Circle of Honor (8 page)

“Hello, Nathara.”

“You didn't come to see me when you returned,” she pouted prettily.

How am I going to explain Gwenyth's presence to Nathara?
Stalling for time, he splashed water on his arms and torso before answering. “I wanted to bathe first.”

Nathara began loosening the pins that held her abundant, wavy black hair, letting one coil fall prettily to her shoulders, and then another. Her intent was clear—Nathara accomplished everything with effect in mind, often using her substantial womanly wiles to pull him closer. And she was still clearly determined to become his wife. Seeking distraction, he began to bathe in earnest as he called to mind his relationship with the clan healer. Nathara's skills had been sorely tried in saving Adam's life. But he had lived and she had even managed to save his arm. It didn't work well, but he hadn't lost it to the knife.

She had stayed by his side constantly until he'd been out of danger. And so it was that Nathara had been with him the day his intended bride had looked upon his withering body with shock and refused to formalize the betrothal.

Having observed his humiliation at Suisan's rejection, Nathara had offered to heal his spirit with her woman's touch. He'd resisted, continued to resist, but she wasn't easily dissuaded. As if to accentuate the point, she now reached for the hem of her dress, and he caught his breath and turned his back as she pulled it over her head.

Although he'd never made any promises to her, he owed Nathara—she'd healed his body and salvaged his pride. But what she offered was against God's commandments and Adam's vow.

He heard the splash as she entered the water and walked to him. “Go, Nathara.” He gently pushed her away, relieved to see that she'd had the decency to leave her chemise on to cover herself. She thought he was playing and reached for him. But he waded quickly to shore, determined to make the break now.

“Adam, where are you going? Come finish what we started.”

“We started nothing, Nathara. There is nothing between us.” The words came out more gruffly than he'd intended. He walked toward his discarded clothing and she splashed her way to stand beside him. With a wicked smile, she enticed him. “Stop teasing. We haven't even begun.”

He gently removed her hand from his arm. “What we began was friendship, nothing more.” He drew a deep breath, bracing himself. “I am handfasted, as of yesterday.”

If he hadn't been staring at her face, he would have missed the brief wounding revealed there. Regret pierced him; regret that she had seen more in their friendship than he did.

But Nathara hid her feelings well, and anger replaced hurt in an instant. “Handfasted? With whom, may I ask? And how dare you do such a thing without even discussing it with me first? Do I mean nothing at all to you?”

He pulled on his shirt. “Nathara, I've never promised you anything beyond the day, is that not so?”

Her charms faded fast when her will was contested. Her voice became shrill. “You can put me aside this easily?”

Adam stooped and picked up her gown as he explained. “I owe you much, 'tis true. If you hadn't tended to my wounds . . .” He handed her the dress. “You saved my life, Nathara, and I am truly grateful. I had not thought to marry—”

“Then why did you?” She clasped the gown to her chest but made no move to put it on.

“I had no choice.” Briefly Adam described the circumstances of his marriage to Gwenyth.

Nathara donned her clothes. “You admit the woman was forced on you—at the end of the year put her aside.” She twined her arms about his neck. “I will wait, Adam.”

Adam lowered his head, mesmerized by the sultry tone of her voice. He reached for Nathara's hair and stroked it. Saints above, she was so tempting, and so willing. He would need God's help if he had any hope of fighting this temptation while chastely handfasted to Gwenyth.

He had pledged the protection of his name, and the vows he'd spoken clearly announced he would honor Gwenyth with his word and his body. The words were no less binding for the year and a day than the church-spoken vows of a lifetime.

Resolved to seek out Father Jerard as soon as he returned to the castle, Adam removed Nathara's arms from his neck and backed away. “Nay, Nathara. I am not happy to be bound to Gwenyth against my will, but I will not break my pledge to her, either in thought or in deed.”

Nathara's facial features hardened and Adam saw the beginning of animosity and anger. Gone was the seductress and in her place stood a woman accustomed to getting her way. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so forthright with her.

