Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  She panicked, afraid she would not be able to give him what she’d promised despite her fervent prayers earlier in the chapel.

  To steady her failing resolve, she clung to Adam’s recent assurance that loving should be different than what she’d experienced. Saints knew it must be, else she doubted there would be so many children born.

  His eyes revealed his sadness, and she could feel his distress. A need to be comforted. And another craving she didn’t understand and couldn’t signify. His gaze roved over her, and the sadness was slowly replaced by a gleam of anticipation, and her heartbeat quickened in response.

  “Thank you for bringing me here.” Adam held his hand out to her. “Do you trust me?”

  “I want to.”

  And then he smiled. “We have had this conversation before.”

  She smiled in return and gave him her hand.

  He led her to sit before the fire and they talked of Angus. He seemed to want to remember his father, to tell her events from his childhood and of his father’s stern but loving parenting. She shared with him her brief times with Angus, and they were content and easy with one another, despite occasional tears.

  Still, she did not sit back in her chair, and she startled when he stood and stretched his hands in front of him. He lowered his arms slowly, and his earlier ease disappeared.

  “We need not . . . I understand if you wish to postpone this, Gwenyth.” He glanced at the large time-keeping candle on the mantle. “I’ve been here long enough to accomplish what is expected, and none will be the wiser.”

  But she could see the longing had returned to his eyes, and it struck her that he needed more than just to do his duty or satisfy desire. He needed comfort. Her comfort. Yet how could what she’d endured with Leod possibly provide comfort for either party?

  There was only one way to find out, and she could think of no other man she would trust to show her.

  He started toward the door.

  “Wait. Adam, wait.”

  She stepped to him, and laying her hand against his back, gently urged him to face her. “Tomorrow—who knows if we will even have it? We can only be sure of this time, this night.”

  As he cradled her face in his rough hands, he smiled a smile that promised tenderness and laughter. Adam tugged her hand. “Come. Let’s use this time to become comfortable with each other.”

  She followed him until they were once again in front of the fire. He sat down, handed her a comb, and laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. “I thought perhaps you might like to comb my hair.”

  “Comb your hair?”

  He opened his eyes. “I used to love it when my mother combed my hair after a bath. I thought it might help you feel more easy about touching me. And it would ease my spirit tonight.”

  Amazed by his thoughtful gesture and his admission of need, she took the comb and he closed his eyes again. She glanced down at his woolen stocking and the dirk strapped to his shin.

  He trusts me.

  She could slit his throat and be gone before anyone disturbed the newlywed couple. But she wasn’t even tempted, for the thought of any harm coming to this compassionate man tied her stomach in a knot.

  Ignoring the knife, she touched his flaxen hair, something she’d often thought of doing. From the tightness of the curl, she’d expected it to feel tough and wiry. But it was surprisingly soft, and the curls sprang back into place.

  Tonight she would learn what drew a man and woman together and the secrets that bound a husband and wife. Somehow, she would force her mind to forget Leod’s actions and think only of Adam. And the ways he touched her heart.

  But Adam kept his word and Gwenyth learned yet again that this man was a man of honor. They talked deep into the night and gave each other consolation without becoming lovers.

  Sometime near morning, Gwenyth awoke to the unfamiliar feeling of Adam’s big body—her husband’s body—curled around her like a protective shield. As she dozed back to sleep, she knew she had never, in all her life, felt safer than she did in this man’s arms.

  NINETEEN

  SLEEPILY, Gwenyth pulled her head from under the pillow and answered a knock on the door. No doubt a servant bringing breakfast. “Come in,” she responded. She had slept like the dead, and yet languidness filled her this morn. For the first time in a long while, she was tempted to remain abed and take a late meal in her room.

  The woman cleared her throat and Gwenyth opened one eye. Then both eyes, as she bolted upright, clutching the covers to her. Her action elicited a grunt and a swiping of the blanket by Adam.

