Scuffling feet and a male voice raised in anger let Adam know he’d started counting too soon.
He turned to face the entrance as James Mactavish and his daughter walked slowly toward him. The girl leaned on her father’s arm, her face averted except for a pain-filled glance at the young man following them. Gavin Shaw moved to her side, but James batted him away with a snarl.
The boy clenched his jaw and his hands twisted his bonnet into an unrecognizable shape. A moment of pure defiance flitted across Gavin’s face before he regained control. And then his features dissolved into anguish.
Alarmed at the woman’s condition, Adam motioned for Morogh to bring a bench for Tyra. She couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen, but her face appeared old beyond its years. What manner of evil brought her here today?
Gavin was several years older than Tyra, and if memory served Adam, the two were courting.
And James didn’t approve. That explained the animosity between the two men, but not Tyra’s demeanor. She appeared as cowed as Gwenyth that day he’d brought her to Moy. Adam hoped his suspicions would prove false, but all the signs were there.
As Morogh helped Tyra to the seat, Adam noticed her bruised eye. She seemed to be in a world of her own making, barely aware of her surroundings. Adam locked gazes with Morogh, and he knew his own scowl matched the older man’s.
“Fetch my mother, Morogh.” As the man moved off, Adam motioned for James and Gavin to approach. James was nearly bursting with indignation and scowled at his laird. Gavin had eyes only for Tyra.
Fearing he knew only too well the answer, Adam asked the girl’s father, “What has happened to Tyra?”
“Look at her,” James bellowed. “Can ye not see the ghaoil’s been mistreated?” He grabbed Gavin, who did not resist, and shoved him forward. “And here’s the beast that done it.”
Gavin shook his arm free of James’s hold and looked Adam straight in the eye. “I did not harm her. Never. Please, my laird. She needs a woman. She needs—”
“I ken what my own daughter needs, and it isna you,” James roared.
A muffled sob from Tyra brought all three men’s attention to her. Gavin went to her, fending off James’s blows as the enraged father tried to pull the boy away.
“Enough, James,” Adam ordered.
The man had the good sense to calm himself, to Adam’s relief.
Gavin sat next to Tyra, and she curled into his arms, clinging tightly to him. Gavin crooned words of comfort as the girl sobbed quietly.
Just as Gwenyth had dampened Adam’s sark with her tears on the ride to Moy. Perhaps he should have told Morogh to bring Gwenyth as well, for she would understand how the girl felt. But he thought better of it, wanting to protect Gwenyth from unpleasant memories. Adam would spare her such pain and instead, use what he’d learned from her to help Tyra.
But first, he must find a way to prove Gavin’s innocence; the boy simply wasn’t capable of such behavior. “It’s obvious the boy cares for her, and she for him, James. Why do you accuse him?”
“He’s been sniffing about since before she came of age.”
“Has he asked to marry her?”
“Aye.”
“Is she willing?”
“To marry? Aye. But I said she must wait, and being a good colleen, she’s denied him, and so he took what he wanted. I’ll not let her marry—”
“Da.” Tyra’s voice barely cut through her father’s rhetoric. She had regained control of herself, although she still clung to the young man beside her.
“Silence, daughter.”
Adam could see he must settle this quickly, before James ruined his relationship with his daughter and forced her to choose between him and Gavin. “James, why don’t you simply have them marry? ’Tis the usual way these things are done.”
“Would you give your daughter to a man who would force her? Ach, yer too young to understand.”
Adam shook his head. James wasn’t thinking straight or he’d remember Gwenyth’s troubles. But Adam would not remind him. Surely it couldn’t help a woman’s recovery if people dragged out the telling of her ordeal on every occasion. Best to stay with the problem at hand.
“Why are you so sure young Gavin is guilty?”
“Who else could it be? He took what she wouldn’t—”
“Da.” Tyra’s voice was stronger this time. “Gavin did not do this.”
“Then who did?” her father demanded. “Name him.”
