Circle of Honor (28 page)

Dressing carefully, he pulled on his best linen shirt and woolen plaid. In addition to the belt that held the plaid to his hips, he donned a leather
sporran,
a flat, purselike pouch that doubled as a place to keep small items and also protected his ability to father children. That thought made him smile in anticipation of the day when he and Gwenyth might be blessed with the gift of children.

But that day would have to wait upon the outcome of today's meeting. Adam entered the great hall where the trestles had been arranged in a circular fashion. The chiefs of each branch of Clan Chattan occupied the benches.

As Adam glanced at their faces, he wondered who was friend and who was foe. Before the day was through, he would know.

“Good morrow, Adam,” Ian Shaw's voice boomed. “Come, break your fast with us before we get to the business at hand.”

Shaw's warm welcome was more than Adam had hoped for, and his tension eased somewhat as he ate. Shaw had been chosen by the others to be their spokesman. Adam breathed in relief, for Ian was a good man and his father's contemporary and friend.

A quick glance around the room showed Leod was not yet in attendance, and Adam studied the others as he ate his bread and cheese. He had reason to believe most would support him on the grounds of heredity and training. And perhaps, leadership.

He would have to provide that today. Whether they followed or not, whether he became laird or not, one thing was certain. He wanted time to court his wife, to create the kind of marriage his parents had together. Adam knew such a partnership didn't come easily. But the rewards were many—

Someone dropped a tankard and the resulting crash jerked him back from Gwenyth's remembered charms. Adam looked up to see that Leod had entered the room, looking as if he'd spent the night drinking and wenching. Adam winced, hoping Nathara didn't have another victim to care for today. For all that he looked like death, Leod seemed in good spirits. What surprises did he plan?

Adam couldn't help but notice that no one made a place for Leod to sit, and he was forced to take a seat at the far end of the table. Was it his imagination, or had the atmosphere become strained?

He returned his attention to Ian and his food.

When the meal was over, servants cleared the table and Ian stood. “Gentlemen. We have seen to a proper and fitting burial of Angus Mackintosh—”

“Here, here.”

“—and now we meet to affirm his choice as the next captain of the federation. As chiefs, we are required to do so. I, for one, accept Adam Mackintosh as my laird. I fought with him at Methven, and a finer fighting man has never drawn breath. 'Cepting maybe for our king.” He grinned. “I suspect that with but one good arm young Adam could best many of us.”

Ian's jovial response came as a welcome surprise to Adam's fears that the meeting would disintegrate into anger and contention.

Fergus Macqueen knocked his tankard on the table. “Aye, Adam proved hisself in battle and carries the scars of honor. I'll not be desertin' him now because his arm don't work quite right.”

Adam rose to address them. “I thank you for these compliments. I am proud of how we all fought that day at Methven, but the scar I carry came from the ambush at Dalry.”

“Makes no difference which battle, Adam,” Ian assured him.

“It makes a difference to me. By now you all know the story of my foolish behavior and what it nearly cost me. I cannot forget and I don't want you to either, as you choose your laird.”

Ian clapped him on the back. “Well said, lad. But you've made clear your determination to learn from that mistake. We've seen that you abide by your vows, and knowing how bad watered wine tastes, we respect you all the more.”

Hearty laughter followed Ian's remark, but the respect he spoke of showed on every face. Every face except Leod's. He allowed no emotion to betray him.

“My arm will never work right; it's a daily reminder of the folly of youthful intemperance. But I've been swimming most mornings and it's stronger.” How Adam would love to regain the strength to wield the claymore. For now it gave him joy to be able to use the smaller broadsword with increasing skill.

Adam watched Leod, waiting for the man to join in the discussion taking place among the others. He didn't have to wait long for soon Leod's voice rose above the rest. “But what of the recent raids? Our neighbors, the Camerons, have threatened us. They believe Adam cannot protect us, and they see what they can take.”

Leod's voice was neutral, reasoned, and in control. Adam trusted him even less in this mood.

William appeared thoughtful. “Aye, that is something to consider. We may believe in Adam, but what do others think of him?”

