Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  “Makes no difference which battle, Adam,” Ian assured him.

  “It makes a difference to me. By now you all know the story of my foolish behavior and what it nearly cost me. I cannot forget and I don’t want you to either, as you choose your laird.”

  Ian clapped him on the back. “Well said, lad. But you’ve made clear your determination to learn from that mistake. We’ve seen that you abide by your vows, and knowing how bad watered wine tastes, we respect you all the more.”

  Hearty laughter followed Ian’s remark, but the respect he spoke of showed on every face. Every face except Leod’s. He allowed no emotion to betray him.

  “My arm will never work right; it’s a daily reminder of the folly of youthful intemperance. But I’ve been swimming most mornings and it’s stronger.” How Adam would love to regain the strength to wield the claymore. For now it gave him joy to be able to use the smaller broadsword with increasing skill.

  Adam watched Leod, waiting for the man to join in the discussion taking place among the others. He didn’t have to wait long for soon Leod’s voice rose above the rest. “But what of the recent raids? Our neighbors, the Camerons, have threatened us. They believe Adam cannot protect us, and they see what they can take.”

  Leod’s voice was neutral, reasoned, and in control. Adam trusted him even less in this mood.

  William appeared thoughtful. “Aye, that is something to consider. We may believe in Adam, but what do others think of him?”

  If he was to prove his worth as a leader, he would have to speak up and defend himself, so Adam responded, “I have spoken to Lochiel Cameron. And though he’s not overfond of me, he denied the raids.”

  “Well, of course he’d deny them. What did you expect?” Leod asked.

  “I didn’t expect him to admit a thing. But he has his own problems just now and doesn’t need more by antagonizing me. So he gave me leave to inspect his herd for our kine.”

  “And?”

  “And I didn’t insult the man by doing so.”

  Many heads nodded in approval.

  Leod moved to a different attack, reminding them of Adam’s inability to fight and thus to protect what was his.

  But someone said, “He said himself he’s getting stronger. And if it comes to that he has others to fight for him.”

  Leod had an answering argument. “That’s fine when we’re talking about minor cattle raids. But what happens when the Frasers and the Grants or the Campbells figure out that our laird is not a warrior? These raids will continue until finally those others band together to overtake us.”

  Adam stroked his chin, fighting to maintain his calm. “Do you have proof or reason to believe they are doing so?”

  “Nay, but it takes no imagination to conjure up such a possibility.”

  “Leod’s right, there,” Douglas Macphail said. “Perhaps we should give thought to having Adam as chief and appointing a warlord to train and lead the warriors.”

  Adam could see where this was leading, and Leod was crouched and ready to strike at the opportunity to be appointed to the position. “You have only Leod’s word that I can’t fight. Indeed, he makes it sound as if I’m mortally crippled, or worse, a coward. Neither is true. I am willing to fight, and I have been training with my warriors.”

  He paused, careful of his words. “I can lead the men, and they will follow me, their rightful laird. How well I wield the sword is of less consequence than their trust in me to lead them well. But the idea of having someone else train the warriors has merit, and I would name Seamus to serve as warlord.”

  “An excellent choice,” Ian said.

  Others agreed. Since that tactic seemed doomed, Leod returned to his only real threat. “And what of your handfast to our enemy?”

  “Her clan may be our enemy, but she is not, and that is the end of it, Leod.”

  “So you say. But you must find a more suitable wife once the handfast is over.”

  Adam wanted to throttle Leod, to fight him here and now. But his father’s counsel came to mind. Use your head, not your arm, to beat this maggot.

  “And if I choose not to put her aside?”

  “You would bring Bruce’s wrath upon us as it fell upon the Comyns.”

  Adam couldn’t help but smile at the knowledge that he’d obeyed his king in this regard. But he changed his mind about announcing the binding vows he’d taken with Gwenyth. “The question today is not about whom I do or do not marry. The question is whether or not I am a fit leader. If you trust my judgment to lead you, then you must trust my selection of a wife, when the time comes.”

