She inclined her head, disappointment flooding through her before he turned away and strode to the loch. Could he ever care for her in the way she needed? Edna wasn’t certain. He was physically attracted to her, but she wanted it all. She wanted to feel loved.
Edna drew in a breath. Well, her options were Malcolm or Neacal. She would much prefer a companionship marriage with Malcolm than to be Neacal’s wife.
12
Malcolm strode to the loch, his heart in turmoil. What had possessed him to offer for Edna’s hand, he wasn’t so certain, but the ride here, the story he had shared with her, it was like James was telling him to protect his Edna from beyond the grave once more.
And he had promised to do so. When Malcolm made a promise, he clung to it, not wanting to let the other person down.
The loch shimmered as he reached it, and Malcolm decided that now was as good a time as any to take a quick dip in the water if nothing else but to clear his head.
Plus his aching cock. Edna pressed against him was like torture with every passing moment. It had been too long since he had a lass, and she was tempting him without even realizing what she was doing. It wasn’t her fault that they were forced into close quarters, whether it was the hay bed they had shared or the horse, but he was warring within himself to remain the decent sort with a maiden.
After undressing down to his smalls, Malcolm waded into the water, taking it and splashing it over his body. He had no bar of soap, but the water was refreshing enough to wash away some of the grime.
He heard the tiniest splash of water from beyond the wild rushes in the distance, and Malcolm waded over, wondering what it could be.
What he saw took his breath away. It was Edna, having decided to cool her body like he had, with her back to him, trailing water over her arms. From his vantage point, he could see her hair pulled over one shoulder, her creamy back bared to him. Malcolm stood, transfixed to the sight and feeling his own body respond in kind. Why did she have to be so bonny?
Why did she have to be James’s beloved?
Why had he proposed marriage to her?
Because he wanted her, that was why. That was the heart of the truth, no matter how much he tried to deny it. It infuriated him, wishing he could be stronger against her wiles, but he wasn’t—not even close.
Now she was to be his wife. His, no one else’s. If nothing more, he could save her from a fate with someone like Neacal. It would be his penance for even coveting her in the first place, and perhaps over time, she could learn to love a hardened warrior like him. He had no softness to him.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Malcolm turned his back and waded a good ways away from Edna, hoping that she wouldn’t realize that he had been ogling her like a randy lad catching his first glimpse of a nude lass. He would be far too embarrassed to try and explain himself otherwise.
After a good dunking, Malcolm clamored out of the bank, shaking his head and spraying water droplets in the air. As he reached for his clothing, he froze, his eyes snapping to the intruder.
It was a wide-eyed Edna. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, holding her dress in front of her wet form. “I th-thought...”
He arched a brow, all the blood draining to his member as he took in her shapely legs peeking out from under her shift. “Wot did ye think, lass?”
Her cheeks were flushed prettily, and she swallowed a few times before turning and giving him her backside. That did nothing to distract Malcolm from the curve of her arse or the way that her shift clung to it, and he groaned inwardly as he turned, hastily stuffing himself into his breeks so that she wouldn’t see what she had done to him.
“I thought ye were done already,” she finally added softly. “I didnae mean tae pry.”
But Malcolm wasn’t paying much attention to her any longer, the warm feelings now turning to stone as he found his sword and drew it out of the scabbard.
“We are going tae be needing the murderer,” one of the Scots called out, his sword pointed past Malcolm’s shoulder.
Malcolm knew they were from the Belshes clan. “That’s not possible,” he stated firmly, the rocky shore biting into his bare feet. He barely had his breeks fastened, and his chest was bare, but none of that bothered him.
What bothered him was the three Scots before him, clearly wanting Edna.
One of them grinned, holding his sword aloft. “Then we will have tae just take her from ye, Scot.”
Malcolm’s grin was slow and deadly as he palmed his own sword. “Come, let’s see wot ye have then.”
Edna hastily backed away from the scene, sliding her dress over her head without much thought to her wet form. The three guards circled Malcolm, but he didn’t look too concerned.
Wait, was he grinning?
That wasn’t her only concern, however. They had called her a murderer. What did that mean? Did this have anything to do with Declan’s death?
One of them charged, and Edna’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Malcolm easily dodge the attack, catching the next with a horrible clang of his sword against theirs. There was no way he could survive a three-on-one attack.
