Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  She shook her head.

  Disgusted with himself for not thinking of it sooner, he ordered her to stand still. He went to his horse and pulled a section of cloth from the saddlebag. After folding it into a triangle, he walked back to her. “Which side?” he asked.

  She whispered, “The left.”

  As gently as he could, he placed the cloth beneath her arm and then tied the two ends together behind her neck.

  “Rest your arm in this sling.”

  When she complied, he took a second cloth and wrapped her arm firmly to her side.

  “This will give the ribs support.” He took a deep breath. “The man who did this to you should die. Do you know who it was?”

  She hesitated, and he knew she would lie. “I can’t be certain. But it doesn’t matter who it was, my laird. I would not trouble you to seek revenge on my account. It would grieve me to see you come to harm because of me.”

  He didn’t expect her to answer, but he asked anyway. “Then why did you accuse me?”

  She remained silent but appeared close to tears, as if it distressed her to deny him.

  But he needed to understand why she’d behaved the way she had. “You know that by not naming him you protect your attacker from punishment?”

  “Aye, but he would not help me.”

  “And you believe I will?”

  She nodded. “When I locate the cousin who was accompanying me, and when I am well enough, I should like to continue my journey to England. Will you help me?”

  He smiled. “Aye, lass. I will.”

  “Until then, I am grateful for your offer of sanctuary.”

  He indicated his damaged limb. “I’m not certain how well I’ll be able to provide that safekeeping.”

  “You have no use of the arm?”

  “Some.”

  She gazed at him, and in her lovely features he saw fear and desperation war with hope. But not a trace of the pity he had feared to find.

  “I am willing to take that chance, sir, for no one would have protected me . . . there.” She waved weakly in the direction of the Macpherson stronghold. “Laird Mackintosh, perhaps this marriage is a good bargain. You question your ability to protect as a man should. I must be equally honest. I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to . . . to be a wife to you.”

  She was so tiny, so weak; he feared a strong wind would blow her over. Stunned by an overwhelming wave of tenderness and a fierce desire to shelter her, Adam cupped her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault, lass. Whatever happened, you are not to blame.”

  She closed her eyes and surprised him by leaning into his hand for comfort, as if she needed to believe those words.

  “Perhaps not. But there’d be no one to blame but myself if I had stayed there and Leod . . . I had to leave . . .” The tears that had threatened earlier now raced down her face as her iron control cracked. “He would have killed you,” she whispered. “I had to lie, to keep us all safe . . . I’m sorry.”

  She had accused him to save him. She’d known Adam was innocent and lied to him. Adam didn’t know how to respond.

  Opening her eyes, she backed away and wiped her face with her unbound hand, as her composure returned. “I did what I had to, even though it meant binding myself to a man who doesn’t want me.” Her chin rose with those last words, daring him to wound her pride further.

  So, she had defied Leod and accepted the consequences. And saved Adam’s life in the process. His opinion of her softened. He tried to envision her face the way it had looked without the bruises, red-rimmed eyes, and deep-seated hurt. She was easy enough to look at, even now. His gaze lowered, and he saw her squirm at his obvious perusal.

  But something more than physical attraction drew him. Though she was weakened and vulnerable just now, Adam sensed strength of character as well as determination in the woman. Strangely enough, her acceptance of his disability made him feel . . . competent.

  “Angry as I am at being forced to wed, I much prefer it to your other choices, Gwenyth.”

  His rueful humor wasn’t lost on her, and she offered a weak smile. “I’m certain you do.”

  He would not trust her; he would not be a husband to her. But he could not deny her safe haven.

  Blast his soft heart. “Come. You are safe now.”

  He prayed it was true.

  FIVE

  WAS THIS CONSIDERATE MAN the same angry laird Gwenyth had handfasted with barely an hour ago? She welcomed the change, for his kindness held hope, and hope was an anchor that might carry her safely through the storm. An anchor that might constrain the despair that threatened to overcome her.

  She tried to avert her face, but his hand gently held her chin fast, forcing her to meet his eyes. His earlier frosty gaze had warmed considerably.