  Adam! Heat rose to her face as she looked from the man in her bed to his mother.

  Eva’s gaze was tender and bittersweet. “I see I need not have worried. My son is safely in bed. With his wife.” A troubled frown creased her face and was gone. “Best to wake him slowly, child— he’s a bear first thing in the morning.”

  Gwenyth could only stare—words refused to form in her mind.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there are things to be done for the funeral. Would you send him to me—”

  “I’m awake, Mother. Now go away.” Adam’s voice was muffled by the bedclothes, but there was no mistaking his bad humor.

  “Some things never change.” And with that Eva quietly left Gwenyth to deal with Adam.

  Gingerly, Gwenyth left the bed and retrieved her tunic and kirtle from the hook where she had hung it. She hastened to her wooden chest and picked up the polished mirror, inspecting her face. Not a trace of a bruise—Adam’s touch had been gentle and it frightened her.

  But Adam didn’t frighten her. Her reaction to him did.

  He’d once spoken of the bond that was formed between husband and wife. With growing alarm, she realized that unless she fought that bond, she was in danger of throwing away everything she’d come to think she desired. And for what? For the love Adam promised?

  Papa, what shall I do?

  For too long she’d worked to avenge her father’s cruel death. Edward Balliol had offered her the means to do that. But Edward couldn’t promise a home and security. And such dreams couldn’t compete with the reality of Adam and the attachment she feared could be formed with him.

  She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her chemise and became aware of a presence standing behind her.

  Adam cradled her in his arms, his chin resting gently on the top of her head. “Hush, now. We will find a way through this, Gwenyth, I promise.”

  He turned her to face him, and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. “Last night . . . Gwenyth, if you were never to lie with me, I think I’d probably die for wanting you. But there is more, much more, to marriage than bedsport. Marriage must also be about loyalty and commitment.” His thumb rubbed her mother’s ring.

  She swallowed. “What about love?”

  His smile was tender now. “I believe love comes about as a result of those other things. You’ll remember I once spoke of a bond?”

  “Aye.” She remembered well.

  He took a deep breath. “Just being with you, holding you in my arms. You are my true wife, Gwenyth. I say it is so, and I dare any man to say otherwise.” He shoved his fingers through his unruly hair. “I would defy the hounds of Hades if they tried to take you from Moy.”

  Safety. Commitment. Home. Could she find it all here? With Adam?

  His words were fierce, but in his eyes she saw a wounded man whose betrothed had rejected him. An honorable man who would marry an enemy to protect his king and then defy that same king rather than harm a frightened woman.

  Did she dare to hope that love would grow out of loyalty and commitment as Adam believed? Could she trust him with her battered heart? And until she answered those questions, how would she stop herself from falling in love with Adam Mackintosh?

  Perhaps it was too late.

  NEWLYWED OR NOT, duty called and Adam was glad they would both have time to consider his words. He’d made his feelings clear to her, except for one deta
il. Of all the things he’d sought from her last night, never had he expected to glimpse the very gates of paradise. But that’s exactly what he’d found, and he had no intention of stepping through them without Gwenyth.

  Somehow, some way, he would make her his in every way.

  But first, the care and feeding of his people still had to be seen to—work didn’t wait on births or deaths or the longings of a new bridegroom. And along with the daily details the impending funeral loomed.

  At midmorning he found himself in the surgery of Castle Moy, where several of Daron’s men had been sent for Nathara to treat. Their time in the makeshift shelter and exposure to the elements had caused a number of them to take sick.

  He stepped into the room, surprised to see Daron among those waiting for Nathara’s attention. She glanced up at Adam’s arrival, and he could have sworn her complexion paled. When she knocked over a vial of her medicine, Adam’s amusement turned to suspicion.

  “Good day to you, Nathara. I see you have no lack of patients.”

  “Aye, my laird.” She dropped her gaze. “I am sorry about Angus.”

  “Thank you, lass. Do you need one of the kitchen girls to help here?”

