Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  Adam groaned and ran his hand roughly through his hair. It was worse than he’d thought. With iron discipline he held himself back from stepping toward her and pulling her into his arms. “Aye. Drawn begins to cover it.”

  Then he looked at her. She was smiling, and suddenly they were both laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Her laugh was wonderful, light and musical, balm for a weary soul.

  “I shall have to give you reason to laugh more often, lady. ’Tis a healing sound.”

  They sobered, each appraising the other.

  Adam glanced down at his hands, hands that, had they a will of their own, would be touching her this very moment. He crossed his arms. “I remain firm in my vow—there can be nothing but kisses between us until we have the blessing of a priest.”

  “A binding union would be a disaster, Adam. Attraction or no, I am not ready. I have made promises I must keep. There can be no future for us together.”

  Daron again. He fought the jealousy and calmly said, “I believe we have been brought together for a reason, Gwenyth. Fate, destiny, God’s will. I will remain open to the possibility that we were meant to stay together. Will you?”

  She didn’t answer, but her expression became troubled.

  “We are fools, Gwenyth, to think we can avoid God’s will no matter what is revealed to us.”

  She continued to knot the material in her girdle. “And you think it is God’s will that we make the marriage a true one?”

  “I think we must be open to that possibility, yes.”

  “Perhaps my cousin will rescue us.”

  He chuckled. “From God?”

  She looked stricken by his words, and he laid a hand upon hers to still them. “And if there is no rescue?”

  “Then perhaps you will take me to England yourself.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I suppose I’ll have no choice but to accept you as husband.”

  Brave words, from a nervous maid. “Then we will not speak of this again.” He took a deep breath. “Well, at least one thing has come of this conversation.”

  She lifted her eyebrows in question.

  “At least we know we aren’t suffering alone.”

  Their shared laughter eased the tension between them. He extended his hand. “Friends?”

  She squeezed his palm, her petite features serious again. “Aye, friends and fools.”

  He leaned close, grazing her cheek with his lips.

  She backed away from him, begging him with her eyes not to tempt her, grabbed the remainder of her clothes, and fled. Adam started after her, then thought better of it.

  His disappointment died to be replaced by a hurt he’d not felt since Suisan’s visit to his sickbed. Gwenyth’s rejection pierced deep. No, not the rejection, but the betrayal. For Gwenyth had promised someone something, and that promise meant a denial of him.

  If she truly loved Daron, then betrayal was inevitable. He must harden his heart—’twas time to set this creature free. Her wound might never heal, and she had far too much potential for wounding him. But he was ready to move into new country, whether it be a mountain peak or a steep chasm that he must face.

  THIRTEEN

  DISOBEYING ADAM’S REQUEST that she eat in the hall, Gwenyth picked at the hot porridge and bread that had been brought to her just after first light. Yesterday’s encounter with Adam had provided her with a terrible night’s rest. She felt unsettled and more eager than ever to leave. Thoughts of the kiss they’d shared and the promises held within—promises that must not be kept—assailed her. Surely you can’t want this, Father.

  Pushing aside the food, she fought the sense of abandonment Daron’s absence fostered. Why was it taking so long to hear from him? She refused to believe he’d left Scotland without her, but surely the messenger had had enough time to ride to Altyre and return.

  Tears threatened. He must be dead, as Adam feared. And if so, how would she leave Moy? Could she convince Adam to take her to England? Not likely. After yesterday’s meeting in the cove, it was clear there was an attraction, one she feared was strong enough to make her forget her promise to Edward. But was it strong enough to make her forget that Adam was pledged to the king she hated? Or for him to forgive her deceit?

  Seeking a diversion from these thoughts, she left her room with her guard in tow. She made her way to the large bedchamber on the second level of the keep. As she approached Angus’s door, Eva Mackintosh stepped from the room.

  The older woman frowned a little at the sight of Gwenyth approaching. Eva was generally kind, but she guarded Angus like a lioness. The older woman held the door open and directed a curt warning to her husband. “Don’t tire yerself.” With a nod to Gwenyth to heed the warning as well, Eva left.

