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

Regardless if he allowed her to continue her ghastly work, his conscience would never forgive this senseless death. He had failed to protect the young knight, a responsibility he felt toward each and every man who fought at his side, who willingly risked their lives at his command.
    The old woman ambled forward with a trencher of steaming water and a pile of torn undergarments. “Shall I soak the bandages?”
    The girl nodded. She looked like a witch—not knobby nosed and wart ridden, but different from most women. Strong willed, the way a man was. And strong of body. He’d had difficulty keeping hold of the knife when she’d tried to take it from him, and ’twas amazing how easily she lifted half of Hugh’s weight. A sorceress, Giles had declared.
    Hugh lay dying, his face a deathly gray. Soon he would bleed to death. Malcolm would have to trust her. His experience told him to be wary of women holding knives, women who gazed at him with that confident knowledge of a battle-experienced leader. Her strength beguiled him,contrasting sharply with the fragile cut of her face, at once beautiful and innocent; to her lithe grace and womanly curves. Truly such a sorceress could enchant a man. Or worse.
    Yet she gazed at him with human eyes, waiting patiently for control of her knife. He saw in those blue depths a wise purpose. She had healed others gravely wounded before. He could read her confidence in her stance, feel it like an imminent storm on the wind—half instinct, half experience, but certain.
    He’d seen evil, and it was not Elinore of Evenbough.
    He released her knife. “Do what you must. But I will have you know Hugh was my friend.”
    â€œI will do him no harm, fierce one.” She was young to be so confident, but her words eased his fears. She tapped herbs from a small crock into the steaming water and then dipped her blade into the mixture. “I learned my meager healing arts from a wise woman. She was skilled in anatomy and cures.”
    Malcolm’s stomach turned as Elin slipped the blade into the red-edged flesh and tore widthwise across the gaping slash. The skin opened wider, like a hungry mouth. Blood rushed with renewed fury, and he almost stayed the girl-woman’s hand.
    â€œI was not surprised to return and see your knights victorious.” She soaked strips of cloth in the trencher, then stuffed them into Hugh’s wound. They became colored with blood. “Tell me what fearsome enemy of the king’s you have overpowered now. An old man? Mayhap a lame woman? A goat?”
    â€œTake care, dove, else you shall offend.”
    â€œâ€™Tis good to know I come close to succeeding.”
    He snorted. What manner of woman was this Elin of Evenbough? He believed women should be tamed like agood horse, bridled and saddled and prepared to answer a man’s command, and this girl was not. Yet he couldn’t deny a grudging respect for her. She did not flinch as he did at the sight of the wound. He was used to inflicting them, not studying them.
    â€œSee, there is much damage.” She removed the cloths and probed the pink cavity with knowing fingers. “I note two tears, here and here. Look how deep they are.”
    â€œI prefer not.”
    She laughed. “Can it be such a great warrior has a weak stomach? Aye, ’tis not pretty to see the damage done by a man’s violent sword.”
    He heard the censure in that and chose to remain silent. She had returned of her own accord—why, he could not fathom. Surely not to heal a fallen man, one she had not thought twice about kicking like an angry donkey. Yet Malcolm could not deny her touch was tender and her intent to heal sincere. She stitched and cleaned, studied her work, then stitched some more. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead and dampened the tendrils of gold gathered there, curling them, though the night was cold.
    He could not deny how hard she worked. And for what? This