Child of the Mist (13 page)

Yet as she continued to work the emotion grew, burgeoning into a full-fledged sensation of being watched. Watched by someone, something: evil and full of hatred. A hatred that encircled her, cloaking her in a smothering cloud of malevolence.

Anne rose.
Surely 'tis my imagination,
she thought.
My mind is but overstimulated, strung too
. . . .

She heard a rustling behind her and froze. Her hand moved to the small dagger nestled at her bosom. Withdrawing it, she turned. There was nothing but the windblown leaves of the large,' ferny bracken. She moved closer, her knife clenched in her fist, yet found nothing.

Anne sagged in relief. Just then, a flash of lighter color among the forest-dark shrubbery caught her eye. She inched closer.

The shades took form in the colors of a tartan. A chill, black silence enveloped her. Within it reverberated the sudden pounding of Anne's heart.

There, floating on a gentle breeze, was a scrap of Campbell plaid.

"M'lady?"

Anne jerked to a halt. Her hand, halfway to her bedchamber door, paused in mid-air. The familiar voice beckoned her from the morose thoughts that had dogged her since she'd found that piece of Campbell cloth. And, as cowardly as she felt in the act, Anne turned and flung herself into Iain's strong arms.

He gathered her to him, pulling her against the hard-muscled wall of his body. Tenderly, he stroked Anne's hair. "What is it, lass? What has frightened you so?"

She started to reply, to tell him of the forest's evil intruder, then hesitated. If he knew, he might want her to take him there. Then he'd see her garden. And she couldn't risk Niall finding out, at least not for a time.

"Och, 'tis naught." Anne met his gaze. "You startled me, that's all." She glanced down at the arms that held her. "Please let me go. I'm fine now."

His gaze met hers. A Rush crept up Iain's neck and face. He released Anne and took a step backward.

"Aye, 'twould help, I'd wager."

Anne felt the warmth rise in her own cheeks. Holy Mary, what must lain think?

"II am sorry for throwing myself at you."

The tension eased from Iain's face. He chuckled. "Aye, and I immediately flung you from me, didn't I? Nay, I fear the blame for our extended embrace must be shared."

"Then so be it. I don't wish . . ." Her voice faded at the tenderness of his gaze. Heavy silence settled between them. In the emptiness, Anne could hear the blood rushing through her body.

He cares for me!
The realization filled her with panic. She could never be his and, because of that, didn't dare examine the depth of her feelings for him. Nay, for then she'd also be forced to face her true feelings for Niall Campbell. And
that
was the most frightening realization of all!

"II must go." Anne stepped back.

"Wait!" Iain grasped her arm. "I came to ask you if you'd like to ride with me, see the loch."

"A ride?" The tension of the past few moments drained from Anne in the happy anticipation of going riding. "Aye. I'd dearly love a ride. When can we leave?"

Iain grinned at her eagerness. "Just as soon as you're ready. Shall I meet you at the stables?"

"Aye." She glanced down at her soiled skirt. " 'Twill take me but a few minutes to prepare myself."

Anne whirled and hurried into her room.

Iain was so good, so kind, she thought as she quickly stripped down to her petticoats. At every turn he attempted to think of her happiness. And now, it seemed he saw her as more than just a friend.

The warm glow in his eyes a few moments ago confused Anne. How was it possible he cared for her after such a short time? Was he, mayhap, as lonely as she?

She sighed. She must tread carefully with his heart, if twas true. There could never be anything between them, for she was vowed to another, whether she wished it or not.

'
Twill do no good to curse the fate that bound you to
him
instead o'Iain,
Anne fiercely chided herself as she donned a simple, dark green woolen dress. Yet, even as the sense of futility filled her, Niall's darkly handsome face rose in her mind's eye. She remembered how the sorrow as he talked of his lost love had deepened his eyes to an intense shade of brown, turning his voice husky with barely repressed emotion.

In that moment he'd opened his heart to her, shared a deeply personal part she sensed he revealed to few others. And, in that moment, Anne had felt herself irresistibly drawn to him. Aye, she admitted, drawn to him as woman to man.

That realization, most of all, disturbed her. She didn't want to care for the enigmatic, ruthless man known as the Wolf of Cruachan. He stirred emotions in her better left unexamined, the kind that sent a woman's heart to pounding and turned her brain to mush. And no man was ever going to do that!

Anne moved to close the chest when her glance snagged on the MacGregor plaid neatly folded within. After an instant's hesitation, she pulled it out and draped it around her shoulders, fastening the cloth with a silver brooch adorned with the form of her clan's beloved Scots pine.

Though she knew it wasn't wise to wear her clan crest and colors in Kilchurn, Anne suddenly didn't care. She wasn't ashamed of her heritage. Let them all, Niall Campbell included, know they must accept her for herself, and part of that identity was MacGregor: Why must all the adjustment be hers?
Aye, why indeed,
Anne angrily asked herself as she finished dressing and left her room.

