An answering desire flickered in his eyes, quickly quenched. “Friends? Friends trust each other, Gwenyth.”
“Aye, so they do,” she whispered. He was entirely too handsome and kind for her own good.
He turned to leave, then seemed to think better of it. “Mother says you will not receive Father Jerard.”
“I have no need of a priest.” Or of a God who deserts me when I need him most.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. He has helped me deal with my own misfortunes.” He studied her before continuing. “Did you, by any chance, learn your letters at Dalswinton?”
“Aye, I can read.”
He walked to her and handed her a key. “This unlocks the chest over by the bed.”
Without another word, he left the room.
Gwenyth stared at the key in her hand. The chest Adam had indicated was too small to hold clothing but larger than those used to keep jewelry. Shaking her head at Adam’s strange behavior, she walked to the chest.
The key to salvation.
Smiling at her fanciful thought, she inserted the key into the lock and heard a click as it opened. Lifting the latch and lid, she gasped at the contents. Books. Two precious books locked away for safekeeping, for they were frightfully expensive.
Her excitement mounted when she saw that in addition to the Holy Bible, which she suspected was Adam’s reason for giving her the key, there was also a collection of poetry and French romances. Although plainly bound in wooden boards, the copy work was exquisite.
Eagerly she carried the poetry to sit beside the window where the light was best. She read an enchanting tale by Cretien de Troyes, then thumbed through the parchment pages until she found the work of Rutebeuf and began to read: “God has made me a companion for Job, Taking away at a single blow, All that I had.”
She closed the book quickly before her tears could stain the precious pages. She didn’t need a reminder of all that she had lost. What she needed, and had found with Adam, was safety. Blindly she replaced the book of poetry and grabbed the Bible. It was not as ornate and beautifully illuminated as the one her family had owned, but it fell open to what had once been one of her favorite passages: “Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.”
Once those words had strengthened her heart. But then she’d become Job’s companion. She’d lost everyone, and worst of all she’d lost her faith in God’s goodness. Clutching the book to her chest, she bent her head and wept.
THE NEXT WEEK PASSED SLOWLY. Adam hadn’t mentioned the books or asked if she’d read them. Gwenyth had learned only too well the pain of seeing hopes and dreams dashed to bits by the hand of men. God could not be trusted to protect her. For now, she would rely on someone she could see and touch for her protection. But how long would Adam protect her if he learned her identity?
She walked a dangerous and narrow path between truth and deceit, between friendship and love, trust and betrayal. A chasm yawned on either side, ready to claim her. Despite the tension of living with the threat of being found out, she strove to live each day as it came. Taking what joy she could, ever mindful that disaster loomed.
As the weather improved, the demands on Adam’s time increased. His visits became necessarily brief, and they remained wary of each other. And yet he was attentive in other ways, instructing his staff to see she had whatever she needed. Adam did not press her to leave the sanctuary of her room, nor did he suggest again that she receive the priest. Adam stopped by each day, even if only to wish her good morning.
By week’s end Gwenyth soon found herself restless, and more and more she turned to the Bible in the chest. Although she still resented God’s apparent abandonment, she took what comfort she could from favorite passages. Grudgingly she began to allow God back into her life, acknowledging that her grief stemmed not from things God had done to her, but from the evils found in men.
Aye, the evils of men. How could a man as kind and accepting as Adam serve a monster like Robert the Bruce? She might be able to forgive Adam for his misplaced allegiance, but she would never forgive Bruce for killing her father.
Always it came back to that. She sighed and picked up her embroidery just as someone knocked on her door. The abrupt sound didn’t startle her half as much as the male voice requesting entrance. Adam. Smiling, she quickly pulled a kirtle over her chemise and tied the laces.
“Come in, my laird.”
He entered, leaving the door open behind him, and she glimpsed a man-at-arms guarding the door. Her heart seemed to beat in her throat. Had Adam discovered her true name and posted a sentry to prevent her escape?
