Circle of Honor (20 page)

She opened the door and found Adam standing at the window, his stiff back to her. After what seemed like half an hour but could only have been a minute, he turned to her, his face void of expression.

Inclining her head, she spoke first. “You sent for me, my laird.”

“I did, indeed. But just who are you, lady fair?”

Calmly, she replied, “You know well enough, Adam.”

“But I would like to hear you say it.”

“I am Gwenyth Comyn.”

“Finally, you speak a word of truth.” He gave her no time to defend herself. “You hid your hatred well beneath your claims that you wanted no man to touch you. And I made it all worse by practically begging you to tell me you were drawn to me.”

His face might not betray him, but she heard pain and confusion in his voice.

“You did not beg, Adam. And I spoke the truth—”

“Lies on top of lies. Have you spoken a single word of truth in all our conversations?”

His distress had quickly turned to anger, and she was glad of it. For anger would be much easier to deal with than pain—pain she had caused. “You will believe what you wish. I told you I had made promises that made it impossible for me to remain here.”

“You will not leave Moy, nor will your cousin when I find him.”

Gwenyth fought rising panic. “Of course I will. 'Tis what we agreed upon.”

His expression hardened. “We agreed that Gwenyth of Buchan, a ladies' maid, was free to leave. But Gwenyth Comyn will not leave Moy.”

Gone was the laughing, smiling man who'd frolicked in the loch. In his place stood an implacable highland warrior. One look at him and she knew her cause was doomed. But she would not give in without a fight. “You have no right to hold me against my will. I demand that you allow me to leave as we agreed.”

His face darkened, and he gripped his hands into fists. “I have every right to do with you as I will, wife.”

“ 'Tis but a handfast—we are not truly bound.”

“That can be remedied. I can send for the priest and bind you irrevocably.”

Gwenyth felt her face drain of color as she fought panic and denial. “You cannot mean to bind me against my will. And for what end? So that you can hang me at your leisure?”

“To remove the queen that would strengthen any claim Edward has on the crown. If you are my bride instead of Balliol's, Bruce's hold is strengthened.” He paused. “I still must consider whether I can stomach a traitor in my keep or whether to collect Bruce's ransom.”

“He has placed a ransom on my head?” Gwenyth fought to disguise her despair. Her refuge had now become her prison, for she would much rather take her chances with Adam than with Robert the Bruce.

“Aye. On your pretty head so full of deceit.”

ADAM GLARED at this woman who'd captured his heart. She stood before him, head held proudly, her bearing that of a noblewoman. No different than before, only now he saw it ever more clearly and understood why she had seemed more than a servant from the very start.

The king, having learned from Seamus that Adam and Gwenyth were handfasted, gave Adam a choice. Imprison her or marry her. The suggestion that Adam marry her before a priest should have brought him joy. It did not, and he would delay the ceremony as long as he dared. He had much to think through first.

He didn't want to force her to wed, but his choices were fast disappearing. Just as hers had that day in Leod's keep. She had chosen to marry him rather than condemn him to death. Now it was his turn to do the same, for to turn her over to Bruce and imprisonment might very well mean her death.

Hardening his heart against the desire to pull her into his protective embrace, Adam said, “You will be free to move about within the castle walls, Gwenyth. Do not give me reason to confine you further.” Ignoring the ache in his heart, he turned his back on her, listening to the rustle of her skirts as she left the room.

When she was gone, he crumpled the letter in his fist and vowed to overturn every rock in Altyre until he found Daron of Ruthven and put an end to Balliol's plan to overthrow King Robert.

DARON COMYN SENT WORD to Moy that he wished to meet with the Mackintosh laird, but not at the castle. A roaring waterfall cascaded over a thirty-foot drop as Adam and his small band of warriors wound their way down a narrow trail beside the tumbling stream. The mist from the falling water settled over him, and he drew his plaid close to ward off the moisture. Already they'd endured a heavy drizzle that threatened to become rain at any minute. The unstable weather echoed Adam's unsettled thoughts as he approached the agreed-upon meeting place.