  Macqueen’s voice rose above the others. “Ye’ve shown me nothing but wisdom and courage, lad. Ye’ve got my vote.”

  Ian said, “Adam is the rightful heir. I see no cause to deny it to him.”

  But Leod wasn’t ready to give up. He stared pointedly at Daron, who stood against the wall behind Adam. “What of Daron Comyn? It is dangerous to harbor the old king’s supporter within your walls.”

  “Daron has sworn allegiance to me.”

  There was a gasp from the men at the table.

  “You heard right. Daron Comyn and his men are now loyal to me, and to Bruce and Scotland. Furthermore I have named him as captain of my personal guard.” He gazed about the room, making eye contact with each man there. Now was the time to assert his right to stand before them, to lead them.

  When no one spoke against him, he continued, “Clearly, Leod believes someone else should be chosen. But I am the rightful captain of Clan Chattan, by virtue of heredity, and by the strength of my one good arm, if need be. But I would prefer you to choose me because you believe me to be a fair judge and an honorable man.” Adam looked directly at Leod with those words.

  Leod must know he wouldn’t have another chance. “I challenge you. Prove you can fight by right of arms.”

  “Would you have warfare, Leod? Would you see our clansmen die over such foolishness?”

  “Nay, cousin. This is just between you and me.”

  Adam remembered their conversation the day he’d met Daron. He’d known then that only a confrontation would satisfy Leod. His father had been both right and wrong—some men would follow only if you proved you could fight.

  “All right then, Leod. If that is the only way you will accept me, I will fight you. One on one.”

  “Nay,” Shaw bellowed. “You will not fight to see who is laird. This council will make that decision. Today. Now.”

  With that, Ian polled each of the men, and Adam lounged against the wall with Daron.

  “You don’t seem too concerned, my laird.”

  Adam watched as Ian polled each man privately. “What good would it do to fash myself? I didn’t see any support for Leod—he doesn’t know when he’s beaten. And if I allowed myself to act on my feelings, I’d have my hands around Leod’s throat.”

  Daron glowered at Leod. “And mine too. He won’t take defeat well, you can count on it.”

  Adam grinned. “And that, good man, is why you will be watching my back as well as your own.”

  Ian finished and banged his tankard on the table to get their attention. Without fanfare he announced, “Adam is the captain.”

  Leod masked his emotions, and Adam feared the anger being stifled within the man. Leod stalked toward the door, but Ian Shaw stopped him. “Stay, Leod.” Shaw turned, then spoke to Adam. “I assume that you will hold a competition to choose your household guards?”

  “Aye.”

  “It is traditional for the laird to engage in the sports with his clansmen.” Shaw glared at each of them in turn. “Confine your rivalry to the hammer throw.”

  A feral glint lit Leod’s eyes. “We shall meet in the contests, then, my laird.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  TORCHLIGHT BLAZED as Adam surveyed the great hall of Moy Castle this second evening of the competitions. Word had spread of the tourney, and people from far and near had flocked to Moy, bringing food and provisions with them. The need t
o accommodate so many guests kept Eva busy, and Adam was glad she had the distraction from her grief.

  He’d not been private with Gwenyth since before the funeral, and he missed her. She hadn’t come to see the competitions, to see her husband compete. As laird, Adam competed first in each event. Tonight he meant to extract a promise from her to accompany him on the morrow.

  Though many of the sports were meant only for fun and entertainment, some tested the strength and endurance of his clansmen. Wagers were made, and much good-hearted ribbing took place. But Adam watched the events closely, as he would choose the best competitors for his personal guards.

  Tomorrow, the third and final day, the only remaining events were the deciding rounds. But tonight they would make merry. The food, laughter, and the music reminded Adam of past celebrations in his home. His sisters’ weddings, the births of his nieces, the death of his grandfather when Adam was a boy. On each occasion, the clan had gathered for the rituals attendant to the situation.

