by Jillian Hart
“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, Ma
lcolm 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?”