Tyra looked to Adam. “He wore a mask.”
Before Adam could reply, James said, “A likely story, to deflect the blame from this man you claim to love.”
Adam watched as Tyra clutched Gavin’s hand. The lad entreated her with his eyes and shook his head.
Tyra raised her hand to his cheek. “Aye, Gavin.” She stood with his aid, and Adam saw her draw on an inner strength, much as he imagined Gwenyth had done when facing Leod that day.
Gavin shook his head once again, but she ignored him, giving her attention to Adam. “My laird, Gavin would take the blame rather than have me dishonor my father.”
“Hush. No more, Tyra,” Gavin begged.
She straightened, staring at her father. “He has no need to take what I would willingly give.”
James sank down on the bench beside his daughter as realization dawned.
Adam understood how it felt to be falsely accused and he admired the young man for accepting the accusation rather than besmirch his lover’s name. Once again a wounded woman came to the rescue of an innocent man. His admiration for the female gender rose several notches. God had certainly crowned his creation with a worthy creature.
Adam cleared his throat. “Clearly Gavin would have no cause to beat Tyra—unless he’s done so before?”
Mactavish seemed to be absorbing the honor of the boy’s intentions. “Nay, he has not,” James grudgingly admitted. “Hard to fault a man who would go to such lengths to protect his woman’s honor,” he muttered, his anger noticeably abated. “But you shouldna have touched her without the priest.”
Relieved to see the tension ease, Adam asked the couple, “Aye, that must be remedied. Are you willing to marry?”
“Aye,” Gavin said without hesitation.
In a voice so low Adam barely heard her, Tyra asked, “You still want me? After what has happened?”
“Aye, I do.”
Did Tyra feel less desirable, less lovable? Unworthy? And more to the point, did Gwenyth suffer similar doubts?
Adam remained thoughtful as he said, “Then, when Tyra is ready you shall.” He turned to James. “They will marry—as laird I order it done as soon as Tyra feels up to it.”
James said, “As you wish.” He gazed tenderly at his child. “I’m sorry for my temper, lass.”
Tyra smiled for the first time in these proceedings. “Yer forgiven, Da.”
Adam thought it likely that even though Tyra and Gavin would struggle for a time, the support of family and friends might soften the blow.
Tyra laid a hand on his arm. “Could we marry now?”
Gently Adam inquired, “So soon?”
She nodded. “I have need of comfort only Gavin can give me.” She regarded her father with a tender smile, and after a brief hesitation, James nodded in scowling acquiescence.
Adam patted James on the back, relieved the older man had come around. Morogh had returned with Eva. “Tyra, go with my mother. She can tend to you before you see the priest. We’ll have a wedding before this night is done.”
Somewhat subdued, James said to Gavin, “I’m still angry with you for not waiting for the vows. But you’ll have to answer to God on that, not me. If you swear you love the lass, I’ll not object to you as Tyra’s husband.”
Gavin appeared visibly relieved. “I do love her, Mr. Mactavish, more than I can say. It would grieve me to come between you and Tyra. I will ask God’s forgiveness for loving her without his blessing.”
“Aye, well then. Ye best take good care of my daughter
.” James offered his hand, and Gavin shook it, the bargain sealed.
Adam relaxed. He need not fear for Tyra and Gavin. But he renewed his vow to catch the animal who was ravishing Chattan women.
James and Gavin spoke civilly to one another, if not warmly, while they waited for Tyra. And Adam had reason to hope they would overcome today’s heated words in time.
Eva and Tyra returned, and Morogh reported that Father Jerard had gone north to tend a parish there and might not return for weeks. So Adam administered the handfast vows, vows that would bind them until a proper marriage could be arranged. Vows as binding, for a year and a day, as any words by a priest.
The very vows Adam had spoken with Gwenyth.
Adam didn’t envy Gavin the task of helping Tyra heal. The boy would need patience.
But at least his wife loved him.