  Now Adam walked among his guests, accepting condolences and congratulations. And not only from his own clan, but from the Campbells and Camerons, Frazers and other highland families, for Angus had been well liked by his friends and respected by his enemies.

  Although relationships with some of these other clans were at times a bit strained, the laws of hospitality dictated Adam be a gracious host. But the many unfamiliar faces at tonight’s ceilidh made Adam uneasy. He’d ordered Morogh not to leave Gwenyth’s side, and he knew Daron kept watch as well.

  The thought of Gwenyth brought a smile to his face and a need to see her, to speak with her. Adam searched the crowd and found her standing with his oldest sister and her family. Morogh hovered nearby, and Adam headed toward them, across the portion of the floor cleared of rushes so dancers could perform.

  A piper and musicians on the flute and bodhran played a lively tune while a half-dozen men danced, feet making an intricate pattern as they pranced around two swords laid crosswise. The trick, as Adam well knew, was to complete the dance without bumping the swords. If a warrior touched a sword, it was said to be an omen of a wound or even death.

  The music ended, and before Adam could move on, Fergus Macqueen grabbed his arm. “Come, my laird. ’Tis past time ye danced the swords for us this evening.”

  “Aye, join us.” Another man clapped him on the back while a third pushed a tankard of ale in his hand.

  Adam handed the drink back and scanned the room once more as Fergus cackled. “The lassie will wait on ye, ye fine, braw laddie.”

  Knowing they would not rest until he acquiesced, Adam shrugged, grinned, and said, “Aye, she will, for I’m a fine figure of a man.” His friends guffawed and slapped his back in admiration and approval. Hoping his wife would move closer to see better, Adam allowed his men to guide him to the swords.

  Each of his mates took a stiff guzzle of ale, and the musicians began the familiar tune. Within minutes Adam’s haste to speak to Gwenyth receded as he reveled in the dance. Performed almost entirely on the toes, it required a proscribed order of steps and leaps, and Adam lost himself in the challenge of the movements and in a skill he’d always excelled at.

  The people crowded close, too close, and someone accidentally bumped against his back, breaking Adam’s concentration. A gasp rose from the onlookers as his left foot nudged the blade of the top sword. Determined to finish without another fault, he pushed aside the distraction and continued.

  When the music ended, the applause and congratulations were robust, as if to overshadow the portent. No one said a word about his touch of the blade, and Adam shook off his apprehension. ’Twas naught but a superstition anyway. He excused himself and strode to where Gwenyth stood, hoping to dispel the hint of foreboding the dance had evoked.

  “Greetings, wife.” He didn’t have to force the smile that accompanied his words, for he truly delighted in seeing her here among his clan.

  “My laird.”

  The sound of her dulcet voice struck a cord within him, crowding out these past several days of cool politeness between them.

  Cool because he’d been unwilling to face her rejection. Unwilling to know for sure that she would not commit herself to this marriage. And yet what did he expect? Nothing had changed. Leod would take her or kill her if given the chance, and Bruce had not rescinded the order to hold her.

  Even though she smiled at him, he believed she put on a show—a brave smile, here among her enemies. He curtailed the impulse to pull her into his arms and kiss her and asked instead, “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

  “AYE, INDEED.” The sight of Adam gracefully leaping and moving between the sword blades had impressed Gwenyth to no end. How could a man of his size move so precisely in such a small space?

  Glancing up at Adam, she hoped he couldn’t tell what she had been thinking.

  He was grinning and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Why haven’t you come to watch the athletics?”

  “I’ve been busy helping your mother.”

  “Aye, and I’m sure she’s thankful for it. But I’d be pleased if you would attend tomorrow.”

  He sounded a bit like a small boy hoping for a favor, and his eager, open request for her company was impossible to resist. “Aye, then. I’ll come if it would please you.”

  He beamed. “I shall escort you.”

  Controlling her features so as to hide her delight in the prospect of Adam’s company, she nodded and smiled.

  Adam was called away to dance another round, and Gwenyth studied his broad back as he walked away. Each day it became more and more difficult to withhold her affection from him. Kind, generous, and honorable to a fault—surely she could create a satisfying life with such a man, despite their differences.

