"Hold, Daron." Adam stepped forward, still holding his sword. He confronted the man. "Silence will buy you a swift death. Confess and I will show mercy."

The bowman licked his lips and glanced quickly in Leod's direction. Gwenyth knew that Adam wanted the man to name Leod, to give proof of his cousin's treachery so all would know his death was justified above and beyond Adam's need for revenge.

And if Adam didn't allow his wounds to be tended soon, he might well follow Leod to the grave.

"Save your mercy, Adam." Leod gestured to the now trembling archer. "The idiot was supposed to have better aim."

A gasp went through the crowd as Leod's confession sealed his fate. All that remained was the question of who would kill him. Adam advanced, sword arm raised.

The men holding Leod moved away, and Leod stood still. Alone. A man without honor.

"Bring his sword," Adam growled at Daron.

"Don't do this, my laird. He is gambling that you will give him another chance to kill you."

"Bring it."

GWENYTH ALTERNATED between praying for Adam's sanity to return and railing against the stupidity of men.

Adam saw Daron's reluctance and knew his friend had every reason to fear. Adam could feel himself weakening as the blood oozed from his wounds. Still, he had the strength and the desire to plunge his sword deep into Leod's treacherous heart. But Daron was right; Leod had indeed forfeited the right to such a death.

Daron returned to his side, Leod's sword in hand. With a clarity that belied his diminishing energy, Adam saw what must be done. In winning the sword fighta"a fight that Leod had suggested for sport and then turned into a battlea"Adam had proven himself as a warrior.

Now he must prove he also had a laird's wisdom, the wisdom to back down from a fight that was already won. And the wisdom to allow a loyal liegeman to seek his own revenge.

Adam leaned on his sword to keep from swaying. "There is no death more ign.o.ble than to die by one's own sword."

Daron's eyes widened in understanding.

Adam nodded. "Do it."

Without hesitation, Daron spun and plunged Leod's own weapon into his chest.

With a shout of surprise that quickly became a gurgle, Leod slid to the ground as Gwenyth averted her eyes from the sight. She took no joy in any man's death, but she could not stop the relief that flooded through her.

Adam lived.

She ran to him, waiting until Daron and the others lowered him to sit on the ground before grasping his hand. His eyes were glazed and his breathing quick. Now that she was close, she could see that the arrow had also penetrated the leather and entered his side.

Fighting back panic, she glanced frantically for some way to move him. From seemingly nowhere a trestle materialized, and Seamus and Daron laid Adam on it. Half a dozen men jockeyed for the privilege of carrying their laird into the castle as his life's blood left a trail upon the thin, rocky soil of Clan Chattan.

TWENTY-THREE.

GWENYTH SENT NATHARA for her medicinals, and Eva hurried ahead of the entourage to prepare Adam's room. By the time Seamus and Daron placed Adam on his bed, he was unconscious.

If the stubborn man hadn't insisted on leaking blood for unnecessary minutesa"minutes that had seemed like hours to Gwenytha"he wouldn't be so pale. Or so still.

Grimly, Gwenyth directed the men to cut away the hauberk so she could pull the arrow through the flesh of Adam's upper arm. She allowed the wound to bleed freely to cleanse it, despairing over each additional drop of lost blood. Nathara and Eva prepared a poultice, which they tied tightly to cover both the entrance and exit wounds. Thankfully the bleeding quickly stopped.

Adam's lack of consciousness was a blessing, for even so he groaned with pain when Nathara removed the arrowhead from his side. The hauberk had prevented the point from going too deep. But even a shallow wound such as the one on his thigh could fester, and the women knew it. Once the wounds were bound with a poultice, nothing more could be done.

Nothing but pray.

Eva dismissed a subdued Nathara before turning to Gwenyth. "Get some rest, la.s.s. I'll watch over him for a few hours."

"I won't leave him."

Eva hugged her. "He has survived worse. And he has more to live for this time."

"Then we shall not lose hope." But what did Adam have to live for that he hadn't had after Dalry? A woman whose loyalty was questionable, just as before. She had promised to accept him no matter what. Would he cling to her vow as he fought to overcome his wounds? Gwenyth hoped so. She pressed Eva's hand as the woman left her alone in the chamber with her husband and her newly regained faith.

To make the time pa.s.s, she worked on the tapestry she'd begun recently. The design was a familiar one, and the task went quickly. She fought back tears as she prayed that Adam would live to see it.

But by morning Adam's body was hot to the touch as his fever-wracked body labored to heal itself. Gwenyth had slept fitfully by his side, waking throughout the night to cool him with gentle bathing and attempting to get him to drink a fever-reducing tea. But most of it had dribbled down his chin and wet the bedding.

