Chapter 12

Twelve

"Rouse yourself, scrounger!"

Malcom awoke with a boot to his ribs, rolling over Elspeth, taking her with him. She squealed in surprise when he pulled her up from the pallet, sheltering her behind him. In the same fluid movement, he unsheathed the knife he kept at his boot, only belatedly recognizing the livery of the men who'd assaulted him. He turned his knife so that it cast a glimmer by the moonlight, letting the blade speak for itself and his words came terse. "'Tis nay way to wake a sleeping mon," he told the fools. "And ye're fortunate ye dinna touch my lady."

Both were slow to grasp their folly. "Lady? What lady? I see only a camp follower, wearing cast-off clothes. Did you wipe your hairy flute with yourlady's gown?"

The idiots laughed, amusing themselves, and with every bark of laughter, Malcom's fury burned hotter. He did not think before he said, "She's no camp follower, eegits. She's my bride."

Behind him, Elspeth gasped in startle, and he cast her a quick glance, pulling her close, tightening his hold about her wrist.

"Bride?" they asked in unison, both chortling.

"Aye," he said. "My bride. And ye'd do well to show respect," he demanded. "Or, I'll forget I ride beneath Stephen's banner, and you're his liegemen."

Very purposely, Malcom re-sheathed his blade, knowing full well that his reputation would speak for itself. And if they were too stupid to realize their mistake he could retrieve it quickly should he need it. More to the point, he could disarm them faster than they could blink.

"You are met with the lord of Aldergh," he said. "And I would count your blessings I do not cut off a foot for planting your boot where it did not belong." He eyed the man he suspected of the transgression, and silence met his declaration.

The two men stood looking at one another, uncertain what to say, and finally, the taller of the two relented, "Pardon, Lord Aldergh. We saw no banners. We thought?—"

"I dinna give a bluidy damn what ye thought," he said. "And now that ye've sae rudely awakened my lady, you may run to your lord and wake him. Inform him he has guests and I am certain he'll appreciate the summons at this late hour. You can be sure I will endeavor to explain the circumstances."

The two men peered at one another again, and Malcom said calmly, "Go," he said. "Now."

"Y-yes, lord!" both men replied, and one after the other hurriedly returned to their mounts. They couldn't depart quickly enough, and Malcom said, "I am sorry, lass. It seems we must dally, after all, thanks to these simpletons." He moved to put out the fire, grateful now that he'd taken time to dismantle the spit and bury the remains of the hare.

Elspeth blinked.

It did not escape her how swiftly the prowlers had had a change of heart and attitude. And now she wondered: Who was this lord of Aldergh that he had men trembling in their boots with barely a word? By the blessed cauldron, not since her time at court with her father had she ever met a man whose commands were so unequivocally obeyed. For all his unpleasantness, not even Ersinius commanded so much respect, much to his dismay.

Somehow, she'd never imagined this of Malcom—not after having encountered his unfailing good humor. But now, as she watched him work to douse the fire, she realized her mistake.

All the while he was laughing and jesting, she'd pricked and prodded him, appealing only to his anger, but Malcom's anger was the last thing she wished to encounter. "Well," she said, cautiously. "I have never seen anyone move so hastily."

Casting her a glance, he shuffled dirt into the fire pit with a boot, then tamped it down, arching a brow as he considered her. "Betimes 'tis advantageous to be known as a mad Scot."

"I see," she said. Though, in truth, she didn't want to consider how he must have received such an ill-tempered epithet—and dared not ask.

Certainly, it wasn't because he was staid and sensible. But how at odds this was with everything she knew of the warrior who'd dared to name his horse Merry Bells!

And now, after all, they were going to Amdel, and no matter that he'd claimed to detest this lord, there was little in his demeanor that gave Elspeth any impression he feared that man—or for that matter, anyone at all. Not for a moment had he seemed cowed by Beauchamp's men.

Angry, perchance. And, yes, indeed, she had noticed that he'd re-sheathed his knife even before introducing himself, and still unarmed those fools had dared not cross him.

Watching as he made short work of their pallet, Elspeth eyed the swirls of black that settled into his aura—dimmer now that Beauchamp's men were gone, but present nonetheless, and ebony, like the wraith of death.

Having slept fully dressed and still wearing his boots, he wasted little time setting the camp to rights and Elspeth would have gladly helped, though she was still quite stunned over the realizations she'd made. Consequently, she prayed he would not think to look at his wound—not now. Please, no, not now! And that same little demon that kept telling her to flee from him returned to put a needle to her head.

