Circle of Honor (5 page)

Whether he read her entreaty or merely played a role himself, she didn't know, for his next words startled her.

“We will handfast. Marriage for a year and a day is all you will have of me, Gwenyth of Buchan.”

Gwenyth's heart hammered. The custom of handfasting, while not officially sanctioned by the church, did provide for an acceptable union until a priest might be found for more formal vows. Most handfasts became permanent marriages, but if the parties agreed, they could part in a year and a day.

She could insist on a proper, binding marriage, but Adam was right. Handfasting fulfilled the spirit of the law and gave them both their freedom, eventually. Could she hide her identity long enough to get word to Edward? To assure Daron's safety as well as her own? Her brave cousin deserved that much from her. And Adam would not be bound to his king's enemy.

Bowing to the inevitable, she said, “As you will, my lord.”

Adam's men strode into the hall, looking and smelling as if they'd spent the night in Leod's dungeon. Adam turned to speak with one of them, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Leod move toward her. Gwenyth watched him warily, steeling herself for another confrontation with this man she hated.

Leod lowered his mouth to her ear even as she moved away. “You may very well regret your treachery one day.”

“Not as much as I would regret dying, or worse, becoming your mistress,” she retorted, only loud enough for him to hear.

Leod eyed her closely, and she glared back, unwilling to cower before him. Adam's protection sustained her, gave her the strength she needed to finish this. But only just barely.

“ 'Tis your word against mine, lady.” He grasped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “I'll enjoy watching Adam raise my son to be the next laird.”

Leod's threat struck like a dagger. The thought of bearing Leod's child nearly undid her. Rage welled in her at this man who'd stolen what she should have willingly given to her husband. She slapped him—a good measure of how close she was to losing control altogether, for she'd never before raised her hand in anger to another.

Stunned, Leod lunged for her, and then yelped in pain as Adam gripped his wrist.

“Keep your hands off her.” Once again Adam thrust his big body between Leod and Gwenyth. “The woman's been badly used. The Macpherson keep harbors a rapist, Leod. You had best protect your women. But I suspect you know that best of all.”

“Little hope she'll have of protection from a one-armed—”

Leod's words were choked off as the Mackintosh laird grabbed the neck of his tunic with his good right arm and pulled Leod to him, nose to nose.

“One is all I seem to need for the likes of you,” he snarled. Adam shoved Leod away, and then scowled at Gwenyth. “Come, let's say the words and be gone from here.” His face was an icy mask.

This was not the time for talk. He obviously wasn't happy at being forced to marry, but neither was she. Best just to have it done. In a numb stupor, she slid her mother's ring from the table and moved to the side of her soon-to-be husband.

One of the Mackintosh men acted as witness while first Adam, then Gwenyth, recited the handfasting vows. None of it felt real, and it was far removed from the dreams of her childhood. Bruised and battered and wearing a torn work dress, she stood beside a man she didn't know, reciting vows that bound her to him, gave him dominion over her for the next year and a day.

She shivered, then clamped down on her apprehension. She would think of his kindness, holding it in her heart like a talisman.

Adam turned to her, and Gwenyth hesitated. She was grateful to be rescued from Leod's clutches, for this gift—unbeknownst to Adam—of safety and freedom for her and for Daron. And Adam's insistence on handfasting opened a previously closed door—when they separated, there would be no stigma upon either of them. She could be welcomed as a wife by any man.

Unless there was a babe. In such a case, the parents must stay together. Then she and Adam would never be free of each other. She shoved the unwanted worry aside, to be dealt with when the time came. Too many other problems were more pressing at the moment.

She owed this man as great a debt as he owed her, and now a way came to her to show her gratitude. Although rings were not normally exchanged in a handfast ceremony, she wished to remind herself, and the man, what she owed him.

She placed her mother's band in his large, callused hand.

He inclined his head. “You wish to wear a ring?”

“Aye, my laird, if it pleases you. I ask to wear this ring as a reminder of my loyalty to you, and only you. For a year and a day.”

