Circle Of Honor Part 25

NATHARA CREPT QUIETLY through the darkened castle of Moy. Most of the funeral guests who had arrived earlier today had found a s.p.a.ce to sleep on the floor of the great hall. But Leod had been given a chamber upstairs in the family wing.

She risked much in going to Leod's guest chamber. But Leod was still the best way to be rid of Gwenyth. He could hand her over to the king for ransom or keep her for himself, it mattered not to Nathara. Just as long as Adam would be free to marry her when the handfast was over.

She'd seen Adam with Gwenyth, and it was clear that Adam cared for his wife. Something must be done soon, before he took it in his head to make a binding union of it. That must not happen.

The stench of stale wine greeted her when she opened the door. Leod always drank, but tonight it smelled as if he'd emptied an entire jug himself.

"Come here," he ordered from the bed where he lay.

As she drew closer, the feral gleam in his eye told her he would be difficult. "You are drunk, my lord."

"Aye, but not too drunk. Come here."

She wanted to run, but she dared not leave until she exacted his promise. She must be sure that Adam was safe from Leod's hatred. And she had to protect her clanswomen.

Despite Leod's drunken state, he'd lost none of his strength or will, and he grabbed her. When she protested, he slapped her face. His ring grazed her cheek, drawing blood, and her heart sank at the knowledge she would bear the imprint for all to see.

Belatedly, she realized her own guilt in aiding and abetting his behavior. She couldn't lay all the blame on him, because it was her own desire to have Adam for herself that had drawn her to him. But she had learned that he was a.s.saulting the village women, and it sickened Nathara. She knew he must be stopped even if it meant giving up her own ambitions.

He sat up and rested on one elbow. "When are you going to deliver Gwenyth to me?"

"Never, unless you stop the attacks on the women. I am tired of trying to mend your victims."

Leod frowned and pursed his lips. "You have no proof."

"Are you sure I don't?" Now she had his full attention and cooperation. Innocents were suffering because of Leod. Nathara realized how truly selfish she had been and how her entire clan might suffer if Leod were laird.

Shame for her behavior washed over her. Leod must be stopped.

"All right. I'll stop. Won't need to do that once I have her anyway."

"If you keep your word, I'll turn her over to you at the games."

"But that could be weeks from now."

"Aye, time to see if you mean to keep your word." And time for Nathara to woo Adam away from Gwenyth. Maybe enough time for Leod to finally be caught and brought to justice.

"Juss take her myself."

"Go ahead and try. A guard follows her everywhere. Best leave it to me."

"Fine. Juss don't fail me or your fine laird will be dead."

Nathara slipped into the hallway, intending to head for the castle surgery, where an application of a poultice might reduce the discoloration of her face. Head bowed, she darted toward the steps, running into Daron halfway down them.

"Nathara." Daron's voice sounded like a beam of warm suns.h.i.+ne on a cold winter day. She pushed aside the image, knowing she must avoid him until she could see how badly her face was injured.

Averting her head, she said, "Let me pa.s.s, sir."

"Come, now. I apologize for my behavior earlier. I should not have disparaged you so."

Saints in heaven, he apologized for a stinging remark?

"You are overset. What is it, la.s.s?"

The narrow stairway made it impossible to pa.s.s by and continue on her way. He pushed against her. "Go back up the steps, Nathara." His voice was gentle, but his big body made his order an imperative.

At the top of the stairs, she attempted to move past but he grasped her arm. Pulling her before him, he tilted her head until their gazes met.

His eyes revealed his shock. "Who did this?"

Fear gripped her. Fear of Leod's rage if she told what she knew, fear of the disgust she would see in Adam's eyes; and strangely enough, she feared, too, what Daron would think.

She shook her head. "It was my fault, my laird. Do not think more on it."

Daron glanced down the hallway.

She drew in her breath. She hadn't latched the door tight, and it stood open several inches.

He saw it too, for he turned back to her and said, "Macpherson."

"Nay, my laird."

"I'll kill him."

"Nay, 'twas my fault. I should not have gone to his chamber when he was so drunk."

"You've been with him before."

"Aye." She hated to admit this to Daron, for he would surely think the worst, but it was either that or tell him the truth and that she couldn't do.

"And has he beaten you before?"

"He did not beat me. 'Tis only that our play got out of hand, my laird. This really is none of your business. I'd ask you to let me go on my way."

His grip on her arm tightened. "Why do you do thisa"return to him if he treats you so?"

"It suits me," she lied. Thinking the only way to be rid of Daron was to disgust him, she toyed with the lacing of his sark, twirling it in her fingers as she moved closer. "Perhaps you'd like a taste, my laird."