  “That would be most appreciated.”

  Adam noted her stiff speech, as if they had never been anything but laird and vassal. It was a good performance, he’d give her that.

  Daron left his place in line to stand beside Adam.

  They spoke quietly as Nathara took care of the others. Soon it was Daron’s turn, and she approached them, directing a glare at Daron. “What’s your ailment?”

  “Nothing. I just came to see to my men.”

  “Well, they’re fine—nothing serious.” She appraised the wound on his temple. “Someone did a terrible job of stitching that for you.”

  “Aye, well, it was either Dougal’s unsteady hand or bleed to death.” Daron smiled at her, and from the look on his face, Nathara’s charms weren’t lost on him. But her recent behavior didn’t sit well with Adam, and he considered warning Daron off. Then again, perhaps he should encourage a relationship—Daron might learn something useful.

  But Nathara’s next words didn’t bode well for such a plan. “Too bad Dougal was competent, if sloppy. We’d have one less Comyn to deal with.”

  Daron’s smile was flirtatious, despite the insult. “Perhaps I should show you my charming manners and change your mind.”

  “You have nothing to show me that I care to see.”

  “That’s enough, Nathara,” Adam ordered, taking her to task for such disrespect.

  Her eyes blazed, and Adam saw attraction there as well as anger. It didn’t surprise him—Daron was a well-favored man. If the attraction proved mutual, he would encourage his new vassal.

  “Come, Daron. Let’s take a turn at the watch.”

  “ ’Twould be an honor to keep the watch o’er your father. Perhaps now that she has no patients, Nathara would bring us food and drink?”

  Adam smiled. “Aye, Nathara. Do that.”

  “There’s food and drink laid out already.”

  Daron said, “Ah, more’s the pity. We’ll have to forego your delightful company.”

  Nathara glared at them, and Daron laughed as Adam guided him away. They made their way to the chapel, where Angus lay in state. A small trestle and bench sat off to the side and Adam placed his food and drink there, then murmured a thanks to the departing men who’d been keeping watch.

  Then he stood before Angus, where he lay on a cloth-covered trestle, hands at his sides and a saucer of salt on his chest to keep evil spirits away. From the moment of death until he was buried, the body was kept under watch, never left alone, so that the departed’s spirit could be guided to the proper place with the prayers of the watchers.

  Daron came to stand beside him. “I’m sorry, Adam. I’ve heard only good things about your father, even from my own family. He was regarded as a fair and honest man.”

  “Aye, what more could you want to have said of you?”

  “Perhaps that you were brave in battle?”

  Adam pushed away thoughts of that day in August when he’d been brave enough, at least as brave as a man in that condition could be. He just hadn’t been competent.

  He arranged the bench so they could lean against the wall and sat down. Daron joined him.

  Picking at his food, Adam remarked, “ ’Tis a strange set of events that has us sitting here this day.”

  “To be sure.”

  “I would speak of them, if you don’t mind?”

  “To what purpose? Do you question the sincerity of my pledge to you?” He raised a hand to stop Adam’s reply. “You should wonder at my change of heart. I think I would not trust you if you didn’t.”

  Adam sensed a kindred spirit in Daron, a man who would keep his word and remain loyal. A man who loved his country, who perhaps regretted having supported England. “I would speak of them to understand why you pledged to me.”

  Daron studied his food. “I want revenge for my cousin’s honor. That is the plain and simple truth.”

  The memory of Gwenyth’s bruised face and battered body whetted Adam’s own thirst for revenge, making it easy to accept Daron’s explanation, but he pressed for more. “Your cousin and his father were killed by my king; your clan has been ravaged by Bruce’s anger. We should be bitter enemies.”

  “When I’ve accomplished my goal, we can be again, if you like.”

  Adam chuckled. “I like you, Daron Comyn.” He glanced at the bier and sobered. “My father fought also, and it was his fondest wish that Bruce would bring peace and prosperity and an end to our quarrel with England.”

