Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  ADAM RUBBED a handful of straw across his horse’s gleaming coat. The repetitive motion and the touch of his hands on the silky hide normally soothed him, but not today. He rested his head on the horse’s neck, and the animal reached around, nuzzling Adam’s side as if to offer comfort. But the nibbling tickled, and Adam gently pushed the velvet nose away. “Stop, Kai.”

  The big red stallion stomped his foot, successfully distracting Adam from his pensive mood. He reached into the fold of his plaid for the dried apple hidden there and offered it to the horse, which nipped it from Adam’s palm with expert lips.

  The stable door opened and closed, and Morogh walked over and leaned against the stall door. “Thought ye might be here. Too cursed cold for the hot spring today, even for ye.”

  Adam stroked Kai’s neck. “Aye, winter’s taking one last crack at us.”

  “How’s the wee lass, then?” Morogh asked, his voice full of concern.

  Adam shook his head. “She insists that she’s fine, just sore ribs and a few bruises. And of the other, she refuses to speak of it, even to Mother. She cried when I visited this morning.”

  Morogh cleared his throat. “Well, for all ye know, those were tears of gratitude for removing her from Leod’s keep and further abuse.”

  “Aye. Or tears of fear at seeing the one man who has a right to her.” He said another prayer of thanks that the marriage was only handfast, that he wasn’t tied for the rest of his life to a woman who would never invite his touch. For surely her tears gave proof that the very sight of him filled her with fear.

  Adam closed the stall door behind him and walked to the hay stacked at the far end of the barn. He grabbed an armful and returned to fill Kai’s rack.

  “Have ye had any luck in finding this cousin of hers?”

  “None.” And it had been that admission to Gwenyth that had preceded her tears, now that he thought on it. Perhaps she didn’t fear him so much as she wanted to know her kinsman was alive. That made more sense. Adam’s mood lifted. He raked up the loose hay that lay on the dirt-packed floor of the aisleway. “He’s either left the country or he’s holed up somewhere in the hills.”

  “Aye, or he’s dead.”

  What would Gwenyth do if that were so? Adam’s initial anger at her accusation of rape had greatly diminished. And not a one of the people whose opinion mattered to him believed he’d been the one to assault her. She had saved his life, no matter what her motivation, and for that, he and his clansmen were grateful.

  Perhaps she deserved more than just his promise of protection, so grudgingly given. It was obvious, though she tried to deny it, that she had suffered a terrible trauma. From the look of her bruises, which were only beginning to fade after five days, she had fought her assailant, else why did he beat her?

  How could any man intentionally harm such a mite of a woman? She stood nearly a head shorter than Adam, and though she carried a well-rounded body, her bones had felt delicate as a bird’s when he’d held her on his horse.

  Women and children, the old and infirm, were to be protected from harm. That was a man’s responsibility. A laird’s responsibility. That lesson had been easily learned, for Adam had a natural tendency to protect. Hadn’t he spent his childhood protecting others from Leod’s bullying?

  Leod.

  The suspicion that Leod had harmed Gwenyth grew stronger each day. It wasn’t hard to believe that Leod the bully had gone from torturing animals to assaulting a woman. Adam couldn’t prove it, of course. And having accepted the blame himself, he couldn’t very well accuse Leod, even if Gwenyth could be persuaded to name him. But somehow Adam would discover the truth. And make the man pay.

  Adam shared a strong bond with Gwenyth, the bond of comrades who’d suffered bodily trauma and survived. Aye, she was as damaged as he. Maybe they could heal each other before they parted.

  For a moment his mind wandered through the possible forms such healing might embrace. Yes, embraces, kisses, and all manner of delights a married couple might choose to engage in.

  And then the vision of Gwenyth sitting in a chair staring out the window dashed his foolish daydream quicker than a cold highland rain. Teaching her the delights of marriage might well prove impossible.

  Aye, they might heal one another, but that was all. She didn’t want to stay here—she’d made that clear. And he must make a true marriage that would strengthen the clan, as God might direct.