He knew that she wasn't chaste; she made no secret of her conquests. That alone made her inappropriate as a wife. He'd made it clear he wasn't considering marriage with her, and she'd seemed content with what he was willing to give. Until now. The look on her face at the moment gave Adam reason to doubt just how well she was taking this news.

“She is nothing more than a servant, not fit to be wife of the Chattan captain. You want to remain laird, don't you?”

“Aye.”

“She'll be no more help than I would. Probably less, since she's from outside the clan.”

“Don't concern yourself.” Adam was growing tired of the discussion. His time in the healing waters had been far too brief to soothe either his shoulder or his mind, and Nathara had only increased his agitation.

“Nathara, I'm sorry.”

“I am, too, Adam. Sorry you feel compelled to honor vows that have no meaning and can bring you nothing but trouble. Sorry that you will not honor the unspoken vows between us.”

So, she had hoped their friendship would end in marriage. Adam anticipated tears but saw a vengeful woman instead.

Nathara spun on her heel and strode away, leaving him to wonder just what trouble he could expect from her.

He finished dressing, irritated that his dilemma remained unresolved. He returned to the castle, and after a long talk with the priest, sought his mother.

He found her in Gwenyth's chamber. Eva put her finger to her lips, and Adam walked quietly across the room. Looking down at the sleeping woman, he was struck again by her beauty. Her thick auburn braid lay across her shoulder, disappearing beneath the cover. He wanted to touch it—to feel the texture instead of imagining it.

Stop.
He must not look upon her without reminding himself of the lie that had bound them together. And touching was out of the question.

For a moment he considered his conversation with Nathara and his decision to honor the vows with Gwenyth. Surely he held no warmth toward her. But a man whose fighting ability was questionable had only his word to show for his honor.

His word was all he had, and by God's grace, he would not forfeit it.

SIX

G
WENYTH LAY QUIETLY, aware of Adam's presence by her bed. She could not bear any more of his concern and kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep, until she heard the door close behind him. The shutters had been drawn in the chamber and a single candle burned on the table next to her bed. Adam's mother sat by the large stone fireplace, gazing into the flames.

The serenity of the scene did not penetrate Gwenyth's spirit. Waves of despair washed over her and her teeth chattered despite the fire and the warm bedding. Her body ached all over, but the worst was her heart. What once had felt warm and expectant now felt cold and empty.

Leod had stolen her innocence. Aye, though she would not admit as much to Adam, she knew it was Leod. And because of him she would never invite any man's touch; to do so might unleash such a beast once again.

More likely, no man would want her now, especially not one as kind and good as Adam. Or Edward.
Oh, Edward. What will I do now?

At least she need worry no longer about a babe; her courses had come as she had hoped they would. But despite that welcome news, hopelessness filled her, and she craved the oblivion of sleep. A sob escaped, and Eva hurried to her side. In her shame Gwenyth could not look the woman in the eye.

“There now, lass,” Eva crooned, stroking the hair back from Gwenyth's face much as her own mother might have. “You are safe now from everything but your own fears.”

Gwenyth closed her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her mother was only recently buried, her father and brothers dead at Bruce's hand or in battle against him. Who knew where Daron was? Alone—unloved, unlovable, abandoned even by her God— she bowed to despair. Shunning Eva's condolence, she wanted nothing more than the privacy to grieve for all she'd lost.

As her world spun out of control, she searched frantically for something to hold fast to. Something to anchor her in the tempest that threatened to destroy her sanity. And out of the chaos, out of the pain, came a bright guiding light of kindness and hope.

She found Adam's smile.

ADAM STOOD OUTSIDE his father's chamber, preparing himself for the sight of his once-robust sire, now reduced to a bedridden old man. His knock was met with a surprisingly hardy “Come in.”

Angus sat propped up in his bed. The swelling of his hands and face was less noticeable, and for a brief moment, Adam allowed himself to hope that Nathara was wrong about the condition of his father's heart.

“You're looking fit today,” he said.

