Adam arrived at her door, looking incredibly handsome in his best plaid, held at the shoulder with the rampant cat brooch. “Come, we’ll stroll amongst my clan.” She could swear she actually saw his chest puff with pride. “And I’ll impress you with my prowess.”
She stifled a giggle, draped her arasaid around her shoulders, and took his proffered arm. “I am ready, then.”
Thin sunlight filtered through a cloud-filled sky, but no mist or fog hung in the cool air. Gwenyth pulled her plaid closer as Adam led her to the area of the outer bailey set aside for the caber toss.
Gwenyth had not seen such a competition for many years, but she remembered it vividly. A poplar tree was cut to a length twice as tall as a man, and the bark stripped from it. The men took turns seeing how far they could throw the massive pole. The trick was to heave it end over end and get it to land as straight away from him as possible.
The competition was already underway, and Gwenyth couldn’t hide her amusement at the balancing act required in order to juggle the upright spar into position. Once satisfied, the man tossed it forward, and the giant tree flipped in midair before it tumbled and bounced just slightly off-center.
The crowd cheered as the smiling fellow carried the pole back for the next entrant.
She turned to Adam. “You were able to compete in this?”
“Not very well. I was eliminated in the first round. But ’tis the laird’s duty to attempt each sport.”
She grinned at his sheepish admission. “Tell me again why they do this?”
Adam moved them to a better observation point, then stood behind her. His arm nearly encircled her as he pointed, and she relaxed into his solid chest. His breath hitched before he said, “See how the pole is notched along one side? A man who can toss the log against the wall of a fortress with the notches facing up can then climb the pole and breach the wall.”
“How clever.” She felt safe as cares and duties fled in the simple bliss of a beautiful day with an agreeable partner.
“But I have also seen the skill used to toss a limb over a rain-swollen creek.” His breath grazed her cheek, and she pulled away slightly, afraid to show her reaction to his nearness. But a shiver betrayed her, and he pulled her close again.
“Ah, then it is a very practical skill,” she teased.
Tongue in cheek, he answered, “Aye. Perhaps I should teach you.”
She laughed, relaxing as Adam guided her to a pavilion for something to eat. They sat at the makeshift table and devoured bannocks and savory colcannon stew before heading off to watch the hammer throw.
Everywhere they walked, Gwenyth was greeted with obvious curiosity and shy respect. But there were also other glances that clearly displayed animosity. She shivered.
Adam touched her hand where it rested on his arm. “I thought the hot stew would warm you, wife.”
“ ’Tis not the air that chills me.”
“Aye, I’ve noticed the stares.” He halted. “Do you wish to return to your room?”
“Not without seeing Daron.” A stubborn part of her refused to cower from those few people who did not want her here. “No one has threatened me, and somehow I doubt they would risk your wrath to bring me harm.”
“I think you’re right. Come, let’s find Daron.”
They walked past the hammer-throwing event. “Were you eliminated in this event as well?” she asked.
“Aye. Barely managed ten feet. However,” Adam bragged, “I am still among the leaders in the stone toss.” He guided her to where that sport was taking place.
It didn’t take much imagination to see how this event came to be. Gwenyth could remember her brothers and cousins tossing rocks into the loch, seeing who could throw the farthest, who could heft the heaviest rock. She smiled at bittersweet memories of so many whose lives ended much too young.
She offered Adam a tentative smile, pushing her memories aside. As they approached the other athletes readying themselves, Gwenyth saw Daron among them.
Daron came to stand with them. “As laird, Adam makes the first throw—he’s really very good at this,” Daron admitted. “So far only Seamus and I have bested him.”
Throwing the stone only required the use of one arm, and Adam was obviously enjoying his success. Gwenyth watched as he made his second throw and the distance was measured. There were many admiring sounds, and Adam grinned.
