Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  She gave herself a mental shake. She looked at him, at the twinkling in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, things she had feared never to see again. She vowed to be patient.

  And then he kissed her.

  He pulled away, wincing as his arm brushed against his bandaged abdomen.

  Gwenyth jumped to her feet. “Adam Mackintosh, you are the most difficult patient I’ve ever had to deal with.”

  “And that’s the thanks a wounded husband gets for defending his lady’s honor?”

  She dropped to her knees in front of him. Taking his large callused hand in hers, she whispered, “I died a thousand deaths, Adam, to see you lying there so still.” Tears sprung to her eyes, and he wiped them away.

  “Ah, Gwenyth, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He tilted her face up to him. “I have not forgotten the words we spoke the day of the fight.”

  “Nor have I.”

  “And I am most anxious to finish what we started.” He stood, tugging at her to come with him, and she complied. His lips brushed hers, then he kissed her thoroughly, leaving no doubt what he referred to.

  But do you love me?

  He swayed and clutched the mantle for support.

  She helped him to sit down. “I’m afraid you aren’t well enough to collect on my promise to forget that vow of chastity.”

  Ruefully he said, “I feel weaker than a babe.”

  “Come, you need to get back into bed and rest.”

  He must have been tired, for he didn’t protest, leaning on her and allowing her to guide him. She settled the covers over him, then took the tray and promised to return later in the day.

  Perhaps in time he would come to love her. And if he said the words, then Gwenyth would know that she could trust him completely and leave the past behind. But having seen her world collapse around her once before, Gwenyth would not declare her heart until she was sure. Only thus could she protect herself.

  ALL THOSE who had gathered for the funeral and the games had returned to their homes to tend their crops. Gwenyth and Eva planned for Adam’s investiture ceremony, which would now be held in conjunction with Michaelmas and the end of harvest.

  July slipped by quickly as Adam regained his strength. By Lammas and the end of haying season, he seemed his old self, but despite his avowal of impatience, he never once asked Gwenyth to join him in the huge four-poster bed where she’d nursed him back to health.

  Somehow, this second brush with death had changed him, and Gwenyth was no more sure of her future now than she’d been when she first arrived at Moy. But that wasn’t entirely true. Now she knew that all she’d ever wanted was a home, a safe place to love and be loved. A place where her heart could dwell.

  Castle Moy had become that place. She’d found a home where she’d least expected it—in the heart of a highland laird.

  One day as she worked on the tapestry she was making for Adam, word had come that Edward Balliol had fled to France, his designs on the crown defeated. She prayed for his well-being but no longer desired the match with him. No doubt, when circumstances warranted, he would make another attempt, and Gwenyth had had enough intrigue and its attendant upheaval.

  She was content, despite the lack of intimacy with her husband. But one day, when they walked through the orchard, she approached the subject.

  “Your arm has healed well, my laird.”

  He flexed his elbow. “Aye, so it has.” He grinned. “I’ve taken up swimming again.”

  She swallowed. “So Morogh told me. But there are other activities you have avoided.” Try as she might, she could not hold back the embarrassment of being so bold, and she felt her face grow warm.

  He stopped walking and faced her, taking her hands in his. He lifted her palm and kissed it. The warmth of his gaze and the sweet touch of his lips made her want to surrender her heart, her mind, her soul. Surely he would not treat her thus if he did not love her?

  “Most couples require time to know one another before engaging in the intimacies of the bedroom,” he reminded her. “I am giving us that time.”

  “But we have been handfast for nearly six months.”

  “A situation neither of us chose.” He drew her close and bent to her ear. “Patience,” he murmured. “In a few days the clan will gather for the investiture. And you must decide whether you truly wish to be married to the captain of Clan Chattan.”

  “I—”

  He traced a finger across her lips. “You must decide if you will give your heart along with your body, Gwenyth. I’ll not rush you. If and when you come to me, it will be freely, I swear. And I ask you to give me a few more days to court you as you deserve.”

  He smiled. A smile she couldn’t resist if the devil’s own hounds were chasing her. And she knew that whatever he asked, she would give him, even if he never said he loved her.