If he was to prove his worth as a leader, he would have to speak up and defend himself, so Adam responded, “I have spoken to Lochiel Cameron. And though he's not overfond of me, he denied the raids.”

“Well, of course he'd deny them. What did you expect?” Leod asked.

“I didn't expect him to admit a thing. But he has his own problems just now and doesn't need more by antagonizing me. So he gave me leave to inspect his herd for our kine.”

“And?”

“And I didn't insult the man by doing so.”

Many heads nodded in approval.

Leod moved to a different attack, reminding them of Adam's inability to fight and thus to protect what was his.

But someone said, “He said himself he's getting stronger. And if it comes to that he has others to fight for him.”

Leod had an answering argument. “That's fine when we're talking about minor cattle raids. But what happens when the Frasers and the Grants or the Campbells figure out that our laird is not a warrior? These raids will continue until finally those others band together to overtake us.”

Adam stroked his chin, fighting to maintain his calm. “Do you have proof or reason to believe they are doing so?”

“Nay, but it takes no imagination to conjure up such a possibility.”

“Leod's right, there,” Douglas Macphail said. “Perhaps we should give thought to having Adam as chief and appointing a warlord to train and lead the warriors.”

Adam could see where this was leading, and Leod was crouched and ready to strike at the opportunity to be appointed to the position. “You have only Leod's word that I can't fight. Indeed, he makes it sound as if I'm mortally crippled, or worse, a coward. Neither is true. I am willing to fight, and I have been training with my warriors.”

He paused, careful of his words. “I can lead the men, and they will follow me, their rightful laird. How well I wield the sword is of less consequence than their trust in me to lead them well. But the idea of having someone else train the warriors has merit, and I would name Seamus to serve as warlord.”

“An excellent choice,” Ian said.

Others agreed. Since that tactic seemed doomed, Leod returned to his only real threat. “And what of your handfast to our enemy?”

“Her clan may be our enemy, but she is not, and that is the end of it, Leod.”

“So you say. But you must find a more suitable wife once the handfast is over.”

Adam wanted to throttle Leod, to fight him here and now. But his father's counsel came to mind.
Use your head, not your arm, to beat this maggot.

“And if I choose not to put her aside?”

“You would bring Bruce's wrath upon us as it fell upon the Comyns.”

Adam couldn't help but smile at the knowledge that he'd obeyed his king in this regard. But he changed his mind about announcing the binding vows he'd taken with Gwenyth. “The question today is not about whom I do or do not marry. The question is whether or not I am a fit leader. If you trust my judgment to lead you, then you must trust my selection of a wife, when the time comes.”

Macqueen's voice rose above the others. “Ye've shown me nothing but wisdom and courage, lad. Ye've got my vote.”

Ian said, “Adam is the rightful heir. I see no cause to deny it to him.”

But Leod wasn't ready to give up. He stared pointedly at Daron, who stood against the wall behind Adam. “What of Daron Comyn? It is dangerous to harbor the old king's supporter within your walls.”

“Daron has sworn allegiance to me.”

There was a gasp from the men at the table.

“You heard right. Daron Comyn and his men are now loyal to me, and to Bruce and Scotland. Furthermore I have named him as captain of my personal guard.” He gazed about the room, making eye contact with each man there. Now was the time to assert his right to stand before them, to lead them.

When no one spoke against him, he continued, “Clearly, Leod believes someone else should be chosen. But I am the rightful captain of Clan Chattan, by virtue of heredity, and by the strength of my one good arm, if need be. But I would prefer you to choose me because you believe me to be a fair judge and an honorable man.” Adam looked directly at Leod with those words.

Leod must know he wouldn't have another chance. “I challenge you. Prove you can fight by right of arms.”

“Would you have warfare, Leod? Would you see our clansmen die over such foolishness?”

“Nay, cousin. This is just between you and me.”

Adam remembered their conversation the day he'd met Daron. He'd known then that only a confrontation would satisfy Leod. His father had been both right and wrong—some men would follow only if you proved you could fight.