His grin widened when he caught her eye, and she smiled back, unable to resist the warmth of his obvious affection for her. Seeing him standing there so pleased with himself and looking more handsome than any man had a right to, she wanted nothing more than to move into his arms and promise him anything . . . everything.
But he had made her his wife and imprisoned her with the words. Not a prison formed of love and attachment, but the walls of his keep and the enmity of his king.
And yet . . .
What had he said when he told her about love and loyalty? He expected both from her, but he’d given her no words of love. But didn’t actions speak louder than words?
And yet. What if? But no. She sighed.
Daron and the others finished their throws, and to her surprise and delight, Daron was declared the winner. Adam strode toward them, and Gwenyth braced for the onslaught of emotions his presence seemed to bring.
Clapping Daron on the back, he winked at Gwenyth. “If I’d known he could beat me at the stone toss, I’d have refused his vow of loyalty.”
Daron grinned. “Should I have held back and let you win?”
“Never,” Adam responded, his voice full of good cheer.
In high spirits Daron joined them, and the three of them moved about the grounds. By late afternoon the competitions were finished, and a loud bell sounded.
Adam’s cheer visibly faded as he said, “ ’Tis time to name my personal guard.” He led them to a small rise, indicating she and Daron should stand there while he made the announcement.
ADAM’S JOY in Gwenyth’s company and the day’s festivities abruptly ended in anticipation of what lay ahead. He dreaded the naming of his guard, for Leod had done well and made no secret he expected to be chosen. How could Adam invite a man he couldn’t trust into his inner circle? How could he explain if he did not?
The answer eluded him.
Leod approached him. “My laird, I propose one final contest, all in fun and in the name of sport.”
Uneasy, Adam said, “And what would that be?”
“I would prove myself worthy to be in your guard. And you may show our clansmen how well you can wield a sword.”
“You want to fight me?”
“Just a friendly display of swordsmanship. Show everyone how ’tis done.”
The hair on Adam’s neck stood on end. He remembered their confrontation that day in the fog and Leod’s bold challenge at the council meeting. He did not trust Leod—what was the man up to? But surely he wouldn’t try anything dishonorable here, in front of everyone.
Ian stepped between them. “My laird, I must insist upon a private word with you.”
Morogh appeared ready to murder Leod where he stood, and although Adam understood their desire to protect him, he resented the implication.
Ever since the council meeting, Adam had come to believe that the men he admired and respected had chosen him more for what was in his heart than for his sword arm. He didn’t have to prove himself to them. Nor did he need to prove anything to himself.
So why even consider Leod’s challenge? Perhaps Leod’s request for friendly sport was his way of acknowledging Adam as laird. Or perhaps it was treachery. There was only one way to find out. Adam resigned himself to ending their feud Leod’s way. And should Leod turn on his laird in front of the clan, he would not live out the day.
Forcing a smile and amiable tone, Adam said, “Leod, if you agree, I will meet you as soon as I have finished with Ian.” To the crowd he said, “I will announce the guard at the conclusion of our sport.”
“As you wish.” Leod tipped his s
word in deference and was soon lost among the crowd.
TWENTY-TWO
ALTHOUGH MOST of the nearby clansmen seemed in accord with Adam’s decision, Ian nearly dragged Adam away from the others. “Of all the stupid, ill-conceived, witless ideas. I should take a strap to you myself. Your father . . .” Ian muttered and sputtered until they’d reached an empty tent. “Are you crazy?”
“Nay. But I think Leod may be.”
“All the more reason not to fight him, Adam. What if you are wounded?”
“I will recover.”
Ian’s face contorted. “Blast the optimism of youth.”
Adam smiled grimly. “Leod’s threats must end, Ian. All my life he has bullied anyone weaker than he. I cannot allow it to continue.” He did not want to fight Leod or anyone. But this confrontation had been a long time coming, and Adam was determined to end it today, once and for all. “And when I beat him, I’ll have reason not to invite him into the guard.”
Ian puffed in exasperation. “If you beat him.”
