Circle of Honor (3 page)

TWO

Scottish Highlands, 1308

T
HE SINS OF THE FATHER,” Adam Mackintosh muttered as he sat down in one of two massive chairs on the dais. But his father hadn't sinned; he merely made a brilliant marriage all those years ago.

Of course, the brilliance of the match depended a great deal upon one's perspective.

The great Clan Chattan, for hundreds of years proudly and rightfully led by the Macphersons, now unwillingly followed a man with the surname of Mackintosh. Macpherson resentment had simmered for twenty years, ever since Adam's mother—the Macpherson heiress—had married the Mackintosh chief.

Adam Mackintosh, newly named to succeed his ill father as chieftain of this unstable federation, feared that resentment neared the boiling point even as he listened to the toasts raised in his honor this evening. The main hall of the Macpherson keep resonated with the sounds of revelry. Trestles laden with food and pitchers of ale abounded as men in varying degrees of intoxication toasted the new laird. If anyone detected a note of falseness in their praise, none remarked on it.

Leod Macpherson, seated next to Adam, raised his tankard. “Come, my laird. One sip of ale to toast your continued good health.”

For a brief moment Adam considered ignoring his vow to avoid strong drink. But then he thought of all he'd lost, and might yet lose, because of that night near Dalry Pass, and the temptation faded as quickly as it arose. “I'll gladly toast to my health and to yours. With water.” Adam saluted his host, all the while wondering how long Leod would wait to challenge him for leadership of the clan. Truth be told, Adam was surprised the man hadn't done so already.

Adam leaned back in his chair, the one his host's wife would have occupied if Leod were married. The lack of a woman's touch was evident throughout the hall—there were no cloths on the tables, and traces of dried food clung to the surfaces of tables and benches alike. The rushes on the floor gave off the odor of rotting food and undisciplined dogs. Tattered tapestries hung on the walls, in need of a mistress's needle and thread.

The contrast to his own home gave Adam reason to be thankful for his mother's conscientious stewardship of Castle Moy. Grateful his rank afforded him the luxury of a seat with a back to lean on, Adam absently massaged his damaged shoulder. This visit to his clansman's keep was one of the few times Adam had left his own castle in the nineteen months since he'd been wounded. His ailing father had insisted that a show of strength was needed.

And that Adam could do, he considered ruefully, so long as no one challenged him to pick up a sword. He picked up his tankard of water instead and sipped from it. He knew Leod would be serving excellent ale, and again came the temptation for just a sip.
Keep me strong in my resolve, Lord. There is too much at stake to repeat the mistakes of the past.

Once more the man urged, “Come, Adam. Share a drink with me. 'Tis an occasion for celebration.” Leod signaled for one of the serving girls to replenish his ale and to bring Adam a cup. Did Leod sense his weakness?

When she set the cup before him, Adam tried to remember if he'd seen this particular girl before. She must be new, for he was certain he'd have remembered such a winsome face. A wee bit of a lass, she hardly seemed suited to the heavy work of carrying food and drink.

“Thank you,” he said, though he had no intention of giving in to Leod's taunt. He pushed the cup to the side and met her gaze for a moment. Her golden brown eyes betrayed a sense of wariness, but he had no time to discern why, for Leod yanked her into his lap. She was no match for his great size, but instead of squealing and flirting like the other wenches, Adam saw fear and panic cross her features. She struggled against him.

“Be still, you little queen,” Leod demanded.

She fought all the more, and Leod slapped her, hard enough to loosen the cap on her head and send a cascade of deep russet hair falling about her.

Adam bit his tongue to keep from chastising Leod. This was, after all, Leod's hall, and Adam didn't wish to create any more animosity between them. The disturbance caught the attention of several nearby revelers, and they moved closer to watch the display. Two of Leod's men-at-arms took seats beside Leod, pounding his back and making lewd comments about the lass.

To Adam's relief the confrontation ended as the girl quieted and Leod let her go. “You live and breathe at my pleasure, wench,” he warned, “and you'd do well to remember it.”

Her downcast gaze and posture seemed to appease Leod's temper, and he dismissed her. But as she turned from Leod, hastily pinning her hair as she walked away, Adam was astounded at the flash of anger her eyes revealed.

