Part 27 (1/2)

He dared not let her know of Adam's order to keep her under watch, and the only other excuse he could muster was to feign interest.

”Who is he?” Daron asked with more jealousy than he'd planned.

Nathara smirked, but there was a touch of desperation in her voice along with the flirtation. ”He's the archer who won today's match.”

”Aye, I know that. Why did you have cross words with him?”

”You'll have to ask him.” She pushed past Daron, and he let her go. What business was it of his whom she chose to meet later? And how was it possible that he, Daron of Buchan, was interested in a woman who pa.s.sed her favors around as if on a platter?

Foolishness.

He shook his head, then followed discreetly, suddenly hating the order to follow and see for himself what she was up to. Not because he cared what she did. No, he followed her because Adam asked and no other reason.

Thus a.s.sured of his motives, he trailed her. She went directly to her own cottage, and though he watched well into the night as the music faded and the castle quieted, no one shared Nathara's home with her this night.

As the night deepened, Daron pulled his plaid tighter about his shoulders and settled in for an uncomfortable night of contemplation. Who was the mysterious archer, and why did he have heated words with Nathara? A vague uneasiness plagued Daron as he dozed.

When dawn finally broke, he rose stiffly at the approach of the man who would keep Nathara under watch for the morning. Before he broke his fast, Daron searched the castle and grounds for the bowman.

He was nowhere to be found.

GWENYTH STARED out the arrow slit in her chamber, looking down on the gathering of clans. Despite her grief at Angus's death, she had been reluctant to keep company with those who'd come to mourn, preferring to remain in the kitchen or helping Eva instead. And this morning, a gnawing sense of anxiety, a feeling of dread, held her captive in her room.

Last night she'd promised to join Adam at today's festivities, despite her reluctance to mingle with the many strangers within the walls. Leod Macpherson was herea”she'd seen him last evening and fled the hall to avoid an encounter. The castle and grounds were swarming with those who might wish her harm.

Adam arrived at her door, looking incredibly handsome in his best plaid, held at the shoulder with the rampant cat brooch. ”Come, we'll stroll amongst my clan.” She could swear she actually saw his chest puff with pride. ”And I'll impress you with my prowess.”

She stifled a giggle, draped her arasaid around her shoulders, and took his proffered arm. ”I am ready, then.”

Thin sunlight filtered through a cloud-filled sky, but no mist or fog hung in the cool air. Gwenyth pulled her plaid closer as Adam led her to the area of the outer bailey set aside for the caber toss.

Gwenyth had not seen such a compet.i.tion for many years, but she remembered it vividly. A poplar tree was cut to a length twice as tall as a man, and the bark stripped from it. The men took turns seeing how far they could throw the ma.s.sive pole. The trick was to heave it end over end and get it to land as straight away from him as possible.

The compet.i.tion was already underway, and Gwenyth couldn't hide her amus.e.m.e.nt at the balancing act required in order to juggle the upright spar into position. Once satisfied, the man tossed it forward, and the giant tree flipped in midair before it tumbled and bounced just slightly off-center.

The crowd cheered as the smiling fellow carried the pole back for the next entrant.

She turned to Adam. ”You were able to compete in this?”

”Not very well. I was eliminated in the first round. But 'tis the laird's duty to attempt each sport.”

She grinned at his sheepish admission. ”Tell me again why they do this?”

Adam moved them to a better observation point, then stood behind her. His arm nearly encircled her as he pointed, and she relaxed into his solid chest. His breath hitched before he said, ”See how the pole is notched along one side? A man who can toss the log against the wall of a fortress with the notches facing up can then climb the pole and breach the wall.”

”How clever.” She felt safe as cares and duties fled in the simple bliss of a beautiful day with an agreeable partner.

”But I have also seen the skill used to toss a limb over a rain-swollen creek.” His breath grazed her cheek, and she pulled away slightly, afraid to show her reaction to his nearness. But a s.h.i.+ver betrayed her, and he pulled her close again.

”Ah, then it is a very practical skill,” she teased.

Tongue in cheek, he answered, ”Aye. Perhaps I should teach you.”

She laughed, relaxing as Adam guided her to a pavilion for something to eat. They sat at the makes.h.i.+ft table and devoured bannocks and savory colcannon stew before heading off to watch the hammer throw.

Everywhere they walked, Gwenyth was greeted with obvious curiosity and shy respect. But there were also other glances that clearly displayed animosity. She s.h.i.+vered.

Adam touched her hand where it rested on his arm. ”I thought the hot stew would warm you, wife.”

” 'Tis not the air that chills me.”

”Aye, I've noticed the stares.” He halted. ”Do you wish to return to your room?”

”Not without seeing Daron.” A stubborn part of her refused to cower from those few people who did not want her here. ”No one has threatened me, and somehow I doubt they would risk your wrath to bring me harm.”

”I think you're right. Come, let's find Daron.”

They walked past the hammer-throwing event. ”Were you eliminated in this event as well?” she asked.

”Aye. Barely managed ten feet. However,” Adam bragged, ”I am still among the leaders in the stone toss.” He guided her to where that sport was taking place.

It didn't take much imagination to see how this event came to be. Gwenyth could remember her brothers and cousins tossing rocks into the loch, seeing who could throw the farthest, who could heft the heaviest rock. She smiled at bittersweet memories of so many whose lives ended much too young.

She offered Adam a tentative smile, pus.h.i.+ng her memories aside. As they approached the other athletes readying themselves, Gwenyth saw Daron among them.

Daron came to stand with them. ”As laird, Adam makes the first throwa”he's really very good at this,” Daron admitted. ”So far only Seamus and I have bested him.”

Throwing the stone only required the use of one arm, and Adam was obviously enjoying his success. Gwenyth watched as he made his second throw and the distance was measured. There were many admiring sounds, and Adam grinned.

His grin widened when he caught her eye, and she smiled back, unable to resist the warmth of his obvious affection for her. Seeing him standing there so pleased with himself and looking more handsome than any man had a right to, she wanted nothing more than to move into his arms and promise him anything . . . everything.

But he had made her his wife and imprisoned her with the words. Not a prison formed of love and attachment, but the walls of his keep and the enmity of his king.

And yet . . .

What had he said when he told her about love and loyalty? He expected both from her, but he'd given her no words of love. But didn't actions speak louder than words?

And yet. What if? But no. She sighed.

Daron and the others finished their throws, and to her surprise and delight, Daron was declared the winner. Adam strode toward them, and Gwenyth braced for the onslaught of emotions his presence seemed to bring.

Clapping Daron on the back, he winked at Gwenyth. ”If I'd known he could beat me at the stone toss, I'd have refused his vow of loyalty.”

Daron grinned. ”Should I have held back and let you win?”

”Never,” Adam responded, his voice full of good cheer.