Malcolm's Honor. Jillian Hart

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      “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.

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