Iain awaited her at the stables, garbed in a loose, snow-white shirt, snug-fitting tartan trews, and a sturdier, ankle-high laced pair of cuarans. At his side hung the ever-present, dirk, across his back, his claymore. His dark blue eyes skimmed Anne as she walked up, but he made no comment about the plaid slung about her shoulders. He helped her mount, and they were soon galloping out of the castle and along the shore of Loch Awe.

The day was cool,' the sky a clear, delicately cloud-strewn blue. The loch's aquamarine waters were placid. Long-necked swans floated serenely upon its mirrored surface, passing near the imposing stone castle.

Kilchurn, Anne thought as they rode away. Guardian of Loch Awe, standing lonely sentinel on its narrow outcropping of land. Tales were that when first built it had stood apart on an island.

Looking at it now, she wondered if the fortress might not someday break free once again,' to float like some massive warship down the length of darkling water. It was indeed a beautiful land, this seat of Campbell power, of mighty, snow-capped mountains, forested hills, and heather-clad meadows, reminding her so much of Glenstrae . . . and home.

Anne shook aside the painful memory. She turned her glance to the blond man riding beside her. "And where are you taking me, Sir Iain? Do you plan to abduct me and hold me for ransom?"

Iain shot her a rueful smile and shook his head. "If you were still a MacGregor lass, aye, the idea would be foremost in my mind. Not that I'd ever give you up for any amount o' money."

His smile broadened into a grin. "Twould be an easy thing to hide you in these mountains. When we were boys, Niall, Hugh, and I used to explore Ben Cruachan, spending the summer days roaming its rocky heights and the nights sleeping beneath the stars, wrapped only in our plaids.

"Once we came upon an ancient, deserted tower high in the mountains. Surprisingly, it was still quite sturdy. All it needed was new floors and doors to make it habitable. Each summer, for several years, we'd journey up to it, to work on its repairs."

"Did you ever finish it?"

Iain laughed. "Aye, as a matter o' fact. But that was over ten years ago. I haven't been there since."

"And is that where you plan to take me?" Anne asked, a twinkle in her eyes.

He reined in his horse. "Nay, not this time."

Iain gestured toward a small burn that emptied into the loch. Huge oaks, their gnarled arms outstretched across the coldly gleaming torrent of water, grew nearby. Below, the grass was starry with wild anemones in vivid purples, reds, lavenders, and whites.

Anne gasped in pleasure. " 'Tis heavenly!" A radiant smile touched her face. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

He dismounted, then moved to take her hand. "I'm pleased you like it. 'Tis little to leave you with, but I wanted you to have this special place to come to, to be your haven, when I'm gone."

A shade of puzzlement darkened her silver eyes. "Gone? Are you leaving, Iain?"

"Aye, lass. 'Tis time to return home, to Balloch Castle."

Anne's head lowered, her thick curls tumbling forward to hide her suddenly downcast face. Her only friend in Kilchurn besides Agnes and now he was to be taken from her.

"When ?" she whispered.

"On the morrow."

Her hand covered his. "Och, nay, Iain. Must you leave so soon?"

He sighed. "Aye. I must go. My father will stay a time more, awaiting some response from the Crown he and the Campbell have been working on all these months. But there's too much to be done at Balloch now that summer draws nigh. One o' us, at least, must be there to oversee things."

"But I've only been here a day . . . ." Anne shook her head. "Och, I am selfish to think only o' myself. I beg pardon."

At the note of pain barely contained by her self-reproach, Iain's heart went out to Anne. He pulled her gently down from her horse but didn't let her go. Instead, Iain gathered her to him, partly to offer comfort and partly for one last feel of her soft woman's body. She was Niall's, but at this sweet moment of parting he no longer cared.

"You can't keep your hands off what's mine, can you, cousin?" a steel-timbred voice intruded.

Iain paled. His arms fell away.

Awash in a sea of grim foreboding, Anne turned around. Niall's dark eyes were cold, glittering with suspicion. She took a hesitant step toward him. "M'lord"

A movement of his hand silenced her for his glance had returned to Iain. "Well, cousin? I await your reply."

The younger man glowered back, uncowed. "I care for her, if that's what you're getting at, but I'm not low enough to sneak behind your back and cuckold you. 'Twasn't what you thought, at any rate. Anne was but sad to hear o' my departure and I"

"Were but comforting her?" Niall supplied dryly. "Then 'tis well you're leaving, for if you ever touch her again"

Iain reached behind him and unsheathed his claymore. "And what will you do? Have me thrown in the dungeon or mayhap flogged? Or would you prefer to just finish me off in a fight to the death?"

He moved into a warrior's stance, both hands gripping his sword. I tire o'your foul mood o'late. Why not put it to rest once and for all? I'm not afraid o' your reputation with the claymore. Answer me, Niall. Why not here and now?"

Anne turned to Niall. His hand had swung to his own weapon's hilt, and his face was rigid with glacial anger. They were about to do battle, and all because of a simple misunderstanding!

Instinctively, she ran to her blond companion, knowing she'd have a better chance of reasoning with him. "Iain, do not fight your cousin," she pleaded. "If there's any fault, 'tis mine. I foolishly keep running to your arms and I've no right. The sin is mine, not yours."