  “This war is far from over.”

  “Aye. Perhaps it was a foolish wish, since we highlanders seem especially good at harboring a grudge.”

  Now it was Daron who laughed. “Oh, yes, we are good at that. Grudges and feuds and war.”

  They raised and clinked their tankards. Adam had noted that Daron also took water rather than ale or wine. But he made no mention of it.

  “And speaking of feuds, the council will convene after the burial to decide who will be captain of the federation.”

  “Will you be disputed?”

  “Aye, Leod will make his case against me. And I fear those grudges and feuds you mentioned will mean a rough road for me.”

  Daron leaned back. “How so?”

  “Someone seems to have a peculiar affinity lately for Chattan cattle. Leod has convinced a number of minor chiefs that I can’t protect our interests.”

  “Loyalty is not easy to come by,” Daron observed. “You’ve not done yourself a favor by taking my oath, Adam.”

  Adam sat with his arms resting on his thighs, hands hanging between them. “Nay, I haven’t. Leod is accusing you of the recent assaults on our women.” When Daron jumped up in protest, Adam quickly added, “Sit down, man. I’ve made it clear I don’t believe it and challenged him to bring me proof. Watch your back, especially now so many are coming to Moy for the funeral. Someone may use the opportunity to kill John Comyn’s kinsman.”

  “ ’Tis fortunate the kinship is on my mother’s side.”

  “Fortunate for you, not Gwenyth,” Adam mused.

  “Aye, she carries the burden of royal blood. Still, animosity being what it is, I’ll heed your advice and guard my back. And Gwenyth’s.” Daron hesitated, seeming unsure how to say what was on his mind. “Bruce might very well see this association with Comyns as treachery, Adam. As a means to put your own son on the throne.”

  “I have no such delusions of grandeur, and my king well knows it.”

  Daron said, “I hope so. I would not like to see Gwenyth hurt again.”

  “And you think I will?”

  “In all honesty, not if you can help it.”

  “I think we both have her best interests at heart. And securing my position is the first and most important step.”

  Daron agreed.

  Adam studied the man he’d thoug
ht owned Gwenyth’s affections. “There was a time when I thought perhaps there was more between you and Gwenyth.”

  “She fostered with my family—she’s like a sister to me, nothing more.”

  “What is it you want then, Daron?”

  “Well, I don’t crave titles and wealth. All I require is enough land to raise some sheep and cattle and a family.”

  “Simple tastes, not unlike my father.”

  They raised a toast to Angus.

  Daron asked, “And what would you have?”

  He thought a moment. “The chance to lead my clan in peace.

  To do what I’ve been trained for. If Leod should be chosen, the people will suffer, for his ambitions far outstrip ours. As do the ambitions of others. Which brings me to a task you can help me with.”

  “Name it.”

  “Morogh has been keeping close watch on Nathara, but you could approach her differently.”

  He grinned. “You mean as man to woman.”

  “The idea agrees with you?”

  “It would be a pleasure to spend time in her waspish company.”

  Adam chuckled even as he warned, “Beware, Daron. I don’t trust her and her claws are sharp.”

  “Touch not the cat bot a glove.”

  “Aye, that’s our clan’s motto,” he said with a laugh. “See you heed it well.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  It felt good to laugh, and Adam knew Angus would prefer such company over sadness. He felt sure his father would also approve of the growing accord between Adam and Daron. One more thing to discuss. “I want you present at the council meeting.”

  “What? You’ll have them at one another’s throats and mine in minutes.”

  “I intend to name you as my captain of the guard and make it clear you have my full confidence.”

  “You are mad.”

  “I want to goad Leod to challenge me before he can assemble more support against me.”

  “Are you ready to fight? Physically?”

  He’d told his father he would fight and die, if need be, and wasn’t going to back down. The clan depended on him to keep it strong and safe. “I’ll have to be.”