Free Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) by Jillian Hart

tunic of embroidered gold on red velvet, and he looked like a rooster, all trussed up for show.
    â€œCaradoc. I am not surprised to see you. As I walked down the corridor, I could not quite place the unpleasant odor—”
    â€œI warn you, Elin.” His hand entrapped her wrist, his grip much used to inflicting violence. His eyes gleamed coldly, bold and naked and brutal. “Tempt me not, for I hold the power to spare your life.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I want it spared?” She jutted her chin and met his flat gaze.
    â€œNo mortal wishes to face the agony of being drawn and quartered. ’Twould be a shame to waste your beauty on the edge of a blade.”
    Fear at the king’s judgment lodged hard in her stomach. “’Tis preferable to what you propose.”
    His thumb rubbed bruising caresses on her skin. He would not let her go, even as she struggled. “You will marry me, Elin, and your life will be saved. That is, if you hold your tongue and refrain from insulting the king.”
    â€œInsult him? He needs none of my insults, for he is related to you. That is pox enough on his name.”
    â€œNow you anger me.” His hand swung back, ready to land a blow.
    She planted her feet and lifted her chin, prepared for the strike.
    It never came. Malcolm clamped his unyielding grip around Caradoc’s wrist. “Edward awaits the girl.”
    â€™Twas all he said, and he avoided her gaze. She’d been wrong in believing he might come to free her. He despised her. He’d not forgiven her. She could see it in the cold steel of his face as he released the king’s nephew. His free hand remained on the hilt of his sword.
    He’d come to make certain she would not escape her punishment. A cold anger brewed, low and deep. How she despised him, despised both men.
    The fierce knight’s fingers bit into her shoulder, as if to remind her of his authority. He would escort her down the passageway to her execution.
    She clamped her jaw, determined to hold back the tears balled in her throat. She shook with terror, yet she did not fight le Farouche as he herded her down a long corridor. “I suppose you take great pleasure in my execution.”
    â€œI take no satisfaction.”
    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.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œHerbs are not evil. Only man has the capacity for that.”
    â€œAnd woman.” His chain mail jangled, echoing in the stone corridor.
    â€œI suppose you intend to stand by my side and make sure I take the noose obediently. Or will you terrify me into it?”
    â€œYour 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 pairof great iron doors. “Consider acting contrite before Edward.”
    â€œWhat, 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.”
    â€œDo 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