  “Ah, I feared ye would choose not to indulge me again.”

  His teasing banter warmed Gwenyth’s troubled thoughts. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”

  “I don’t suppose ye did. So, which tale will ye tell this morning?”

  His insistence on her company puzzled her. “Don’t you have a storyteller to entertain you?”

  “We can’t afford both a storyteller and a priest, and Adam insists on keeping Father Jerard. Not that I object, mind you. The good Father is welcome in good times and bad.”

  Gwenyth had yet to allow the priest to hear her confession. She would make her peace with God in her own time and in her own way.

  Angus settled himself into the pillows. “Why not start with Finn MacCumhail?”

  And so the morning passed quickly. To her surprise she found herself warming even more to the gruff old man as she recounted the ancient tale of Finn and his warriors. Though no doubt Angus had heard the story countless times, he listened with rapt attention.

  This was the third such morning Gwenyth had spent with Adam’s father, and his company soothed her, perhaps because he was in ill health and posed no threat. Perhaps because she missed her own father and menfolk, men with whom she could feel safe.

  “Come, lass. That’s the second time this morning ye’ve lost yer way in the story.”

  “I’m sorry, my laird.” She bit her lip.

  “Yer worried about yer cousin, I suspect.”

  She nodded, and when she was sure her emotions were under control, asked, “Have you heard anything?”

  “Only that Adam is searching for him.” The fatherly concern in his voice fueled her anxiety.

  Laying a hand on her arm, he said, “Come. I’ve an idea to distract ye. I’ve a mind to watch my son on the practice field.”

  “You can’t mean to go to the lists?”

  At her obvious disapproval, he chided, “Where’s yer sense of adventure? Help me dress and let’s be out for a bit of a walk.”

  Gwenyth hadn’t seen Angus leave his bed in all the time she’d been at Moy. “Nay, my laird. You’ll overtax yourself and Lady Eva—”

  “Don’t dawdle, child. Fetch my plaid from yonder hook and let’s spy on the men in the lists.”

  The diversion appealed to Gwenyth—anything to take her mind off Daron’s lack of reply. But she was certain Angus should remain in bed. “I fear for your health, my laird.”

  “At this stage, what does it matter, lass? I’m not going to live forever, and I’m tired of this room and bed. Now, help me or call someone who will.”

  They both knew no one else would indulge his wish. All Gwenyth need do was refuse and he’d have no choice but to remain in his bed.

  His beguiling smile reminded her of his son. How did anyone, man or woman, deny these two? That smile, along with the lure of fresh air and the opportunity to watch Adam, overcame her objections and good sense.

  With a put-upon air, she joined his conspiracy. “All right, we’ll go. But Lady Eva will turn us into haggis for this.”

  He chuckled. “Aye, well, best see she doesn’t find out. Let’s be on with it.”

  Feeling like a bairn playing truant, she helped him from the bed. With a few grumbles from Angus
and giggles from Gwenyth, they managed to get his plaid belted fast. As she pinned the extra length to his shoulder, she gave thanks that his long linen shirt provided modesty.

  Leaning on her for support, Angus shuffled to the door. “Ye’ll need a shawl, lass. Use that small plaid hanging by the door.”

  She wrapped the warm material about her shoulders before asking, “What about my guard?”

  “I’ll invite him to join us.”

  Sim didn’t appear too happy with this escapade, but Gwenyth persuaded and finally, Angus ordered, and he relented, turning toward the stairs.

  “Nay, not that way,” Angus admonished, nodding in the opposite direction.

  Gwenyth halted. “Don’t you want to go up on the battlements?”

  “Can’t hear a thing from there, lass. And I’ve no desire to climb all those stairs. I’ve a better spot in mind.”

  Sim nodded in understanding. “You wish to see but not be seen, my laird?”

  “Aye.”