“Gwenyth. You look well today.”
He seemed sincere enough. Nothing unusual in his greeting, but why the guard?
Her hands began to tremble. She was a prisoner. Just when she’d started feeling normal again . . .
Adam strode to her, taking her hands. “Gwenyth, what is it?”
Her voice caught, and all she could do was nod at the hallway.
“The guard?” Bewilderment showed in his voice.
How could she explain without revealing too much, without revealing things he mustn’t know? She merely nodded.
“You are trembling like a leaf in the wind because I’ve posted a watchman.” He pulled her to him, and she stiffened in his embrace. Still, he held her, stroking her back like he might a kitten. The gentle touch soothed her, as it was meant to do, and the tremors gradually diminished.
“I don’t know what has you so agitated, Gwenyth. He isn’t there to hold you prisoner, but to make you feel safe.”
She couldn’t tell if he joked or not and she pulled away, crossing her arms on her chest. “Am I in danger?”
He walked to the hearth and poked at the fire. “You can’t remain hidden in this chamber forever. I thought that having a companion to watch over you would ease your spirit.” He turned to face her. “I can’t be with you all the time—you are going to have to learn to trust others as well as me.”
Did he truly have no suspicions about her? Was he offering freedom and not imprisonment? His generosity and thoughtfulness touched her. She must find Daron and leave, before her need for this man outgrew her need to fulfill family obligations, obligations that were fast fading in importance the longer she dwelled in Adam’s home.
“Gwenyth?”
She brought her wandering thoughts and hammering heart under control. “Aye?”
“If you aren’t ready to leave the room, you may request whatever you need to make use of your time—a loom, sewing materials—”
He was trying so hard to please her. She must leave, before she repaid his kindness with betrayal. “I should like to send a message to my cousin.”
“Indeed.” He stiffened, and his azure eyes feigned an indifference she doubted he felt. “And just where shall I deliver this message?”
She softened her tone of voice. “My laird, I am completely at your mercy. I have wronged you and pray your forgiveness. Neither of us wanted this marriage, so the sooner I am gone from here the better. Do you agree?”
He hesitated. “I agree.”
“Daron and I decided upon a meeting place, should we become separated.”
“You let me search for him knowing all the while where he is?”
“I don’t know he’s there for certain—he could be injured or . . .” Her voice wavered, but she refused to believe Daron was dead. “I wanted him to have a safe refuge until I was able to travel. Now that I am well, you can send for him, and I can be gone, no longer a burden to you.”
“You don’t think he deserted you and headed for England?”
She straightened, offended at the thought. “Never. Neither of us would leave Scotland without the other.” The thought that Daron might be dead was simply unbearable. Of this she was certain—her kinsmen would not desert her, not if they valued their lives.
Belat
edly she realized that such an assertion would give Adam reason to wonder that Daron would be so loyal to a servant. Indeed, he appeared to speculate as he replied, “Then we must hope his health is good. Your cousin is a man of his word?”
“Aye, he is as honorable as you.”
He angled his head as if weighing her words. It seemed this man did not make decisions in haste.
“How can I be certain you won’t send me into a trap of Leod’s making?”
His words stung and her voice reflected her ire. “You think I would send you—a man who, however unwillingly, married me and promised me safety—you think I would betray you to the man who . . . ?”
The ring he had placed on her finger caught her eye. She thrust the hand in front of her, her voice raised. “You who are so devout in your vows—you should understand that I pledged my loyalty, and I will not go back on my word.”
Her words rang off the walls, hanging there between them like a gauntlet thrown in the dirt. She watched his face for some sign of his feelings. The slow smile that crept upon his features caught her by surprise.
“My lady, you state your case most eloquently. It would seem we must trust each other, then, if we are to be rid of each other.”
“You jest with me.”
His face became more serious. “Nay, Gwenyth, I do not. I’m sorry I doubted you. You have no reason to betray me to Leod, but what of this cousin? I know him not. And now you tell me where he may be, after all our searching . . .”
