by Jillian Hart
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 h
as 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.”