"Now what?" she asked, when he returned the bedroll to Merry Bells' hind quarters.

He gave her a shrug. "Now, my lovely bride, we call upon Amdel," he said, his fury finally abating. "I suppose if there is one blessing to be found in all this, we'll lay our heads on a proper pillow tonight."

Elspeth shrank back. "Together?"

He gave her a twisted smile. "Unless ye wish to remain here?"

Elspeth shook her head, unwilling to argue when there would be time enough for that with a proper chaperone at Amdel. And suddenly, she didn't relish any thought of angering Malcom further. As startled as she had been by those men, at the moment, Malcom seemed far more dangerous. And even so, she dared to ask, "Will you reveal the truth once we are arrived?"

"What truth?"

"That we are not betrothed."

"Nay," he said. "And yet you are quite welcome to do so at your own discretion. The decision is yours. But if you choose to let it be, Elspeth, you will do us both a favor."

"Favor?"

"Aye," he said, lifting his cloak from the ground where it lay, brushing it off. He cast her an arched glance over the garment. "If not for you, his sister would be my intended. And if there is aught you can do for me, Elspeth of Llanthony, it would be to save me the unpleasantness of having to repudiate his little sister."

He handed her the cloak. "Wear it, please. I would prefer not to offer more explanations than necessary." And he turned away, leaving Elspeth to consider all he'd said.

He had an intended?

For a moment, Elspeth stood, astounded. Certainly, that was nothing she had foreseen! So then, was she losing her ability to sense fates? Evidently, she had not read Malcom properly, nor had she guessed at his true nature. She had ignorantly taken for granted the smiling man she'd encountered in the woods.

"Art ready to ride?"

Sweet fates!

"Elspeth?"

No, no, no, no, no…She must go back. This was not right. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong! And she was quite certain her sisters must need her. Elspeth yawned, and her eyes grew heavy and she realized belatedly that her sleepiness had returned.

Rhiannon!

No sooner had the thought occurred to her when her knees buckled, and Malcom rushed forward to sweep her into his arms.

"Elspeth,"he said, gently patting her cheek.

Feeling more protective over the girl than would seem natural, Malcom considered the fact that until yesterday morning, he'd never set eyes on her before. He wasn't at all sure why he'd blurted such a lie—his bride? What in God's sweet name had possessed him to say so?

Not only was she not his bride, he was beginning to suspect, more and more, that she was meant for someone else. And nevertheless, he had no regrets, despite that he would now have explanations to make. No matter; his heart was not set on a union with Dominique Beauchamp. He'd set out to help Elspeth, but it was equally as likely that he'd spoken the lie for his own self-gain, because, to put it mildly, he didn't care for Dominique at all. And, perhaps, for the first time in all his life, he considered that there might be another woman he could bring himself to love…

"Elspeth," he whispered again, patting her cheek insistently.

Her face was unnaturally pale, and though it was only a moment or two before she reopened her eyes, blinking up at him in confusion, it was the longest moment of his life. He breathed a sigh of relief as she refocused her gaze.

"Elspeth?"

"I-I am fine."

"Art certain, lass?"

She nodded uncertainly, but that was enough to settle his nerves. "You did not eat well enough," he scolded, sounding too much like a mother hen though he didn't care. "Nor did you rest long enough. We shall see to that as soon as we are arrived at Amdel."

And it struck him then how much she'd endured in the space of a single day—and yet despite this, how well she'd fared. For all he knew, she could have been afoot in those woods for days and days, and he'd never even bothered to ask. Like his stepmother, she was too prideful to admit any weakness. And, even now, she was as impenetrable as any fortress made of mortar and stone.

Whether he liked it or nay, Elspeth harbored secrets, and if he wished to know them—or her—it would be at her own discretion.

She pushed his hand away, like a proud little foundling—looking more lost than she'd looked even when he'd discovered her back in the woods in Wales. But now, once again, she shut him out, and it was quite evident that he was only a means to an end.

Her trust would not be forthcoming, and whatever it was that he was beginning to feel for her—if indeed it was real—he suffered those feelings alone.

Nodding to himself, resigned to the unpleasant fact, he took one last look at Elspeth as she rallied, lifting herself up, half-heartedly smacking the dust from her clothes.

He left her alone. "Sit and rest whilst I pack," he said.

"Nay," she snapped. "I am fine. I would like to help." And she bent to pick up his trampled cloak and once again endeavored to brush it off.