Circle of Honor (7 page)

He stopped the horse on a rise of land, and she looked to where he pointed. The morning's mist had lifted, allowing an unobstructed view. Despite her disappointment that they looked upon Castle Moy and not Dalswinton, her breath caught at the sight, for there on an island in an aquamarine lake rose a castle of surpassing beauty. The gray stone gleamed in the sunlight, a perfect foil to the stand of timber at the far end of the island.

A stone causeway connected the isle to the lakeshore, providing access into the bailey. The outer curtain wall followed the shape of the land, and two sturdy round towers graced the wall, one at either end. Within the walls a few sheep and goats grazed to keep the grass short. A majestic keep with a high-pitched stone roof rose from the center, and a flag depicting a rampant cat flew from the ramparts.

“This is your home?” Her cares were momentarily forgotten in the splendor of the scene.

“Aye, Loch Moy and its castle.”

“ 'Tis uncommonly beautiful.”

“I'm glad you share my opinion. 'Tis not only beautiful, lass.

It is also virtually unassailable. You will be safe here.” He made to spur the horse, but she stayed him.

“Let me look a bit longer.” Knowledge of what faced her behind the fortress's walls unnerved her, for despite its beauty, this castle harbored his clan, people loyal to her enemy.

“Another time. You need to have your wounds properly tended.” There was no trace of the earlier tenderness in his voice, only the sound of a man used to being obeyed. And she owed two-fold obedience to him—both as laird and husband. She shivered in dread.

Repositioning his plaid around her shoulders, he said, “You will soon have a warm room and food and my mother's healing skills.” He must have signaled the horse, for it began to move.

Again she thought of facing the man's mother and kin, and her heart began to pound. Would she need to sleep with her door bolted? His family could easily kill her and none would be the wiser—such was not unheard of in forced marriages.

And when they learned she was Gwenyth Comyn—daughter to a man they considered a traitor—her life would surely be forfeit, despite Adam's promise of protection.

Gwenyth's imagination took flight and her agitation increased as they crossed the causeway and entered the bailey. Not only were these her enemies, but soon she would suffer the humiliation of having them know she'd been raped. And she would have to face their anger at her false accusation of their laird. She feared Adam's promised safety was naught but an illusion.

Strangers reached for her, and she shrank away from them.

Adam gently pushed her toward them. “ 'Tis all right, lass. My kinsmen only wish to help you from the beast. I'll not allow you to come to harm.”

She slapped at the hands that reached for her as hysteria threatened.

“Gwenyth!” Adam shouted. “Cease.” But there was no anger in his voice, only concern for her. He leaned toward her ear and said quietly, “I keep my promises, woman. Now dismount.”

Reluctantly, she allowed one of the men to help her down, then stood there trembling as Adam dismounted. He brushed off the inquiries of the curious castle inhabitants while he surveyed the crowd. Gwenyth followed his gaze until it rested upon an older woman, framed in the keep's doorway.

He bent his golden head until his lips were again at Gwenyth's ear. “My mother will tend you. I trust no one else.” Before she could answer, one of Adam's men picked her up and headed for the woman, with Adam close behind.

Wounded, frightened, and too weary to care, Gwenyth made no more protest. Instead, she wondered what Adam's mother would think of her son bringing a bedraggled and obviously injured woman into her keep.

CLIMBING THE STAIRS to the women's quarters, Adam hoped his mother would save her questions for later. With relief, he watched her expression change from curiosity to distress when she saw Gwenyth's bruised face.

They entered a bedchamber and his mother drew back the heavy drapery around the bed, then pulled back the quilt. Sim, the man holding Gwenyth, laid her on the clean linens and Eva Mackintosh said to him, “Fetch my healing satchel and bring more wood for the fire.”

“Aye, my lady,” Sim said and took his leave.

Eva set about heating water, then joined Adam beside the bed. Gwenyth's eyes were closed. Poor thing was probably exhausted from all she'd been through, Adam thought. As he reached to unfasten the makeshift sling, his hand thoughtlessly brushed Gwenyth's breast. Her eyes flew open and she cried out.

