Malcolm'S Honor (Historical, 519) Read Online Free Page B

He turned his forceful gaze upon her. “Have you healing knowledge?”
    â€œMore than most.” She refused to tremble beneath the power of his scrutiny. “I need water boiled. You will see to it?”
    â€œAs you wish.” He nodded and was gone, barking orders. Authority rang in his voice, in his manner. He was not just a man of war, but a commander of men.
    She knelt beside the injured knight, clutching the few crocks of herbs she had in her possession. She reached beneath her mantle for the knife and bared it.
    â€œLook! She has a weapon!” a man cried, and hard fingers imprisoned her wrist.
    â€œAre you mad? Unhand me!” She looked up into eyes of the one who assisted le Farouche.
    â€œNay, I will not have you slit his throat, you witch.”
    â€œI am more likely to slit yours.” She still gripped her knife and fought with muscle and strength to keep the much larger knight from forcibly lowering her arm.
    â€œRelease her, Giles.” That dark voice was rich with both power and amusement. “I trust her to see to Hugh.”
    â€œShe is a sorceress, sir, if she thinks she can bring back the dead.”
    â€œHe is not dead. Yet. Merely unconscious. Leave me to my work,” Elin demanded, her temper ready to flare. She had not returned for abuse, but to help the knight who had been kind to Alma.
    â€œI share your suspicions, Giles.” Teasing laughter filled that dark voice. “She does possess the unruly manner of a sorceress.”
    Elin did not think she could hate le Farouche more thanshe did at that moment. She had given up her freedom and mayhap her life for a hired killer’s jesting? Fury drove her, and she tore her hand free before the knight, Giles, released her, earning his surprise and a nod of approval from le Farouche.
    Fie! As if she needed his approval.
    â€œYou.” She pointed her blade at Malcolm. “Help me with his armor, since you are the only man without work to do.”
    â€œYou despise my idleness?” He chuckled, deep and as intriguing as midnight.
    â€œThat and more. Now, quickly. I must see the wound. Use my blade.” She jabbed the knife toward him, hilt first.
    His big blunt fingers curled over the steel weapon, engulfing it. The thick blade appeared like a toy against his powerful bulk. She shivered and bowed her head. She had watched him slash the life from men she’d known much of her life, men who had protected her while she rode the countryside gathering her herbs.
    Now, gazing up the length of the dark knight, she knew some measure of fear. She felt the weight of his gaze, read the cynical darkness in his eyes, hated the strength in his craggy body. The latent power to kill rested in the thickness of his arms and shoulders, chest and thighs.
    He both took her breath away and made her blood run cold. He was a beautiful masculine form. He was a destroyer of life. The irony beat at her. Truly this was the epitome of man—a beautiful destroyer—and the reason she both feared and hated men so.
    â€œDo you think me a witch?” she demanded.
    She watched Malcolm’s impassive face, well molded with high cheekbones and a straight blade of a nose. “Nay, else you would have uttered spells and curses when I captured you. Instead, you relied on more honest weapons.”
    Her knife in his hand glinted once in the starlight, illuminating briefly the man kneeling beside her. His head bent with his work. She could see his black hair curling at his nape, could see the fine lines etched around his dark eyes, caused by time and war and too much sun. He was rumored to have fought in the Outremer, as her brother had. ’Twas unbelievable. This dark knight, as frightening as death and midnight, had fought for Christ?
    Impossible. He had the coldness of a mercenary, the mockery of a knave and the… She hesitated, watching him separate the unconscious Hugh from his chain mail. He had the hands of a