Circle Of Honor Part 23

Aye, they had clasped hands and wished each other well. Man to man. He found consolation in the image.

When the tears stopped, Adam rose, feeling weak and ragged. He splashed water on his face from the pitcher and bowl on the table, dried off, then moved woodenly to pick up the letter and broke the seal. When his vision cleared, he read his father's shaky handwriting: I know your mother will tell you this, but I wanted you to hear it once more from me. I am proud to call you my son, and I have faith that you, and someday your son, will lead Clan Chattan well. Remember all I tried to teach you, and take care of your mother.

And Adam. Marry the la.s.sie. It is time to find ways to bring peace to the highlands. We must learn to forgive and to forge new alliances such as the one you've begun with young Daron. Show the way, Adam, for the good of our people and Scotland.

Peace.

THE FIGHT AT DALRY had taught Adam all he ever wanted to know about war. He would fight to defend what was his, but he would also do anything in his power to keep the peace.

As he'd proven by marrying Gwenyth. Of course, when he was honest with himself, he admitted that he cared about her and hoped she would one day return his feelings. It was foolish to nourish any resentment, because if Robert hadn't placed her well-being in his hands, Adam would have sought some means of persuading her to remain for the full year and a day. And beyond.

How he wished he could ask his father for advice. And yet, hadn't Angus given his final say? Marry the la.s.sie.

I did, Da. And in a few hours, he was supposed to do his best to bind her to him.

Adam folded the letter and placed it in his writing chest, wishing grief could be as easily locked away.

He spent the next hour overseeing the sending of messengers far and wide with the news of Angus's death.

GWENYTH CAME to the great hall for the very subdued evening meal and took her seat beside Adam. She appeared pale, and he suspected she had shed a few tears as well. He pressed her hand in greeting, and was rewarded with a return squeeze.

Neither ate much, and when the last of the meal was cleared, she turned to him. "I will await you in my chamber, my laird." Adam hoped the sadness in her voice was from grief and not antic.i.p.ation of his company. He nodded, not at all sure he wanted to have a wedding night under the circ.u.mstances.

After what he hoped was an adequate length of time, Adam rose to bid his mother good night. "I don't wish to leave you here alone. May I escort you to your room?"

She patted his hand. "Thank ye, son. I shall stay here before the fire, as is my custom. I find it comforting to see that life does go on."

He hesitated, not sure if he should stay or go.

Eva smiled at him. "Go to her, Adam. Nothing would please your father more than to have ye sire his grandson tonight."

Adam felt his face grow warm. "Well, I can certainly try." He managed a grin. "For his sake."

Eva's eyes sparkled, and Adam knew his father's love embraced her still, even from the grave.

And he envied them.

Foolishly, he prayed to find that same abiding love with Gwenyth. Yet when he found himself standing outside her door a few minutes later, it wasn't hope or love, nor even duty or desire that held him there.

Just a bone-deep need to be consoled. To find respite from the guilt of his trespa.s.ses at Dalry. To find peace in the healing connection with another soul. The peace that could be found in the embrace of a cherished lover.

He braced his hands against the wall and hung his head as disappointment and grief crashed through him. Gwenyth was not a willing wife, but a reluctant one. How could he ask her for comfort when he must be the one with patience and understanding? She needed him to teach her the way of a man with a maid, and he wasn't sure he could do that tonight.

Slowly he turned and walked down the short pa.s.sage to his own room where he sat before the dying fire and wept.

Sometime later, while tears still wet his cheeks, he heard the door latch lift. As he watched over his shoulder, the door opened, and Gwenyth entered his room unbidden. Traces of apprehension shone in her golden eyes, yet she walked with purpose to him.

Without a word, she cradled his head against her body, crooning words of comfort. After a few minutes, she released him and wiped his tears with the hem of her chemise. Then she held out her hand to him and said, "Come with me, Adam. Your room is cold and we are meant to sleep together this night."

With joy that she had come to him and apprehension for what lay ahead, he placed his hand in hers, stood, and followed where she led.

GWENYTH'S HAND TREMBLED as she closed the door to her chamber behind Adam, leaving it unlocked. For she couldn't bear to lock herself in a room with a man who meant to . . . no, she refused to believe Adam's touch would be anything but gentle. She had gone to find him, thinking he'd changed his mind, hoping he had. But when she'd seen him sitting there, head in his hands and full of sorrow, she knew she must give him comfort. She had promised to accept him willingly, and she would honor that promise.

