Circle of Honor (21 page)

They studied each other. A man whose loyalty lay with his countrymen and not the figurehead who led them was a man to be trusted. Still, there was bad blood between Scotland's king and Daron Comyn's clan.

Adam scratched his head and decided to push again. “So, you would serve Robert the Bruce?”

Daron hesitated then answered. “Perhaps.” Daron turned and whistled. Three men as bedraggled-looking as Daron materialized out of the fog.

Adam inclined his head toward them and asked, “Then will you all come willingly to Moy?”

Daron didn't get a chance to answer as a loud bird call pierced the air and one of Adam's sentries burst into the clearing. “Leod Macpherson comes, my laird.”

Adam ordered Daron, “Tell your men to put down their weapons.”

“What?”

“No time, Daron. Just do it.” He would soon see if Daron could be trusted.

Quickly, Adam moved among his own men, giving the order to take Daron's men prisoner while Daron ordered his warriors to surrender.

“Aye, but stay close to your weapons,” Adam warned.

Now Daron smiled, and Adam grinned back. He was beginning to like this cousin of Gwenyth's. Daron assumed a pose of surrender, and Adam gave an order for Leod's benefit. Then he strode to face his nemesis.

A dozen warriors accompanied Leod into the clearing. He halted his stallion and surveyed the group before him. Adam and his guards came forward, pushing Daron in front of them.

Leod leaned over his pommel and addressed Daron. “Well, who have we here?”

“Daron Comyn of Ruthven. I caught them raiding cattle.”

Leod casually stroked his horse's neck. “And what will you do with him?”

“Didn't you know there's a price on his head?”

“I'd heard something of the sort.” Leod shifted in his saddle. “You'll have to take him south to collect.”

“Perhaps I'll have you do that for me.”

“You'd like to see me gone, no doubt.” Flicking the reins lightly on his leg, Leod glared at Adam. “Don't send me on your trifling errands.”

“I remind you who is laird and who is vassal, Leod.” Adam's voice betrayed his growing anger.

“But for how long? You've not been overly anxious to defend your title, Adam. Do you truly wish to be laird, or are you just playing at it?”

Adam scowled at his enemy, for Leod was more an enemy than Daron or any of Daron's men. He held his tongue, fearing what his thoughts might reveal about his turmoil.

Leod went to the heart of it. “You will have to fight me, Adam. Hand to hand, sooner or later. And if you best me, I will acknowledge you as my laird. Until then, I'll continue to challenge you, and to convince others that I am the rightful laird.”

There, it was said, the thing Adam dreaded. For a moment his rage nearly overcame good judgment and he came close to challenging Leod to fight on the spot. Have it over and done. But wisdom prevailed at a surreptitious touch to his elbow from Morogh.

Adam released a breath and sought to diffuse the tension. “Aye, Leod. It will come to that. And you'll learn that day who is the rightful laird. Me.” Adam sounded far more confident than he felt.

“We shall see. Good day to you.” Leod jerked his mount's mouth and retreated.

Daron stood beside Adam. “I don't trust that one. It was in his keep that Gwenyth was harmed?”

“Aye. But do you trust me?”

“For now it seems the wisest course. I am firm in my resolve to avenge Gwenyth. Besides, there's a price on my head, and I've no desire to meet Robert the Bruce so that Leod can line his pocket.” He studied Adam for a moment. “I find it hard to believe Gwenyth would bind herself to the man who injured her.”

“I did not harm her.”
I only kissed her.

Glad that Daron was persuaded to come peacefully, Adam gave the order to return to Moy. Morogh signaled the others to join them, and Adam led his mount so he could walk with Daron. Motioning his men in the opposite direction from Leod, Adam watched as they herded the Comyn men toward Moy, maintaining the pretense of capture in case Leod had posted spies.

The younger man spoke first. “If I were not certain you wouldn't harm her, we would not be discussing an alliance,” Daron said softly.

“You are willing to swear allegiance to me? All of you?”

Daron nodded. “I will talk to the others, but aye. We are all sworn to the lady.”

“And you'll follow my lead in seeking your revenge?”

