Read Online Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) by Jillian Hart - Free Book Online Page A

and she feared it. She feared what one as dark and powerful as this king’s knight might do. He did not even glance at her, but the threat lingered.
    Aye, she was vulnerable without weapon and protector, vulnerable to this man without mercy.
    He sat tall, easily guiding his giant destrier as dawn brightened. He looked magnificent riding in the blinding gleam of the rising sun. Light radiated all around him in eye-watering shafts.
    He stopped to allow her to tend to her body’s needs, and then wordlessly offered her drink and food. They rode again, unrelenting and hard. They traveled thus for two days. And when Elin saw the silhouette of a city on the horizon, she knew a different sort of fear. One so quiet and cold it wrapped around her soul like a winter’s freeze.
    She would die in that city. ’Twas a certainty. And would Malcolm the Fierce feel even a twist of conscience, knowing that he’d hunted her down like a ruthless wolf, only to deliver her to her death? That he could have shown her mercy and allowed her to escape, but had not?
    Eyes averted, he hauled her from his horse and slung her over his broad shoulder. He easily carried her down stone steps into a dungeon rank with the scents of rotting wood and cruelty. He lowered her like a sack of grain to the floor and chained her to the wall.
    Terror beat in her heart as she listened to the click of the lock. Though darkness cloaked him, she felt the force of his gaze.
    He towered above her like a mythical warrior. Then he turned without a word, leaving her alone in a dark hell.
    Â 
    â€œMalcolm, I heard a woman got the best of you.” Ian the Strong slapped Malcolm on the shoulder, a gesture of old friendship. “Heard she rendered you and every last one of your men sick as dogs.”
    â€œTease all you wish. If Edward hadn’t assigned you to a different task, you would have been retching in the courtyard with the best of us.”
    â€œNay, my friend. I would have had the brains to know a woman should never be trusted. Liars and manipulators, every last one of them. Why, look at the tavern wenches. See how they plot and play for our benefit?”
    â€œFor the benefit of coin.”
    â€œAye, what woman doesn’t? From the queen to the lowest peasant, ’tis how they survive and how they are made.”
    Malcolm drained the last of his ale and dropped the tankard on the table. “’Tis true I gave the traitor’s daughter too much freedom. After she saved Hugh’s life and mixed a healing ointment for the old innkeeper’s wife, I grew less suspicious. I thought she only meant to help serve the food.”
    â€œI cannot believe you would give a woman aught but a good swiving.”
    Malcolm rubbed his aching brow, where exhaustion and long-pent-up rage tensed the muscles, causing a blasting pain.
    â€œWhy, ’tis Sir Malcolm and Sir Ian.” A serving wench well known for more than her skills in dispensing ale appeared at the edge of the trestle table, pitcher in hand. “What a lucky maid I am to host such powerful knights in my tavern.”
    â€œYou, a maid?” Ian’s gaze roamed the wench’s form, from ripe, half-exposed breasts to the swell of her generous hips. “I’ve often been between those thighs. You long ago left maidenhood behind.”
    â€œAye, for womanhood pleases me better.” She winked at him, certain now there would be more coin added to her earnings this night, and ’twould not be only from serving ale. She filled both tankards handily. “And you, Sir Malcolm? Shall I send over a maid for your amusement?”
    â€œMaid?” Ian laughed. “Your maids have too much experience for the Fierce One. They may well overpower him, and his reputation will be in ruins again.”
    â€œEnough with the jests, Ian. Matilda, I have no need of a woman.”
    As the wench turned, dropping their small coins into her pocket, Ian watched lustily.