Child of the Mist (19 page)

Lord, he thought wryly as his steps carried him toward the stairs, he'd have one hell of a hangover in the morning.

Anne thought the dawn would never come. She lay in her bed, tossing fitfully in a futile attempt to escape the memories of the evening past. The recollection of Niall, his powerful form bared as Nelly's mouth settled over his magnificent manhood, came back time and again to haunt her.

She didn't know what hurt worsethe fact he'd not even bothered to bed her before moving to another woman's arms, or that his act was blatant proof he cared nothing for her. Anne was well aware marriages among the nobility were rarely desired by the two partners, that husbands frequently had mistresses. But Niall had not even been interested in trying her, to see what kind of lover she would be.

Yet to say he was totally disinterested in her was not altogether true, either. When he'd come to her chamber last night, he'd admitted she stirred his desires, that he wanted her. True, his lovemaking had left a lot to be wished for in a romantic sense but, for a few moments, he
had
wanted her. Then Niall had stopped, suddenly angry.

He had accused her of thinking only of herself, of being incapable of making amends. Then he'd left, to find solace with thatthat woman.

Anne rubbed her throbbing temples. Och, what was she to think? What was she to do?

She laughed derisively. What was she to do, indeed? She was his, vowed for at least the span of a year, and there was nothing she
could
do. Niall Campbell could have all the women he wished, flaunting them in her face if he so desired, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do. Nothing but bear the humiliation with dignity and pretend it didn't matter.

He'd told her he wasn't ready. It was too soon after his wife's death for him to desire another woman. And he'd told her he never lied.

White-hot anger swelled in Anne. Curse him! He had the soul of a dog! He was a liar and heartless brute! She hated him. How she hated him!

Fury moved her like no amount of pain ever could. Anne leaped out of bed and dressed. She'd not lie abed like some weak, love-crazed girl, helpless to do more than weep her heart out into her pillow.

Her glance moved to the window. The first rays of dawn streaked the sky with a lavender-rose light.

She needed to get away. Go for a ride in the brisk morning air. Sweep clean the clinging tendrils of her romantic dreams and sear harsh reality into her brain. Anne grabbed her cloak and headed toward the door.

Agnes met her halfway down the steps to the Great Hall. The old woman's gaze swept over Anne. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And where do ye think ye're going so early in the morn?"

Anne stiffened, sensing a battle. "I mean to go riding."

She made a move to skirt the other woman, but Agnes stepped in her way. "And who do ye plan to take with ye? 'Tis too dangerous to go riding alone."

Silver eyes glared down at the old servant. "I shall go anywhere I please, and I'll not be accounting to you for my every move. Now, pray, step out o' the way."

Agnes refused to budge. "Does Sir Niall know o' yet plans? If he doesna"

"You'll run and tell him?" All the old bitterness welled in Anne's throat like some acrid, spoiled wine. "Well, go ahead. I don't care. I know you spy on me for Niall. So run. Go and tell him! But I'm riding this morn, if 'tis the last thing I ever do!"

With that, Anne pushed past Agnes and all but ran down the stairs. The old woman watched her go, a troubled expression on her face. Then she gathered her skirts and made her way upstairs.

The Lady Anne had called her a spy. Well, in a sense she was. But if the lass only knew all the other times she'd not taken information about her activities to the Campbell tanist.

This time, however, she had no choice. It was indeed dangerous for a woman to be out alone. Sir Niall had to be told.

From the shadowed doorway of the keep, a man watched as Anne mounted her horse. His cold gaze followed as she rode away, the stable man shouting after her to wait while he found an escort to ride along. A thin smile touched the man's lips. He chuckled mirthlessly.

"Ride alone, will you, lass? And hasn't Niall warned you o' the dangers outside the castle walls? Mayhap I'll have to teach you a little lesson, a lesson, most unfortunately, that'll be the last thing you ever learn."

He stepped from the doorway, fastening his short-sword to his hip. With long, ground-eating strides, he headed toward the stable.

Loch Awe passed in a blur as Anne pressed her horse onward. Though she didn't consciously plan it, her direction led her toward the small burn where Iain had taken her the day before his departure.

The memory of him plucked at her heart like some bittersweet note from her clarsach. How she missed him! It seemed like years since he'd left. But then, everything seemed like years after the agony of last night.

How could she bear the shame of being hand-fasted to a man who cared so little for her feelings that he wasted no time seeking out the servants? Yet even as she cursed him, Anne knew if Niall had turned his passion toward her in the manner he'd done with Nelly, she'd have welcomed him with open arms. And that, mayhap, was the most painful realization of all.

She desired Niall Campbell. The thought of him stirred her, his tall, powerful body, the dark hair swirling across his hard-muscled chest and rippling abdomen, his iron-thewed thighs. . . .

Anne swallowed hard, an ache throbbing deep in her belly. Och, never to have thought of a man in that way before, and to now have it squandered on one such as he!

With a nudge, she urged her mount to a run, as if the action could outdistance her thoughts. The towering oaks came into view. The noise of rushing water filled her ears. Anne reined in her horse and slid from its back.