  To Gwenyth’s relief, their destination was close-by—a small enclosure that, upon closer inspection, proved to be a balcony. If they remained in the shadows, no one on the practice field would know they were there, and they would be able to see and hear most everything. Angus ordered Sim to keep curious servants from disturbing them.

  Gwenyth glanced about for someplace for Angus to sit down, but there was none. “Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. You will have to stand—”

  “Aye, none to be done for it. And don’t be making noises about returning to my room. I will watch my son.”

  Anxious that Angus would not expire in her care, leaving her guilty of his death in addition to her other transgressions, Gwenyth turned her attention to the grassy field below. Her breath caught; to a man they were barechested, wearing only the small plaid kilted at their waists. Most were barefoot.

  The sight was at once frightening and fascinating. As a child she’d watched her father’s warriors in similar state of dress, but none had compared to Adam. She swallowed, her mouth and throat suddenly dry.

  His torso was heavily muscled, despite what must have been a lengthy convalescence. Broad shoulders tapered to a firm waist and fine-drawn hips. The scar on his left arm, which she’d deliberately ignored during their swim, sliced a vivid purple line from the point of his shoulder, down the muscle of his upper arm. He must have been wearing protective garments—a leather hauberk at the least—when he’d suffered the blow, for otherwise the arm would have been severed. As it was, she thought it a miracle he could use it at all.

  But she’d touched the length of the scar, and the muscle had healed well. The damage to the shoulder probably gave him the most trouble, and she doubted he would ever regain the ability to lift the arm higher than his shoulder. Yet he would fight.

  Indeed, Adam, Morogh, and several others struggled together in what appeared to be a skilled unit.

  Leaning closer, Angus observed. “Ah, see. The stubborn lad took my advice, after all.”

  “What advice was that?” Gwenyth kept her voice low.

  “Why, to work out a system to protect his weak side.”

  “Really?”

  Warming to the subject, Angus explained. “See there, how they guard his left? Adam swings the sword well with his right arm, he always did. But now ’tis difficult to block and parry an overhead blow.”

  Gwenyth watched, fascinated by Adam’s prowess, for he was fearsome despite his limitations. Strong, powerful thrusts drove back his attackers. Their voices echoed off the walls. She could hear Adam urge them on, ordering them to give no quarter. Evidently he wanted them to test him with as much force as true attackers would. The men seemed reluctant, but Adam roared at them, and they attacked his left side viciously, breaking through Morogh’s defense and overcoming the others as well.

  Having thus foiled their laird and his defenders, the men ceased the attack, and then stood there looking as if they awaited punishment for doing so.

  Adam’s voice carried clearly. “Well done, lads.”

  Morogh sputtered. “They bested us, Adam.”

  “Aye, they did. They fought well and we did not. Now, what must we do differently?”

  Angus and Gwenyth watched as Adam and the others devised strategies in the dirt with a stick. Morogh argued, but after throwing a heated look at Adam, he took up his position again, and the skirmish continued.

  Gwenyth stretched forward, entranced by the skill and the bravado. Here was a force to be reckoned with, a man who would let nothing stand in his way once he’d determined a goal. She shivered, remembering his willingness to stand by the handfast vows and make the marriage real. Permanent.

  She would do well to remember Adam’s apparent strength, both of body and of will. For not only would he honor his promises, he would enforce his decisions.

  Strain showed on Adam’s face, and he grunted in pain when a particularly well-placed thrust forced his injured arm past endurance. But he did not call a halt, and she realized that if ever he clashed with Leod for possession of the clan, they would fight until the death. She trembled as a vision of Adam, lying bleeding beneath Leod’s sword, reminded her that Adam’s death would mean the end of her safety. She would again be a servant at Leod’s mercy.

  Gwenyth sent a fervent prayer for Daron to come quickly. She had no desire to witness Adam’s dying or to remain anywhere near the threat of Leod Macpherson’s power.

  Angus touched her arm, and she jumped. “Sorry to scare ye, lassie. Ye were lost in yer thoughts. But I wanted to know, was it ye who suggested he swim to improve his strength?”

  “Aye.”

  “Looks as though ye were right. He’s fighting well today.”

