Malcolm's Honor. Jillian Hart
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She heard no anger in his voice, yet his rage had been unmistakable when he’d chained her in the king’s dungeon. “I sickened your men. I humiliated you.”
“You made me writhe on the ground in intestinal agony, ’tis what you did.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, the only sign of emotion on the rogue’s face. “You leveled a half-dozen warriors with your evil herbs.”
“Herbs are not evil. Only man has the capacity for that.”
“And woman.” His chain mail jangled, echoing in the stone corridor.
“I suppose you intend to stand by my side and make sure I take the noose obediently. Or will you terrify me into it?”
“Your words are far too bold for a disgraced woman facing death.” His gaze did not meet hers, but his voice held censure. He nodded to the guards who flanked a pair of great iron doors. “Consider acting contrite before Edward.”
“What, you give me advice?” Her stomach curdled, and she tried to swallow the sob in her voice. She did not want him to know how terrified she truly was. “A cowardly knight like you? I’d think you would advise me on how best to swing from a noose.”
“Do not call me a cowardly knight.” Low and harsh rang his warning, as lethal as a wolf’s growl.
The ringing din of voices within the hall silenced. Elin looked up to see a tall man robed in brilliance, and she knew at once she gazed upon the king, upon Edward, and that he had heard all that she’d said to his favorite knight.
Heat flamed her face. ’Twas far too late to act meek and contrite now, not that she was good at acting. She might be a traitor’s daughter, but no one, not even Malcolm the Fierce, could call her a coward.
She set her chin and stepped forward. “Your highness—”
“Do not speak until I request it of you.” Like a hard punch, she heard the king’s icy condemnation and knew the truth: death awaited her.
“On your knees, traitor.” A rough hand shoved her to the ground, but it wasn’t Malcolm’s grip or Malcolm’s roughness.
Her kneecaps struck stone, and pain shot upward. She bit back a curse, and then realized she did not kneel alone. Her father huddled at her left shoulder. To see him again made her heart stammer. She both feared the man and pitied him. She couldn’t rightly say she cherished her father, but to see him like this…
Though his head was bowed, he looked furtive. His brown hair, greasy now, had grayed since she’d seen him last. His proud face was haggard, with many wrinkles and lines.
“Philip.” The king’s voice boomed, and riveted the onlookers. Even Elin started at the innate authority in his royal manner. “You have been found guilty of murder and treason. Now, after much consideration, I will sentence you.”
There was no startled gasp from the crowd, and no remorse shown on the king’s face as he delivered his judgment. “Your lands and title will be seized. All your wealth now becomes mine. You shall be immediately hanged, drawn and quartered, a just penalty for the death and suffering you brought to my cousin and her protectors.”
“’Twas not me,” Philip cried pitifully. “I will give you all I own, sire. But pray, spare my life.”
“As you showed no mercy, none will be shown to you.” Edward lifted a hand, as if dismissing a scornful fly on a dung heap. “Guards, give him his just punishment.”
“But you misunderstand, dear sire.” Philip’s eyes sparkled with cunning. “I was Edith’s lover, but not her only one. The killer you seek is Caradoc—”
“Silence.” Fury drove Edward forward, his royal robes whispering of masculine power as he moved. He leveled a mighty punch to her father’s jaw, and the man reeled backward, knocking against the stone floor. “That was for Edith, a gentle woman who suffered by your treachery. Guards, take him.”
Rough hands hefted Elin’s father from the floor and dragged him through the crowd toward the yawning doors.
Tears battered her eyes. ’Twas horrible to see Father so humiliated. Pity sliced through her, sharp edged and raw, and so great she could not draw breath. Her father, this man she’d feared and fought all her life, was no longer terrifying. He now cried like a child.
“’Twas my daughter and Caradoc!” Philip kicked and twisted, struggling to break free. “’Twas they who plotted against you. Caradoc thought himself next in line for the throne, once your cousin and your family were gone!”
“Silence! A true man faces his sins and admits them. He does not blame others.” Edward shook his head, as if truly saddened by events. But there was no softness in the gesture, nothing diminutive about him as he turned his gaze upon Elin’s face. ’Twas not a look of mercy.
She quaked before this man of great power who now sought to judge her, who even now might believe her father’s desperate accusation. What could she say to save her life? What argument would be good enough?
’Twas all she could do to draw air into her lungs. “Your highness, my father lies.”
“I commanded you to remain silent,” Edward barked, and his words reverberated off the stone and tapestried walls. Shocked onlookers gasped in the breathless silence.
How would he view the traitor’s daughter? Elin feared she already knew.
“Your highness, may I address you?” Caradoc’s arrogant voice fragmented the silence. His shoes tapped as he faced the king.
Elin’s chin fell. She stared hard at the floor. Please, Edward, do not listen to that rooster.
“Nephew.” Edward nodded. His voice was steady and betrayed no emotion or hint of what was to come. “Speak.”
Behind her, she heard the slight jangle of a knight’s chain mail. Malcolm le Farouche stood guard directly behind her, no doubt with his hand on his sword’s hilt. Was he so determined to see her punished? Or did he think she would push past the guards and flee?
Well, the thought had crossed her mind. But she was no coward, not like her father. She would face any fate but marriage to Caradoc.
The cocksure Caradoc gave a nod in her direction. “I’ve long been in love with Elinore of Evenbough and—”
Elin hopped to her feet. “You lie! I despise you—”
“Silence!” the king roared, striding swiftly toward her, terrifying in his anger. “I’ll not warn you again, lady. Sir Malcolm, I see now the trouble you had with this one.”
“Her worst weapon is her sharp tongue, highness.” Malcolm’s deep voice held a hint of mockery as his hand gripped her shoulder and forced her back to her knees. “She is not modest or well tempered.”
“’Tis true, sire.” Caradoc wrung his hands together, as if uncertain now of his case with the king. “I heard the lies Philip spewed as he was dragged from this chamber. But pray, do not believe the words of a proven traitor. Philip was sorely angry that I refused to rescue him in the forest, when I came to ensure my Elin’s safety.”
By the blood, she couldn’t believe this Caradoc’s wretched lies. “I’m not your—”
“Lady Elinore. Silence.” The king towered over her. “What am I to do with you, a woman who cannot obey a simple order?”
She remembered how Edward had struck her father, and knew that her life was forfeit to this man of wealth and power. She ought to take Malcolm’s advice and act contrite. She bit her bottom lip, determined to obey.
“I cannot release you. You are the daughter of a proven traitor.”
Her heart skipped five beats. “That doesn’t make me one, sire.” Then she clamped one hand over her mouth.
Edward paused, considering. His mouth quirked down in