Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  And it was directed at Adam.

  He allowed himself a quick search of the crowd. Gwenyth stood well back, Morogh close by her side. Morogh would not let her come to harm. Dragging his thoughts from such distraction, he looked to where Leod stood. If Leod did not prove himself loyal, Adam would kill him. Gwenyth’s life and the future of his clan were at stake. He turned his full attention to Leod.

  Leod circled and Adam followed, feinting and thrusting, in no hurry to clash. Adam recalled everything he could remember about Leod’s fighting style. And reminded himself that, sport or not, Leod would test Adam’s weak left side.

  Indeed, the other man’s first attack was a flurry of thrusts to Adam’s left, which he managed to defend. Leod’s surprised reaction was gratifying, and Adam allowed himself a moment to celebrate that small victory. They were well matched, always had been. Now they engaged in full, two-handed swings and arm-numbing blocks, and sweat rolled down Adam’s face. As he’d anticipated, Leod made repeated attacks to Adam’s left, forcing him to use the arm over and over.

  Fatigue set in, and Adam struggled to take the offensive and bring Leod’s attack to the right. Leod smiled in silent acknowledgment and pressed harder.

  Adam was thankful for the time spent swimming, for it had undoubtedly strengthened his whole body. But would it be enough?

  Leod’s blows came faster, and with sudden awareness, Adam saw that the other man had changed the rules of the game. No longer were they putting on a show—Leod was fighting to win, just as Adam had known he would. The spectators must have noted the increase in intensity, for Adam heard Ian call a halt.

  But neither Adam nor Leod complied, and no one was foolish enough to step close to the swinging blades.

  GWENYTH WATCHED in mute, frightened fascination as the two men fought. Their display inspired awe, for both were skilled warriors. She thought Adam fought well, but as the skirmish continued, she feared she could discern a growing weakness in his left arm. Just as Seamus had once intensified his bout with Adam, Leod now did the same.

  Gwenyth gasped. Ian Shaw was shouting at them to cease, but neither man would be first to put aside his weapon. Leod drove Adam back, and the crowd quickly dispersed to give room.

  But she moved closer, aware now of Nathara just behind her and Morogh but a step away. A quick glance at his face showed that he, too, realized Leod’s intent.

  Adam recovered from the charge and slowly pushed Leod back. Grim determination shone from his face, and she knew he would not relent. And Leod seemed equally resolved to cut Adam down.

  Fearful now, Gwenyth’s heart raced.

  A brave man tugged at Leod’s sleeve, trying to deter him. Seeing it, Adam gave way, saying something she couldn’t hear. But Leod shook his head, yanked his sleeve free, and lunged at Adam.

  Adam lurched back, stumbling as he misstepped, and Leod moved in. Gwenyth stifled a scream. God, please protect him!

  Adam regained his footing quickly, but not before Leod drew blood from Adam’s thigh. Ian’s continued shouts for them to cease echoed around them, but Leod snarled and continued the fight.

  Out of the corner of her eye Gwenyth saw Daron at the edge of the crowd, sword drawn. Others had done the same, and Gwenyth feared more blood would be shed before this was through.

  Without taking her gaze from Adam, she pleaded, “Morogh, do something.”

  “Naught to be done, lass,” he said in a resigned voice. “This has been coming since those two were lads.”

  “Well, one or both of them may not live past the day.”

  “Aye.”

  Please, God, let Adam live. With a jolt, Gwenyth recalled her fervent prayers for deliverance in Leod’s hall. And how Adam had been the answer to those prayers. Yes, God had given her everything she’d prayed for and until today, she’d been too blind to see it.

  Adam.

  His face showed the strain, yet still he fought well. Leod, on the other hand, seemed to taunt his adversary and twice left himself wide open. Adam did not take advantage.

  Gwenyth couldn’t bear to watch but couldn’t turn away. What would happen if Leod won? What if he killed Adam? The prospect of a world without Adam, and Leod still alive, didn’t bear thinking.

  As the men struggled on, Gwenyth remembered Adam smiling as he played and splashed in the loch, moon-blessed on the parapet, the honorable man who would move heaven and hades. . .

  For her.

  Be strong, my love.