  However well he’d been fighting, clearly Adam had reached his limit, for he stood aside while the others continued with their training. His breathing was labored, and sweat glistened on his bare chest.

  Another warrior strode toward Adam. He soon had her full attention, for the hulking giant had flame red hair and an angry posture. Glaring at Adam, he challenged one of the others and through sheer force and little finesse, easily disarmed him, as well as a second, more skilled man.

  Having dispatched them both, he faced Adam. “Come, cousin. Show me what you’re made of.”

  Adam’s apparent fatigue fled with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. He picked up his sword. “Welcome home, Seamus. You seem in a fine temper this morn, and I’ve a mind to whittle it down to size.”

  His acceptance of such a challenge surprised Gwenyth. Perhaps something in the man’s aggressive stance and tone of voice offended him, or perhaps Adam was eager to prove himself. Gwenyth thought him foolish, either way.

  They fought, and thankfully Adam held his own. But Seamus gave no quarter and Adam fought as if his life depended on it.

  Angus stiffened.

  “What is it?” She touched his forehead. “Are you not feeling well?”

  He pushed her hand away. “I’m fine. ’Tis Seamus—why is he challenging so fiercely?”

  Adam must have reached the end of this strength for he called a halt. Seamus stopped swinging his sword as Adam bent over, hands on his thighs, taking great gulps of air.

  She took the old man’s arm. “Come, Angus, we must go.”

  “Not now, lass. Not now.”

  Seamus glared at Adam, but Adam didn’t step back from the older man’s intense gaze or the sword Seamus still held at chest level. Nor did Adam raise his own weapon. “Seamus, calm yourself. Save your anger for an enemy.”

  Seamus also breathed heavily from his exertion. He shook his great head as if to clear it. Between breaths, sword still at the ready, he confronted his laird. “And just who is my enemy, Adam?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gwenyth wondered what had excised the man to raise his sword to his laird. She turned to Angus, but he hushed her as Seamus continued.

  “I have the information you asked for.”

  Adam nodded. “And . . .”

>   “I had to go to Bruce himself to confirm it. And you aren’t going to like it any more than I do.”

  Adam’s voice remained mild. “We should talk of it then. But first, put down your sword, cousin.”

  Seamus stared at his sword as if surprised to see it raised against Adam. The other men had backed off several steps.

  With relief Gwenyth watched the sword descend. Adam motioned toward the keep. “Come, let’s have a cool drink and discuss whatever you’ve learned.”

  “I would speak of it here, in front of the others.”

  “Very well. What has you so incensed?”

  “You are handfasted to a Comyn.” Seamus nearly spit the last word out.

  Gwenyth flinched at the venom in his voice and action.

  Adam placed his sword point in the dirt and leaned on the weapon. “I am handfast to a woman who served the Comyns, yes.”

  “She’s no’ a servant. She’s the youngest daughter of the traitor, John Comyn.”

  Adam’s body stiffened as if Seamus had struck him. Gwenyth felt the blood drain from her face. Did Seamus know the rest of it? She looked at Angus, afraid this news would kill him outright.

  “Is it true, lass?” the old man asked.

  She nodded, and fear pierced through her.

  His shoulders slumped and alarmed, she put her arm about him for support. “I’m sorry. Now you understand why I must go, why I cannot be wife to your son.”

  He nodded. “Ye should have told us yerself.”

  She would have argued, but Angus gestured for her to remain quiet, and she returned her attention to Adam.

  He lifted the sword and examined the blade. “You are sure of this?” his said, voice taut with restrained emotion.

  “Aye, I’m sure. Ask her yourself.”

  “I most certainly will.” He rammed the sword upright in the dirt and strode off with Seamus close behind.

  Angus sagged, and Gwenyth moved quickly to bolster him, her fear of facing Adam quickly displaced by concern for Angus. “Come, you’ve tired yourself and Adam will be most displeased with us both.”

  Angus’s voice revealed his displeasure. “And do you concern yourself with Adam’s opinion?”