“All right then, Leod. If that is the only way you will accept me, I will fight you. One on one.”

“Nay,” Shaw bellowed. “You will not fight to see who is laird. This council will make that decision. Today. Now.”

With that, Ian polled each of the men, and Adam lounged against the wall with Daron.

“You don't seem too concerned, my laird.”

Adam watched as Ian polled each man privately. “What good would it do to fash myself? I didn't see any support for Leod—he doesn't know when he's beaten. And if I allowed myself to act on my feelings, I'd have my hands around Leod's throat.”

Daron glowered at Leod. “And mine too. He won't take defeat well, you can count on it.”

Adam grinned. “And that, good man, is why you will be watching my back as well as your own.”

Ian finished and banged his tankard on the table to get their attention. Without fanfare he announced, “Adam is the captain.”

Leod masked his emotions, and Adam feared the anger being stifled within the man. Leod stalked toward the door, but Ian Shaw stopped him. “Stay, Leod.” Shaw turned, then spoke to Adam. “I assume that you will hold a competition to choose your household guards?”

“Aye.”

“It is traditional for the laird to engage in the sports with his clansmen.” Shaw glared at each of them in turn. “Confine your rivalry to the hammer throw.”

A feral glint lit Leod's eyes. “We shall meet in the contests, then, my laird.”

TWENTY-ONE

T
ORCHLIGHT BLAZED as Adam surveyed the great hall of Moy Castle this second evening of the competitions. Word had spread of the tourney, and people from far and near had flocked to Moy, bringing food and provisions with them. The need to accommodate so many guests kept Eva busy, and Adam was glad she had the distraction from her grief.

He'd not been private with Gwenyth since before the funeral, and he missed her. She hadn't come to see the competitions, to see her husband compete. As laird, Adam competed first in each event. Tonight he meant to extract a promise from her to accompany him on the morrow.

Though many of the sports were meant only for fun and entertainment, some tested the strength and endurance of his clansmen. Wagers were made, and much good-hearted ribbing took place. But Adam watched the events closely, as he would choose the best competitors for his personal guards.

Tomorrow, the third and final day, the only remaining events were the deciding rounds. But tonight they would make merry. The food, laughter, and the music reminded Adam of past celebrations in his home. His sisters' weddings, the births of his nieces, the death of his grandfather when Adam was a boy. On each occasion, the clan had gathered for the rituals attendant to the situation.

Now Adam walked among his guests, accepting condolences and congratulations. And not only from his own clan, but from the Campbells and Camerons, Frazers and other highland families, for Angus had been well liked by his friends and respected by his enemies.

Although relationships with some of these other clans were at times a bit strained, the laws of hospitality dictated Adam be a gracious host. But the many unfamiliar faces at tonight's
ceilidh
made Adam uneasy. He'd ordered Morogh not to leave Gwenyth's side, and he knew Daron kept watch as well.

The thought of Gwenyth brought a smile to his face and a need to see her, to speak with her. Adam searched the crowd and found her standing with his oldest sister and her family. Morogh hovered nearby, and Adam headed toward them, across the portion of the floor cleared of rushes so dancers could perform.

A piper and musicians on the flute and
bodhran
played a lively tune while a half-dozen men danced, feet making an intricate pattern as they pranced around two swords laid crosswise. The trick, as Adam well knew, was to complete the dance without bumping the swords. If a warrior touched a sword, it was said to be an omen of a wound or even death.

The music ended, and before Adam could move on, Fergus Macqueen grabbed his arm. “Come, my laird. 'Tis past time ye danced the swords for us this evening.”

“Aye, join us.” Another man clapped him on the back while a third pushed a tankard of ale in his hand.

Adam handed the drink back and scanned the room once more as Fergus cackled. “The lassie will wait on ye, ye fine, braw laddie.”

Knowing they would not rest until he acquiesced, Adam shrugged, grinned, and said, “Aye, she will, for I'm a fine figure of a man.” His friends guffawed and slapped his back in admiration and approval. Hoping his wife would move closer to see better, Adam allowed his men to guide him to the swords.