  Adam slipped on the now matted grass, caught himself before he fell, then feinted left. The quickness of the move must have caught Leod unaware, for Adam’s next thrust sent Leod’s sword sailing out of his hand to land several feet away.

  Gwenyth sighed in relief. It was over.

  Leod made a mocking bow, then scanned the trees on the hill behind the crowd.

  Gwenyth wrenched her gaze from Adam, following Leod’s stare, as did Nathara. Movement in the trees caught her eye, and she heard Nathara scream at the same time Morogh shouted, “Watch out, lad!”

  Adam twisted in response to the warnings, and Nathara barged forward, shoving Gwenyth’s tiny frame against her husband’s mountain of a body. Her shawl slid from her shoulders as Adam grunted in pain. Surprised and confused, Gwenyth stepped back to assure herself that Adam was unharmed from the unknown danger Nathara had sensed.

  Seeing Adam’s pained expression, Gwenyth quickly dropped her gaze to where her plaid hung suspended from an arrow imbedded in Adam’s arm. Her stomach lurched, but still she had the presence of mind to reach for the dirk strapped to his leg.

  Gently she cut away the cloth to reveal Adam’s left arm, pinned fast to the leather hauberk and useless.

  Blood dripped to the ground and stained Adam’s kilt while Morogh and several others raced into the woods in pursuit of the assassin. Nathara clung to Leod’s back, pounding him with her fists and blistering the air with her rantings. He broke from her hold to run like the coward he was, but Seamus and Daron tackled him and brought him back, one on either side, to face Adam.

  Gwenyth pressed her hand against Adam’s back. “Come, my laird. Let me tend to your wound,” she said.

  “I’m not finished here, wife.”

  “Aye, you are,” she said, somewhat desperately. “Let the others do what must be done.”

  He shook her off, rage and pain making his actions less than gentle. She nearly fell as she backed away from the enraged laird of Clan Chattan.

  “Bring his sword and let him go,” Adam ordered, pointing his own weapon at Daron.

  “Nay, my—”

  “Do it.”

  Adam stood his ground, his face contorted with rage and determination, and none dared gainsay him.

  None save Daron, who now stood between the two, Leod’s sword in hand.

  Adam growled, “Give him the sword.”

  Daron glared at Leod as he said, “You’ve bested him, my laird. Leave the rest to me.”

  “I’m going to kill him.” He turned to Seamus. “Break off the arrow.”

  Seamus moved to do his laird’s bidding and Gwenyth ran to stop him, grabbing hold of the giant’s arm and hanging fast like a dog with a disputed bone. “You must not. If you disturb it the bleeding may increase.”

  Adam shook his head as if to clear it. “You promised to accept me no matter how damaged, Gwenyth. Now go, and let me finish this.”

  The tenderness in his voice did nothing to allay her fear, but clearly he was determined. She fought tears as she did as he asked, flinching at Adam’s grunt of pain when the arrow snapped in Seamus’s hands.

  Daron, still holding Leod’s weapon, implored, “He doesn’t deserve to die a warrior’s death, Adam.” He turned to Leod. “I’m of a mind to settle this myself. You’ve dishonored my kinswoman and paid an assassin to kill my laird.”

  Leod didn’t deny either charge. Instead he smirked, seeming to defy Adam into finishing what would be a lost cause, wounded as he was. “Aye, Adam. How does it feel to know I had yo
ur lady before you? Or have you even bedded her?”

  Adam roared and despite his wounds and pain, it took four men to hold him from advancing on Leod. Gwenyth held her breath, for clearly the effort had cost him. Pain etched his features, and still the blood seeped. Every instinct urged her to go to him and mend his wounds. But he’d made it clear he did not appreciate her interference, nor would she give him cause to resent her.

  He must end this his way. She only prayed he would not insist on finishing the fight. He’d proven his mastery with the sword by disarming Leod—the fight should have ended then, would have ended then if not for Leod’s treachery.

  Daron spoke the words that formed in her own mind. “You have bested him, Adam. His sword is here in my hand, and you still hold yours. The fight is won.”

  “I must avenge Gwenyth’s honor.”

  Gwenyth stepped close. “Do not die to avenge me, my laird, I beg of you. I could not bear to live with your death on my conscience.” And I cannot bear the thought of spending my life without you.

