Circle of Honor (11 page)

Tears stung Gwenyth's eyes. Emotions still sat near the surface, ready to overwhelm her at the slightest provocation. Still, she felt stronger, much stronger, than she had in days.

Even when she despaired of ever feeling truly normal again, she trusted Adam, knew he would not hurt her or let any harm come to her. His constancy provided much needed consolation and joy to her tattered spirit.

But as mind and body healed, she saw all too clearly that her obligations to Adam and her need for revenge were on a grievous collision course with destiny.

A knock at the open door startled Gwenyth. She turned to see Adam enter the room. Did her face betray how very glad she was to see him?

Adam said, “You look well, Gwenyth.”

“Thank you, my laird. But looks are deceiving—I was afraid to stand to greet you for fear I'd topple over.”

His smile warmed and his gaze traveled over her. “I'm glad you feel well enough to leave your room.”

He moved to offer his arm, but she drew back.

“You needn't fear me, Gwenyth.”

“I'm not afraid.” Not of Adam's touch, but of her wish to have him hold and comfort her.

“I understand—even under the best of circumstances a maid is often reluctant to accept a husband's touch.” He smiled, a smile to warm the most frightened heart. And her unfaithful heart basked in its glow even as she chastised herself for accepting his solace.

Keeping the subject light, she said, “How do others manage, then?”

He reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it as he answered, “They take time to know each other, to become comfortable in each other's company.”

“But we don't intend to remain together, my laird.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps we'll change our minds. Regardless, Gwenyth, I would help you overcome your fears.”

“My fears?”

“I would teach you to trust again.”

She pulled her hand from his. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You saved my life.” He glanced about, his eyes not lighting anywhere for long, his hands absently straightening a fold in his plaid. “I should have taken you to my room that night and protected you.” He stepped closer. “I'd like to make it up to you somehow.”

Gwenyth was moved by his offer and terrified at the same time. It would be much safer to keep distance between them. She must not forget that in the warmth of his smile lay a man loyal to her father's enemy. As her strength and health returned, so did her determination to exact revenge on Scotland's king.

Yet Adam's affection and obvious sincerity were difficult to resist, and his generous heart called to newly awakened longings.

He took a deep breath and looked away from her. When his gaze returned to meet hers, he said, “I can never replace what was stolen from you, lass. No one can. And I can't promise that we will remain married beyond the year I pledged. I have duties—responsibility to my clan—”

“I understand, Adam. You promised me safety. 'Tis what I crave just now. As to your offer to help me trust again, you have already done more than most men would have in such a situation. I thank you.”

He studied her, as if to determine the truth of her words. “You will not press me to make the marriage binding?”

Gwenyth stifled her assurance, reminding herself that a servant girl, as he believed her to be, would be only too willing to achieve such a marriage. She must blame her reluctance on her ordeal, not a difficult part to play, by any means.

“Nay, my laird. We were forced together, and I don't want a man who doesn't want me. Truth be told, I don't ever want to be touched again.” The shiver of revulsion that traveled her spine was not feigned in any measure.

“If I cannot find your cousin, you will need a benefactor.”

She dare not tell him she had one. In England. “I don't want a husband. Not you. Not anyone.” she added hastily.

“Give it some thought, Gwenyth. We might be well suited.”

Cautiously she asked, “Why do you think so?”

“We have both suffered from violence. As a result, neither of us will be particularly sought after as a mate.”

The statement startled her to the realization that she could hide her trauma, but he could not. And apparently his wound pained him both in body as well as in heart. “But surely you have your position as captain of the federation. There must be any number of women who would welcome a marriage with you.”

“Perhaps. But how do they feel about marrying a cripple? Will they look past my wretched arm?”

So, he craved to be loved for who he was, not for the prestige of his position. Obviously his clan loved him, for they had voiced no objection to the marriage, despite the circumstances. But how could they not love and respect a man like Adam? His kindness and generosity were exceptional for one so young. Surely God smiled on him, and Gwenyth struggled with the necessity to keep distance between them.

“Why do you think I will look past those things?”

“Because you judged me in Leod's hall and did not find me wanting.”

“I might have been wrong.”

“Were you?”

“Nay.”

He strode to the window and looked out.

“You don't find me wanting, but you have no desire to accept me as husband.” He turned to her, his emotions unreadable. “Why?”

She longed to tell him the truth, all of it, so he would not think her rejection of him was personal. Perhaps part of the truth would be enough. It would have to be.

“Adam, I cannot stay here, no matter how attractive the thought may become. I must join my family. I have obligations—surely you can understand the duties imposed upon a child.”

“You are not truly a servant, are you?”

Gwenyth steeled herself not to panic, for if she misspoke now all was lost. Again she must tell half-truths, and it pained her. “Nay, my lord, not really. I am a distant cousin to the Lord of Buchan. My family fell on hard times and so I served at Dalswinton as Lady Joan's maid.”

“I thought you must be gently born. You speak too well to be a simple servant. Since you are so determined, I shall redouble my efforts to find your cousin.”

“Thank you, my laird.” Gwenyth breathed a sigh of relief.

His earlier warmth left him, yet Gwenyth found herself wishing she were free to consider a permanent relationship with him. To cast off all the lies and half-truths that lay between them. To learn what he might teach about tenderness and love. But she was not free, and only pain and heartache could result if she were to forget it. Still, she must depend on this man to help her, and she did very much need someone she could trust.

“Adam, could we not be friends?” It seemed so little to offer, and for a brief moment she wanted more, much more.

An answering desire flickered in his eyes, quickly quenched. “Friends? Friends trust each other, Gwenyth.”

“Aye, so they do,” she whispered. He was entirely too handsome and kind for her own good.