Before Adam could chide the older man for his lack of faith, someone cleared his throat outside the tent. Adam looked to the opening to see Morogh. And beside him an anxious-looking Gwenyth.
Morogh stepped closer and jerked his head. “Come, Ian. Let these young people have some time together.”
Ian balked, but Morogh grabbed his shirt. “Come on.” The two men left, Ian grumbling and protesting all the way.
GWENYTH CAME to stand before Adam and stared into her husband’s azure eyes. She saw steadfast determination there. Still, Morogh had begged her to intercede, to use her feminine charms if need be to change Adam’s mind.
She lowered her eyes, scanning the dirt floor of the tent. Anxiety and foreboding had shadowed her all day, and now it was clear to her that she was not the one in danger. And her heart nearly stopped at the realization Adam might be hurt or killed before this day was over.
Gazing back up at him she said, “You must not fight him, Adam.”
“Do you fear for me then, wife?”
“I do.” The admission came easily, far easier than acknowledgment of how much she cared for him. “Why must you do this? You have already seen the truth of your father’s advice. The council chose you.”
His tender regard told her he appreciated her opinion. “Leod is responsible for those other assaults, Gwenyth. I can’t prove it, but I know it. I must avenge them.” He cupped her cheek with his palm, his gaze steady. “And you.”
“Let Daron do it,” she pleaded, knowing the argument to be futile.
“Leod challenged me.”
She pulled away from his touch. “You will be hurt or killed.” And it will be my fault for forcing you into this marriage. Another life cut too short. Merciful heaven, when would it end?
“And what of Daron? Ah, you are not so sure I can best Leod, but Daron can?” His voice hardened. “ ’Tis only meant for sport— Ian won’t allow us to fight to the death.” He tilted her chin upwards. “You have so little faith in me?”
“Of course not. I distrust Leod.”
“As do I.” He brushed away her tear with the pad of his thumb. “Have you come to care for me, then, love?”
“Aye,” she whispered and flung herself into his arms, drinking in his gentle strength and the rich sound of his voice. The intensity of her feelings for him came as a surprise. Or perhaps they’d been this strong for some time, and she had fought against them.
She feared for him, not only because she feared the loss of his protection, but because she’d come to accept his belief that they were meant to be together. Who could know or understand God’s reasons? It was useless to deny it. But he spoke of loyalty, and what she needed to hear were words of love before she could trust completely.
“Well now. Have faith. In me and in God.” He lifted her face, then bent and kissed her, a sweet kiss of promise that quickly deepened into desire. He pulled away, his breathing as unsteady as her own. “You will be safe, no matter what, for Seamus has pledged to protect you, to marry you if need be.”
“You have given me away?”
“Only if I am dead, Gwenyth. Only then. And only because doing so ensures your life and keeps you safe from Leod’s reach. And Robert’s.”
She shook her head, both amazed at his foresight and praying his preparations were unnecessary. “I should be angry with you, but all I feel is fear. Please be careful, husband.”
He observed her, his expression guarded. “And you will be waiting for me?”
“Aye.” A day ago, an hour ago, she might have hesitated. But when faced with the possibility of losing him, everything became very clear. She cupped his cheek. “No matter what condition you are in or how many parts are maimed or missing.”
He favored her with a smile, the one that could melt a frozen river, the one her heart could not ignore. “And that vow of chastity you coerced from me?”
She grinned. “I will try to forget it, my laird.”
“Truly?”
“Aye.”
He pulled her close and kissed her brow, her nose, her eyelids. “Ah, Gwenyth. Dare I hope you will become my true wife soon?”
She pulled away, just enough so she could look into his eyes. He would fight to rid the world of a bully, a man who would harm the weak. This husband that God had chosen for her had honored her in many ways. And now he would risk his life against a man who knew nothing of honor or loyalty.
“You needn’t fight Leod to gain entrance to my chamber.”
He looked startled but recovered quickly. “But I would gladly fight a hundred men for that privilege, did you but ask.”