At first light Eva entered the room followed by two servants, one carrying a tray and the other a pail of cool water. Ignoring the food, Gwenyth took the bucket from the girl and dipped a cloth into it. She replaced the cloth on his forehead with the cooler one.

Laying her hand on Gwenyth's shoulder, Eva said, "Ye must eat, child. I'll bathe him."

Reluctantly Gwenyth gave over the cloth, knowing Eva needed to feel useful, to believe she could make a difference. Gwenyth empathized. Never had she felt so ineffectual, not even while nursing her mother during her final illness.

Gwenyth forced a few bites of bread and cheese past her lips then washed it down. Closing her eyes, she prayed the prayer she'd offered countless times in the past hours. Please, G.o.d, let Adam live.

The day pa.s.sed as Eva, Nathara, and Gwenyth took turns bathing the heat from Adam's body only to have it return. By the next morning, his breathing was shallow, and Gwenyth's prayers grew desperate.

Don't let him die not knowing that I love him, she begged. For there was no doubt that she did love him. More than the memory of her father, more than any need to seek revenge on a king. Enough to release the past and face the future with hope.

Exhausted from her emotional turmoil and needing to be close, Gwenyth climbed onto the bed and lay beside her husband, clinging to his hand and the sound of his labored breathing.

ON THE AFTERNOON of the fourth day, Gwenyth roused from a restless sleep at Adam's side. She stirred the fire and added fuel to heat water for sorrel wood tea.

She changed the dressings on his wounds and managed to get some of the tea down his throat. He rested easier, and the fever seemed to be leaving him. For the first time in days she dared to believe he would recover, and she whispered a prayer of thanks.

By the end of the week, Gwenyth caught herself almost wishing Adam's fever would return. At least then he'd be unconscious. And quiet. Then she grinned. He was a querulous patient, but he was alive; and judging from his increasing attempts to leave his bed, he'd soon be on his feet.

She approached his chamber, carrying the midday meal, curious at the lack of orders and bellowing. Balancing the tray, she opened the door to find him sitting by the fire while his page shaved him.

"So that is how to keep you quieta"hold a razor to your throat," she teased, all the while averting her eyes from his bared chest. She'd certainly seen it while sponging him to cool his fever. But somehow he was much more imposing with that devilish smile gracing his mouth.

Ah, that wonderful, delightful mouth. Heavens, when had she turned into a wanton? She felt her face blush, and Adam's laugh confirmed he'd noticed the telltale color.

He dismissed the lad and indicated she could set the tray on the small table in front of him. "Will you join me?" he asked. "There's enough for two."

"Aye, thank you."

Gwenyth sat next to him on the bench and picked at her food, smiling when he urged her to take more. Would he tell her now? Tell her that not only would he move the very earth for her, but why. Would he say he loved her?

She gave herself a mental shake. She looked at him, at the twinkling in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, things she had feared never to see again. She vowed to be patient.

And then he kissed her.

He pulled away, wincing as his arm brushed against his bandaged abdomen.

Gwenyth jumped to her feet. "Adam Mackintosh, you are the most difficult patient I've ever had to deal with."

"And that's the thanks a wounded husband gets for defending his lady's honor?"

She dropped to her knees in front of him. Taking his large callused hand in hers, she whispered, "I died a thousand deaths, Adam, to see you lying there so still." Tears sprung to her eyes, and he wiped them away.

"Ah, Gwenyth, I didn't mean to make you cry." He tilted her face up to him. "I have not forgotten the words we spoke the day of the fight."

"Nor have I."

"And I am most anxious to finish what we started." He stood, tugging at her to come with him, and she complied. His lips brushed hers, then he kissed her thoroughly, leaving no doubt what he referred to.

But do you love me?

He swayed and clutched the mantle for support.

She helped him to sit down. "I'm afraid you aren't well enough to collect on my promise to forget that vow of chast.i.ty."

Ruefully he said, "I feel weaker than a babe."

"Come, you need to get back into bed and rest."

He must have been tired, for he didn't protest, leaning on her and allowing her to guide him. She settled the covers over him, then took the tray and promised to return later in the day.

Perhaps in time he would come to love her. And if he said the words, then Gwenyth would know that she could trust him completely and leave the past behind. But having seen her world collapse around her once before, Gwenyth would not declare her heart until she was sure. Only thus could she protect herself.