  “I want him dead.”

  Daron nodded. “Aye, and he deserves it. But Leod has forfeited his right to die an honorable death.”

  Adam seemed to hear the words this time, and Gwenyth stepped forward to go to him. But Ian blocked her way. “Let the man be, my lady. He’ll need your care soon enough. But not just yet.”

  Gwenyth bit her lip. Ian was right, but Adam’s blood formed a puddle on the ground at his feet, and she feared his strength drained away with it. But the rage and determination never left his features despite his pain, despite her plea.

  The crowd parted, and Morogh and two others hauled a man wearing a scabbard of arrows to stand before Adam.

  “You,” Daron shouted as he accosted the archer.

  “Hold, Daron.” Adam stepped forward, still holding his sword. He confronted the man. “Silence will buy you a swift death. Confess and I will show mercy.”

  The bowman licked his lips and glanced quickly in Leod’s direction. Gwenyth knew that Adam wanted the man to name Leod, to give proof of his cousin’s treachery so all would know his death was justified above and beyond Adam’s need for revenge.

  And if Adam didn’t allow his wounds to be tended soon, he might well follow Leod to the grave.

  “Save your mercy, Adam.” Leod gestured to the now trembling archer. “The idiot was supposed to have better aim.”

  A gasp went through the crowd as Leod’s confession sealed his fate. All that remained was the question of who would kill him. Adam advanced, sword arm raised.

  The men holding Leod moved away, and Leod stood still. Alone. A man without honor.

  “Bring his sword,” Adam growled at Daron.

  “Don’t do this, my laird. He is gambling that you will give him another chance to kill you.”

  “Bring it.”

  GWENYTH ALTERNATED between praying for Adam’s sanity to return and railing against the stupidity of men.

  Adam saw Daron’s reluctance and knew his friend had every reason to fear. Adam could feel himself weakening as the blood oozed from his wounds. Still, he had the strength and the desire to plunge his sword deep into Leod’s treacherous heart. But Daron was right; Leod had indeed forfeited the right to such a death.

  Daron returned to his side, Leod’s sword in hand. With a clarity that belied his diminishing energy, Adam saw what must be done. In winning the sword fight—a fight that Leod had suggested for sport and then turned into a battle—Adam had proven himself as a warrior.

  Now he must prove he also had a laird’s wisdom, the wisdom to back down from a fight that was already won. And the wisdom to allow a loyal liegeman to seek his own revenge.

  Adam leaned on his sword to keep from swaying. “There is no death more ignoble than to die by one’s own sword.”

  Daron’s eyes widened in understanding.

  Adam nodded. “Do it.”

  Without hesitation, Daron spun and plunged Leod’s own weapon into his chest.

  With a shout of surprise that quickly became a gurgle, Leod slid to the ground as Gwenyth averted her eyes from the sight. She took no joy in any man’s death, but she could not stop the relief that flooded through her.

  Adam lived.

  She ran to him, waiting until Daron and the others lowered him to sit on the ground before grasping his hand. His eyes were glazed and his breathing quick. Now that she was close, she could see that the arrow had also penetrated the leather and entered his side.

  Fighting back panic, she glanced frantically for some way to move him. From seemingly nowhere a trestle materialized, and Seamus and Daron laid Adam on it. Half a dozen men jockeyed for the privilege of carrying their laird into the castle as his life’s blood left a trail upon the thin, rocky soil of Clan Chattan.

  TWENTY-THREE

  GWENYTH SENT NATHARA for her medicinals, and Eva hurried ahead of the entourage to prepare Adam’s room. By the time Seamus and Daron placed Adam on his bed, he was unconscious.

  If the stubborn man hadn’t insisted on leaking blood for unnecessary minutes—minutes that had seemed like hours to Gwenyth—he wouldn’t be so pale. Or so still.

  Grimly, Gwenyth directed the men to cut away the hauberk so she could pull the arrow through the flesh of Adam’s upper arm. She allowed the wound to bleed freely to cleanse it, despairing over each additional drop of lost blood. Nathara and Eva prepared a poultice, which they tied tightly to cover both the entrance and exit wounds. Thankfully the bleeding quickly stopped.

