Circle of Honor (23 page)

“I do. I have seen enough. I want no part of being a wife to any man.” Even one as handsome as the laird of Clan Chattan.

He paced away and back again. “It grieves me to hear you say that, Gwenyth. But your talk of nunneries is naught but idle chatter. Bluntly put, your value as a breeder of future kings would overrule your delicate sensibilities.”

“How dare you speak to me thus?”

“I dare it because it's true. If I let you go to Edward, the minute you present him with an heir, he will have what he needs to muster an attack on Bruce's crown.” Holding his hand before her, he used his fingers to enumerate his reasoning. “Firstly, the pope will be on Edward's side, for there is no love lost between Rome and Bruce. Secondly, your child will have legitimate claims through both parents, and thirdly, the English will back Balliol in hopes he'll prove as incompetent a king as his father. Then Scotland will be under England's thumb again.” He ground his thumb into the opposite palm to illustrate.

“But I gave my word to Edward.”

“You have not willingly broken that vow, Gwenyth.”

Ah, but she had, in Leod's keep. To save her life and that of an innocent man. A man who was slowly stealing her resolve and her heart.

ADAM WRESTLED with the dilemma Gwenyth presented and decided to talk with his father. He entered the room and saw that Angus seemed to be resting comfortably, for which Adam gave a silent prayer of thanks. How much longer would he be able to come to his father for advice? A cold draft swept through him as he approached his father's bedside.

“Adam. 'Tis good to see ye, lad.”

Adam moved an untouched meal from the bedside before sitting down.

Angus said, “Ye look as if the weight of the world is on yer fine shoulders.”

Adam grimaced. “It surely feels that way.”

“Ye needn't worry. The council usually confirms the old laird's choice, especially when the alternative is someone like Leod.”

“It's not that. It's Gwenyth and Daron.”

“What of them?”

“I would like to give Daron some land in Altyre.”

“I thought the boy wanted to live in England.”

“I don't believe Daron would leave Scotland if he could find a home here.”

“Those lands are a small payment if Daron's aid helps ye defeat Leod.”

“You are quick to come to his side.”

“Humph. I've grown fond of the maid.”

“ 'Tis easy enough to do,” Adam mused.

Angus studied his son. “I will not stand in the way of a churched marriage between you.”

Adam said nothing. Under other circumstances, Adam would have no objections either. But he resented being cast as a warden for his own wife.

“She is in need of a gentle man like yerself, and ye need someone to protect. A good arrangement. And Daron's aid can stand in for a dowry.”

“I'm glad you agree, Da.”

“There really is no other way.”

“Nay, there is not.” Until now he hadn't really resigned himself to a loveless marriage. Such was not what he would have chosen.

Angus broke into his thoughts. “The council will need to be won over. After all, she is an enemy.”

“Aye, but what better way to subdue her than to marry her?” he asked wryly.

“Exactly. There will probably be less objection than I received in marrying yer mother.”

Adam stood and rested his hand on his father's frail shoulder. “We couldn't either of us find an easy bride, eh?”

The twinkle in Angus's eyes gave lie to his failing health. For a moment Adam dared to wish. But he must accept the inevitable.

Shaking off his melancholy, Adam said, “At any rate, I must be ready to explain my actions to the council. And to fight, if necessary.”

“It will not be easy.”

They clasped hands and Adam reluctantly let go. “Nothing worth having is ever come by easily, Da.”

“Nay, it's not. Go with God, son.”

LEOD MACPHERSON SLAMMED HIS FIST on the table and stared at Nathara. “You are certain this is not idle gossip?”

Nathara walked to the board where Leod kept his whiskey and poured several fingers of the amber liquid into a glass. Drink and Leod were a dangerous combination, but he was generally more manageable after one or two. So long as he didn't have too much. She handed him the cup. “I saw it myself. Adam is training with the sword every day and nearly bested Seamus. And the Comyn warriors train with him.”

Leod cursed.