  Morogh dropped a pitchfork, and the clatter brought Adam back to the present. “Yer not thinking of keeping her?”

  “What makes you ask such a thing?”

  “The look on yer face.”

  Morogh’s black-eyed gaze didn’t miss much. Never had, Adam recalled ruefully. “Nay. Perhaps under other circumstances . . . Nay, it’s not meant to be.”

  “That’s what I’m thinkin’.”

  “When the weather clears, I’ll search for this Daron. I think it likely he’s gone on without her, but if not, we need to settle with him. Or see her safely on her way.”

  “Aye, all will work out for the best, ye’ll see.”

  LEOD MACPHERSON rode his horse into the woods surrounding the small village, exhilarated and freed from the frustration that had plagued him the past few days. As he entered the seclusion of the trees, he pulled the mask from his face.

  Support for his cause proceeded much too slowly. His Macpherson tacksmen were loathe to transfer their loyalty from Adam to him, and he was no closer now to taking the chiefship than he’d been after Adam’s visit.

  Curse the woman. Miserable, misbegotten servant. Who’d have thought she’d have the courage to stand up to him, Leod Macpherson? Had she told Mackintosh who accosted her?

  Women. If Eva Macpherson had married within her own clan, Clan Chattan would still be led by a Macpherson. Instead, Leod was denied the right to be laird, all because that woman had betrayed her clan.

  He wanted to howl at the injustice, but caution prevailed. The cattle raid had gone well, and no doubt the village men had been summoned from their scattered chores to chase after Leod’s men and the absconded cattle. He had made certain his men wore nondescript plaids and the Cameron plant badge. Word would go out quickly that Cameron raiders had stolen Macpherson cattle.

  And accosted a Macpherson woman. Leod hadn’t planned on the assault. But she’d caught his eye as they rode through the village, driving the cows before them. Before he’d had time to think, he’d reached down and pulled her in front of him.

  Lust and rage warred within as he’d dragged her to the ground, not far from where he now rested. The mask hid his face as he took out his frustration on the young woman. He’d finished quickly and ridden away, not willing to be caught by her outraged kinsmen, careful to ride toward Cameron lands before changing direction.

  He laid his heels to the horse and moved to the trail that led home.

  The word would travel quickly, and Adam would find himself with angry villagers. Soon the resistant clansmen would see that Adam Mackintosh couldn’t protect them and wasn’t fit to be their laird. Leod would escalate the cattle raids and put fear in the hearts of the villagers.

  Then he would step forward, “find” the men responsible, and show Adam for what he was—incompetent.

  WHEN THE FICKLE SPRING WEATHER warmed three days after his talk with Morogh, Adam made good on his promise to search for Gwenyth’s cousin. But the man wasn’t to be found. Adam renewed his determination to heal her, no matter the consequences. She’d been damaged by someone in Clan Chattan, and he would see her well and healed. His duty as laird required it.

  His honor demanded it.

  She’d remained hidden in her chamber since their arrival a week ago and this morning he’d discovered why. He had knocked at her door and she bade him enter. She sat in the chair by the fireplace, wrapped in a warm blanket. “Good morning, Adam.”

  “Good morning. You look well. I wish I was bringing better news, but I wanted you to know I haven’t found your cousin Daron.”


  “Thank you for trying.”

  “I haven’t given up and neither must you.” He felt awkward and searched for something else to say. “Morogh’s telling of how you stood up to Leod and saved me is a popular subject of late.”

  She smiled warmly. “I guess that explains these.” She pointed to a chest in the corner of the room.

  The residents of Moy and its village hadn’t even met Gwenyth, yet each day one of them brought another gift for “the laird’s wee wife”—herbal tea, a ribbon for her hair, a pastry to tempt her appetite.

  They gave, these people who had so little, to a stranger.

  To Adam’s wife.

