Page 79 of The Daughters of Avalon
He had a long history of conflict with the boy’s father, but he had grown to love Wee Davie, and he wasn’t all that certain he’d be seeing the child again—not any time soon.
God’s truth, life had grown so very complicated, and if, in fact, David advanced upon York, Stephen would call Malcom to war yet again. And this time, he was certain to faceallhis kinsmen, not merely his father. That realization soured his stomach, even more than the wine they’d used for his toast this morning, and the news sat rancid in his belly.
How had things grown so complicated in a matter of such a short time?
Not that he regretted it, but from the instant he’d made the decision to intervene with Elspeth, he’d possibly sealed his fate with Stephen. Now, to make matters worse, hostilities gnawed at him from all directions.
If Stephen didn’t demand Elspeth’s return, Malcom would be honor-bound to face his kinsmen across a battlefield.
If he did demand her return and Malcom refused, he should be prepared to stand alone. Already, in so many ways, he was a man without a country. But he didn’t regret it, and given the same circumstances again, he’d doubtless make the same decisions. As he’d known the day he’d spirited Elspeth away from Wales, he would die to protect her, and knew down in his gut that he possibly might well do that.
Step by step, shouldering his burdens, he climbed the tower to his chamber, feeling a certain calm before the storm.
Alas, whatever resignation or composure he’d mustered over the inevitability of his decisions, it vanished the instant he spied Cora sprawled over the floor, her arm twisted impossibly and tangled over Elspeth’s blue dress. His gut turned violently.
“Elspeth!” he shouted, as he rushed to Cora’s aid, straightening the woman gently, and pulling Elspeth’s dress out from beneath her. It was stained with blood—but whose? “Elspeth!” he shouted again, but there wasn’t any answer, and he knew intuitively she wasn’t in their bower. “Alwin!” he roared, calling for his steward. “Alwin!”
Cameron,Wee Davie and Caden were mounted and ready to depart when Elspeth found her way to the stable. With his son seated before him in the saddle, Malcom’s cousin lifted the reins.
“Wait!” Elspeth cried, and with no small amount of guilt, she rushed over to hand her letter to Cameron, begging him to deliver the missive to David. “Please,” she begged.
Cameron crushed his brows together. “Ach, lass, does your husband ken what ye’ve asked me to do?”
Elspeth shook her head, and for a terrifying instant, she feared he might refuse it.
He glanced at Caden and the two men shared a discerning glance, though perhaps his loyalty to his king overruled his loyalty to his kin. With some hesitation, he took Elspeth’s letter, and said, “I trust whatever is written herein serves both my cousin and my king?”
Elspeth nodded, praying that her husband would see it so as well. She understood very well that she was undermining him, scheming behind his back.
He smiled ruefully. “Very well,” he said, reaching back to drop the letter into his saddlebag. “Alas, my Lady Elspeth, I cannot say we’ll meet again, so I must leave you with confidence that you will honor my cousin as I know he will honor you.”
Elspeth’s eyes watered as she clasped her hands together. “With all my heart,” she promised, noting the strength of their family resemblance—the strong jaw and flaxen hair, shared by the son as well.
If there was one notable difference between them it was simply this: Cameron was older than Malcom, with deeper crow’s feet clawing at the corners of his eyes. The elder man nodded sadly. “Would that we could have met under different circumstances,” he said.
“Would that we could have,” Elspeth agreed, hot tears stinging her eyes.
One last time, he nodded, looking as though he had something more to say, but in the end, he said nothing, and he gave his companion the command to ride.
The two men left, with Wee Davie holding his bow, peering over his shoulder.
Elspeth waved them away, watching as they made short work of the bailey, ambling out the open gate, with her letter to David in their safekeeping. Reassuring herself it was for the best, she restrained herself from going after them, and then, at last, the decision was irreversible. The gates closed with a woeful groan, and the portcullis lowered, settling at last with a definitive thud. And that was that, she decided. Whatever should come of her meddling, she would very soon know.
But what if she was wrong? What if Morwen wasn’t coming after all? What if David arrived without any good reason and she forced those two men into opposition?
Or worse, what if Morwen had arrived, but David refused to come? What if he didn’t remember that sad little girl who’d watched from the shadows as her grandmother was sentenced by his testimony? What if he didn’t care? Or—far worse—what if her mother lay in wait close by and her message was thwarted?
And regardless, after everything was said and done, what if Malcom never forgave her?
I hope you are right, Rhiannon.
Elspeth stared at the closed gate, lost in thought, and then, remembering Merry Bells, she wandered back into the stable to check on the mare before returning to her chamber.
As surely as she loved Malcom, she had come to love that animal, as well, and it would please her immensely to be sure that Merry Bells was safe.
Much to her relief, she found her fears unfounded. Like the castel itself, the stable was well stocked, with at least twenty or thirty stalls, and most of them filled.
She found Merry Bells sequestered in the largest stall of all—as, of course, it should be, according to her station as the lord’s favored mare. Pleased to see her, Elspeth opened the stall door and stepped inside, sighing contentedly to see gaze into her familiar black eyes.