The willing part was not so hard. He stood there facing her, tall and strong, his golden hair burnished by firelight. He held his damaged arm more naturally than when she'd first met him. Deep-blue eyes still held his sorrow, yet a sense of wonder also stole over his face as he stared at her. Aye, it was far too easy to be willing when faced with his physical beauty.

But it was far too easy to be frightened when faced with his size and strength. A shiver coursed through her at the memory of his bare chest and powerful sword strokes in the lists. Memories of Leod's rough hands and brutality reminded her of what she faced.

She panicked, afraid she would not be able to give him what she'd promised despite her fervent prayers earlier in the chapel.

To steady her failing resolve, she clung to Adam's recent a.s.surance that loving should be different than what she'd experienced. Saints knew it must be, else she doubted there would be so many children born.

His eyes revealed his sadness, and she could feel his distress. A need to be comforted. And another craving she didn't understand and couldn't signify. His gaze roved over her, and the sadness was slowly replaced by a gleam of antic.i.p.ation, and her heartbeat quickened in response.

"Thank you for bringing me here." Adam held his hand out to her. "Do you trust me?"

"I want to."

And then he smiled. "We have had this conversation before."

She smiled in return and gave him her hand.

He led her to sit before the fire and they talked of Angus. He seemed to want to remember his father, to tell her events from his childhood and of his father's stern but loving parenting. She shared with him her brief times with Angus, and they were content and easy with one another, despite occasional tears.

Still, she did not sit back in her chair, and she startled when he stood and stretched his hands in front of him. He lowered his arms slowly, and his earlier ease disappeared.

"We need not . . . I understand if you wish to postpone this, Gwenyth." He glanced at the large time-keeping candle on the mantle. "I've been here long enough to accomplish what is expected, and none will be the wiser."

But she could see the longing had returned to his eyes, and it struck her that he needed more than just to do his duty or satisfy desire. He needed comfort. Her comfort. Yet how could what she'd endured with Leod possibly provide comfort for either party?

There was only one way to find out, and she could think of no other man she would trust to show her.

He started toward the door.

"Wait. Adam, wait."

She stepped to him, and laying her hand against his back, gently urged him to face her. "Tomorrowa"who knows if we will even have it? We can only be sure of this time, this night."

As he cradled her face in his rough hands, he smiled a smile that promised tenderness and laughter. Adam tugged her hand. "Come. Let's use this time to become comfortable with each other."

She followed him until they were once again in front of the fire. He sat down, handed her a comb, and laid his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. "I thought perhaps you might like to comb my hair."

"Comb your hair?"

He opened his eyes. "I used to love it when my mother combed my hair after a bath. I thought it might help you feel more easy about touching me. And it would ease my spirit tonight."

Amazed by his thoughtful gesture and his admission of need, she took the comb and he closed his eyes again. She glanced down at his woolen stocking and the dirk strapped to his shin.

He trusts me.

She could slit his throat and be gone before anyone disturbed the newlywed couple. But she wasn't even tempted, for the thought of any harm coming to this compa.s.sionate man tied her stomach in a knot.

Ignoring the knife, she touched his flaxen hair, something she'd often thought of doing. From the tightness of the curl, she'd expected it to feel tough and wiry. But it was surprisingly soft, and the curls sprang back into place.

Tonight she would learn what drew a man and woman together and the secrets that bound a husband and wife. Somehow, she would force her mind to forget Leod's actions and think only of Adam. And the ways he touched her heart.

But Adam kept his word and Gwenyth learned yet again that this man was a man of honor. They talked deep into the night and gave each other consolation without becoming lovers.

Sometime near morning, Gwenyth awoke to the unfamiliar feeling of Adam's big bodya"her husband's bodya"curled around her like a protective shield. As she dozed back to sleep, she knew she had never, in all her life, felt safer than she did in this man's arms.

NINETEEN.

SLEEPILY, Gwenyth pulled her head from under the pillow and answered a knock on the door. No doubt a servant bringing breakfast. "Come in," she responded. She had slept like the dead, and yet languidness filled her this morn. For the first time in a long while, she was tempted to remain abed and take a late meal in her room.

The woman cleared her throat and Gwenyth opened one eye. Then both eyes, as she bolted upright, clutching the covers to her. Her action elicited a grunt and a swiping of the blanket by Adam.

Adam! Heat rose to her face as she looked from the man in her bed to his mother.

Eva's gaze was tender and bittersweet. "I see I need not have worried. My son is safely in bed. With his wife." A troubled frown creased her face and was gone. "Best to wake him slowly, childa" he's a bear first thing in the morning."