Did Adam want Gwenyth to love him? Her strength of character and temperate disposition would make her an excellent wife for the laird of a fractious clan. Aye, it would please him if she could come to care for him—to care for him as he feared he was coming to care for her.
That revelation drove Adam from the small group of celebrants to the solitude of the parapets. Standing high above the earth, he allowed the stillness of the night to seep into him and soothe him.
The days were growing longer as summer approached. By midsummer’s eve, there would only be a few hours of darkness each night. He thought of midsummer three years ago, when he’d first answered Bruce’s call to fight. When he’d still had full use of his arm and had taken life for granted.
Like many highlanders, Adam had participated in occasional cattle raids, some of which had met with violence when the kine’s owners objected to the lifting of their property. Methven had been his first battle, but Dalry had been his first taste of battle against fellow highlanders where the stakes had gone well beyond ownership of a few cows. And even if he’d returned home whole, he would never thirst for combat again.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he recalled the sight of horses and men falling—the sounds of their screams and the smell of blood. Gordon’s face as his horse went down. The shock of the blow to his shoulder, and how he’d fought on despite the pain. The misery of knowing then, and afterward, that his night of celebration had cost the life of a friend and nearly cost the lives of his king and queen.
By all that was holy, he would do whatever it took to avoid such bloodshed again, not only for himself, but also for his clan. God had spared his life, and Adam firmly believed that he had done so for a purpose. To that end Adam had honored his vows of chastity and refusal of strong drink. In time God’s purpose would be revealed.
As his memories receded, Adam became aware of his surroundings. Twilight settled over the loch as he gazed at this land he called home. From this spot on the castle battlements, he could see much of the shoreline.
The noise from the adjacent village did not reach him here, and all Adam could hear was the chirping of crickets and the night calls of birds.
A gentle breeze soothed him, bringing with it the rich smell of water and loam. Newly planted fields and a faint whiff of early blooming honeysuckle completed the scents of late spring.
Away in the distance, a calf bawled for its mother. Her answering call assured Adam the young one was safe.
The ordeal with James Mactavish had sorely tried Adam’s patience, but he was pleased with his handling of the problem and with the outcome. Morogh had pulled him aside and praised him, saying Angus himself couldn’t have done better. Though Adam was uncomfortable with the comparison, he took pride in the compliment.
Aye, imperfect as he was, God loved him, had blessed him far beyond what he deserved. God had forgiven him; maybe the time had come to forgive himself.
As the sights and sounds of the night drifted to him, Adam knew peace and contentment such as he hadn’t felt in months. He rested his hands on the cool stone of the wall and closed his eyes, letting the breeze and God’s presence wash over him.
After all she’d been through, would Gwenyth ever find such peace? Could she find it here, surrounded by strangers and reminded constantly by his very person of her ordeal?
Approaching footsteps intruded, but he ignored them, hoping they would turn away.
They didn’t.
“Adam?”
Nathara.
He didn’t want to hurt or offend her, but neither did he want her company. He hung his head, then realized his mistake when she began to massage his shoulders and neck. Her familiarity chafed him, but he held his tongue.
Nathara leaned closer and her chest grazed his back. “I doubt your wife does this for you—she doesn’t touch you at all, does she?”
Adam shrugged her hands away and twisted about to face her. “Enough. My relationship with Gwenyth is none of your concern.”
“She’s afraid of you, the silly woman. I can see it in her.” She sidled closer. “But I’m not,” she purred.
He moved away. “What do you want from me?”
Flicking her finger at his sleeve and pouting prettily, she answered, “I should think that is obvious.”
He blew out his breath. “Aye, there’s nothing subtle about you, is there?” Even her vivid coloring—blue-black hair and ice blue eyes set against pale skin—set her apart as a creature to be reckoned with.
“Not a thing,” she crooned, rubbing against him again.
Gently he set her aside. “I have a wife, Nathara. What you tempt me with is wrong.”