Trying hard not to sound like a jealous lover, Nathara said, “Perhaps if you'd not been so anxious to sample the woman's charms, you'd have learned who she was before she slipped from your fingers. Her ransom alone—”

“Yes, yes.” Leod studied her. “I should have killed Adam when I had the chance.”

“Nay,” she practically shouted, then more calmly added, “You promised not to harm Adam, only the wench.” Adam must live or Nathara's plans would come to nothing. “The council will not choose a murderer to lead the clan,” she reminded him.

“Aye, you're right,” he admitted grudgingly.

Nathara paced the room. Adam was hers, only hers. The wench must be gotten rid of, one way or another, and Nathara would be there to take up with Adam where they'd left off. If Leod could take her . . .

Leod moved to the board and poured them each a drink. He downed his glass while she only sipped, the better to keep her wits about her. “I will marry her myself when the handfast is over. Then my son can claim the crown.”

“You won't get close to her again; Adam won't allow it.”

“Then Adam will die.”

“But you promised. Adam is to be my reward for helping you.” She felt like she was balancing on a fallen log, one that lay across a deep ravine. Somehow she must convince Leod to allow Adam to live. She must.

He grabbed her and pulled her close, his whiskey-laden breath hot on her face.

She pulled back, but his grip was too strong. “You promised, Leod. Your word had best be worth something if you expect the council members to support you.”

He stumbled into her. “Stupid woman. The council will choose me.” His malicious grin chilled her. “ 'Tis obvious Adam can't defend the clan against even a few small cattle raids.”

Suddenly she feared Leod would do as he pleased, despite his promises. Leod could do what he wished with the girl, but Nathara would not allow any harm to come to Adam.

Hoping to pacify him she said, “Once you are chief of Clan Chattan, you can do as you will.”

“Aye. With the manpower of the federation behind me, I will raise the future king of Scotland. My son.”

She pandered to his ego. “Your plan sounds good, but what's to keep Adam from raising the future king instead of you?”

“First of all, he has no ambition.” He grinned. “And secondly, he won't live long enough.”

She must keep Adam safe. “You can't get close to the woman, but I can.”

“What are you suggesting?”

She made a quick decision. “If you let Adam live, I will bring the woman to you.”

He stared at her as if wondering if she could be trusted. “You will do this?”

“Only if you give your word, Leod.”

“And how do I know you will keep your word, Nathara?”

“If I don't, you will kill Adam and I cannot abide that.”

He studied her for a few minutes and Nathara despaired of getting her way.

“Bring her to me.”

SEVENTEEN

THE CHAPEL AT MOY was a small room off the solar on the main floor of the castle. The only extravagances in the otherwise plain architecture of the castle were found here in this room dedicated to God. An arched stained-glass window adorned the wall above the altar. A wooden lintel and post—carved in the style of the ancients with circles, whorls, and unbroken lace patterns—lined the doorway.

Two of his mother's scented beeswax candles graced the altar. Gwenyth seemed so lost—he'd thought perhaps the familiar words might soothe her troubled spirit. But he had no idea if she'd used the book or not. He should question her, but sensed she would not appreciate the intrusion into her spiritual life any more than she'd welcomed his presence otherwise.

Adam stood before the altar, his bristling bride beside him. His earlier image of Gwenyth as a hedgehog came to mind, but though anger and resentment hung about her like a dark cloud, she most assuredly did not resemble a hedgehog.

She was beautiful—delicate facial features, full lips, and auburn hair spilling to her waist. She had protested, had not felt worthy of this custom which denoted an innocent maid. But he had insisted she wear it down, because she was innocent of what should be between husband and wife.

He wondered if she might eventually thank him for the gesture. Judging from the scowl on her face, gratitude was not an emotion she was familiar with at the moment.

Traditionally, the marriage promises were made on the steps of the church before a crowd of witnesses. But today only Morogh, Daron, and Adam's grim-faced mother attended. Adam would announce the marriage at the council meeting next week. Until then, no one else was to know of it. There was no need to fling the news far and wide, for the marriage certainly brought little joy to anyone. Certainly not to Gwenyth.