  “ ’Tis the devil to ride wounded, especially on a clumsy beast, is it not?” he asked.

  “Aye.” No doubt he spoke from experience, and tears threatened at his compassion. Gwenyth willed her unruly emotions to be still, for veiling them had always been her favored form of self-protection. It had stood her well this morning, and now she needed that ability more than ever.

  “Come, ride with me. My mount has a smoother gait, and I will support you. ’Tis only another hour or so to my home.”

  “But, your arm, my laird.” Unfortunately she hadn’t mastered her tongue as well as her emotions. “Will you—”

  “I’m not an utter cripple.” He glared at her. “You would do well to remember that, Gwenyth.”

  His warmth disappeared like the sun in a sudden highland mist—apparently his benevolence had limits. The thought of his touch alarmed her, but he’d promised refuge, and she clung to that assurance as if he alone offered salvation.

  How would he arrange to hold her and guide his mount? She didn’t ask. It was enough to be given comfort, and she cared not how he managed the horse.

  While one of his men held the animal still, Adam stood upon a large rock and mounted. Gwenyth fought the urge to push away the hands that gently lifted her to sit in front of him. ’Twas not very dignified to sit astride in a dress, but the skirt was full enough to allow sufficient modesty.

  Then one of his men laid his plaid across her lap, draping and tucking it to keep her legs and feet warm. Adam drew her close with his good arm, and she stiffened at the contact before allowing her head to rest against his broad chest. He loosened the brooch that held his plaid at the shoulder and pulled the excess cloth around them both. The heat of his body and the smell of man, leather, and damp wool soon encircled her, consoling her bruised spirits. Somehow, God seemed closer with Adam near.

  She wanted only to sink into oblivion, but the tangled workings of her mind held her prisoner. My husband. She shivered in apprehension. The thought of the intimacies of marriage raised bile in her stomach, and nausea washed over her. Surely he will allow time for my wounds to heal. And time to learn if she carried a babe. Leod’s words crashed over her like a fist to her heart, and she raised her head so fast she cracked into Adam’s chin.

  “By all the saints above, be still, woman.” He pushed her head down on his chest.

  “I’m sorry.”

  A babe. A child should be conceived in love within the cradle of a marriage sanctioned by God. Such a union would bring joy, not memories of violence and pain. The headache that had been plaguing her now blossomed into full force.

  Breathing deeply, Gwenyth calmed herself. In the time it would take to know for certain, she could locate Daron and take her shame with her to England. There it would be easy to pass herself off as a widow and no one would be the wiser.

  But a babe was definitely not part of the plan. Edward waited for her in England and he would not welcome another man’s child. Nor would he be pleased by the delay this handfast marriage entailed. Already she had postponed sailing in order to bury her mother, who had taken ill at Christmas and died a few weeks later. Gwenyth must hasten to find Daron and get word to Edward.

  Aye, Adam would not dare to
touch her until he knew if she carried a child. The thought summoned tears she could not prevent, and they dampened Adam’s sark. Her sobs did not go unnoticed, for his large hand stroked her hair and he crooned in soothing Gaelic, abandoning the French of daily discourse. He didn’t press her to learn why she cried, and she was grateful for his forbearance and willingness to console.

  Gradually the tears diminished. Her only solace was the satisfaction that an illegitimate child would be freed from her dangerous birthright—the crown of Scotland.

  Of course, if God was kind, there would be no child, and Adam would not learn of her identity until long after she’d reached England. In any event, she would be spared Adam’s advances for now. She allowed that thought to ease her and willed her mind to consider other matters.

  But her thoughts remained on Adam. He’d been right about his horse—this animal walked with a smoothness hers had lacked; and she found her aches and bruises less jostled, seated as she was against Adam’s strength. His closeness held no terror, only succor. The gentle rocking of the horse and the man’s reassuring support soon lulled her to doze. As her consciousness drifted, she offered a silent prayer of thanks for her deliverer.

  It seemed no sooner had the prayer been formed than a deep bass voice rumbled in her ear. “Wake up, lass.We’re home.”