  “As you wish, my laird.”

  GWENYTH’S TENDER SMILE as she yielded to his request nearly undid his well-laid plan, for it gave him hope her surrender would be as complete as his.

  But for now he would be patient. Only a few more days until Michaelmas and his investiture. A few more days before he would lay his heart open and risk rejection. The courting of his wife took a daily toll, and Adam’s patience was wearing thin. But she deserved to be courted, to be cherished, and he’d stay true to his plan if it killed him.

  And every time he looked at her, the ache in his heart nearly did.

  So he forced his attention away from her face as he strolled with her through the orchard, making inane conversation about the harvest, the fish he’d caught yestermorn, anything to take his mind off of his fantasies.

  Finally admitting defeat, he escorted her to the keep and with a hasty adieu, hurried to the lake—the very cold lake—for a swim.

  THE MORNING of Adam’s investiture dawned with the usual fog, but by the time of the ceremony, the sun broke through and cleared the sky. A large platform had been erected in the bailey so that all could watch as Adam took the solemn oath that would guide him as captain of Clan Chattan. Gwenyth sat with Eva and Morogh as the others found seats or standing room.

  The audience hushed as Seamus led Adam and the priest onto the stage. Seamus wore a claymore strapped to his back and a skean dhu at his waist, with a shorter knife tucked into the garter holding up his wool stocking. He looked every inch the formidable warlord.

  And Adam simply took her breath away. Healed now from his wounds, he stood tall and proud. The folds of his great plaid were held at the shoulder with his father’s brooch and were belted around his lean hips with a wide, leather belt. He wore no weapons, symbolic of his trust in Seamus to protect him.

  Gwenyth’s attention wandered as the priest spoke of Adam’s solemn responsibilities. A sharp poke from Eva’s elbow brought her back.

  “What is it?”

  “The priest just reminded Adam of his duty to provide an heir, and now Adam wants ye to come up there with him.”

  Panicked, she squeaked, “Why?”

  “I don’t know, lass, but he doesn’t look too patient. Go on with ye.” And she gave a gentle nudge.

  Knees weak, thoughts in turmoil, Gwenyth stood before her husband, the most powerful chief in the northern highlands. And surely the most handsome man in all of Scotland.

  He took her hand, then faced the crowd. “Twice I have spoken vows with this woman, once as a handfast spouse, and again with a priest. Both times against her will.” He smiled at her. “And against my will as well.”

  Whatever did he plan to do? She implored him with her eyes to give some hint of what was to come, but he only shook his head and graced her with a tender smile.

  “Gwenyth Comyn should be my enemy. But she and her cousin have reminded me that a Scot’s only real enemy is a dishonorable man, no matter what his birth.”

  She glanced at the crowd and saw they had moved closer to hear. And still she didn’t know why she was standing beside Adam, why he hadn’t yet taken the oath.

  “Trust
me,” he mouthed.

  She smiled and relaxed. She trusted this man as she trusted no one else on earth. He’d proven worthy of her confidence in him many times over. Aye, she trusted Adam Mackintosh with her life.

  And, yes, with her heart as well.

  To the crowd he said, “Before I take the vow to be your chieftain, I will marry this woman properly, in front of witnesses, with both of us willing.” Then he spoke for her ears only. “If you are not willing, you are free to leave. With Balliol out of the country the king has lifted his sanctions against you. You may seek an annulment on the grounds you were coerced.”

  She had no time to show her surprise, for he leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I’ll not keep you here against your will and have you resent me and my touch. I love you, Gwenyth. I only wish it was enough to hold you.”

  A weight lifted from her heart. “Who said it wasn’t?”

  He gazed at her, his heart written there upon his face for anyone to see. “Gwenyth?”

  “I love you, Adam.”

  As if drawn by the magic of these newly admitted feelings, Gwenyth leaned into his embrace. His lips found hers, and she wrapped her arms about his neck. This was the man she trusted, with her very heart and soul. Soon she would trust him with her body as well.

