Edna swallowed before nodding. “Aye, I will.”
Malcolm dropped his hands from her shoulders and stalked to the fireplace, bracing his arm on the stone façade. He had only told the tale once, to Irvine, and he couldn’t remember that night very well at all.
Malcolm rode his horse hard through the wood, the sounds of swords clashing together growing louder with the ground he was covering. Already he had his sword in his hand, his heart thudding against his chest. The skirmish had come out of nowhere, and Malcolm had chased down those that had killed his own men before coming back to help those that remained.
In the clearing, he found a few still left, and Malcolm cut them down with his sword quickly, one of them catching his horse and sending both animal and rider crashing to the ground.
Malcolm rolled away to avoid being crushed by the animal, but he was on his feet a moment later, taking care of the last enemy with a sword through the gut, the man’s cries falling on deaf ears.
Panting hard, Malcolm looked at the carnage before him frantically, finding the one person he had been coming back to save.
Nay.
He was propped up against a nearby tree, holding his arm over his midsection.
“James!” Malcolm called out, hurrying to his friend’s side.
It had been by chance they had found each other in a nearby village, James on a scouting mission for Laird McGregor. The two had enjoyed a few rounds of ale, catching up on what had happened since the last time they had been in each other’s company before James had asked if he could join Malcolm’s small warrior party to the border.
Now it seemed that had been a mistake.
“Malcolm,” James said weakly, blood staining his tunic.
“Dinnae worry,” Malcolm answered quickly, looking for his horse. The animal hadn’t gotten back up from being cut down, and he knew then that he couldn’t do anything for his friend. “Ye are going tae get back tae yer Edna before ye know it.”
James managed a smile, but the light was rapidly fading from his eyes. “Kill me now,” he said. “Dinnae let me suffer any longer.”
Malcolm winced as James moved his arm, and the wound was clear. He could linger for a long time with a wound like that and with no means for Malcolm to find help, and the fact that they were almost a day’s ride from the nearest village, James was looking at a painfully slow death.
Tears burned Malcolm’s eyes. “Nay, ye are going tae make it,” he argued, pressing James’s arm back against the wound. “Someone will be along.”
James grabbed Malcolm’s arm with his free hand, squeezing it tightly. “Ye cannae stay here. If they do come back, it will be tae finish whoever is left. Ye have tae leave, Malcolm. Do it now.”
“James...” Malcolm started, real emotion in his throat. James was a close friend like Irvine was, and he considered both Scots his brothers.
“I need for ye tae do something for me,” James continued, ignoring the plea in Malcolm’s voice. “I need for ye tae protect Edna. She’s...she’s going tae need protection, but more importantly, I want her tae...move forward with...her life. Dinnae let her...grieve...over me.” He coughed suddenly, and blood trickled out of his mouth and down his chin. “Please.”
Malcolm still hesitated. He didn’t want to end his friend’s life, but he also didn’t want to leave him suffering either.
“I cannae.”
“Ye can,” James insisted. “And ye...will. I beg ye, Malcolm. Ye were always a good friend. I wouldnae want anyone else...protecting mah beloved.” James released Malcolm to put his sword in his hand. “Do it with mah sword.”
Malcolm came out of the memory, feeling the wetness of tears on his cheeks. “I killed him,” he finished, the words still wounding him even after the months after James’s death. “I avoided the remaining bandits and made it tae the next village, sending word tae Laird McGregor.”
He didn’t want to look at Edna, to see the horror on her face at the Scot that she was realizing she had been traveling with, but when he felt her hand on his back, he shuddered.
“I’m vera sorry,” he said softly, his eyes on the flames. “I didnae ever want tae tell ye that tale, but everything is true, lass. James begged me tae end his life...and I think that if he ever thought he could come home tae ye, he would have.”
“Malcolm,” Edna said softly, her hand sliding to his arm and forcing him to face her. Instead of hatred, he saw the grief in her eyes, but also something he hadn’t expected to see.
Understanding.
“I dinnae blame ye for James’s death,” she continued, her hand sliding down to grasp his. “I wanted tae, but ye did wot he asked ye tae do, which had tae be one of the hardest decisions as his friend. I dinnae know if I could have given him that peace if he had asked me.”
She then reached up and brushed the remaining tears from his cheek. “All this time, I thought he had died alone, afraid.”
“Nay,” Malcolm replied, clenching her hand. “He died with yer name on his lips.” That was the one moment that Malcolm never forgot about that day, how James had uttered Edna’s name as his last breath left him.
