Page 25 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Your mother… or Page?”
“Page.”
She scrunched her nose. “Page? What sort of name is that for a lady?” As far as Elspeth knew, page was not a name—it was a manner of service for a boy to a lord. After a certain age, most sons of noble families were sent to receive instruction from greater houses, serving the liege by running errands, cleaning laundry, dressing the lord and learning the basics of combat—but none of these tasks were remotely suitable for a woman. She had a terrible vision of a nameless girl running about a castel, dirty and dressed in rags, being ordered about by her lord.Page—get this, get that, clean this, clean that.And she shuddered.
“Tis no name at all,” agreed Malcom, though he did not elaborate, and Elspeth regretted having brought up the matter at all, because she’d never heard such woeful tales.
Even her own story wasn’t quite so dramatic, although she tried to imagine what life might have been like had only Morwen leapt from a tower window. Morwen had never been a proper mother—not to Elspeth, nor to her sisters.Hateful, hateful woman.She’d traded her own mother’s life for a price—a dear lady whose sole purpose on this earth was to make the world a better place.
At least Henry had been a doting father—as much as he could manage. Unlike her sister Rhiannon, she had only good memories of their father. And, in their father’s defense, he’d never known what to do with a child such as Rhiannon.
“You recall me to someone, too,” she confessed to Malcom. “You remind me of my brother.” She studied him in profile as he poked a small stick into the licking flames. Until his death,Robert of Gloucester had been one of the richest barons in all of England. He had been as noble a man as any who’d ever lived, and their father had loved him well.
Now that Malcom’s coif was gone, and his hair was dry, Elspeth could see that his hair was fair as flax, and thick and wavy, though perhaps too long. But he did, in truth, remind her of Robert, with those bright blue-green eyes—the color of the sea from the highest perch at Blackwood. There was something else about him as well… something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she suspected that it had less to do with the way he looked, and more to do with his underlying sense of nobility—a fierce determination to do what was right, no matter the cost.
Seated by the fire, his face was bronzed by the flames. The sinew in his arms was unmistakable by firelight, sculpted by copper light and shadows. His face itself seemed chiseled as though of stone, with sharp contours and a tiny cleft in his chin. His hair, light as it was, seemed to sparkle with silver, and she saw now that he had a long, thin scar on his temple. However, rather than mar his beautiful face, it somehow gave him more character…
She realized only belatedly that she was staring. By the cauldron, she sorely wished she didn’t find him so appealing. Could that be this was why she’d asked him not to call upon Amdel? Because she didn’t want to leave him? But, nay, such a thing would be preposterous. She would never make decisions about life and death—or her sisters—simply because of a man’s pretty face. And even so, for some reason, the thought of parting ways held no appeal.
But, of course, he would ask, “Who is your brother?”
“No one of import,” Elspeth answered quickly, hoping Malcom wouldn’t press. There was hardly any chance Malcom wouldn’t know who he was, and if she named Robert as herbrother, it was short guesswork to determine exactly who she was.
His lashes lifted, and once again, he met her gaze—those sea-green eyes glittering by the firelight—but, thankfully, he said nothing more. He rested his head back on the stump behind him and closed his eyes. “Thank you for washing mysherte,” he said after a moment.
“It was my pleasure,” Elspeth assured.
“And thank you for tending the fire.”
“Also, my pleasure.” She rose to her knees now, then to her feet. “I will return,” she said, and a blush warmed her cheeks as her gaze followed the length of his body. Much as she would like to ignore it, it was time to do the necessary—and give herself a break from this man who confused her.
“Dinna wander far,” he said, his Scots brogue thicker now that he was resting. But he did not open his eyes. And despite that, Elspeth had every impression that, whilst he pretended not to see her, he was acutely aware of every step she took.
Just to be sure, she turned to see if he was watching, and found that he’d turned his ear toward the sound of her footfalls. But he didn’t open his eyes, and neither did he rise to follow so Elspeth turned her back on him and tried not to think of their overly familiar conversation.
Only this time, as she passed by his sweet mare, grazing so placidly by the brook, she realized that if she wished to, she could still take Merry Bells and flee…
Thinking about the particulars of that, she stood for a while, and then, after a moment, she moved closer to Merry Bells to stroke the animal’s fine mane.
“Thank you,” she said to the mare. “I appreciate your willingness to help, and you were so good to fly away so quickly. I do not know what I would have done elsewise.”
The animal snorted—perchance to acknowledge Elspeth’s thanks, or perchance to remind her that she had not done so alone. Stroking her lovingly, Elspeth spoke to her in another language—one that needed fewer words.I mean you no harm, my friend…
Malcom lay unmoving,listening to the sound of Elspeth’s retreating steps.
When she stopped in the vicinity of Merry Bells, it took every ounce of his self-control not to leap from his repose and fly after her.
Presumably, she’d stopped to see Merry Bells.
The woman was famished; he knew that much. Despite her look of abject horror over the cony, he could hear her stomach grumbling. But regardless, where would she go? He had already removed his saddlebags and laid them aside, so she couldn’t get far without his money.
Besides, he’d already assured her that he would take her wheresoever she pleased. Why should she feel the need to go? Inexplicably, he’d placed himself at her disposal, despite his own pressing affairs—the summons to his father. He was committed to doing whatever was required of him.
Come what may, she was not a stupid woman, so he let her be, allowing her the time and space she needed to deliberate her choices. Mostly, because he wanted to see what she would do.
Certainly, Malcom didn’t wish to lose another Merry Bells, but so much as he loathed the prospect of seeing Beauchamp again, he was close enough to Amdel that he could easily impress upon the man to sell a horse. The inn was even closer, and he could pick off any one of their stabled mounts and probably do it without compunction, since all of those animals were likelystolen in the first place. Darkwood was a den of thieves, with the occasional dupe to be found.
At long last, Elspeth left off her chat with Merry Bells, and Malcom exhaled a long sigh when she did. Trust was a fragile thing, but this, at last could be a start…
