“Ye care for her.”
Malcolm looked at Irvine, who still had a smirk about him. “Wot?”
“I can see it on yer face,” Irvine accused. “Why dinnae ye admit it?”
“Because,” Malcolm said harshly, “there is more that ye dinnae know.” He didn’t want to go into it right now. There were more pressing things that needed attention, not his growing feelings for Edna or his fight thereof.
“Fine,” Irvine replied, setting his glass on the table, still untouched. “Dinnae listen tae me, but there will come a day that ye will have tae face yer feelings. ’Tis easier the sooner ye do it.”
Malcolm rolled his shoulders. “I should check in with the warriors.”
Irvine waved him away. “Fine. I will summon ye later, but ye should check in on Edna after a while. She is going tae need both of us.”
Malcolm didn’t answer as he quit the study and moved through the great hall at a rapid pace. After days of being outdoors, he felt like the walls were closing in on him, and he needed to breathe.
It wasn’t until the sparring ring came into view that the tightness in Malcolm’s chest started to ease some. It was where he was comfortable. He knew nothing of being anything else except a warrior, and whenever he had concerns of his own, the sword had always been the way to handle it.
Now he couldn’t just pick up a sword and go storming the Belshes’s keep in order to prevent Neacal from taking Edna. This was far more than that, and it would take Irvine and Laird McGregor both involved to keep Edna safe.
Moving into the barracks, Malcolm was glad to see that no one was around, giving him more time to develop his tale for when the questions would come. Quickly, he stripped his clothing and bathed in the bathing waters that someone had so cleverly built years ago before donning a new tunic and breeks. Feeling a little more like himself, Malcolm picked up his sword and walked out to the sparring ring, squinting at the bright afternoon sun. He was home.
Yet though he was home, his life wasn’t the same.
15
Afew days later
Edna paced her chamber before stopping at the small window, watching as rain slashed the beveled glass. The weather seemed to match her mood, dismal and unsure of where she was going to end up for her future. She detested this room, this keep, and the only Scot that had come to see her since her arrival here.
She wanted to go home.
Sighing, Edna pressed her forehead against the cool stone wall, willing herself to breathe. She had done a lot of that over the past few days, aside from the books that Irvine had been able to give Malcolm to keep her occupied. She couldn’t say much against her cousin. He was a new laird attempting to run a clan. He didn’t have time to keep her company, and he was doing the best he could under the circumstances.
At least he hadn’t placed her in the dungeon.
But it wasn’t home. Edna didn’t want to live the rest of her days stuck in a chamber like this or having to dodge the warriors of a Scot bent on revenge. If nothing more, she wanted to give herself to Neacal to turn the attention away from her family and her clan and take whatever he had to offer.
One thing was for certain: She knew that Malcolm could not turn himself in. That wasn’t what would make the laird happy at all. All he would do was kill the warrior and then still plague her parents until he had Edna in his grasp. If she could save him, then she would. Her feelings hadn’t changed.
She didn’t detest him; she cared for Malcolm far too much, and it was tearing her apart on the inside. Somewhere in the midst of their time together, she had fallen for the grumbling warrior, and Edna was finding it hard to even conjure up her beloved’s visage any longer. It wasn’t James that filled her dreams anymore, but Malcolm, and while it saddened Edna, she realized that had been what she needed to do. James was gone. He wasn’t going to come back and rescue her. Even if his ghost visited her, he couldn’t give her a home, a future, the kisses that Malcolm could.
But even that felt like it was a far removed dream from where she stood right now.
The chamber door rattled suddenly, and Edna pushed away from the wall, putting a serene look on her face and clasping her hands behind her back. Malcolm entered the chamber a moment later, careful to close the door behind her while carrying a bundle under his arm and a tray for her luncheon in his hands.
“Lass,” he acknowledged, setting them both on the table.
“I need to get out,” she started as she did every time he visited. “I need to breathe some fresh air, Malcolm. Please.”
He gave her the same mournful look. “I’m vera sorry, lass,” he stated, stepping back. “I wish I could take ye out, but someone may see ye.”
“I can wear a cloak,” she pushed, clenching her hands together so tightly that pain shot up her arms. “I wilnae say anything.”
“But ye have family here,” he protested. “I’m sorry, lass. We cannae take the chance right now.”
Edna’s shoulders slumped. It was the same conversation they had each time he graced her doorway, and he always gave the same answer.
“Wot is the news then?” she asked dully.