Eva slapped his hands away. “What do ye think yer doing? Find something more suitable to do with yer hands.”

“I have every right . . .”
to touch my own wife.
He couldn't finish the thought aloud. She is wife in name only.

He would do well to remember it.

He stepped back while Eva examined the woman, their murmured voices mingling. Eva crooned in obvious sympathy and Adam began to relax, knowing that Gwenyth was in capable hands. Sim returned with the medicines and wood; Adam dismissed him and built up the fire.

With the fire satisfactorily producing heat, Adam turned to watch his mother as she bent over the small form on the bed—the better to hear what Gwenyth said. Eva gasped and sat upright, and Adam knew she'd learned of the worst of Gwenyth's injuries, the one that would take longest to heal.

In the voice that would have sent him scurrying when he was a child, Eva said, “Leave the room, Adam. She has wounds I must tend and ye cannot be here.”

“I'll stay.” At his mother's black stare, Adam conceded, “But I'll turn my back.”

Eva's expression clearly indicated displeasure with him. “Yer behavior is most curious, son.”

Obviously his mother wanted an explanation. “I need to know the full extent of her injuries, Mother. Tend the girl.” When she made no move, he softened his tone. “ 'Tis not the first creature I've brought home for you to heal.”

“Nay, 'tis not.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “But usually they are four-legged and furry. Or feathered.”

He smiled. “And I always help you.”

“Aye, but this is not the same.”

With a guarded glance at the woman on the bed, he said, “Nay, 'tis not. This time the unfortunate one is a woman who has been beaten and raped. A woman who accused me of the crime.”

Eva's face went pale. “And you bring her to me to heal?”

“I had little choice since she forced me to marry her.”

“Marry?” Eva made the sign of the cross before glaring at the bed's occupant.

Gwenyth's shame and pain glowed in her eyes, and Adam's emotions warred between anger and the need to console. Anger prevailed, and he gestured his mother to the other side of the room. There he recounted how he came to return home with a handfast wife.

GWENYTH WATCHED WITH TREPIDATION as Adam spoke with his mother. The woman had been kind in her questioning and compassionate in her touch. But Adam's news had obviously distressed her, and Gwenyth worried how Eva would treat her when she returned to finish her ministrations.

If only she could rise from the bed and leave. Leave this place and the man who both comforted and frightened her. Leave her homeland, this accursed country that had brought rack and ruin to her and her family.

And now this final humiliation. Gwenyth turned her anger on the God she believed had deserted her so completely. She sobbed quietly, for the loss of that source of comfort was more painful than her physical wounds.

As her tears fell, she listened to the rise and fall of voices on the other side of the room. Adam's voice. How it had soothed her earlier today when she'd soaked his shirt with tears. Now as she listened to the cadence of his words, she was once again soothed and her sobs stopped. Since God had abandoned her, she would cling to the comfort Adam supplied. Gradually the warmth of the room and the medicinal tea Eva had given her lulled her into much needed sleep.

WITH THE TELLING, color returned to his mother's face. Adam glanced to where Gwenyth lay. She'd fallen asleep, and he and Eva moved back to the bedside.

Adam gazed down at Gwenyth, observing her dark lashes fanned against pale skin, and the trace of fresh tears on her cheek. For a moment he allowed himself to think how it might have been if they'd met under more auspicious circumstances. She was a pretty thing, and he admired her courage.

“She's got spirit,” Eva said.

“Aye, she does. If not for that, I'd be dead.”

“She'll need courage and more to come to terms with what has been done to her. I'll say a prayer for the lass.”

“As will I.” Adam rubbed his shoulder, remembering that the people of Buchan were Robert the Bruce's enemies. “I'm grateful to the lass for saving my life, but she's of Buchan. Better than being of Badenoch, but I'm not overfond of either branch of the Comyn clan.”

The fight at Greyfriars, then Dalry and Adam's injury at the hands of the Comyns were never far from his mind.

“Surely a maidservant's loyalty lies with whomever she serves, Adam.”

“Aye, but she's not a servant any longer; she's my wife.”

“And a wife's allegiance lies with her husband.”