The scene was as before. The gnarled limbs of the ancient trees reached across the gurgling burn. Since she'd last been here the flowers had faded, replaced by a lush, emerald carpet of grass. The oaks had leafed out as well and would now provide ample shade from the afternoon sun. Mayhap she'd stay here the whole day, Anne mused, seeking respite from the memories beneath their sheltering arms.

Head lowered in dejection, she walked toward the giant trees. Ah, to hide away from the world for a time, she sighed to herself, to find solace and healing among friends who had seen far greater tribulations than hers. . . .

She sat beneath the trees for a long while, unable to still the restlessness, the sense of unease, that had begun to swirl through her. Finally she stood, following the burn down to the lake. Anne's gaze traveled across Loch Awe, past the narrow outcropping of land where she caught a glimpse of one of Kilchurn's towers, toward the snowy peaks of Ben Cruachan.

Cruachan,
she thought.
The Wolf o' Cruachan
. The name the people had given to Niall, that brave and fearsome warrior.

Though her feelings for Niall Campbell were unrequited, Anne struggled to assure herself that there was still some solace to be found. If he continued to find his pleasure in the servants, she could return home the way she'd arriveda virgin. And one month had already passed in the year of hand-fasting. She had only eleven more to endure. Eleven long months to be sure, but not an eternity.

Anne paused at the lake's edge. Her gaze lowered to the gently lapping waves that broke on the grassy bank. She knelt and leaned, over to cup a handful of the sparkling liquid, her long hair skimming the water. The movement of a wave caught a lock and carried it on its bobbing surface, to and fro as the current changed directions.

Fascinated, Anne watched her shimmering image reflect in the deep blue water, calling to mind her father's voice many years past. She remembered that day well, a time when she had first entered womanhood.

He had found her swimming naked in a spring-fed pond and, when she was once again dressed, had reprimanded her severely for her unladylike behavior. He had smiled, though, when he'd called her his water kelpie, certain to lure men to their deaths in the water's depths if ever they saw her swimming there. Anne had returned to the pond many times more, but always when her father was away or early in the morn before he arose. She couldn't help it; she loved the water so.

A sudden breeze whipped the lake's surface, sending agitated ripples through her image. Anne watched the wind-churned water as it momentarily obliterated her reflection, then again calmed to a mirrorlike surface. In it, she once more saw herself. But this time she was not alone.

The form of a Campbell warrior loomed behind her but his identity was blurred by the gently undulating water. For a wild, joyous moment she thought it was Niall, come to set things right between them.

Then the man spoke. "Come to the loch to cast your spell over it, have you?" Hugh Campbell snarled. "To poison the water that we drink, mayhap? Well, no matter. I've caught you in time. You shan't escape justice again."

Anne whirled, losing her balance to fall backward into the muddy shallows. She stared up into Hugh's madness-twisted features and the heart-stopping smile of pure malevolence on his lips. Dread ensnared her heart.

She'd been a fool to ride here alone. She should have known there were those in Kilchurn who wished her dead. And now, in her angry confusion over Niall, she had played straight into one of their hands.

"II cast no spell over the loch," Anne began in desperation, striving to soothe the madness from Hugh's eyes. I but watch the water, full o' my own thoughts and dreams. Have you never done the same, Hugh?"

For an instant, the brown-haired man's face softened. A faraway light gleamed in his dark eyes. "Aye, that I have, lassie. Long ago, with a girl named Dora." Then, as fast as it had appeared, the light faded. A cold, furious expression transformed his face. "But Dora wasn't what she seemed, the conniving, heartless bitch," he muttered. "She tried to steal my soul. I was forced to expose her for what she wasa witch."

Hugh moved closer. He towered over Anne, his shadow blocking the sunlight. "She roasted at the stake and I made myself watch. I had to, you see, if I was to purge the memory o' her and her enchantress's body from my heart and soul."

He leaned down and jerked Anne to her feet, his strong fingers gouging the soft flesh of her arm. " 'Tis a blessing for you I haven't the time to turn you over to the authorities. You'll die this day, but at least your suffering won't be that o' my Dora."

With a cruel twist of his hand, Hugh began to drag Anne into the water. She fought him every step of the way. She beat at him with her free hand. She pounded at his face while she kicked at his legs as best she could.

Hugh seemed oblivious to the pain. The crazed, fixed smile on his face never wavered as he dragged her deeper and deeper into the water. Anne screamed. At the cry, Hugh grabbed her about the neck, throttling her.

A sob rose in Anne's throat, a mixture of hopelessness and abject terror. Yet still she fought him as the lake rose now to swirl about her waist. There was so little time left before he turned and pushed her down beneath the water. So little time . . . and nothing more she could do.

As he choked the breath from her, Anne's hands gradually relaxed against the grip on her throat. Hugh shoved her into the cold, dark water. From a place far removed, she screamed at herself to fight on, not to give up.

With one last, superhuman effort, Anne struggled to free herself, twisting and bucking against him. Her head rose to break the surface. She gasped for a precious breath as one of Hugh's hands loosened and moved from her throat. She grabbed at his shirt to pull herself upward. A fist slammed into the side of her face.

Pain exploded in Anne's jaw. Then blackness, horrifying in its finality, engulfed her.