His caution was admirable, if maddening. “Only let me send to him, my laird. ’Tis time. I am well now and ready to travel.”
Again he was silent, his expression one of deep contemplation. “How did Leod capture you?”
The abrupt shift of his thoughts caught her momentarily off-guard, but she recovered quickly. “Daron and I and our escort were on our way to Inverallochy to meet the ship that would transport us to England.”
“To take refuge there?”
“Aye, along with others who remain loyal to Balliol.”
He speared her with a sharp look. “Balliol? You remain loyal to Balliol? Even now?”
She stared at him, wondering what sort of trap he might spring. “I would give my loyalty where it is returned, my laird. King Robert has taken away our lands and home—we have no refuge from persecution in our homeland. And few kinsmen to protect us.”
“You could rebuild your life, switch your allegiance, and serve Bruce instead. He is very forgiving.”
She nearly gave it all away with a bitter reply. Instead she answered, “I would be an outcast from my loved ones if I did. I have lost enough.”
He nodded as if he understood the ties of family only too well. “You are certain Daron and his men haven’t gone on without you?”
“I believe they will wait for me. As I told you, I served Lady Comyn, staying behind to nurse her through her final illness.” That much was true at least. She had stayed with her mother, promising her to flee to England and take the Comyn’s claim to the throne with her. Within weeks of her mother’s burial, Bruce had burned Dalswinton, and Gwenyth had fled to Ruthven just ahead of his army. Then she and Daron had watched Ruthven burn before setting out for England so Gwenyth could keep that promise. Now she must find a way to get to England, and this man could be either a help or a hindrance. The longer she remained at Moy, the more likely he would become the latter.
“Lady Comyn, widow of Red Comyn.” He regarded her thoughtfully, and Gwenyth fought to breathe normally.
How many lies could she tell and still hope for Adam’s forgiveness when the truth finally came to light? All the more reason to be gone.
“Aye.” My mother and the father your king killed. Remembering Bruce made it much easier for Gwenyth to harden her heart toward this man who supported Bruce’s monarchy.
“So where do think this cousin of yours may be?”
“Now ’tis my turn to trust, is it not? You won’t harm him?”
“I will not. I give my word.”
“They are most likely hidden at Altyre.”
His eyes grew wide. “On my own lands?”
Her head came up in defiance. “They are Comyn lands, taken from the rightful owners and given to you as reward.” She prayed her belligerence marked her as a very loyal servant, and not a member of the family.
“As you say.” Again he seemed to weigh her words. She feared he would take days to make up his mind, but he surprised her.
“I’ll send your message.”
“Thank you, my laird.”
He made as if to reply but turned and strode from the room.
Gwenyth watched him leave, knowing that no matter what she did, stay or leave, in the end she would be forced to betray the trust growing between them. For one weary moment, she considered telling him the truth, now, before someone else did. But the truth would hurt him far more than her lies.
Gwenyth sat on the stool, head in her hands. The past weighed heavy on her, promises and plans. Plans that might very well plunge Scotland into civil war as Bruce’s followers clashed with Balliol’s. Promises Gwenyth had made to others, to further their ambitions and to seek revenge. Bloodshed. Fear.
And promises made to Adam. Healing. Trust.
If only Daron would rescue her before her conflicting loyalties destroyed all she held dear.
NINE
GWENYTH AWOKE to what appeared to be early morning light coming through the narrow winnock of her chamber. Memories of her conversation with Adam yesterday weighed upon her, and today did not bode to be much better. Shaking off her dark mood, she resolved to create a new needlework design this day. Perhaps the creative endeavor would salve her melancholy spirit.
She finished dressing. Her maid was about to comb her hair when a knock sounded on the door, and Gwenyth bid them enter. But it wasn’t the Lady Eva who came through the door. And this raven-haired woman with the haughty expression could not be mistaken for a serving girl.