  She had been praying, asking God to help her resolve her need for revenge with her need for the love and security Adam promised. So far, no answer had come, but she was hopeful.

  As Adam disappeared into the crowd, Gwenyth’s attention snagged on the man who had just entered the hall. Although she’d felt safe enough this evening, the many strangers in the hall made her anxious. And now Leod added to her apprehension.

  She slipped away to her chamber, and Morogh followed her.

  “I’ll be outside yer door through the night, my lady,” he said. “But lock the door all the same.”

  She did not hesitate to slide the bolt home.

  DARON WATCHED LEOD enter the hall and accept a tankard from a serving girl. Gwenyth and Morogh left soon after. He’d watched Gwenyth’s encounter with Adam, and they seemed to have parted amiably. Actually Adam had looked like a bairn on a holiday.

  The thought made him smile.

  He turned back to his task for the night—keeping a close eye on Nathara. He’d danced with her once, and he planned to do so again as soon as the musicians played another folk tune. Until then he occupied himself with watching her flirt with every man who came within range.

  That thought did not make him smile.

  The bruise on her face had faded quickly, or perhaps she had disguised it with some womanly art. Daron controlled the anger that accompanied the thought of Leod striking her. Despite her admission that she’d gone to him willingly, Daron held only scorn for a man who would hit a woman.

  But Nathara did not dally with the fellow who stood with her now. She faced him, hands on hips, then her back stiffened and she pushed her hands against his chest. Daron quickened his steps, never taking his eyes from the two, fearing the man’s reaction. He recognized him as the archer who had bested everyone in today’s competition.

  By the time Daron was close enough to hear, the man concluded the discussion with a courtly bow and a quiet, “As you wish.”

  Daron breathed a sigh of relief just as Nathara whirled around and charged into him. Steadying her with his hand, he demanded, “Who was that?”

  “No one,” she bit out.

  “Did he refuse your favors, then?”

  “My fa
vors are no concern of yours.”

  “Ah, but they are, fair Nathara.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

  He dared not let her know of Adam’s order to keep her under watch, and the only other excuse he could muster was to feign interest.

  “Who is he?” Daron asked with more jealousy than he’d planned.

  Nathara smirked, but there was a touch of desperation in her voice along with the flirtation. “He’s the archer who won today’s match.”

  “Aye, I know that. Why did you have cross words with him?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.” She pushed past Daron, and he let her go. What business was it of his whom she chose to meet later? And how was it possible that he, Daron of Buchan, was interested in a woman who passed her favors around as if on a platter?

  Foolishness.

  He shook his head, then followed discreetly, suddenly hating the order to follow and see for himself what she was up to. Not because he cared what she did. No, he followed her because Adam asked and no other reason.

  Thus assured of his motives, he trailed her. She went directly to her own cottage, and though he watched well into the night as the music faded and the castle quieted, no one shared Nathara’s home with her this night.

  As the night deepened, Daron pulled his plaid tighter about his shoulders and settled in for an uncomfortable night of contemplation. Who was the mysterious archer, and why did he have heated words with Nathara? A vague uneasiness plagued Daron as he dozed.

  When dawn finally broke, he rose stiffly at the approach of the man who would keep Nathara under watch for the morning. Before he broke his fast, Daron searched the castle and grounds for the bowman.

  He was nowhere to be found.

  GWENYTH STARED out the arrow slit in her chamber, looking down on the gathering of clans. Despite her grief at Angus’s death, she had been reluctant to keep company with those who’d come to mourn, preferring to remain in the kitchen or helping Eva instead. And this morning, a gnawing sense of anxiety, a feeling of dread, held her captive in her room.

  Last night she’d promised to join Adam at today’s festivities, despite her reluctance to mingle with the many strangers within the walls. Leod Macpherson was here—she’d seen him last evening and fled the hall to avoid an encounter. The castle and grounds were swarming with those who might wish her harm.