"Perhaps I would."

His reply shocked her, as did his kiss. But the shock came not from the harshness she expected, but from the incredible gentleness of the kiss.

She withdrew and made to slap him, but he grabbed her arm.

"Come, now, Nathara. Such theatrics are not necessary. And I can see by your actions that your interest in pain outweighs your interest in pleasure. I thought only to show you that gentleness can be pleasurable as well. Apparently you and Leod are well suited. Good night."

Nathara made her way to her own cottage, confused and bewildered by the exchange to the point where she forgot her desire to seek herbs in the surgery. She doubted Daron would have offered such kindness if he knew of her scheming to be rid of Gwenyth.

And now she must choose whether to continue her plan to be rid of Gwenyth or do what was right. Between her desire for a life with Adam and the good of the women of her clan.

She found her looking gla.s.s and stared into the polished surface at the woman she'd become. Not a healer, not a woman of virtue, but a fallen one. A woman like the one Jesus had forgiven. Go and sin no more, Father Jerard often urged the people of Moy as Jesus had before him. Go and sin no more.

ADAM ACCOMPANIED HIS MOTHER to the chapel the next morning to say their final good-byes. He watched as Eva snipped a corner from the winding sheet. Then tenderly she lifted a lock of her husband's hair and cut it off, laying it on the piece of cloth. Lovingly she folded the material around the keepsake and placed it in the purse tied to her girdle.

Having finished the ritual, she kissed his lips and Adam did the same before they wrapped the sheet around his head to ready Angus for burial.

Adam and Eva gazed down on husband and father. "*The oldest man that ever lived, died at last,'" Adam said.

Eva smiled at the proverb. "Aye, *death is no particular' who it takes away.'"

Somehow, the familiar sayings, handed down through generations, comforted Adam, and his heart lightened under its load of grief.

The pallbearers entered the chapel with the coffin, and Adam a.s.sisted in removing Angus from the board and placing him in the wooden box.

"Are ye ready, my laird?" one of them asked.

"Give me another moment."

The men moved off to await Adam's signal.

Adam took his mother's hand. "Ian and the others want to hold the council meeting after the burial. How do you feel about that?"

Ever practical, his mother replied, "Everyone is gathered. No sense sending them all home until they've properly celebrated your father's life and welcomed you as laird."

Birth and death, the honored pa.s.sages in the circle of life, were inevitable and therefore meant to be feted. Eva would take comfort from the customs and rituals of death, and she would honor her husband's life even as she mourned his pa.s.sing. So it was meant to be.

Adam said a silent prayer of thanks for her strength.

"Today we will mourn, son. And then we will celebrate life in all its glory."

"Do we have enough usqua?" he teased.

She smiled. "Just barely, but since you're not drinking, we'll make do."

Nodding his agreement, Adam motioned the others forward. They took their places, and Adam walked at the front of the procession, his father's bier squarely balanced on the shoulders of six pallbearers. Eva followed behind with the rest of the mourners, including Gwenyth. But this morning Adam's thoughts barely registered her presence.

Angus would be buried on the hilltop overlooking Loch Moy and its castle. The Mackintosh pipers, black pennants flying from their instruments, played the Mackintosh chieftain's song while the drums beat a melancholy sound. As they wound up the hill, a new tune was begun, this one recounting glorious days in the past and hope for the future.

The future.

Tomorrow the council would gather. Would they name him captain? What tricks would Leod try?

His thoughts were interrupted by their arrival at the gravesite. Slowly the coffin was lowered into the grave as the pipes wailed a farewell to the captain of Clan Chattan and laird of Clan Mac-an-toisach.

Adam stood there, surrounded by his kinsman, as a heavy mist enveloped them. Heads bowed and the priest praised the life of Angus Mackintosh.

Ye must keep the la.s.sie.

Sighing in defeat, Adam vowed to start carrying salt in his sporran.

THE MORNING OF THE COUNCIL MEETING broke clear and sunny, an unusual occurrence, and Adam wondered if this was a good sign or bad. The bright cheery day chased away gloomy thoughts, and he held hope that he would be upheld as captain of the federation. He didn't know what kind of support Leod had been able to garner. But he believed his father had been right, that it didn't amount to enough to change the outcome of the vote.

Dressing carefully, he pulled on his best linen s.h.i.+rt 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 antic.i.p.ation 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 fas.h.i.+on. 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, leaders.h.i.+p.

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 partners.h.i.+p didn't come easily. But the rewards were manya"

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 Mackintosha""

"Here, here."

"a"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 a.s.sured 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.