Bruce hadn't specified what Adam should do with Daron. But Adam's course of action was clear. He must take Daron into custody so that neither he nor Gwenyth could flee to England. Would the man come peacefully or resist? Adam would do all he could to convince the man to come willingly.

With that settled in his mind, Adam called the party to a halt when they reached the edge of the woods that had surrounded them until now.

On a clearer day, Adam would be able to see before him a large, grassy meadow, protected on all sides by forest. Today, the fog hid the far side of the open area from view, and Adam regretted the lack of visibility. Daron Comyn no doubt stood on his side of the clearing, cursing the weather and wondering, as did Adam, if the other man could be trusted.

Nothing to be done for it. Adam doubted the man would do anything that might put his cousin in harm's way. Indeed, he was counting on the other man's loyalty to her as a means for a peaceful solution. He ordered his men to remain in the shelter of the trees while he rode alone into the clearing.

The fog dampened not only the ground, but sounds as well. As he reached the center of the meadow, visibility improved. He halted his horse, and soon Daron walked toward him.

Adam dismounted and strode to within a sword's length of a young man near Adam's age. But there was nothing young about Daron's eyes. The events of the past months had taken a toll that was evident in the wary, and weary, expression in his eyes. And in the nearly healed wound at his temple.

The lad had been lucky to survive the blow. A puckered scar, awkwardly stitched, ran from eyebrow to ear. His gaunt face and loose-fitting sark gave testimony to a recent convalescence. No doubt Daron and his men suffered from lack of shelter and food, as well.

Yet despite those hardships, Daron had remained until he'd recovered sufficiently to retrieve Gwenyth. The man was nothing if not loyal to his cousin.

As they studied each other, Adam realized that had the tide of battle turned differently, it might be him petitioning for his loved one's safety, and not Daron Comyn. The thought sobered him.

Breaking the silence, Adam held his empty sword hand in front of him, palm up. “Greeting to you, Daron of Ruthven.”

Warily Daron replied, “Good day to you, Laird Mackintosh. Where is my cousin?”

“She waits in my castle.”

Daron fingered the hilt of his sword. “You should have brought her with you.”

Adam stepped back, careful to keep his hand away from his weapon. “I kept her safe until I could be certain just who was waiting here in the fog. There are those who would harm her.”

Daron dropped his hand to his side. “Perhaps I was hasty in my conclusions, sir.” He shifted his weight. “Have her brought to me and we'll be gone.”

“There has been a change of plans.”

Daron shook his head. “You needn't concern yourself, Mackintosh.”

Adam heard the derision in Daron's voice, and his own temper raised a notch. He baited the man. “You'd best remember who holds the upper hand. I'd just as soon turn you both over for the ransom.” He would not do this, but Daron didn't need to know that. Not yet.

Daron's eyes blazed, but in a remarkable show of discipline, he acquiesced. “Then you know who she is.”

“Aye. Tell me, how did your lady come to be captured by Leod Macpherson in the first place?”

Daron shifted his weight again, and his gaze dropped momentarily. When he resumed eye contact, the pain reflected in his eyes revealed his despair at failing his kinswoman. “We were set upon— my men were tired and hungry. 'Tis no excuse, but,” he touched his scar, “when I was wounded, Gwenyth was taken before my men could rally behind my second in command.” He studied Adam. “Your message said she is well. How fairs my lady, truly?”

“She is well, but . . .” Adam hated to say the words, but Daron must be made aware of the danger and come to see Adam as her best protection from the wrath of King Robert. “She was violated and beaten.”

Daron swayed, clearly stunned. His face turned white, and he stumbled away from Adam. Adam fought the urge to tend the lad as the sounds of retching echoed in the foggy air. Best to let him regain his composure on his own.

Several minutes passed. Adam could only imagine Daron's thoughts; how would he feel in the other man's place? Anger, frustration, a desire to strike back. Not unlike Adam's own feelings, only much more intense, for Daron would no doubt blame himself.

Daron returned, ashen-faced, his visage murderous. “Who is the man?”