Not surprisingly, mistrust and disbelief clouded his eyes.
Will it always be so between us?
Gwenyth shook her head. Such thoughts were not appropriate—all she needed from him was his promise of safety.

Despite Adam's unwilling participation in the ceremony, he looked down at the ring with its intricately carved pattern of intertwining circles, picked it up, and reached for her hand.

“With this ring, I pledge the protection of my name,” he said, slipping the band on her finger. “'Tis all you may expect from me, for a year and a day.”

At his words her heart eased. Protection and safety were what she needed—she had a year to ensure her future. A year in which she would rest in refuge, heal, and prepare herself to move on. “Thank you, my laird.”

She had little else to offer. Judging from the look on his face, he didn't believe her sincerity. But he had promised to protect her, with his body and blood if need be, and she took comfort from his vow.

“Will you seal your vows with a kiss?” Leod prompted with a snarl.

Adam didn't hesitate. “I think not.”

With a heated glance at Leod, Adam motioned to her. “Gather your things. I would be gone from here before more mischief arises.”

“I have nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“All was lost when I was taken into custody.”

Adam rounded on Leod. “Return her possessions at once.”

Leod scowled before giving the order, and Gwenyth dimly wondered that he obeyed. The Mackintosh man was unarmed and his men were outnumbered. If she had condemned Adam to die— well within the limits of the law—Leod needn't have feared retaliation. But to kill one's laird or his appointed successor outright would bring immediate deadly justice. For now, Adam was safe.

Her musings were interrupted when a servant arrived with her belongings, which upon inspection proved to have been rummaged thoroughly. Gwenyth didn't care what might be missing—she only wanted to be gone.

Now that her immediate safety was assured, Gwenyth became increasingly aware of her body's aches and pains. Her bruised ribs protested with every movement. But the desire to be gone from Leod's presence overruled any thought of seeking a healer to tend her wounds. Gwenyth supported her ribs as she slowly made her way to the bailey where her husband waited.

A feeling of dread overcame her. No matter that the vows only bound them for a short while—they would be man and wife, legally bound, with all the rights and privileges of marriage. She knew what to expect of him, but what did he expect of her?

FOUR

A
DAM OBSERVED THE BAFFLING WOMAN as she walked across the courtyard toward him. He was struck by the hatred she displayed toward Leod for a brief, unguarded moment. Had Adam read it wrong? If, as he suspected, she and Leod had conspired to entrap him, why did she hate the man? Or allow it to show? And why on earth had she chosen marriage when it was obvious Leod wanted him dead?

He would have answers, Adam vowed.

The half-dozen men who'd accompanied him to Leod's keep had retrieved their weapons and horses, as well as an extra horse for the woman. He'd have to ride bareback, as he'd instructed them to put his saddle on her mount to ease her riding. Adam helped her mount, wincing as his damaged shoulder protested the upward movement. He ignored the pain, pulling himself astride his own horse.

His men's guarded countenances told him they shared his urgency to leave this place. Clenching his hands into fists, Adam stifled his frustration. If not for this worthless crippled arm, he would have challenged Leod to fight and put an end to their dispute once and for all.

He cleared his head with a shake. Foolish thought—even as a whole man he wouldn't have done such a thing where he and his men were so outnumbered.

Reason slowly returned, and he set his thoughts on more immediate concerns. He stationed a man on either side of the woman, then took the lead, signaling his kinsman, Morogh, to bring his horse up next to him.

Once clear of the castle, Adam asked, “What did you learn?”

“Just as ye thought, Leod is telling his people ye aren't fit. 'Tis clear he wants to take over the federation.”

“He very nearly got his wish.”

“Aye, God be praised for such a brave lassie.”

Adam stared at Morogh. Apparently Gwenyth had won herself an admirer. Well, it would be churlish not to be at least somewhat grateful to her.

Adam knew others shared Leod's opinion of his fitness to lead, but few were bold enough to say it to his face. The wound he'd suffered was nearly healed, but he feared the arm would never regain its former strength. A laird had to protect his people with a swift sword and unswerving justice.

The day would come when Adam would be tested, and he dreaded it.