“Would you not fight at all, if I asked?”
“I wish I could grant that boon, love. But the differences between Leod and I must be put to rest. And my wife’s honor and that of Leod’s other victims must be avenged.”
“Is there nothing I can say or do to persuade you against this folly?”
The gleam in his eyes was unmistakable, and she felt herself blush. He pulled her against him. “Aye, lass. You are temptation itself.”
“Then let me tempt you,” she whispered, her voice unnaturally husky.
“Adam, lad.” They parted hastily as Morogh strode into the tent, forcing reality back with resounding finality. “Has she convinced ye not to fight?”
“No. I will meet Leod on the field. Now give us a moment,” Adam growled.
Morogh groaned but wisely retreated to stand by the doorway.
ADAM RESENTED the intrusion almost as much as he resented Gwenyth’s questionable avowals of affection. Was it all just a means to change his mind, or did she truly care? He pulled Gwenyth close again and quietly asked, “You were supposed to convince me not to fight?”
“Did I not succeed?” Her voice was light, despite the worry clearly evident on her face.
He raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. “I will want to finish what we started here, my lady.”
“Then see you stay in one piece, my laird.”
“No protests? No begging?”
She held his gaze with gentle affection. “Leod must be stopped. I know ’tis selfish of me, but I am tired of living in fear of him. Of living in fear that all I hold dear will be taken from me, again. Please, promise you will keep Daron close-by.”
All I hold dear. Adam smiled, knowing now without a doubt that she would be waiting for him. “I will. ’Tis supposed to be a gentleman’s fight, but—”
“I don’t trust Leod, either. He knows nothing of fealty.”
Adam embraced her, pulled her soft body close, and lost himself in her sweetness. He didn’t know if those emotions could be improved upon, but he wanted a lifetime with this woman to find out. If he survived this encounter with Leod, he vowed once again to court this woman as she deserved to be, to teach her all the ways of love. To entice her to come to him freely.
“Lady Gwenyth, send the boy out here.”
Adam grinned down at her, rolling his eyes and mou
thing the word “boy” in mock exasperation.
“There is no boy in this tent, Morogh,” she challenged, then raised on tiptoe to whisper, “Only an honorable man.” With a kiss to his cheek, she pulled away from him.
At this moment, Adam felt the full force of dread. The day he’d known must come was here. He held no illusions that Leod would keep the contest friendly. Would Adam die just as he found hope of winning Gwenyth’s heart? Or would the promise of her love give him the strength he needed to accomplish his task?
He took Gwenyth’s hand and led her to the tent’s exit. Stepping through, he said to Morogh, “Come then. ’Tis time.”
With Gwenyth’s arm tucked safely in his own, Adam walked toward the agreed-upon area. He handed her to Morogh. “Keep her safe.”
Reluctantly he put her out of his thoughts and concentrated on the task ahead. Because it was to be a friendly display of swordsmanship and not a fight as such, none of Adam’s men would join him to protect the weaker arm.
Leod stood some twenty feet away, his sword at the ready. Adam donned his leather hauberk—the same one, now skillfully repaired, that had no doubt saved his arm the last time he’d fought. But unlike that last fight, Adam’s mind was clear, his body strong. He gave thanks to God for bringing him safely to this day, and asked for his blessing. Thy will be done.
Adam took his sword from the lad who held it, then carefully unsheathed it. ’Twas a fine weapon, shorter and lighter than the claymore, but deadly nonetheless.
Caressing the hilt, he hefted the sword, reminding his brain and muscles of the differences in fighting style required for this weapon. He swiped the air, warming his body for the exertion to come.
Leod was smiling and jesting with the crowd. For a moment, Adam considered that perhaps the man meant no harm after all. But that sixth sense, the one that could save one’s life when in danger, warned him not to believe Leod’s jovial behavior. Indeed, when the man finally turned to him, only darkness shone from his eyes.
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