Adam made a note to remember this was a warrior, loyal to another king and heretofore an enemy. And a man who'd just learned that his kinswoman had been raped because he hadn't protected her.

“I have no proof, but when I do, he'll be punished, I promise.”

“If I don't find him first.” The young man clenched and unclenched his fists. The blaze in his eyes matched the fire of his hair, and Adam realized that a powerful force stood before him. Daron Comyn made a formidable enemy, and he might well make just as fierce an ally.

Their gazes met, and Adam said, “How will you accomplish your revenge as a broken man, without the sanction of a laird?”

“I am sworn to Lady Gwenyth. Her welfare is my responsibility, and I will not rest until the man is dead.” His expression revealed his anguish at having failed his duty.

Adam shared Daron's determination to punish the rapist and to keep Gwenyth safe from further harm. Honor demanded it. Honor and emotions he didn't care to explore. “I, too, am pledged to her. Lady Gwenyth is my wife.”

Daron visibly reeled at this second blow. “Your wife?”

“Aye, she accused me of the assault, falsely, as she will readily admit, in order to escape Leod MacPherson's keep. We were forced to wed.”

Daron shook his head, as if he hadn't heard right. “Forced to wed. This is all my fault.” Daron rubbed his forehead as if to massage away pain. “Why are you telling me these things, and not Gwenyth?”

“Because she would not have, in order to be gone.” Somehow, Gwenyth's rejection of him had lost its sting. Especially now that he understood her reasons. He didn't like her reasons; but loyalty, even when misplaced, he could admire.

“She would leave her wedded husband? What have you done to her to make her flee?”

“Nothing. We are handfasted, Daron. I would have set her free, planned to do so.”

Daron stroked his chin. “Until you learned she is Gwenyth Comyn.”

“Aye.”

Again Daron grew thoughtful. “Handfast or no, you accept her as wife?”

Did he? The truth was, until two days ago he'd been agreeable. More than agreeable. “I might have, had she been willing.” And less deceitful.

“Ah. You have not . . . you haven't . . . but of course . . .”

“The handfast is not truly binding, Daron, if that's what's troubling you. She does not welcome me to her chamber.”

“And you've not been there, welcome or no.”

Adam had the feeling he'd passed some sort of test as they gazed at each other in silent understanding.

Once again Daron spoke first. “You have feelings for her.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“No more than for any creature in need of healing.”
Lies.

Daron's face clearly marked his disbelief. “I would not like to come between husband and wife.”

“But you are pledged to her.”

“Aye. But I would see her safe, and she is safer with you, Laird Mackintosh.”

“How so? A few minutes ago you were demanding I turn her over to you.”

“A few minutes ago I had no idea what she'd suffered already, or what was known. Think what might befall her once her identity is discovered.”

“I have thought of it.”

“There are factions that want to use Gwenyth for their own purposes.” Daron brushed a hand wearily across his face and ended by touching the still healing wound at his temple. “What you have told me about Gwenyth . . .” Daron's voice failed him, and it took a moment to regain control. “Since Bruce's rampage through Buchan we have hidden and lived like criminals.”

“Aye, my king has been harsh with your clan.”

“That he has. Yet he has also united the highlands as no man has done before. He's even managed to subdue the earl of Ross. I don't believe there is a man alive who can wrest the throne from him.”

“But some would try.”

“Aye, they would. And they would use Gwenyth to further their cause. But all they will succeed in accomplishing is to weaken Scotland and give the English reason to invade yet again. I have supported Gwenyth's desire to make a new life in England, if it would bring her the peace she craves. But it won't. She will live to see her children used as an excuse for further war and bloodshed.”

Adam began to see where Daron's thoughts were headed. “Who is your enemy, Daron?”

Daron spoke quietly. “A good question for every Scot to ask himself. Is it a Scottish king with the strength to keep us free, or the English who would deprive us of our right to self-government?”

Adam nodded. “You would give your allegiance to Bruce?”

“My allegiance is first and always to Scotland. And I have my own doubts about Balliol's ability to wrest the throne from Bruce, even with my cousin as his wife. Gwenyth would lose; we all would lose.”