Indeed, the woman dismissed the servant with a curt nod. Was this Adam’s sister? He’d spoken of his sisters, but Gwenyth had yet to meet them as they lived some distance away with their husbands. She laid down the comb the maid had hastily pressed into her hands and stood.
“Good day, my lady,” Gwenyth said.
The other woman stared, her cold blue gaze clearly unfriendly. “I’m not a lady of the house,” the other woman snarled. “I’m Nathara, the healer.”
Still struggling with the woman’s evident hostility, Gwenyth replied evenly, “Then ’tis you I must thank for the medicines Lady Eva has used.”
“No need to thank me. Eva saw to you herself.”
Yes, and Adam had distinctly said he trusted no one but his mother for the task. Why hadn’t the healer been called upon to care for her? Confused and fearful of the woman’s intent, Gwenyth looked to the still open door in hopes the guard would come and make this woman leave.
Nathara closed the door before Gwenyth could call out to him. Nathara ran her gaze over Gwenyth, eyeing her from head to toe, and her discomfort increased. She dared not let her fear show, and putting on an air of bravado she said, “Why do you come to my chamber uninvited?”
“To see what manner of woman has taken Adam from me.”
The woman’s words caught Gwenyth at a disadvantage. “I don’t understand.”
“He was to marry me.”
“Oh.” Adam hadn’t mentioned a betrothal as one of his objections to marrying her. Had he?
“We had not yet announced our betrothal, but we are very close,” Nathara declared.
“I see.” But she didn’t see. “What is it you want with me?”
Nathara’s irritation came across quite clearly. “You’re handfasted with him, aren’t you?”
“If you know of the marriage, then you must also know it was forced upon us. As soon as I am able, I will leave.”
Eyes flashing, Nathara said, “Adam has some ridiculous notion that he is bound by his vows to you.” Once again sh
e looked Gwenyth over. “But I can see I needn’t worry. He’ll forget such foolishness and return to me soon enough.”
No doubt Nathara hoped to drive Gwenyth away by disclosing her closeness with Adam. Indeed it did strengthen Gwenyth’s resolve to leave. Until then she would keep a close watch on Nathara, for this woman embodied all the hatred between their two clans.
“I have need of Adam’s protection, Nathara.” That was all she needed or wanted from him. Yet some perverse part of her was reluctant to admit such to the woman.
Nathara raised her chin. “You will not keep him.”
Goading the woman was not a good idea. But Gwenyth doubted anything she said would satisfy Nathara. “Perhaps not. But until the time allotted, he is my husband, and I will accord him all loyalty.”
Nathara’s gaze nearly crackled with heat. “He would be a fool to keep you. And Adam is not a fool.” With that she withdrew, leaving Gwenyth to breathe a sigh of relief as she dropped onto the stool she’d left earlier.
Nathara’s instincts were correct—Gwenyth and Adam would not truly be man and wife. Even were she willing, her betrayal and deceit would soon close that door. This was just as well, for she hoped to leave Castle Moy in the coming weeks, by God’s grace.
THE SPRING PLANTING was well under way and the lambing nearly over. As he finished his morning rounds, overseeing the work of those who kept the castle fed and clothed, Adam breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that was quickly replaced by anxiety as he remembered that today was grievance day. The day when the laird sat in judgment to settle differences among the folk.
He’d attended many of these quarterly sessions over the years, sitting next to his father. But today he acted as laird in Angus’s place, and he prayed for wisdom as he settled various disputes— someone’s pig had trampled a new garden, a dog had attacked a child, and the owner refused to tie it up.
Several couples, accompanied by smiling parents, asked permission to marry. All in all, a satisfying day’s work and easily handled. By late afternoon the cases dwindled and Adam rose to stretch. Bracing his hands on the lintel above the fireplace, he stared into the newly lit fire and counted his blessings.
Circle of Honor Page 9