Something was amiss here. He turned to Leod. “I don't remember that lass, Leod. Who is she?”

“My men came upon her yesterday, near Nairn.”

“She was traveling?”

“Aye, and her companions deserted her in the melee. Those who didn't escape have made excellent servants.”

“Unwillingly, no doubt.” She did not strike Adam as a woman used to the rigors of servitude.

“The unwilling ones are the very best kind.” Leod and his companions roared.

Adam laughed, pretending to enjoy the jest. Then he asked, as casually as possible, “What is her name?”

“Well, if you're that interested, my laird, you may enjoy her at your leisure.”

Adam quickly regretted his query, for Leod jumped to his feet and went after the girl before Adam's protest left his lips. Leod dragged the lass to stand before him and shoved her at Adam. Caught off-balance, she toppled into Adam's lap, and her head connected with his shoulder. Judging from the smirk on Leod's face, Adam's sharp hiss of pain did not escape notice, and his mood darkened.

Hoping to forestall a repeated blow, Adam pulled her against his chest with his good arm. Her tiny frame supported surprisingly generous female curves. He gentled his hold, and yet still she moved. It wasn't fight he sensed in her, but fear. She trembled.

What was this?

Her actions were not those of a coarse wench used to this give-and-take with men, but rather those of an innocent. She would not remain so for very long, not in this keep. Her vulnerability and petite frame appealed to his protective nature, and on an impulse, Adam said, “I accept your offer of the wench, Leod. I shall take her to Moy as a token of your esteem.”

The maid tensed again in his arms, and Adam released her. She leaped from his lap and stood rooted next to his chair, her posture a jumble of defiance and dismay.

“She is yours, my laird,” Leod grinned.

Adam didn't trust Leod, and the unease he'd felt all evening intensified. He looked back at the girl, but she had masked her emotions. Oddly, her stoic reaction compounded Adam's desire to see her safely from this place.

Adam said to the girl, “What is your name?”

“Gwenyth, my laird.”

Her voice sounded much more cultured than a servant's ought to be, but now was not the time to question her. Best to get her, and himself, safely to Moy first. “Then Gwenyth, come the morrow, you shall leave with me to serve at Castle Moy.”

She looked at him and asked, voice trembling, “And tonight?”

Bending close to her ear, he assured her. “Nay, lass. You shall sleep alone.”

“As you say, my laird.”

Leod cleared his throat. “Show Adam to his room, girl.”

Adam shook his head. “That isn't necessary.”

Stepping closer, Leod gestured to the inebriated men who remained in the hall, including the two leering drunks sitting at their table.

“She appears to be an innocent maiden, Adam. I can't guarantee she'll still be one in the morning.”

Adam shot Leod a heated look. “Then perhaps it is I who must provide protection, if you won't.”

“It matters little to me what you do with her, Adam.” His gaze left Adam's to roam in a leer over the girl, then came back to Adam as if to say Adam wasn't man enough. Adam's hands clenched, and he itched to drive his fist into Leod's sneering face. But if his ability to wield a sword was questionable, his chances in hand-to-hand combat were even less encouraging.

Seeing no other choice but to escort his new servant from the hall, Adam took her arm and led her to the bottom of the stairs. He turned to her and said, “You may spend the night in my chamber, lass, if you'll feel safer there.”

She shook her head.

“Then show me the way to your quarters.”

She hesitated, clearly unsure if she could trust him. “I can find my own way.”

“I'm certain you can. But I will rest easier knowing you are safely abed.”

With a sigh she capitulated and led him to the cramped space she shared with several other servants. She turned to face him. The torchlight reflected reddish highlights in her hair and golden flecks in her eyes. By heaven, she was lovely.

She was the first to speak. “Thank you, my laird. You have no doubt saved my virtue, at least for this night.”

“Your virtue is safe with me, lass. We'll leave early on the morrow, so gather your things tonight.”

“Aye, my laird.”

GWENYTH STARED AT THE HANDSOME MAN who'd so gallantly rescued her from Leod. High cheekbones, deep-set blue eyes, and curly blond hair almost made him pretty, but a strong jaw and masculine nose saved him from such description. Deep smile lines at either side of his mouth were clearly visible on his clean-shaven face.