  “Da wants to meet you—says it’s a sorry day when he can’t meet his own daughter-in-law.”

  “Aye, well, I’m not much company just now. Soon.”

  “Just what I told him.” Adam smiled, thinking of his father’s frustration at being an invalid. Did Gwenyth share the feeling? “Mother thought perhaps you would enjoy going downstairs today.”

  “That is very thoughtful. I am ready for a change of scenery, I think. But I have nothing to wear save the dress I came here in.” A shadow passed over her face. “I asked your mother to fetch it but she said I must ask you.”

  Her expression was puzzled.

  Adam cleared his throat. “I hope you weren’t fond of that dress, because I burned it.”

  “Burned it?” And then just the inkling of a smile graced her lips. “You burned that dress.”

  “Aye. I hated that dress and what it reminded me of and thought mayhap you’d feel the same—”

  Now her smile lit her face and she held out her hand to him. He walked closer and took her hand in his.

  Her eyes sparkled with tears as she looked up at him. “That is quite possibly the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me, Adam.”

  Uncomfortable with the emotions swirling about them, he cleared his throat again and dropped her hand. “Good, then. I’m glad you aren’t angry. I will ask Mother to find you something appropriate to wear so you may join us in the main hall for the midday meal. If you feel up to it.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I will return for you shortly.”

  EIGHT

  ABEAUTIFULLY WOVEN TAPESTRY depicting scenes from the Old Testament adorned the wall facing Gwenyth. Smaller weavings hung between the two narrow window openings, shuttered now against the morning mist. They reminded her of the needlework she’d been working on the day her father was killed. Of Daniel in the lion’s den. Edward and Daron—all of it came crashing back, strengthening her resolve.

  It would take time to heal, and heal she must. For the immediate future, she would put aside her need for vengeance and give her mind and body the gift of time. She would be no good to Daron or Edward otherwise. Still, she was gratified that Adam continued to seek Daron’s whereabouts.

  Gwenyth ran her hands down the gown Eva had given her. Not a servant’s dress, but a lovely kirtle with a surcoat of green wool that complemented Gwenyth’s coloring. It was worn but serviceable, and Gwenyth was grateful for the older woman’s kindness. Grateful as well for Adam’s thoughtfulness.

  Tears stung Gwenyth’s eyes. Emotions still sat near the surface, ready to overwhelm her at the slightest provocation. Still, she felt stronger, much stronger, than she had in days.

  Even when she despaired of ever feeling truly normal again, she trusted Adam, knew he would not hurt her or let any harm come to her. His constancy provided much needed consolation and joy to her tattered spirit.

  But as mind and body healed, she saw all too clearly that her obligations to Adam and her need for revenge were on a grievous collision course with destiny.

  A knock at the open door startled Gwenyth. She turned to see Adam enter the room. Did her face betray how very glad she was to see him?

  Adam said, “You look well, Gwenyth.”

  “Thank you, my laird. But looks are deceiving—I was afraid to stand to greet you for fear I’d topple over.”

  His smile warmed and his gaze traveled over her. “I’m glad you feel well enough to leave your room.”

  He moved to offer his arm, but she drew back.

  “You needn’t fear me, Gwenyth.”

  “I’m not afraid.” Not of Adam’s touch, but of her wish to have him hold and comfort her.

  “I understand—even under the best of circumstances a maid is often reluctant to accept a husband’s touch.” He smiled, a smile to warm the most frightened heart. And her unfaithful heart basked in its glow even as she chastised herself for accepting his solace.

  Keeping the subject light, she said, “How do others manage, then?”

  He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it as he answered, “They take time to know each other, to become comfortable in each other’s company.”

  “But we don’t intend to remain together, my laird.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps we’ll change our minds. Regardless, Gwenyth, I would help you overcome your fears.”

  “My fears?”

  “I would teach you to trust again.”

  She pulled her hand from his. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “You saved my life.” He glanced about, his eyes not lighting anywhere for long, his hands absently straightening a fold in his plaid. “I should have taken you to my room that night and protected you.” He stepped closer. “I’d like to make it up to you somehow.”

