Two Novels: The Intended and Flame

Chapter 4

4

“Betrayer!” Malcolm gasped with a vehemence that came from his soul. “Vile, treacherous w***e!”

Havoc broke loose around her as the Highlander forced himself to his feet with surprising quickness and lunged at her. Jaime stood her ground, prepared to take his fury full on.

“Damn you to hell!” Malcolm screamed hoarsely, his fingers reaching for her throat as Reed’s club connected squarely with the side of his head. The Highlander dropped to his knees, and as the burly jailer lifted his weapon to strike the falling prisoner again, Edward stepped forward, sending Malcolm sprawling with a vicious kick.

Jaime looked on—her silent screams ripping at her insides—but her exterior showed nothing but cold indifference.

“You...deceiver...foul, demon witch.” He tried to raise himself up to his knees. Jaime saw Reed’s hand go up, ready to crush Malcolm’s skull with the weighted club.

“Hold, Reed. I want him alive.” The jailer shot a surprised look at Edward, but without a word lowered his weapon.

Malcolm raised himself to one knee. Jaime could see the toll that the action took. He moved as if his body were made of lead. His head wobbled slightly, fresh blood soaking into the dark crimson stains of his torn shirt. Jaime clenched her hands at her sides; Malcolm’s eyes cleared somewhat and fixed with fury upon her face. She could not tear her eyes away from his gaze.

“Trusted you...fool that I...you’ve made us all...” His breath was short; a spasm of pain contorted his face. “You...whore...dirty, English whore...” He threw himself at her again. But Reed’s club knew no restraint this time, and the blow landed with a sickening thud behind the ear. Malcolm crumpled like a dry leaf before a flame.

Jaime’s gasp was smothered by Edward's roar as he shoved his jailer to the side. “You i***t. What good is he dead?”

Jaime’s whole body shook as she knelt before the b****y body huddled at her feet. She placed her fingers on the gashes to his head, where more blood was seeping through his skull. She tried to stop the bleeding, with her hands at first. That failing, she raised the hem of her skirt and tore a piece from her underskirt, pressing the white linen against the two places. She didn’t dare look up. The tears in her eyes—the grief that was tearing at her—were something she couldn’t hide.

“Is he dead?”

Jaime felt Edward's hand on her shoulder. Without looking up, she moved her hand to Malcolm’s throat, where she could feel a pulse, weak and irregular.

“Not yet,” she answered under her breath. “But he is bleeding, and it’s only a matter of time before you lose him. Unless...unless we bring him a physician.”

Jaime turned her head as Edward's boots left her side. He drew one of his officers away and spoke under his breath with him. Though she couldn’t hear their whispers, the officer nodded and strode off in the direction that they’d entered. Tearing another section from her skirts, she replaced the blood-soaked linen at his head with a new one. She pulled him slightly, rolling him onto his side, and drew the cloak away from his chest and back. There was a huge, jagged gash on his back and a smaller one in his chest right above his heart. A sword had run him through from the back. Jaime gasped, a knot of fear rising sharply in her throat. It was a miracle that he had survived the blow. How the blade had ever missed his heart, his lung...

Edward's boots appeared again at her side.

“He’s bleeding from his chest, as well,” she said.

“We’re taking him back with us,” he announced. “I’d wager a crown he wouldn’t survive the night in the hands of Reed, here.”

Jaime stood up at once. There was no time to be lost. They had to take him now. As she turned to Edward, the Englishman’s hand reached out and roughly took hold of her upper arm. She looked up into his gray eyes.

“I’m proud of you, my little raven,” he announced. “You’ve done me a service this day...a great service.”