He appeared to be a man of honor, and she was grateful that tomorrow he would take her from this keep. His twinkling blue eyes assessed her as well and she wondered what he saw—the noblewoman she was or the servant she pretended to be?

“Good night, my laird.”

“Good night, Gwenyth.”

She watched him walk away, admiring his long-legged stride and the width of his shoulders. His shoulder. She'd bumped his left shoulder and heard his sharp intake of breath. As she straightened her pallet and prepared for bed, she wondered if the injury was old or new. Perhaps she could use her healing skills to help him.

Such foolishness. Crawling under the covers, she admonished herself. She wouldn't remain in Scotland long enough to help him. Best to remember who she was and that Edward awaited her once she regained her freedom.

A SINGLE TAPER lit the narrow passageway where Leod leaned against the wall. The damp, ripe odor of decaying refuse assailed his nose. Not the most appropriate location for a tryst, but then the tryst had not been . . . appropriate.

He grinned despite the smell and moved toward cleaner air and away from the woman's sobs. By the time he reached the top of the dungeon's stairs, his own breathing and the scurrying of rats were the only sounds.

His men-at-arms had easily overcome the man Adam had sent to guard the woman and had dragged her from her pallet and down the steep stairs, into the dark room where he waited.

The Mackintosh fool's honorable behavior had cost this woman dearly. No matter that she was only a servant; highland folk did not take kindly to the despoiling of any woman, and the laws were very explicit. Leod would take advantage of the legal means now open to him to have Adam killed.

He sneered as he conjured up a vision of the outrage he would feign. He, the powerful and just, would vow to find the man who dared to commit such a crime under his very roof. And he knew just whom to blame.

As long as the woman cooperated. And she would, for in the morning he would tell her he had arrested the rapist. She couldn't know for sure who had attacked her, and he would promise to free her after she accused Adam. He would make perfectly clear the price she'd pay if she failed to name Adam as the rapist or dared to accuse Leod, the rightful laird of Clan Chattan. Aye, fate had indeed been kind, and his resolve hardened. By this time tomorrow, with Leod's rival dead, justice would be restored.

Leadership of Clan Chattan would be his.

THREE

Thou shall not bear false witness.

But only a lie will save me!

g
WENYTH PRAYED FOR DELIVERANCE, but God seemed very far away. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and winced when her salty finger touched the split in her lip. Aye, God had finally deserted her for good. Last night, amidst darkness and terror, someone had assaulted her. The windowless cell she'd been dragged to was pitch dark, but the man hadn't needed any light to find and take what he came for.

Even now, in the light of day, she shivered at the memory of his beard brushing across her bared skin. A bearded face was the only thing she knew for certain about her assailant, aside from his brutality. She wrapped her arms across her chest, in an effort to still her quaking, for it disturbed her bruised ribs.

False witness.

She lifted her gaze to the tall, clean-shaven man who stood on the other side of a table placed between them. Adam Mackintosh. How could it have been him? Even in her current state of confusion, she was certain her assailant wore a full beard, not the day-old stubble on Adam's face. See how the sun had kissed his cheeks and chin with color. That was proof, wasn't it?

And why would the gentle man who'd seen her safely to her pallet return later and accost her? She shoved the painful memories aside. Somehow she must see this through, find Daron, and leave her accursed homeland for Edward and safety.

Her gaze locked with Adam's, and she marveled at his arrogant stance. Gone was the kindhearted man of yesternight. He seemed to dare her to go forward with this deceit. He could not know that the lie that would condemn him would deliver Gwenyth and her kinsman from further danger.

The priest, her judge, stared hard at her. “Gwenyth of Buchan, you must identify the man who wronged you.”

Another lie, this name she'd given. If she revealed her proper name, or even that she belonged to the Badenoch side of the family, she might very well leave here in chains. This Leod who'd captured her thought her to be a servant, for that was the story she and Daron had concocted to aid their escape. Now their web of deceit threatened to ensnare yet another soul. Was Adam an enemy or a possible ally?