  Gwenyth was moved by his offer and terrified at the same time. It would be much safer to keep distance between them. She must not forget that in the warmth of his smile lay a man loyal to her father’s enemy. As her strength and health returned, so did her determination to exact revenge on Scotland’s king.

  Yet Adam’s affection and obvious sincerity were difficult to resist, and his generous heart called to newly awakened longings.

  He took a deep breath and looked away from her. When his gaze returned to meet hers, he said, “I can never replace what was stolen from you, lass. No one can. And I can’t promise that we will remain married beyond the year I pledged. I have duties—responsibility to my clan—”

  “I understand, Adam. You promised me safety. ’Tis what I crave just now. As to your offer to help me trust again, you have already done more than most men would have in such a situation. I thank you.”

  He studied her, as if to determine the truth of her words. “You will not press me to make the marriage binding?”

  Gwenyth stifled her assurance, reminding herself that a servant girl, as he believed her to be, would be only too willing to achieve such a marriage. She must blame her reluctance on her ordeal, not a difficult part to play, by any means.

  “Nay, my laird. We were forced together, and I don’t want a man who doesn’t want me. Truth be told, I don’t ever want to be touched again.” The shiver of revulsion that traveled her spine was not feigned in any measure.

  “If I cannot find your cousin, you will need a benefactor.”

  She dare not tell him she had one. In England. “I don’t want a husband. Not you. Not anyone.” she added hastily.

  “Give it some thought, Gwenyth. We might be well suited.”

  Cautiously she asked, “Why do you think so?”

  “We have both suffered from violence. As a result, neither of us will be particularly sought after as a mate.”

  The statement startled her to the realization that she could hide her trauma, but he could not. And apparently his wound pained him both in body as well as in heart. “But surely you have your position as captain of the federation. There must be any number of women who would welcome a marriage with you.”

  “Perhaps. But how do they feel about marrying a cripple? Will they look past my wretched arm?”

  So, he craved to be loved for who he was, not for the prestige of his position. Obviously his clan loved him, for they had voiced no objection to the marriage, despite the circumstances. But how could they not love and respect a man like Adam? His kindness and g
enerosity were exceptional for one so young. Surely God smiled on him, and Gwenyth struggled with the necessity to keep distance between them.

  “Why do you think I will look past those things?”

  “Because you judged me in Leod’s hall and did not find me wanting.”

  “I might have been wrong.”

  “Were you?”

  “Nay.”

  He strode to the window and looked out.

  “You don’t find me wanting, but you have no desire to accept me as husband.” He turned to her, his emotions unreadable. “Why?”

  She longed to tell him the truth, all of it, so he would not think her rejection of him was personal. Perhaps part of the truth would be enough. It would have to be.

  “Adam, I cannot stay here, no matter how attractive the thought may become. I must join my family. I have obligations—surely you can understand the duties imposed upon a child.”

  “You are not truly a servant, are you?”

  Gwenyth steeled herself not to panic, for if she misspoke now all was lost. Again she must tell half-truths, and it pained her. “Nay, my lord, not really. I am a distant cousin to the Lord of Buchan. My family fell on hard times and so I served at Dalswinton as Lady Joan’s maid.”

  “I thought you must be gently born. You speak too well to be a simple servant. Since you are so determined, I shall redouble my efforts to find your cousin.”

  “Thank you, my laird.” Gwenyth breathed a sigh of relief.

  His earlier warmth left him, yet Gwenyth found herself wishing she were free to consider a permanent relationship with him. To cast off all the lies and half-truths that lay between them. To learn what he might teach about tenderness and love. But she was not free, and only pain and heartache could result if she were to forget it. Still, she must depend on this man to help her, and she did very much need someone she could trust.

  “Adam, could we not be friends?” It seemed so little to offer, and for a brief moment she wanted more, much more.