  Adam’s lack of consciousness was a blessing, for even so he groaned with pain when Nathara removed the arrowhead from his side. The hauberk had prevented the point from going too deep. But even a shallow wound such as the one on his thigh could fester, and the women knew it. Once the wounds were bound with a poultice, nothing more could be done.

  Nothing but pray.

  Eva dismissed a subdued Nathara before turning to Gwenyth. “Get some rest, lass. I’ll watch over him for a few hours.”

  “I won’t leave him.”

  Eva hugged her. “He has survived worse. And he has more to live for this time.”

  “Then we shall not lose hope.” But what did Adam have to live for that he hadn’t had after Dalry? A woman whose loyalty was questionable, just as before. She had promised to accept him no matter what. Would he cling to her vow as he fought to overcome his wounds? Gwenyth hoped so. She pressed Eva’s hand as the woman left her alone in the chamber with her husband and her newly regained faith.

  To make the time pass, she worked on the tapestry she’d begun recently. The design was a familiar one, and the task went quickly. She fought back tears as she prayed that Adam would live to see it.

  But by morning Adam’s body was hot to the touch as his fever-wracked body labored to heal itself. Gwenyth had slept fitfully by his side, waking throughout the night to cool him with gentle bathing and attempting to get him to drink a fever-reducing tea. But most of it had dribbled down his chin and wet the bedding.

  At first light Eva entered the room followed by two servants, one carrying a tray and the other a pail of cool water. Ignoring the food, Gwenyth took the bucket from the girl and dipped a cloth into it. She replaced the cloth on his forehead with the cooler one.

  Laying her hand on Gwenyth’s shoulder, Eva said, “Ye must eat, child. I’ll bathe him.”

  Reluctantly Gwenyth gave over the cloth, knowing Eva needed to feel useful, to believe she could make a difference. Gwenyth empathized. Never had she felt so ineffectual, not even while nursing her mother during her final illness.

  Gwenyth forced a few bites of bread and cheese past her lips then washed it down. Closing her eyes, she prayed the prayer she’d offered countless times in the past hours. Please, God, let Adam live.

  The day passed as Eva, Nathara, and Gwenyth took turns bathing the heat from Adam’s body only to have it return. By the next morning, his breathing was shallow, and Gwenyth’s prayers grew desperate.

  Don’t let him die n
ot knowing that I love him, she begged. For there was no doubt that she did love him. More than the memory of her father, more than any need to seek revenge on a king. Enough to release the past and face the future with hope.

  Exhausted from her emotional turmoil and needing to be close, Gwenyth climbed onto the bed and lay beside her husband, clinging to his hand and the sound of his labored breathing.

  ON THE AFTERNOON of the fourth day, Gwenyth roused from a restless sleep at Adam’s side. She stirred the fire and added fuel to heat water for sorrel wood tea.

  She changed the dressings on his wounds and managed to get some of the tea down his throat. He rested easier, and the fever seemed to be leaving him. For the first time in days she dared to believe he would recover, and she whispered a prayer of thanks.

  By the end of the week, Gwenyth caught herself almost wishing Adam’s fever would return. At least then he’d be unconscious. And quiet. Then she grinned. He was a querulous patient, but he was alive; and judging from his increasing attempts to leave his bed, he’d soon be on his feet.

  She approached his chamber, carrying the midday meal, curious at the lack of orders and bellowing. Balancing the tray, she opened the door to find him sitting by the fire while his page shaved him.

  “So that is how to keep you quiet—hold a razor to your throat,” she teased, all the while averting her eyes from his bared chest. She’d certainly seen it while sponging him to cool his fever. But somehow he was much more imposing with that devilish smile gracing his mouth.

  Ah, that wonderful, delightful mouth. Heavens, when had she turned into a wanton? She felt her face blush, and Adam’s laugh confirmed he’d noticed the telltale color.

  He dismissed the lad and indicated she could set the tray on the small table in front of him. “Will you join me?” he asked. “There’s enough for two.”

  “Aye, thank you.”

  Gwenyth sat next to him on the bench and picked at her food, smiling when he urged her to take more. Would he tell her now? Tell her that not only would he move the very earth for her, but why. Would he say he loved her?