s gaze swept the contingency of armed men.

“You’ve not chosen your usual destrier, Ian.” Malcolm nudged his stallion with his thighs, circling his foe. “You ride the swiftest animal in the stables. To aid your plan to flee?”

Ian kicked the destrier backward, before Rory could close the circle. “My own mount was tired from a hard ride.”

“A hard ride tracking Elin to Ravenwood?” Malcolm closed in, the malignant taste of bottled rage hot upon his tongue. “Where is my wife, Ian?”

The cursed deceiver spun his horse and whipped the animal into a panicked gallop. With a roar, Malcolm followed, driving his stallion into a full run. Still, the gap between them grew.

“Did you think to kill me?” he roared. “Did you plan to let Elin take the blame for my murder?”

Ian whipped his mount harder. Malcolm urged his destrier to a courageous pace. ’Twas a lot to ask of a loyal warhorse, and the stallion valiantly raced over hill and through dale, full out, ears plastered back.

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.

Chapter Eighteen

The 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.”

ISBN: 978-1-4268-8382-8

MALCOLM’S HONOR

Copyright © 2000 by Jill Strickler

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