“Aye, and feeling fit too. Come, lad. Bide awhile and tell me of yer visit to Macpherson.”

Adam sat on the stool next to the bed and took a deep breath. “It did not go as planned.”

“He challenged ye outright? Already?”

Adam hesitated—he must tread carefully. Nathara had warned them not to allow Angus to become upset. But he knew his father hated to be treated like an invalid as much as Adam hated keeping things from him.

“Come, lad. 'Tis not likely I'll leap from my bed and beat ye over bad news.”

Chuckling at that image, Adam replied, “Aye, he challenged me. But his plan miscarried.”

As Adam debated the best way to tell his father about Gwenyth, his father scowled.

“All right, Da, I'll finish. But you must promise to calm yourself.”

“Calm myself.” Angus yanked at the bedcovers. “Fine. I'm calm.”

Adam knew better than to believe it and felt himself cringe even as he said, “I returned with a handfast wife.”

The old man's face flushed scarlet. Through gritted teeth he said, “And just how did ye manage that?”

Adam jumped to his feet. “You'll have mother in here clucking at you if you don't quiet down.” He stalked to the table and poured his father a dram of whiskey in hopes of calming him. He returned and gave the goblet to his father. “Here.”

Angus took the drink and quaffed it in one swallow. “Thanks to ye.” He leaned back against his pillows and motioned Adam closer. His color returned to normal, much to Adam's relief.

“I doubt if Nathara would approve of the whiskey,” Adam said as he sat down, “or my method of breaking news.”

Waving the thought away, Angus replied, “She means well, but I don't have time to be coddled, Adam. I want to leave with my affairs in order, and I can't do that if ye hide things from me.”

Adam nodded. “I'll tell you the rest now, but another outburst, and I'm done.”

“Aye. Speak yer piece.”

He pulled his stool even closer to the bed and told of his trial and subsequent punishment, carefully observing his father all the while.

However, Angus listened without interruption until Adam finished. “Well, I wanted to see ye marrit before I die, but I thought to have ye choose. Does she suit ye?”

“She's a servant.”

“She isna comely, then?”

Adam smiled as he envisioned Gwenyth as she had defied Leod. Bruised and battered, still the fire in her eyes had given him a glimpse of the woman hidden beneath the pain, the woman she might become again when time had healed her.

He collected his thoughts and answered, “Nay, her appearance is not the problem. 'Tis her name that troubles me.”

His father gave a quizzical look. “What's wrong with her name?”

“She is Gwenyth of Buchan, a lady's maid and no doubt loyal to Balliol.”

“Ye haven't asked her?”

“Da, we haven't had time to discuss politics.”

Adam observed his father for signs his anger was returning, but Angus only stared at his son. Thinking he'd said quite enough, Adam waited for his father to resume the conversation.

“Yer handfast, you say?”

“Aye.”

“Ye were smart not to take the binding vows, Adam.” Angus paused, and a grin lit his features. “Still, we canna fault her wisdom in saving yer life, now can we?”

“Nay, I'd say not.” He captured his father's gaze before going on. “But there's still the matter of her accusing me of rape.”

Angus sobered. “I can understand yer anger at being falsely accused.”

“ 'Tis hard to stay angry under the circumstances. I've given her my protection and promised to help her reach England. That much I owe, and nothing more.”

“Aye, the sooner 'tis done, the better, although I doubt that anyone who knows ye believes for a minute ye would force a lass.”

Reluctantly, Adam nodded. “Aye, the lasses are most willing to marry the laird's son, even when he has only one working arm.”

“Yer charms as a man and laird go beyond physical strength, Adam.”

So, they were back to this argument again. “And that isn't the most important thing?” Adam wished he could believe his father's words. “The clan will follow the strongest man.”

“Nay, Adam, they will follow the man who will fight as hard in battle as he will fight to lead them safely in times of peace. Leod isna that kind of leader, boy. The only ones who stand for him now are those as greedy and power hungry as Leod himself.”

“But what of a man's character? Gwenyth has besmirched even that with her accusation.”