Page 8 of The Daughters of Avalon
Elspeth flushed, ignoring the backhanded compliment. It didn’t matter to her that he thought her pretty, but her cheeks burned nonetheless.
“I was sent byyourking.”
Insulted, she pressed a hand to her breast. “My king?”
He showed his straight, white teeth. “Mine, too, whether we like it or nay.”
Elspeth blinked, reconsidering the man. So, then, he was a reluctant warrior, serving a king he did not love? Perhaps, indeed, they could be allies after all? But just to be sure, she asked, “Which king?” Naturally, she presumed the most obvious. “The Scots’ king, David?”
“Nay.”
Her brows collided. “Rhys ap Hywel?”
“Nay”
“Owain Gwynedd?”
“Nay.
“Rhys ap Gruffydd.”
“Nay.”
“Madog ap Maredudd?”
He chortled again, only this time, it was a deep-throated chuckle that gave Elspeth a discernible shiver. “Nay, lass,” he said. “Though I commend you on your knowledge of dissenters.”
Elspeth bristled. “Dissenters, sir? You are inWales. No matter that the Usurper would endeavor to deny it, these men areallkings, chosen properly by their people.” The implication was not lost to him—unlike, Stephen, the Usurper. “Every last one with more right to be here than you—but, very well, if not them,who?”
“The only king you’ve yet to mention,” he said, his lips twitching at the corners. “The one who actually rules these lands.”
“Humph!” said Elspeth, her hands going to her hips. “Stephen of Blois willneverrule these lands!”
He leaned forward in his saddle, as though preparing to confide in her, and said low, “Perhaps,my lady, but my sword is pledged to him nonetheless. Andneveris a very long time.”
Lady?Elspeth suspected the courtesy was but a taunt, meant to needle her. He no more believed her a fine lady than he had any true consideration for his horse. He didn’t wish to break his own neck was all. “My fath—Henry would turn in his grave to hear you say such a thing,” she said, studying the man with narrowed eyes. It wasn’t unheard of for a Scotsman to bend the knee to an English sovereign, but he was not dressed as she might have expected for a vassal of Stephen’s to be dressed—completely without regard for his liege. And, if, indeed, he served her despicable cousin, he must be one of those feckless idiots who’d forsworn an oath to her father. Incensed, she clapped her hands together, ridding herself of imaginary dirt. “Anyway,” she said sourly, “I thoughtyourking supportedmy—Matilda—who, by the by, happens to beourrightful queen.”
“So, he does.”
Elspeth poked a finger at him. “Aha! Heisyour king!”
“Who?”
“David!”
“Nay, lass.” The Scotsman frowned. But he peered down his nose at Elspeth with far less mirth, and Elspeth considered his diminished good humor a small, but decisive victory. “I have pledged my sword to Stephen and I always honor my vows,” he said. And that was all. He gave no further explanation.
“You mean to say, you honor your vows when it suits you?” There was probably a good reason his armor wasn’t blazoned; that way he could choose his side according to his mood. “I understand,” she said, and watched his aura deepen to an angry orange, and despite that, Elspeth couldn’t hold her tongue.
“What is it ye ken, lass?”
“You’re a reaver!”
Malcom’s lips thinned.His previously unanticipated good humor vanished.
Reaver?
Were all Scots considered little more than thieves? By God, she was a lovely little termagant, but a termagant nonetheless. But he hadn’t any time or patience for this. Already, the girl had waylaid him long enough. He appreciated the fleeting instant of mirth, but he had a long, long way to go, and an ailing father to see to. Tugging Merry’s reins, he said, “Aye, well… tis been lovely, lass. Much as I would love to remain and continue this fascinating discourse, I’m afraid I must take my leave now. Good day,” he said.