Gwenyth could only starea"words refused to form in her mind.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but there are things to be done for the funeral. Would you send him to mea""

"I'm awake, Mother. Now go away." Adam's voice was m.u.f.fled by the bedclothes, but there was no mistaking his bad humor.

"Some things never change." And with that Eva quietly left Gwenyth to deal with Adam.

Gingerly, Gwenyth left the bed and retrieved her tunic and kirtle from the hook where she had hung it. She hastened to her wooden chest and picked up the polished mirror, inspecting her face. Not a trace of a bruisea"Adam's touch had been gentle and it frightened her.

But Adam didn't frighten her. Her reaction to him did.

He'd once spoken of the bond that was formed between husband and wife. With growing alarm, she realized that unless she fought that bond, she was in danger of throwing away everything she'd come to think she desired. And for what? For the love Adam promised?

Papa, what shall I do?

For too long she'd worked to avenge her father's cruel death. Edward Balliol had offered her the means to do that. But Edward couldn't promise a home and security. And such dreams couldn't compete with the reality of Adam and the attachment she feared could be formed with him.

She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her chemise and became aware of a presence standing behind her.

Adam cradled her in his arms, his chin resting gently on the top of her head. "Hush, now. We will find a way through this, Gwenyth, I promise."

He turned her to face him, and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. "Last night . . . Gwenyth, if you were never to lie with me, I think I'd probably die for wanting you. But there is more, much more, to marriage than bedsport. Marriage must also be about loyalty and commitment." His thumb rubbed her mother's ring.

She swallowed. "What about love?"

His smile was tender now. "I believe love comes about as a result of those other things. You'll remember I once spoke of a bond?"

"Aye." She remembered well.

He took a deep breath. "Just being with you, holding you in my arms. You are my true wife, Gwenyth. I say it is so, and I dare any man to say otherwise." He shoved his fingers through his unruly hair. "I would defy the hounds of Hades if they tried to take you from Moy."

Safety. Commitment. Home. Could she find it all here? With Adam?

His words were fierce, but in his eyes she saw a wounded man whose betrothed had rejected him. An honorable man who would marry an enemy to protect his king and then defy that same king rather than harm a frightened woman.

Did she dare to hope that love would grow out of loyalty and commitment as Adam believed? Could she trust him with her battered heart? And until she answered those questions, how would she stop herself from falling in love with Adam Mackintosh?

Perhaps it was too late.

NEWLYWED OR NOT, duty called and Adam was glad they would both have time to consider his words. He'd made his feelings clear to her, except for one detail. Of all the things he'd sought from her last night, never had he expected to glimpse the very gates of paradise. But that's exactly what he'd found, and he had no intention of stepping through them without Gwenyth.

Somehow, some way, he would make her his in every way.

But first, the care and feeding of his people still had to be seen toa"work didn't wait on births or deaths or the longings of a new bridegroom. And along with the daily details the impending funeral loomed.

At midmorning he found himself in the surgery of Castle Moy, where several of Daron's men had been sent for Nathara to treat. Their time in the makeshift shelter and exposure to the elements had caused a number of them to take sick.

He stepped into the room, surprised to see Daron among those waiting for Nathara's attention. She glanced up at Adam's arrival, and he could have sworn her complexion paled. When she knocked over a vial of her medicine, Adam's amus.e.m.e.nt turned to suspicion.

"Good day to you, Nathara. I see you have no lack of patients."

"Aye, my laird." She dropped her gaze. "I am sorry about Angus."

"Thank you, la.s.s. Do you need one of the kitchen girls to help here?"

"That would be most appreciated."

Adam noted her stiff speech, as if they had never been anything but laird and va.s.sal. It was a good performance, he'd give her that.

Daron left his place in line to stand beside Adam.

They spoke quietly as Nathara took care of the others. Soon it was Daron's turn, and she approached them, directing a glare at Daron. "What's your ailment?"

"Nothing. I just came to see to my men."

"Well, they're finea"nothing serious." She appraised the wound on his temple. "Someone did a terrible job of st.i.tching that for you."

"Aye, well, it was either Dougal's unsteady hand or bleed to death." Daron smiled at her, and from the look on his face, Nathara's charms weren't lost on him. But her recent behavior didn't sit well with Adam, and he considered warning Daron off. Then again, perhaps he should encourage a relationshipa"Daron might learn something useful.

But Nathara's next words didn't bode well for such a plan. "Too bad Dougal was competent, if sloppy. We'd have one less Comyn to deal with."