ALL THOSE who had gathered for the funeral and the games had returned to their homes to tend their crops. Gwenyth and Eva planned for Adam's invest.i.ture ceremony, which would now be held in conjunction with Michaelmas and the end of harvest.

July slipped by quickly as Adam regained his strength. By Lammas and the end of haying season, he seemed his old self, but despite his avowal of impatience, he never once asked Gwenyth to join him in the huge four-poster bed where she'd nursed him back to health.

Somehow, this second brush with death had changed him, and Gwenyth was no more sure of her future now than she'd been when she first arrived at Moy. But that wasn't entirely true. Now she knew that all she'd ever wanted was a home, a safe place to love and be loved. A place where her heart could dwell.

Castle Moy had become that place. She'd found a home where she'd least expected ita"in the heart of a highland laird.

One day as she worked on the tapestry she was making for Adam, word had come that Edward Balliol had fled to France, his designs on the crown defeated. She prayed for his well-being but no longer desired the match with him. No doubt, when circ.u.mstances warranted, he would make another attempt, and Gwenyth had had enough intrigue and its attendant upheaval.

She was content, despite the lack of intimacy with her husband. But one day, when they walked through the orchard, she approached the subject.

"Your arm has healed well, my laird."

He flexed his elbow. "Aye, so it has." He grinned. "I've taken up swimming again."

She swallowed. "So Morogh told me. But there are other activities you have avoided." Try as she might, she could not hold back the embarra.s.sment of being so bold, and she felt her face grow warm.

He stopped walking and faced her, taking her hands in his. He lifted her palm and kissed it. The warmth of his gaze and the sweet touch of his lips made her want to surrender her heart, her mind, her soul. Surely he would not treat her thus if he did not love her?

"Most couples require time to know one another before engaging in the intimacies of the bedroom," he reminded her. "I am giving us that time."

"But we have been handfast for nearly six months."

"A situation neither of us chose." He drew her close and bent to her ear. "Patience," he murmured. "In a few days the clan will gather for the invest.i.ture. And you must decide whether you truly wish to be married to the captain of Clan Chattan."

"Ia""

He traced a finger across her lips. "You must decide if you will give your heart along with your body, Gwenyth. I'll not rush you. If and when you come to me, it will be freely, I swear. And I ask you to give me a few more days to court you as you deserve."

He smiled. A smile she couldn't resist if the devil's own hounds were chasing her. And she knew that whatever he asked, she would give him, even if he never said he loved her.

"As you wish, my laird."

GWENYTH'S TENDER SMILE as she yielded to his request nearly undid his well-laid plan, for it gave him hope her surrender would be as complete as his.

But for now he would be patient. Only a few more days until Michaelmas and his invest.i.ture. A few more days before he would lay his heart open and risk rejection. The courting of his wife took a daily toll, and Adam's patience was wearing thin. But she deserved to be courted, to be cherished, and he'd stay true to his plan if it killed him.

And every time he looked at her, the ache in his heart nearly did.

So he forced his attention away from her face as he strolled with her through the orchard, making inane conversation about the harvest, the fish he'd caught yestermorn, anything to take his mind off of his fantasies.

Finally admitting defeat, he escorted her to the keep and with a hasty adieu, hurried to the lakea"the very cold lakea"for a swim.

THE MORNING of Adam's invest.i.ture dawned with the usual fog, but by the time of the ceremony, the sun broke through and cleared the sky. A large platform had been erected in the bailey so that all could watch as Adam took the solemn oath that would guide him as captain of Clan Chattan. Gwenyth sat with Eva and Morogh as the others found seats or standing room.

The audience hushed as Seamus led Adam and the priest onto the stage. Seamus wore a claymore strapped to his back and a skean dhu at his waist, with a shorter knife tucked into the garter holding up his wool stocking. He looked every inch the formidable warlord.

And Adam simply took her breath away. Healed now from his wounds, he stood tall and proud. The folds of his great plaid were held at the shoulder with his father's brooch and were belted around his lean hips with a wide, leather belt. He wore no weapons, symbolic of his trust in Seamus to protect him.

Gwenyth's attention wandered as the priest spoke of Adam's solemn responsibilities. A sharp poke from Eva's elbow brought her back.

"What is it?"

"The priest just reminded Adam of his duty to provide an heir, and now Adam wants ye to come up there with him."

Panicked, she squeaked, "Why?"

"I don't know, la.s.s, but he doesn't look too patient. Go on with ye." And she gave a gentle nudge.

Knees weak, thoughts in turmoil, Gwenyth stood before her husband, the most powerful chief in the northern highlands. And surely the most handsome man in all of Scotland.