‘It has cost too much,’ said Bedford, sadly.
‘Oh, Sir, this would be naught, save that I am all that lies between her—the Lady Esclairmonde—and Boëmond of Burgundy;’ and as at that moment Bedford saw the gold betrothal ring on the finger, his countenance lost something of the pitying concern it had worn. Malcolm detected the expression, and rallying his powers the more, continued: ‘Sir, there was no help—they vowed that she must choose between Boëmond and me. On the faith of a dying man, I hold her troth but in trust; I pledged myself to her to restore it when her way is clear to her purpose. She would never be mine but in name. And now who will save her? My life alone is between her and yonder wolf. Oh, Sir Duke, promise me to save her, and I die content.’
‘This is mere waste of time!’ broke in the Duke. ‘Where are the knave chirurgeons?—See, James, if the lad dies, ’twill be from mere loss of blood; there is no inward bleeding; and if there be no more loitering, he will do well.’
And seeing the surgeons at hand, he would have risen to make way, but Malcolm held him fast, reiterating, ‘Save her, Sir.’
‘If your life guards her, throw it not away by thus dallying,’ said Bedford, disengaging himself; while Malcolm groaned heavily, and turned his heavy eyes to his royal friend, who said kindly, ‘Fear not, dear cousin; either thou wilt live, or he will be better than his word.’
‘God will guard her, I know,’ said Malcolm; ‘and oh! my own dear lord, I need not ask you to be the brother to my poor sister you have been to me. At least all will be clear for her and Patie!’
‘I trust not yet,’ said James, smiling in encouragement. ‘Thou wilt live, my faithful laddie.’
Malcolm was spent and nearly fainting by this time, and all his reply was a few gasps of ‘Only say you pardon me all, my lord, and will speak for her to the Duke! ask her prayers for me!’ and as James sealed his few words of reply with a kiss, he closed his eyes, and became unconscious; in which state he was conveyed to his bed.
‘You might have set his mind at rest,’ said James, somewhat hurt, to the Duke.
‘Who? I!’ said Bedford. ‘I cannot stir a finger that could set us at enmity with Burgundy, for any lady in the land. Moreover, if she have found means to secure herself once, she can do so again.’