“What good is a wife who won’t share your chambers?” Softening her tone, she wheedled, “You have needs, Adam. And I can satisfy them.”
A moment of weakness assailed him, but it departed as quickly as it came, and so did temptation. Perhaps the hours he’d spent in prayer had done some good.
When he didn’t respond, Nathara demanded, “What do you see in her?”
A very good question.
But the answer came easily. He saw a beautiful woman who, in unguarded moments, looked at him with longing, as if she wished their situation could be different. He saw a soul in need of healing. A woman he could love, were he brave enough to claim her.
His ambivalence toward her was driving him crazy. He wanted her to go. But he wanted her to stay.
“What do you see in her, Adam?” Nathara repeated.
“ ’Tis not your concern. The woman is my wife, and I’ll not dishonor my vows.” No matter if they were for a year and a day, a lifetime, or only until he found her cousin. The depth of his commitment surprised him. He might not be sure what he felt or what he should feel about Gwenyth, but one thing he knew for certain. He would never betray his vow to protect her.
“You are a fool,” Nathara spit out.
“That may be so. But I am also your laird, and you’ll not speak to me in that manner again.”
They glared at one another, and finally she backed down.
“As you wish, my laird.”
She walked away, and the provocative swing of her hips told him this battle wasn’t over. He didn’t believe for a minute that Nathara would cease her campaign to seduce him. He shook his head. It had been a long day, and he craved the peace he’d found fleetingly before Nathara’s interruption.
Adam looked out over the loch, allowing the sights and sounds to color his world once more. As his spirit calmed, he bowed his head and prayed, seeking comfort and guidance.
When he finished and opened his eyes, a full moon rose over the water and with it the promise of the circles and seasons of life and love.
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.
Adam smiled as moonlight, peace, forgiveness, and hope washed over him.
TEN
A FULL MOON bathed the landscape with silvery radiance on a rare clear night, beckoning Gwenyth to leave the confines of her room. Grateful for the guard who accompanied her, she walked the parapet, wrestling with her chaotic thoughts.
Generally, when she made up her mind, she w
as not easily swayed to alter her course. But as a result of her stay in Leod’s hall, she no longer trusted her feelings or her judgment. The only thing she knew for certain was that she wanted to leave Moy.
But even that thought was a lie. For despite her fear of intimacy with Adam or any man, a part of her wanted to stay, to know this gentle yet fierce man better. To see if her fascination with him was substantive or only fleeting.
Perhaps it was nothing more than gratitude for his kindness, his willingness to help her heal. Yes, that must be it. She mustn’t confuse gratitude with affection. She knew little enough of that emotion, for only Daron’s devotion had been a constant in her life. Too many others had feigned friendship and love when all they were interested in was her royal blood and how it might further their ambitions.
She could depend on no one, not even Daron. Even as her frustration rose at his inability to protect her, she prayed for his good health. For without him she couldn’t hope to end this marriage to Adam, and end it she must.
Adam seemed to have forgiven her for accusing him of the assault, but even if so, what kind of marriage could they contrive? Once he learned of her parentage, any possibility of a lasting union would be dashed.
Marriage. How could she bear to suffer a man’s touch? She could never allow it. Ever. Unless . . . Perhaps . . . Adam’s touch was gentle, and his kind heart gave promise. But it could not be.
Marriage to Edward and the royal house of Balliol awaited. Her children would be the future wives and husbands of the rulers of Europe. Perhaps even king of Scotland.
Children.
The conception of children required certain duties. Eventually, she supposed she would have to endure those duties in order to conceive these royal heirs.
For a moment she wished she hadn’t sent the message to Daron. Scotland and Adam appealed far more than England and a man whose caress might not be as tender, who wouldn’t croon words of comfort in the Gaelic of her childhood as her father had.
Papa. His death had shaken her world.
As had Adam, in a different way, with his warm smile and gentle soul. In any other time and place she could have easily loved him.
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