Malcolm's Honor. Jillian Hart

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