Adam recalled the maid's pledge. “Let's hope she remembers that. As a precaution I've sent Seamus to see what he can learn from Bryan.”

Eva nodded. “ 'Tis well to be cautious in such unsettled times.” Her foster son, Bryan Mackintosh, served with Robert the Bruce and could be trusted to provide wise counsel.

Adam forced his thoughts back to more pressing matters. “Mother, I will break the news to Da.” Anguish at his father's precarious health washed through him. “How is he today?”

“He's stronger than ye give him credit, son. Having ye assume the duties of laird has prolonged his life.” She sighed. “Ye say she's a maidservant?”

“Aye.”

“Not exactly what yer da had in mind when he encouraged you to marry.”

“Well, the matter is not settled—'tis why I insisted on a handfast union. And why the union will remain chaste for the foreseeable future.”

“For the foreseeable future, she'll not welcome a man's touch, I'd wager. Only God knows what time will bring. Lay it in his hands, son.” Eva gave him an encouraging smile. “You need time to puzzle this through. Talk with your father tomorrow. He's resting, and I'll see no one disturbs him so you may be the one to tell him.”

He acknowledged her words with a rueful smile before looking down on the sleeping maid. “You will tend her?”

“Not Nathara?”

“I'm in no mood to explain all this to the healer.” He hesitated. “I promised this poor lass sanctuary, Mother. She deserves that much, and I give it willingly.”

“As ye wish, my laird.” She smiled again, and some of Adam's tension eased.

“I will find the man who did this and make him pay. I'll not harbor such within my domain.”

Eva nodded, “By God's grace, may it be so.”

Rubbing his aching shoulder, Adam knew he shouldn't make such promises, not to anyone, not even his wife.

ADAM AWOKE with the first stirrings of the servants. He'd spent a restless night, and yesterday's events remained unresolved in his mind. He pushed aside the bed hangings and climbed down from his bed, pulled on a linen sark, and kilted his plaid about his hips, securing it with a wide leather belt. Pulling the excess material over his shoulder, he pinned it fast with a brooch. As was the habit of any prudent man, even within the safety of his own walls, Adam sheathed a dirk in the top of his stocking and grabbed his short sword before making his way to the kitchen.

The others wouldn't break their fast until after morning mass, but today Adam would forsake the formal ritual and seek God's counsel in private. He took some bread and cheese and a flask from the kitchen and ate as he walked the path to the east end of the island, where lay his favorite spot for pondering life's perplexities.

Here the land gradually sloped toward the loch, making this the castle's most vulnerable spot, except that the loch was deepest on this side. A round tower stood guard on this wall, ready to deflect any attack. The tower housed a small, well-fortified gate, which provided access to a fine, sandy beach where he often strolled. But that was not his destination this morn.

Instead he headed for a grove of aspen and poplar trees on this side of the wall. The trees sheltered an area of rock formations whose fanciful shapes had enthralled his imagination as a child.

Steam rose in wavy fingerlets from the warm water of the hot spring nestled among the stones. He found a submerged ledge to lie on. These days Adam sought out the warm water when his shoulder ached from cold or overexertion. Or sometimes, it was his soul that required the soothing feel of the sulfurous liquid.

As the warmth assuaged him, he remembered days in his youth when he'd come here with his cousins. They had not been interested in the restorative properties of the water. A thick twist of worn rope still hung from a branch where he and his foster brother, Bryan, had swung before dropping into the deep end of the pool.

Childhood memories faded, replaced with the cares of a man responsible for the well-being of several hundred souls. Those burdens had grown increasingly heavy these past months, as it became apparent he would never regain his former prowess as a warrior. He would be forever vulnerable, forever uncertain of himself.

Only recently had he begun to come to terms with the legacy of his failures at Dalry. Robert had told him to forgive himself, but in the year and a half since, he hadn't been able to do so. Would he ever be able to?

A twig snapped. Adam moved instinctively to where he'd left his weapons and clothing. Dagger in hand, he crouched at the water's edge, motionless, until a familiar female figure came into view. He laid the dagger back on the shore and moved into waist-deep water.