Circle of Honor (6 page)

For a moment he recalled the feel of her in his arms last night and her shy smile. Dark, arched eyebrows framed a gamine face and warm brown eyes.

Morogh interrupted these agreeable images. “I think the clan will forgive her for being no more than a handmaid when they learn how she stood up to Leod. But if not, the marriage is only handfast—ye can put her aside in a year.”

Adam scratched his ear. “Aye, I suppose so.”

They rode on in silence.

“If ye plan to be rid of her, ye best not touch her, Adam. She may already carry a babe. If 'tis ye that gets her with child—”

“I know, I know.” Adam pounded the pommel. Morogh was absolutely right. But Morogh worried needlessly about Adam siring a child with the woman; he would not accept her as his wife unless and until proper vows were spoken before God.

Morogh drew apart, as if to give Adam time to reflect on the consequences of this marriage that wasn't a marriage.

God had been good to Adam, restoring him to life and giving him the strength to avoid temptation.
God, give me wisdom in the matter of this woman. Wisdom to know what she needs to be able to heal.
Adam wondered how a woman dealt with such an invasion of her person. Surely she would fear the intimacies of marriage. She might never welcome a husband's touch.

The thought saddened him.

How was he to deal with her? Even though Adam was determined that this marriage would be temporary and chaste, it would be difficult to live with a woman who feared him.

Gwenyth's behavior, aside from her lying, said much about her character, Adam reflected as he pulled his plaid close to ward off the heavy mist. Despite her physical pain and emotional distress, she had reacted with calm assurance and well-masked emotions. Indeed, her stamina amazed Adam. Such attributes made for a formidable enemy, and despite her pretty avowal of loyalty, Adam would watch her closely.

Adam looked back at the woman. She had tied the ends of the reins together and left them drooping upon the horse's neck. Her arms cradled her chest, and distress etched her features, the very picture of misery.

Belatedly he wondered if she was unaccustomed to riding. From her tense posture, he surmised she feared what lay ahead at Castle Moy. He could only guess that her reception would be less than warm, although no one would be outright cruel. The laird's offer of hospitality bound each clansman to civil behavior, at least.

Anxious to begin questioning her about her collusion with Leod, he reined in his horse, allowing hers to catch up. When it was nearly abreast of him, the beast stumbled, pitching Gwenyth forward. He saw her bite her lip, but a sob escaped and tears filled her eyes.

“Halt,” he ordered, and his men reacted quickly. Her animal stopped, more in response to the other horses than from her command. Her distress unnerved Adam, for he could not abide another's suffering. He dismounted, chastising himself for not taking the time to assess the extent of the woman's injuries.

She lifted her head, and the bruise on her temple fairly glowed, it was so vivid. He quickly dispelled conjecture on her other injuries, willing away the sick feeling that accompanied the thought.

Golden brown eyes gazed at him with not a little trepidation. He sensed a deep-seated wariness and pain. He had experience in dealing with suffering in the aftermath of violence against his person. Her body would mend, given time, but he knew only too well the mind healed slowly, if at all.

He would punish the man who had done this.

Adam reached for her hand, but she jerked it back. In her haste, she took a deep breath and cried out in agony, clutching at her rib cage.

“I'm sorry, my lady. Do not agitate yourself.” He called to one of his men to help her dismount, knowing his own clumsy efforts were likely to injure her further.

The other man set her on the ground beside Adam, then gathered her horse's reins and stepped aside to give his laird privacy. “You've some damaged ribs?” he asked.

She nodded, all she seemed capable of.

“Did you bind them?”

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

W
AS 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.”