Circle of Honor (17 page)

But she had a husband, a fine highland laird, and she could not deny his appeal.

Somehow, she must. She returned to her room and for the first time in nearly two years, Gwenyth got down on her knees and prayed for God's guidance in her future. “I cannot promise him the full time of our handfast, Lord. You alone know my dilemma,” she pleaded. “But I give to you and Adam the time that remains before I leave for England. If he is my intended mate, Father, open my heart. Please, Father, if it be thy will, open my heart.”

ADAM'S CLEAR WARNING to the clan that Gwenyth was to be treated as his wife freed her to roam the island. Still, she kept a guard with her, since she remained uncomfortable among people she considered enemies. She feared she might never again feel safe alone.

If Bruce had learned of her alliance with Edward Balliol, he no doubt had men searching for her. If a visitor to Moy should recognize her and disclose her identity, her hours would be numbered.

Today the man Sim accompanied her to the tower on the rear wall. Steps led to the top of it and Gwenyth climbed, curious to see the view from this side of the castle. She reached the top and was momentarily made dizzy by the height of the drop. Once steadied, she noted a path leading to a lovely, small cove.

The blue of the water and its gentle lapping against the rocks brought on a rush of remembrances, and she gave in to them. For a moment, she was ten years old, and her father and brothers were shouting at her.
Come in, we'll teach you to swim.

And so they had, her beautiful brothers and patient Papa. Some of the joy left her as their voices faded from memory. Gone now, except in her heart. A heart that once had been filled with love and now overflowed with bitterness. The bright happy child she'd been had become a woman estranged from God and caught up in schemes of power and politics.

Last night's time in prayer had barely lifted the barrier she'd placed between herself and God. But she would keep trying, for the priest had reminded her that “Blessed are they who keep his testimonies, who seek him with the whole heart.”

Would her heart ever know God's love again?

As she stared at the beckoning water, a fragment of peace stole over her, and instinctively she knew that without faith, lasting peace and love would elude her. “But without faith it is impossible to please him, for he who comes to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him.”

Unable—no, unwilling—to look deeper, she returned her attention to the water. It called to her as it had that day with her father and brothers. She closed her heart to the burdensome memories and turned to Sim. “Is there a gate?”

“Aye, my lady.” Sim pointed, and Gwenyth hurried down the steps within the tower, even as she asked, “Can we open it?”

Sim nodded.

She followed him, and upon arriving at the bottom, saw that the gate was guarded by two men who sat in the shelter of a lean-to built against the wall. They opened the gate and portcullis, and Gwenyth and Sim walked through. They made their way carefully down the rock-strewn path. Early morning clouds had given way to weak sunlight, and the protected cove beckoned despite the chilly air.

Admonishing Sim to go some distance away and turn his back, she watched until he'd walked far enough to give her privacy. Then she stripped to her chemise and waded in. The water was cold, but she was determined to swim anyway.

Rolling onto her back, she floated, relaxing and drifting in the quiet refuge. The clouds dissipated, and the sun grew warmer. She put her foot toward the bottom just as a strong hand rested on her shoulder.

She screamed, and her attacker immediately let go. She whirled, shouting, “Get away!”

“For heaven's sake, Gwenyth, cease. And stop screaming or you'll empty the castle.”

In her haste, she tumbled facefirst into the water, stifling her shouts. Even though she sputtered and thrashed to gain a foothold, the man made no move to touch her again.

“I'm sorry. 'Twas thoughtless of me, lass.”

“Adam?” she managed to choke as she regained her footing.

“Aye, and I'm sorry to startle you so. I wasn't thinking.”

She wiped water and hair from her eyes. “Why didn't those half-witted guards tell me you were swimming nearby?”

He glanced upward. “I don't know—I guess they are used to me and didn't think of it.”

“You swim often?”

He smiled. “Aye, you told me to force my arm beyond its limits, remember?”