“As laird, you must punish the man, so our goals coincide. And I give my word to uphold you as my laird and to fight in your defense.”

“Good. We are agreed.”

As they walked, the fog began to clear although a light mist still fell. Adam absently massaged his shoulder, which always stiffened in the dampness.

“One question, Laird Mackintosh. Won't Leod use my loyalty against you?”

“Aye, Leod will do whatever it takes to oust me, Daron. Trying to outmaneuver him is a waste of time.”

Assured of Daron's intentions, Adam stopped to tighten the cinch on his saddle, then mounted for the remainder of the journey. It wouldn't look right to approach the castle on foot with men who were supposedly prisoners.

A short time later a shout of dismay was heard from the castle guard until Adam signaled to them that all was well. The Comyns and Mackintoshes entered the bailey together.

Adam called Morogh to his side. “See to their lodging. And from the looks of them, they could use a good meal. We shall continue to treat them as captives for the time being.”

“What of their weapons?”

“Have them repaired and ready, but don't allow Daron's men to carry them just yet.”

“Aye. I'll see to it.”

The castle folk surrounded them when they entered the bailey. “Go back to your work,” Adam ordered. “I have given these men sanctuary. Do not give me cause to be embarrassed by your lack of hospitality.” The folk dispersed, curious but obedient.

“Daron, get yourself something to eat. I'll send for you.”

“Aye, my laird. But first I'd like to see Gwenyth.”

FIFTEEN

G
WENYTH RUSHED ACROSS the inner bailey toward them, and Adam watched as the two embraced: Gwenyth with obvious exuberance, Daron somewhat hesitant. He handled her as if she were fragile glass, crooning, “The fault is mine, lass.”

Gwenyth stiffened, her heated gaze accusing as she pulled away and turned on Adam. “You told him.”

He nodded.

“Aye, your husband has told me of your trials, my lady,” Daron said.

She faced Daron, hands on hips. “What's done is done. I only want to leave this wretched place.”

Apparently she still saw Daron as her rescuer, despite the fact Adam had clearly told her she and her cousin would not be departing. Adam cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if I allowed you and your cousin to speak privately.”

“Aye, perhaps you should, Laird Mackintosh.” Her voice was a whisper, but that did nothing to take away the sting of her dismissal. He hardened his heart—she could not leave Moy or Scotland, and he dared not allow his misplaced feelings for her any room to grow.

He turned away, but Daron stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Adam winced but did not turn around.

“Stay, my laird.” Daron turned Adam around, and their gazes met and held. “There is more you should know.”

THE APPARENT ACCORD between the two men surprised Gwenyth, but Daron's next words surprised her even more. “Your husband seems to care for you.”

He cared for her? She shook off the warmth that thought brought. Of course he cared, which was one of the reasons she and Daron had to leave. Today. She must make it clear that she was well and strong and ready to go forward. “My husband?”

“Mackintosh says you are wed.”

“We are handfast, but I don't consider the tie binding and neither does he.” She glared in Adam's direction.

Daron answered. “Gwenyth, we cannot find passage—by now the word is spreading of your whereabouts, and the secrecy of our movements is gone. I doubt we could find a ship's captain willing to transport you. And the risk in attempting it is too great.”

“Surely King Robert doesn't hate me so much?” But she knew better. The devastation of her home and family were more than adequate testament to Bruce's animosity toward the Comyn clan. A sense of doom crept over her.

“Perhaps not. But he has placed a ransom on your head, and his followers may well be tempted to collect it.”

With his face in profile to her, Daron's wound became visible. She touched it and he winced. “Oh, Daron. You were hurt.”

He pushed her hand away. “ 'Twas nothing, Gwenyth. I am quite recovered.”

Obviously, he didn't want to talk about it. She had seen the look that passed between Daron and Adam, and she feared it did not bode well for her plans.

Laying her hand on Daron's arm, she attempted to move toward his men, who were entering the keep behind them. “I want to leave this accursed place, Daron. Now.”

“You will remain with your husband.”

“Nay.” She fought to hold her emotions in check. And much was at stake. Edward and safety. A home in England, safe from Robert the Bruce. Daron didn't answer, his demeanor stubborn, and she called on the last of her patience. “You are sworn to me, Daron. Why will you not obey my wishes?”