  “Home?” The sound of a male voice and the feel of a male body pressed against hers awakened her terror, and she thrashed wildly.

  “Be still, woman, before you fall.” His arms tightened around her and she cried out, even as she was coming to her senses.

  “Hush, lass, hush,” he soothed. “You’re all right, ’tis only me, Adam.”

  Adam’s soothing voice and gentle stroking of her back calmed her. She stilled and his grip relaxed. He settled her back against him. “We’re home, lass. Welcome to Castle Moy.”

  He stopped the horse on a rise of land, and she looked to where he pointed. The morning’s mist had lifted, allowing an unobstructed view. Despite her disappointment that they looked upon Castle Moy and not Dalswinton, her breath caught at the sight, for there on an island in an aquamarine lake rose a castle of surpassing beauty. The gray stone gleamed in the sunlight, a perfect foil to the stand of timber at the far end of the island.

  A stone causeway connected the isle to the lakeshore, providing access into the bailey. The outer curtain wall followed the shape of the land, and two sturdy round towers graced the wall, one at either end. Within the walls a few sheep and goats grazed to keep the grass short. A majestic keep with a high-pitched stone roof rose from the center, and a flag depicting a rampant cat flew from the ramparts.

  “This is your home?” Her cares were momentarily forgotten in the splendor of the scene.

  “Aye, Loch Moy and its castle.”

  “ ’Tis uncommonly beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you share my opinion. ’Tis not only beautiful, lass.

  It is also virtually unassailable. You will be safe here.” He made to spur the horse, but she stayed him.

  “Let me look a bit longer.” Knowledge of what faced her behind the fortress’s walls unnerved her, for despite its beauty, this castle harbored his clan, people loyal to her enemy.

  “Another time. You need to have your wounds properly tended.” There was no trace of the earlier tenderness in his voice, only the sound of a man used to being obeyed. And she owed two-fold obedience to him—both as laird and husband. She shivered in dread.

  Repositioning his plaid around her shoulders, he said, “You will soon have a warm room and food and my mother’s healing skills.” He must have signaled the horse, for it began to move.

  Again she thought of facing the man’s mother and kin, and her heart began to pound. Would she need to sleep with her door bolted? His family could easily kill her and none would be the wiser—such was not unheard of in forced marriages.

  And when they learned she was Gwenyth Comyn—daughter to a man they considered a traitor—her life would surely be forfeit, despite Adam’s promise of protection.

  Gwenyth’s imagination took flight and her agitation increased as they crossed the causeway and entered the bailey. Not only were these her enemies, but soon she would suffer the humiliation of having them know she’d been raped. And she would have to face their anger at her false accusation of their laird. She feared Adam’s promised safety was naught but an illusion.

  Strangers reached for her, and she shrank away from them.

  Adam gently pushed her toward them. “ ’Tis all right, lass. My kinsmen only wish to help you from the beast. I’ll not allow you to come to harm.”

  She slapped at the hands that reached for her as hysteria threatened.

  “Gwenyth!” Adam shouted. “Cease.” But there was no anger in his voice, only concern for her. He leaned toward her ear and said quietly, “I keep my promises, woman. Now dismount.”

  Reluctantly, she allowed one of the men to help her down, then stood there trembling as Adam dismounted. He brushed off the inquiries of the curious castle inhabitants while he surveyed the crowd. Gwenyth followed his gaze until it rested upon an older woman, framed in the keep’s doorway.

  He bent his golden head until his lips were again at Gwenyth’s ear. “My mother will tend you. I trust no one else.” Before she could answer, one of Adam’s men picked her up and headed for the woman, with Adam close behind.

  Wounded, frightened, and too weary to care, Gwenyth made no more protest. Instead, she wondered what Adam’s mother would think of her son bringing a bedraggled and obviously injured woman into her keep.

  CLIMBING THE STAIRS to the women’s quarters, Adam hoped his mother would save her questions for later. With relief, he watched her expression change from curiosity to distress when she saw Gwenyth’s bruised face.