She well remembered that night on the parapet and the way the moon had blessed him. Now here he stood, sparkling drops of water clinging to the crisp, blond hair covering his chest. With the sun behind him, the shadow of his face deepened the blue of his eyes. His gaze strayed to her neck . . .

As if aware of the impropriety of his action, Adam jerked his head up, then grinned sheepishly. “Seems I've just compounded my poor behavior, Gwenyth. Once again, I apologize.”

She wanted to distrust him. But at every turn, he had proved to be a gentleman, always willing to show his tender heart and to help her heal. Each day it became more and more difficult to deny the attraction he held for her. Or to deny the possibility that he was right about their purpose for being together.

What would it hurt, for just a few minutes, to yield? To just enjoy his company, to hold nothing back and pretend she was someone else. Someone who was free to love where her heart might lead her.

Throwing caution and good sense to the wind, she tossed her head and smiled. “Your apology lacks sincerity, my laird.”

“Does it now?” His grin deepened. “Well, then, I'll leave you to enjoy your swim in peace.”

Should she bid him stay? Or let him go? What harm . . . ? He waded into deeper water, sliding into the depths, and began to stroke.

“Adam,” she called.

He halted, then stood in chest-deep water.

She swallowed. Her mind fastened on the first idea that came to her. “Could I swim with you?”

“It's deep,” he warned.

She stepped toward him. “I can swim.”

“Do you trust me?”

Pushing aside nagging doubts about the wisdom of her actions, she replied, “I want to.” And she did.

“THEN COME.” Adam extended his hand, very much aware that Gwenyth had just taken an important step toward defeating the demons set loose during the assault. And perhaps a first step in accepting him as God's choice for her mate. He knew the idea made little sense from a logical standpoint, but then Adam wasn't privy to God's logic. The thought made him smile until he remembered her promise to Daron.

Their fingers touched, and Adam drew her into deeper water.

Perhaps by the time Daron showed up to claim her, Adam would have won her heart. He had placed this in God's hands, trusting that God would look out for Adam's, and Gwenyth's, best interests.

They swam toward the middle of the lake, Adam matching his strokes to Gwenyth's shorter ones. They drifted, allowing the gentle current to carry them as they floated.

“We should head back before you tire, Gwenyth. Next time we'll bring a boat and do some fishing.” How far did her newfound trust go? “Will you join me one morning?”

“Perhaps.”

Not far enough. Best not to read too much into her acceptance of his company today. All in God's time.

They reached shallow water and, in unspoken agreement, recognized a need to lighten the moment. Who splashed whom first was unclear, but soon they were frolicking like children, whooping and dunking and sputtering. Gwenyth seemed to forget her fears and Adam's hands caught her and tossed her into deeper water. She shrieked, but in joy, not fear.

She retaliated by kicking water in his face. Despite the activity, though, the cold water took its toll and Adam called a halt.

“Your lips are blue, my lady. Methinks we should sit in the sun and dry out.”

She grinned at his teasing words, and after one last splash, they headed for shore. Adam ran to the guards' shack and produced two large cloths, which they used to dry off before draping around themselves for warmth and modesty. Adam watched as Gwenyth lay back with her eyes closed and pillowed her head on her arms. She seemed at ease with him, and he warned himself not to do anything to frighten her.

But how he wanted to lean over and place a kiss upon her brow! And her lips . . .

She opened her eyes, and his thoughts must have been written clear as day on his face, for her smile wavered. Still, she didn't flinch or pull away as he caressed her cheek, gently sliding his finger across the soft skin. Her eyes closed, and she leaned toward him.

Warm sun bathed them, and he felt as if an air of enchantment surrounded them. Slowly, tenderly, he kissed her, and she responded with an innocence that enticed him. With restraint he softly kissed again, as his hands framed her small face. She opened her eyes, and in their golden depths he saw surprise. And the first stirrings of the very same yearning he felt within.

She didn't resist when he put his hand behind her head, sifting his fingers through her damp hair. Slowly, gently, they explored each other's facial contours. Adam fought to keep his touch light and his thoughts from straying past kissing. He must not breach her fragile trust. Like any wounded creature, she must be allowed to come to him in her own time, in her own way, if he held any hope of quenching his thirst for her.