  The priest cleared his throat, and they parted. The look in Adam’s eyes promised he’d not wait long to repeat the kiss.

  Adam faced his clansmen once more. “Now is the time to voice your objections to this marriage. Now, before I take the oath as chief, while you can still choose another. For I will have Gwenyth as my wife.”

  She drew in her breath. “You would refuse to be laird?” she whispered, incredulous.

  Facing her, holding her hand, he blocked her view of his anxious clan, effectively shutting out the rest of the world. “I would.”

  “I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “You couldn’t stop me.”

  Her remaining tension melted and she laughed and shook her head. “You are impossible.”

  With a wicked grin, he agreed. “Aye. Will you marry me anyway?”

  “Again?” she teased.

  His voice was thick as he replied, “For real, this time. In the name of love, honor, and loyalty.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh yes, Adam. Yes.”

  He kissed her thoroughly, then with a cocky nod of satisfaction he turned back to the waiting crowd. “Well?” he bellowed.

  Not a soul raised an objection.

  A beaming Adam nodded to the priest, who bade them kneel. Then Gwenyth and Adam promised, for the third and final time, to cleave only to each other, forever. When the priest asked if they wished to exchange rings, Gwenyth glanced at her finger where her mother’s ring still rested.

  She looked in Adam’s eyes. “Once I promised you my loyalty for a year and a day. Today I promise that and more. Forever.”

  His eyes shone bright, and she could swear his hand trembled as he waved to Seamus, who stepped forward and placed another ring in the priest’s outstretched palm. He blessed it, then gave it to Gwenyth. There in her hand lay a replica of her mother’s circlet, large enough for Adam.

  Tears stung her eyes as she fixed it on his finger and watched him push it into place while the priest reminded them, “The ring is a sign of God’s eternal, never-ending love. ’Tis a circle of honor, and it symbolizes a love that even death cannot destroy. God bless you both.”

  Gwenyth didn’t hear the rest—couldn’t hear or see anything or anyone but the man she loved and trusted, with all her heart.

  At the end of the ceremony, they rose to their feet and Adam escorted her to stand beside Seamus, whose bemused look mirrored Gwenyth’s own fluttering emotions.

  Adam moved back to kneel once again before the priest. His voice was strong as he made his pledge to Clan Chattan. “I will uphold and defend my clan with my honor and my life, so help me God.”

  And then it was over, and they were surrounded by everyone wishing them well. Emotions ran high, and Gwenyth saw Eva wipe her eyes. Propelled away from her by back-slapping clansmen, Adam nevertheless managed to make eye contact with her. He smiled and winked and said, “Later.”

  LONG AFTER MIDNIGHT, the sounds of celebration drifted from the bailey to the huge bed in Adam’s chamber. Later had finally come, when trust and need overcame reluctance and two had become one.

  Gwenyth pulled away from Adam’s embrace and chuckled at the evident look of disappointment on his face. Certain of herself, certain of the man she held in her arms, Gwenyth had gladly surrendered heart, soul, and body to her husband. Adam’s gentle patience had dimmed the distant memories of Leod’s cruelty. She did not fear the future, for Adam would never betray her.

  “Tell me about this tapestry you made for my wedding gift. ’Tis beautiful—Daniel in the lion’s den, isn’t it?”

  “I made it to remind me of all that you’ve taught me, beloved. But none of it would matter had you not reminded me of the most important thing of all.”

  “And what is that?” Adam asked.

  “Victory always belongs to those who do God’s will. No matter how difficult the situation, you must trust God.”

  “Aye, sometimes it is hard to know his will, or knowing it, to obey. But it has turned out well for us.”

  His bemused gaze turned most definitely hungry, his grin roguish. “This last lesson will take many sessions. It can’t all be taught at once.”

  “Then pray we have many years to continue my education.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Is this the same woman who so reluctantly accepted my attentions until now?”

  “Nay,” she whispered. “That woman was a hurting creature who knew nothing of the power of love to heal.”

  As his head bent to seal their love with a kiss, he murmured, “To everything there is a season . . .”