But more importantly, the marriage would remain private because Adam feared for Gwenyth's safety. So long as they were merely handfast, those who objected could content themselves with the knowledge that the union was temporary. Vows before a priest were far more difficult to rescind. Not impossible, but nearly so. These vows that would protect her from Bruce might very well endanger her among Adam's own people. Secrecy would gain her another week of security.

Like father, like son.
Neither Angus nor Adam had chosen a smooth road. Adam smiled ruefully, bolstered by this image of being so much like his father.

Adam brought his wandering thoughts back to the proceedings at hand. The priest positioned himself before them and began the ceremony. Adam watched her face as he described his dower upon her. “I, Adam Mackintosh, do give to my wife the lands and manor home of Altyre as her dower.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed as he announced her dowry to him—Daron and his warriors were all she brought to their marriage. That and a deep-seated animosity toward her husband's king.

Despite his feelings for her, feelings he couldn't deny, Adam stifled his resentment at the necessity of solidifying this union. He had promised her refuge, little knowing it would lead to this. But if the handfast had delayed Balliol's plan, this marriage would end it.

Satisfied his decision safeguarded the woman and his king, Adam eyed his bride. If anything, she was even more resentful than he. She might resign herself to a life in Scotland, but would she ever resign herself to being a wife? Was he doomed to a lifetime with a woman who would, at best, tolerate the need to produce children? Could he risk rejection again and court her to win her love?

When the priest bade them be fruitful and multiply, Adam's heart leapt to his throat. Again he gazed at Gwenyth, but her face betrayed no emotion. Had the priest's words made no impact on her? There would be no feast to celebrate this marriage, no bedding ceremony, yet the marriage must be consummated to bind Gwenyth to him.

How? Without forcing her, how was he to gain her agreement? He'd promised a chaste marriage. If it was to be otherwise, she would have to allow it. He shook his head, bringing his focus back to the priest, who was looking at him expectantly.

“You may kiss your bride, Laird Mackintosh.”

For a moment he thought to lift her up in his arms and hold her eye to eye, lips to lips. Aye, in a happier ceremony he'd have done just that. Joyfully. Instead he bent low, chastely bussing her cheek just as he'd done that day by the lake.
Friends.
Adam sighed, praying he would find a way to retain her friendship while becoming her husband.

Adam walked his bride to the doorway in the back of the small chapel to greet their subdued guests. Morogh and Daron murmured their congratulations before taking their leave. Lady Eva squeezed his hand and kissed Gwenyth's cheek as she left. When Gwenyth turned to follow, Adam held her back, desiring a moment alone with her. This conversation would do little to reassure her, he feared. But it could not be helped.

Her regard had softened a bit, thankfully. After pulling the door closed, he took her small hand in his and said, “This is hardly the way to begin a marriage, Gwenyth, but I must warn you. If you attempt to leave Moy, I will place you under guard within the keep. Should you actually manage to escape, let me tell you what awaits you outside my gates.”

She flinched at his harsh tone, and he regretted the necessity, but she must understand what she risked if she harbored any foolish notions.

He pulled a missive from the folds of his plaid. “I have received word from my foster brother, who serves with Bruce. Your aunt, the countess of Strathearn, and her nephew Sir William Soulis, have been sentenced to life imprisonment for their part in Balliol's conspiracy against Bruce. You could still suffer their fate.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Perhaps she hadn't realized her relatives' involvement. He held the parchment out so that she might read it for herself, but she didn't reach for it. When she made no comment, he said, “I would have your promise you will stay within my walls.”

Her chin came up a notch. “And if I can't give it?”

Daft, stubborn woman.
“Leod also awaits you, Gwenyth.” Her obstinacy drove him to prod her. “But perhaps you are conspiring with Leod to depose me as laird?”

“Nay.” She shrank away from him.

He cocked his head. “You fear him, then?”

Her trembling hands gave him all the answer he really needed.

“Aye.”

Sorry for goading her, he gentled his voice. “He's the one, isn't he?”