Adam rubbed his eyes. He'd had a short night's sleep, and the morning had been difficult. But it would seem easy compared to what he faced at Castle Moy when he arrived with a handfast wife in tow. And a servant at that.

Renewed anger at being forced to marry threatened to overwhelm him. But to give in to his anger would not help. Instead, he reined in his temper and focused on discovering what he could from Morogh.

“What did you learn of the woman?”

“She and some kinsmen were headed to England when Leod seized her. One of those kinsmen was Daron of Ruthven, a warrior good with a sword and loyal to Balliol.”

“So, I may assume my new wife is no friend to my liege lord, Robert. Where is this Daron now?”

“No one knows. He and several others disappeared.”

“I should just give her food and some coin and send her on her way.”

Morogh said nothing.

But Adam couldn't just send her away. Her kinsmen had evidently deserted her, and someone in Clan Chattan had ravaged her. She'd suffered enough, and even though the assault had taken place in Leod's keep, Adam, as captain of the Chattan federation, felt responsible. No woman, whether servant or highborn, deserved such treatment.

He should have insisted she come to his room last night where he could have personally ensured her safety. Well, he'd tried to make up for it by giving his word to protect her from further harm. Thankfully, he only had to honor the vow for a year, not a lifetime.

“Morogh, do you think she conspired with Leod in that farce of a trial?”

“Aye, she did. But I think she figured she couldn't depend on Leod's word and hoped for better from ye.”

“You may have the right of it, friend. But I'm not sure I trust her.”

“Nor should ye. And ye shouldn't ride out again until this is settled with Leod.”

“You think I should crawl into my keep and lick my wounds? How will it look if the laird hides behind his castle walls?” The volume of his voice must have risen, for the rest of their company glanced nervously in his direction.

Lowering his voice, Adam said, “I must be out where my people can see I am well and strong, Morogh.”

“Aye, well, and I say ye'd do better to just send word and stay out of Leod's reach for a time.”

“I'll think on it.”

“Do that.”

Adam hated to admit it, but Morogh was probably right. However, it wouldn't do to give in so easily, so he changed the subject.

“Do you think Leod ravished the woman?”

“Could be. He's a mean one.”

Adam nodded in silent affirmation. His sense of propriety was deeply offended by what Gwenyth had suffered, and he meant to find the culprit.

Still, the woman was the last thing he needed. She seemed of good breeding, but he planned to marry someone who would enhance his holdings and his position. Furthermore, Gwenyth was an unwelcome intrusion in his personal life. For more than a year he'd managed to push aside the pain of his failed betrothal, but this battered woman and her dependence on him opened the floodgates.

Memories poured through him—memories of Suisan's rejection . . . The pain from that wound remained vivid; it hadn't healed nearly as well as his shoulder. He'd nearly lost his arm and his life—he should be thankful all he'd forfeited was the woman his father had chosen for his son to marry. There had been times early in his convalescence when he'd been nearly overcome with guilt. But God had spared him, and Adam was now wise enough to be thankful for his life.

Aye, and thankful his betrothed had refused to marry an invalid, for his torment over her betrayal had been the catalyst to his recovery, a recovery far beyond what the healer predicted.

As it was, far too many Mackintosh and Macpherson clansmen shared Suisan's opinion—a man who was not a prime warrior should not be laird of the federation. And now their damaged chieftain was handfasted to . . . Gwenyth of Buchan, a serving girl. He pushed aside the sense of unease that stole over him, and he turned to his companion.

“Well, then, Morogh. What shall I do with such a wife?”

“Ye might credit her for saving yer hide.”

“You needn't keep reminding me.” Adam tried to suppress his impatience with Morogh's admiration of the lass. True, it had taken considerable strength of character to stand up to Leod, but he didn't want to admire her. He wanted to be rid of her.

Although part of him empathized with her, he didn't want a wife, nor did he want a woman who would lie under oath. These noble thoughts warred with the knowledge that her willingness to lie, to accuse him, had saved both their lives. He conceded it would be difficult to remain angry with her for long, under the circumstances.