He turned to leave, then seemed to think better of it. “Mother says you will not receive Father Jerard.”

“I have no need of a priest.”
Or of a God who deserts me when I need him most.

“I'm sorry you feel that way. He has helped me deal with my own misfortunes.” He studied her before continuing. “Did you, by any chance, learn your letters at Dalswinton?”

“Aye, I can read.”

He walked to her and handed her a key. “This unlocks the chest over by the bed.”

Without another word, he left the room.

Gwenyth stared at the key in her hand. The chest Adam had indicated was too small to hold clothing but larger than those used to keep jewelry. Shaking her head at Adam's strange behavior, she walked to the chest.

The key to salvation.

Smiling at her fanciful thought, she inserted the key into the lock and heard a click as it opened. Lifting the latch and lid, she gasped at the contents. Books. Two precious books locked away for safekeeping, for they were frightfully expensive.

Her excitement mounted when she saw that in addition to the Holy Bible, which she suspected was Adam's reason for giving her the key, there was also a collection of poetry and French romances. Although plainly bound in wooden boards, the copy work was exquisite.

Eagerly she carried the poetry to sit beside the window where the light was best. She read an enchanting tale by Cretien de Troyes, then thumbed through the parchment pages until she found the work of Rutebeuf and began to read: “God has made me a companion for Job, Taking away at a single blow, All that I had.”

She closed the book quickly before her tears could stain the precious pages. She didn't need a reminder of all that she had lost. What she needed, and had found with Adam, was safety. Blindly she replaced the book of poetry and grabbed the Bible. It was not as ornate and beautifully illuminated as the one her family had owned, but it fell open to what had once been one of her favorite passages: “Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.”

Once those words had strengthened her heart. But then she'd become Job's companion. She'd lost everyone, and worst of all she'd lost her faith in God's goodness. Clutching the book to her chest, she bent her head and wept.

THE NEXT WEEK PASSED SLOWLY. Adam hadn't mentioned the books or asked if she'd read them. Gwenyth had learned only too well the pain of seeing hopes and dreams dashed to bits by the hand of men. God could not be trusted to protect her. For now, she would rely on someone she could see and touch for her protection. But how long would Adam protect her if he learned her identity?

She walked a dangerous and narrow path between truth and deceit, between friendship and love, trust and betrayal. A chasm yawned on either side, ready to claim her. Despite the tension of living with the threat of being found out, she strove to live each day as it came. Taking what joy she could, ever mindful that disaster loomed.

As the weather improved, the demands on Adam's time increased. His visits became necessarily brief, and they remained wary of each other. And yet he was attentive in other ways, instructing his staff to see she had whatever she needed. Adam did not press her to leave the sanctuary of her room, nor did he suggest again that she receive the priest. Adam stopped by each day, even if only to wish her good morning.

By week's end Gwenyth soon found herself restless, and more and more she turned to the Bible in the chest. Although she still resented God's apparent abandonment, she took what comfort she could from favorite passages. Grudgingly she began to allow God back into her life, acknowledging that her grief stemmed not from things God had done to her, but from the evils found in men.

Aye, the evils of men. How could a man as kind and accepting as Adam serve a monster like Robert the Bruce? She might be able to forgive Adam for his misplaced allegiance, but she would never forgive Bruce for killing her father.

Always it came back to that. She sighed and picked up her embroidery just as someone knocked on her door. The abrupt sound didn't startle her half as much as the male voice requesting entrance. Adam. Smiling, she quickly pulled a kirtle over her chemise and tied the laces.

“Come in, my laird.”

He entered, leaving the door open behind him, and she glimpsed a man-at-arms guarding the door. Her heart seemed to beat in her throat. Had Adam discovered her true name and posted a sentry to prevent her escape?

“Gwenyth. You look well today.”

He seemed sincere enough. Nothing unusual in his greeting, but why the guard?

Her hands began to tremble. She was a prisoner. Just when she'd started feeling normal again . . .

Adam strode to her, taking her hands. “Gwenyth, what is it?”

Her voice caught, and all she could do was nod at the hallway.

“The guard?” Bewilderment showed in his voice.

How could she explain without revealing too much, without revealing things he mustn't know? She merely nodded.

“You are trembling like a leaf in the wind because I've posted a watchman.” He pulled her to him, and she stiffened in his embrace. Still, he held her, stroking her back like he might a kitten. The gentle touch soothed her, as it was meant to do, and the tremors gradually diminished.

“I don't know what has you so agitated, Gwenyth. He isn't there to hold you prisoner, but to make you feel safe.”

She couldn't tell if he joked or not and she pulled away, crossing her arms on her chest. “Am I in danger?”

He walked to the hearth and poked at the fire. “You can't remain hidden in this chamber forever. I thought that having a companion to watch over you would ease your spirit.” He turned to face her. “I can't be with you all the time—you are going to have to learn to trust others as well as me.”

Did he truly have no suspicions about her? Was he offering freedom and not imprisonment? His generosity and thoughtfulness touched her. She must find Daron and leave, before her need for this man outgrew her need to fulfill family obligations, obligations that were fast fading in importance the longer she dwelled in Adam's home.

“Gwenyth?”

She brought her wandering thoughts and hammering heart under control. “Aye?”

“If you aren't ready to leave the room, you may request whatever you need to make use of your time—a loom, sewing materials—”

He was trying so hard to please her. She must leave, before she repaid his kindness with betrayal. “I should like to send a message to my cousin.”

“Indeed.” He stiffened, and his azure eyes feigned an indifference she doubted he felt. “And just where shall I deliver this message?”

She softened her tone of voice. “My laird, I am completely at your mercy. I have wronged you and pray your forgiveness. Neither of us wanted this marriage, so the sooner I am gone from here the better. Do you agree?”