And despite their forced handfast, despite the possibility she loved another, despite her desire to leave Moy, he most definitely wanted more from her. He wanted love. At that thought he deepened the kiss, only a fraction of what he wanted, yet it must have alarmed her, for she jerked away.

GWENYTH SAT BACK and stared at Adam, astounded at the emotions he'd sparked with a few tender kisses. And even more surprised that he was attracted to her in the first place. These kisses held all the promise she'd sensed in their first meeting in Leod's hall, before Leod had made her unlovable.

Adam frightened her, not because he would harm her physically. He had never frightened her that way. But now that she knew him better, she knew beyond doubt that the promises in his kisses would be her undoing, for he would fulfill them beyond imagination. She must not allow it, for both their sakes. As much as she was willing to open her heart a little, to see what life might be like with this man, she was still promised to another.

He sighed and stood, offering his hand to help her up, which she declined, much to his apparent disappointment. “You trusted me in the water.”

It was true, she had. But here on the rock everything had changed. Did he sense it too? She gazed at him warily.

“Then why can't you trust me now?”

She shivered, and it wasn't from the cold. “You are a man.”
A wonderful man whom I do not want to hurt.

He grinned. “Aye, and you are a woman. A very pretty woman, even with your hair pasted to your head.” He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

She leapt from the rock and ran to where her clothes lay.

“ 'TWAS ONLY A KISS,” he called after her. Why must she be so upset over a chaste kiss? She was pulling her gown over her damp chemise, her movements hurried, nearly frantic.

As he walked toward her, she backed away, tying her girdle and looking for all the world like a frightened animal.

He put his hands out like a supplicant. “Gwenyth, it was only a kiss. What harm can be done with an innocent kiss?”

“It wasn't just a kiss—it was gentle.”

“Aye, as a kiss between friends should be.”

“Friends?”

He wanted to place his hands on her shoulders, but knew better than to try. “Can we not allow at least that between us, Gwenyth? Surely friendship is something we both need.”

“I admit to a lack of friends, my laird.” She regarded him with uncertainty. “We needn't kiss to be friends, though.”

“Nay, but you must learn to trust or you will never be comfortable as a wife. That is what I would teach you, Gwenyth. Trust. Nothing more.”

“I am not one of those wounded creatures your mother spoke of, Adam.”

“Ah, but you are in need of healing.”

Her fingers wound through the strings of her girdle. “I fear this healing, Adam. The cure is fraught with temptation.”

There was no recrimination, no censure in her voice. Only the truth, plainly spoken.

“You go to the quick, my lady.”

“I see no need to avoid what must be acknowledged. If I am to remain, we must come to an understanding.”

“I thought we had one.”

She twisted her belt ends tighter. “Then perhaps, I'm asking if it still stands.”

“Why wouldn't it?”

Her gaze seemed to reach down into his very soul, to see what lay hidden there. As if she knew his secrets. As if she knew of his imaginings of her in his arms— “You are staring as if I frighten you.” There was no alarm in her words, only acknowledgment.

“You do frighten me, Gwenyth.” He swallowed so hard he felt certain she could hear for herself just how she affected him.

She blushed, head averted, before bringing her gaze back to meet his. “So, am I correct in thinking we are both . . . drawn to each other?”

Adam groaned and ran his hand roughly through his hair. It was worse than he'd thought. With iron discipline he held himself back from stepping toward her and pulling her into his arms. “Aye. Drawn begins to cover it.”

Then he looked at her. She was smiling, and suddenly they were both laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Her laugh was wonderful, light and musical, balm for a weary soul.

“I shall have to give you reason to laugh more often, lady. 'Tis a healing sound.”

They sobered, each appraising the other.

Adam glanced down at his hands, hands that, had they a will of their own, would be touching her this very moment. He crossed his arms. “I remain firm in my vow—there can be nothing but kisses between us until we have the blessing of a priest.”