Page 29 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Aye, m’dame,” he says, and breaks away, putting his shining silver spurs to his horse’s flank, and I think to myself: What a good servant, he is… and why shouldn’t he be? He enjoys the benefits of my Craft, and rides so spryly for a man so close to ninety. Alas, should he ever decide to defy me, he would be dead on the morrow, for he is the vessel that harbors my blood sins. His body might be beautiful on the outside, but inside lies a cancerous mass, eating him to his bones. Inhaling deeply, I watch him go, content enough to ride alone for the last mile to Darkwood.
Chapter
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 touchmy 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 withyourlady’sgown?”
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. “Mybride. 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: Whowas 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 nowthat 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?”
