Edna.
Sighing, Malcolm finished the training exercise and made his way back to the warrior’s barracks to wipe the sweat from his body and don a tunic. He would have to apologize, of course. He and Edna hadn’t gotten off on the right foot since he had been here, but it was more so that he was attracted to her.
And she was James’s lass. Now he felt wrong for being attracted to her, not knowing how to handle her whenever she was around him. She made him tongue-tied as well as wanting to touch her, breathe her in.
She affected him in ways that Malcolm couldn’t even begin to understand, and it confused him immensely. Now that he knew she was James’s beloved, Malcolm knew that he should feel bad about the thoughts he had regarding Edna, but in the same breath, he couldn’t.
He was attracted to the fiery lass, from the day that she had attempted to draw his attention to the way she had turned him down when he had attempted to walk her to the village. It seemed that nothing he said was right in their conversations, that the words ever came out right.
After all, he was a warrior, not some silver-tongued Scot that could draw the lasses in with a kind word or a wink. No, that was Irvine. Irvine had always been the one to have the lasses in the palm of his hand no matter where they went.
Malcolm didn’t know how to be the Scot that the lasses loved.
And that included how to converse with Edna. She wasn’t like other lasses, and now he could see why James thought so highly of her. She was a rare woman, one that could make a Scot feel like he was ten feet tall by smiling at him.
He had noted her smile more than once. He had noted the way she brushed her hand over her hair when she was nervous or how she interacted with the villagers.
He had noticed a great deal about her lately, and it confused him. Never had he been so affected by a lass before.
After donning a clean tunic, Malcolm made his way to the manor, knowing what he would do. He would apologize to the lass and then distance himself until it was time for him to depart. He only had two more weeks promised to Erik before he would head home, two weeks to stay out of her presence.
But as Malcolm made his way to the manor, he caught sight of Edna riding out onto the moors, her long hair streaming at her back. Apparently, he would have to wait a little longer to apologize then.
It wasn’t until after the sun set that Erik found him, frantic. “Mah daughter!” he stated, his eyes wide. “She hasnae returned from her ride! I need the warriors.”
Malcolm felt his chest tighten at the thought of Edna still out there in the moors. During daylight, they were dangerous enough, but at night, it was nearly impossible to cross them without harming herself or the horse. “Of course,” he said immediately. “I will gather them.”
So, he did. They rode out, torches ablaze, through the moors, looking for any sign of the lass, and with each passing hour, the rock in Malcolm’s stomach grew. He half expected to see her laying on the rough terrain, having lost her horse or injured herself, knowing that the last words they had shared were of anger.
It sickened him.
Finally, around midnight, they spotted her mare wandering in the moors, riderless. Erik let out a cry, and they raced to the mare, finding no thought to where Edna could be. “She’s an accomplished rider,” the older Scot murmured as he laid his hand on the mare’s neck. “She wouldn’t fall off.”
“What if she was taken?” one of the warriors stated, his mouth set in a hard line. “’Tis possible she came across a raid party.”
That wasn’t what Malcolm wanted to consider. If Edna was taken, then she could be held for ransom or considered spoils of battle and unspeakable things done to her. “Dinnae panic yet,” he said to Erik. “I will ride tae the nearest clans and see if she is there.”
Erik growled, pushing away from the skittish mare. “Start with Belshes. I wouldn’t put it past him tae take mah daughter after the way she rejected him.”
Malcolm’s anger grew, but he tamped it down, giving the Scot a nod. “Aye, I will.”
“Take some warriors,” Erik replied.
Malcolm was quick to shake his head. “Nay. I dinnae wish tae call attention tae mahself or give him any indication that she is missing.” He would go alone and befriend the laird if he had to.
Erik clapped his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Bring back mah daughter,” he rasped, his eyes red.
Malcolm nodded before heading back to his horse, swinging up on it. The Belshes’ land was only a day’s ride from their location. He was used to riding a long time with truly little rest and provisions, but the warriors wasted no time handing over what little provisions they had anyway.
Without another word, Malcolm set off in the dark. He would find Edna and bring her home, where he would have the chance to apologize for hurting her.
He wouldn’t rest until he found her. He owed that to his departed friend James and to the laird that had allowed him a boon to train his warriors. He owed it to Edna to find her so that she could know that he hadn’t meant to hurt her.
He wouldn’t fail. Malcolm wasn’t one who liked to fail often, which was always his downfall. That and he was used to being a hardened warrior. Killing others was what he enjoyed doing, so whoever had taken Edna—if anyone—would feel the wrath of his sword before he was done.
They would wish they had never crossed his path.
5
