Page 21 of The Daughters of Avalon
A rosy flush crept into her cheeks, but she let his jibe pass. “We have long since departed Wales,” she said. “And still… you said naught.”
He answered peevishly, “I suppose you are not the only one who likes to keep secrets.”
She averted her gaze. “But… it was stupid. You could take a fever.”
“I am fine,” Malcom assured as he rose from his knees to retrieve his washrag.
He went to the brook to dip the cloth, and perhaps realizing what he meant to do, Elspeth rushed forward to take it from his hands. “Sit,” she demanded. “I can do it better.”
Lifting his brow, Malcom did as she bade him. He found and sat on a nearby log and waited whilst Elspeth dipped the towel into the burn, then wrung it free of excess moisture. Alas, whilst he appreciated the effort, it didn’t do much to cool his ardor.
“Who did this to you?”
“I would presume one of your Welsh compatriots.” He lifted his brow. “Perhaps Rhys ap Hywel or Owain Gwynedd or mayhap Madog ap Maredudd…”
Elspeth said nothing, but her brows twitched, and Malcom instantly regretted trying to bait her. To make up for it, he meant to set her mind at ease. “I know I offered, lass… but dinna worry… if ye dinna wish to travel all the way to Aldergh, I ken. We are not willing companions and, clearly, ye dinna trust me.”
“But… Idotrust you,”Elspeth said, surprised to discover how much she meant it. And yet, why she should trustanyman was a mystery as perfect as the Virgin Birth.
Evidently, Malcom would have her reveal everything, but he evidently had no intention of returning the favor. What did she know of him, after all? Naught more than the fact that he was a northern lord, sworn to her cousin. And once again, she’d found him prying.
Naturally, she held her tongue, unwilling to share more than she’d already revealed. Trust went only so far.
It would never serve Elspeth to confess that she was a daughter of the late king.
And it would serve her even less to disclose her relation to Morwen—even if he did not personally know her mother. Of course, Morwen would be discreet, but if anyone had everspent any good time in Stephen’s court, they would certainly have encountered her mother. She was not so easily overlooked. Whether or not she’d ever meant to heed the queen’s warning, she would never be so bold—or so stupid—as to make her counsel to the king so widely known. She would, in truth, be discreet, if for no other reason, because she wouldn’t wish to remind anyone who she was—a daughter of Avalon.
She realized she must make a decision soon—to seek sanctuary at Amdel or continue on to Aldergh, and if she sought sanctuary with Malcom, she would be forced to confess. But at the moment, she was leaning toward Amdel. Even if Beauchamp was loyal to Stephen, perhaps he could still be a reluctant vassal. Malcom was not. Quite obviously. But there were many, many barons who were. Shortly after her father’s death, Stephen had divested his enemies. And now, so many of her father’s barons found themselves dispossessed, sheltering amidst Matilda’s Norman holdings and living off the good graces of a Would-be Queen. Elspeth would hardly be surprised to learn that, in order to protect their holdings, many of the old guard were simply biding their time, remaining quietly loyal to her sister, waiting for the opportunity to renounce their vows.
Forsooth, even the king’s own brother, the Bishop of Winchester, was waffling. Elspeth knew this only because the Bishop had come to Llanthony a few weeks past, counseling with Ersinius. Elspeth overheard their conversation in the garden.
Elspeth’s good sense told her that Malcom might not love his king, per se, but his loyalty would never be in question—and even so, she sensed a darkness in him… an aura of fury that burned hotter when he spoke of his fealty to Stephen. There was something about his vows to Stephen that gave him grief. But, alas, his was a confusing mix of emotions, and Elspeth wished, not for the first time, that she had her sister’s skill to read his thoughts. It might give her a clue as to what she should do… begfor help from the lord of Amdel… or trust Malcom to see her through.
Sad to say, she only knew what she wanted to do… and this made too little sense.
In truth, she had begun to think of Malcom as her champion, reluctant or nay. And now, after that vision they’d shared… she feared he could be something more.
Goddess save her, she would never again be able to look at him without seeing the bare-chested image of a man with heavy-lidded eyes leaning back on one elbow, watching her, with smoky blue eyes that glinted by firelight, and sun-kissed hair that curled about his face.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone less curt, “if you ask it of me, Elspeth, I will speak to the lord of Amdel on your behalf. However… I should impress upon you to consider this very carefully as I mistrust that man.”
Elspeth wiped carefully at his wound. “So you have said… but has he done aught to incur your ill-will?”
“Not to me,” he said cryptically.
“To someone you care for?”
“Not precisely.”
“Why then should you detest the man?”
He eyed her pointedly. “Have you never simply had a feeling? A sense of something you cannot name? You can’t see it… you can’t smell or touch it… but you know in your heart it simply is?”
Elspeth averted her gaze. Of course she had. She was having one now—with him. This, after all, was the essence of thehud, and some people knew how to sense things more deeply. She bit her lip as she cleaned Malcom’s wound, considering the “feeling” he had but couldn’t name. And in the midst of these thoughts, she had another far more startling thought: She could dare to be happy with a man like Malcom.Couldn’t she?
Wincing over the torn, raw flesh, she parted the damaged skin to peer closer at the wound, making certain there was no detritus remaining. To his credit, Malcom did not complain, allowing her to do as she would. “We are but hours away from Drakewich,” he persisted. “I would warrant d’Lucy would serve you better.”
Elspeth studiously avoided his gaze, not wanting him to see how much it discomfited her to hear that name, even despite that she knew this lord of Drakewich was not the same d’Lucy who’d been awarded their beloved estate. She also realized that sharing the same blood did not mean those two men shared the same heart. There were many families torn asunder by Stephen’s tumultuous reign—including her own. At long last, realizing that Malcom must be expecting an answer, she said, “Thank you.” But, clearly, that wasn’t the answer he sought, and he must have realized she was being evasive. After that, the silence between them lengthened, until it grew uncomfortable.