  They entered a bedchamber and his mother drew back the heavy drapery around the bed, then pulled back the quilt. Sim, the man holding Gwenyth, laid her on the clean linens and Eva Mackintosh said to him, “Fetch my healing satchel and bring more wood for the fire.”

  “Aye, my lady,” Sim said and took his leave.

  Eva set about heating water, then joined Adam beside the bed. Gwenyth’s eyes were closed. Poor thing was probably exhausted from all she’d been through, Adam thought. As he reached to unfasten the makeshift sling, his hand thoughtlessly brushed Gwenyth’s breast. Her eyes flew open and she cried out.

  Eva slapped his hands away. “What do ye think yer doing? Find something more suitable to do with yer hands.”

  “I have every right . . .” to touch my own wife. He couldn’t finish the thought aloud. She is wife in name only.

  He would do well to remember it.

  He stepped back while Eva examined the woman, their murmured voices mingling. Eva crooned in obvious sympathy and Adam began to relax, knowing that Gwenyth was in capable hands. Sim returned with the medicines and wood; Adam dismissed him and built up the fire.

  With the fire satisfactorily producing heat, Adam turned to watch his mother as she bent over the small form on the bed—the better to hear what Gwenyth said. Eva gasped and sat upright, and Adam knew she’d learned of the worst of Gwenyth’s injuries, the one that would take longest to heal.

  In the voice that would have sent him scurrying when he was a child, Eva said, “Leave the room, Adam. She has wounds I must tend and ye cannot be here.”

  “I’ll stay.” At his mother’s black stare, Adam conceded, “But I’ll turn my back.”

  Eva’s expression clearly indicated displeasure with him. “Yer behavior is most curious, son.”

  Obviously his mother wanted an explanation. “I need to know the full extent of her injuries, Mother. Tend the girl.” When she made no move, he softened his tone. “ ’Tis not the first creature I’ve brought home for you to heal.”

  “Nay, ’tis not.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “But usually they are four-legged and furry. Or feathered.”

  He smiled. “And I always help you.”

  “
Aye, but this is not the same.”

  With a guarded glance at the woman on the bed, he said, “Nay, ’tis not. This time the unfortunate one is a woman who has been beaten and raped. A woman who accused me of the crime.”

  Eva’s face went pale. “And you bring her to me to heal?”

  “I had little choice since she forced me to marry her.”

  “Marry?” Eva made the sign of the cross before glaring at the bed’s occupant.

  Gwenyth’s shame and pain glowed in her eyes, and Adam’s emotions warred between anger and the need to console. Anger prevailed, and he gestured his mother to the other side of the room. There he recounted how he came to return home with a handfast wife.

  GWENYTH WATCHED WITH TREPIDATION as Adam spoke with his mother. The woman had been kind in her questioning and compassionate in her touch. But Adam’s news had obviously distressed her, and Gwenyth worried how Eva would treat her when she returned to finish her ministrations.

  If only she could rise from the bed and leave. Leave this place and the man who both comforted and frightened her. Leave her homeland, this accursed country that had brought rack and ruin to her and her family.

  And now this final humiliation. Gwenyth turned her anger on the God she believed had deserted her so completely. She sobbed quietly, for the loss of that source of comfort was more painful than her physical wounds.

  As her tears fell, she listened to the rise and fall of voices on the other side of the room. Adam’s voice. How it had soothed her earlier today when she’d soaked his shirt with tears. Now as she listened to the cadence of his words, she was once again soothed and her sobs stopped. Since God had abandoned her, she would cling to the comfort Adam supplied. Gradually the warmth of the room and the medicinal tea Eva had given her lulled her into much needed sleep.

  WITH THE TELLING, color returned to his mother’s face. Adam glanced to where Gwenyth lay. She’d fallen asleep, and he and Eva moved back to the bedside.

  Adam gazed down at Gwenyth, observing her dark lashes fanned against pale skin, and the trace of fresh tears on her cheek. For a moment he allowed himself to think how it might have been if they’d met under more auspicious circumstances. She was a pretty thing, and he admired her courage.