“I cannot put you in further jeopardy, my lady.” Clearly it pained him to deny her, yet deny her he did. “And a husband's right supersedes my own oath to you.” Setting his gaze on Adam, he motioned him to join them.

“Nay,” she cried.

“Aye, Gwenyth.” Daron's voice held the sharpness of command, one he had never used on her before. He was barely a year older, and until now had always treated her more as a friend than as a responsibility. But it would seem their roles had changed.

Ignoring her, Daron addressed Adam. “You are her husband. As her sworn man, I offer myself to your service.” Daron stared at her before continuing. “I have learned that you are to marry John Balliol's heir to strengthen his claim to the crown. Is this true?”

Defiantly, she answered, “Aye.”

A glance passed between the two men, and again Gwenyth feared what it meant.

Adam spoke, his voice harsh. “You know that I can't allow that, my lady.”

“Nor will I, Gwenyth.”

Daron's agreement surprised and angered her. “Why did you tell him this? Why, Daron? You are sworn to me.”

“Edward Balliol would use you with no thought to anything but his own purpose. You won't be safe with him, Gwenyth.”

“Come, Daron. You exaggerate. Your lady mother assured me in her last letter that I will be welcomed at court.”

“And married off,” he said, voice rising with heat, “and bred with an heir to the Scottish crown just as quick as can be arranged.”

In desperation she shouted back. “Isn't that what we want, Daron? To bring down Bruce?”

Daron huffed a breath before replying. “What I want, my lady, is your health and happiness. And Scotland's freedom.”

“Scotland. The country whose king has taken everything from us. You would betray me, betray our rightful king—”

“You don't believe in Balliol's ability to take back the throne any more than I do. And to support his plot to overthrow Bruce will only increase the likelihood of more war, and death and destruction. I have seen far too much of it. Is that the legacy you wish to leave?”

She was suddenly too aware of the highland warrior standing there listening to this conversation. He would not take kindly to discussions of intrigue to regain the crown of Scotland.

As if to seal her doom, Adam said, “On this your cousin and I are in agreement. This is no game we are playing now. I'll have no more lies, woman.” Pointing to her hand, he argued, “You willingly donned that ring, insisted on wearing it as a sign of your loyalty to me. 'Tis time to give what you so pledged or bring the wrath of Bruce down on all of us.”

Gwenyth felt her shoulders slump. She realized in her heart that Daron and Adam spoke the truth. Her dreams of peace and safety with Edward were nothing but illusions. Illusions born of desperation when her home and loved ones had been destroyed.

Still she clung to them, for they had sustained her, had continued to do so through the ordeal of the past weeks at Moy.

Adam lifted her chin with his fingers, and the tenderness in his eyes nearly undid her. They were on opposite sides, yet he put his anger aside to concern himself with her well-being. Some of the fight went out of her, as it always did when confronted with his generous nature.

She shrugged away his offer of comfort and turned to Daron. Perhaps he would listen to reason.

But Daron didn't give her a chance to speak. “Look what has already befallen you. The next time it could be death or imprisonment.”

“You are safe at Moy,” Adam promised.

“Aye, it's a pleasant enough prison,” she retorted. “So long as you remain laird.”

ADAM'S STOMACH CHURNED. The only way this plot to have Gwenyth mingle her royal blood with that of Balliol could succeed was if Robert the Bruce were dead. Adam must hold Gwenyth at Moy, and Daron must be persuaded to swear his loyalty to Bruce.

Daron looked at Adam. “Mayhap we can be of service to one another, Laird Mackintosh.”

“Indeed.”

Daron indicated Adam's injured arm. “I've heard there is resistance to your leadership?”

“Some.”

“Then additional warriors could be useful.”

Adam tipped his head to one side. Perhaps Daron wouldn't require persuasion after all. “What do you suggest?”

“I will pledge my sword arm to your fight, my laird.”

Gwenyth sputtered, “What of your pledge to me?”

“By serving your husband, I also serve you.”

“You would serve me better by doing what I ask of you. This marriage is only temporary. What will you do at its conclusion?”