Child of the Mist (33 page)

Niall's long legs quickly carried him through the corridors to Anne's bedchamber, his mood far from pleasant. Iain was right. He
should
send Anne away before it was too late. But how could he do so when he'd just come to know her, and the knowing was so achingly, so shatteringly, sweet? Anne fascinated and challenged him from her gentle goodness to her fiery temper. And the moments they shared in bed. . .

At the recollection of Anne's uninhibited response, Niall's breathing quickened. His loins grew heavy. Lord, but she was so ardent, so hotly satisfying! The thought of letting her go was almost more than he could bear.

He needed her. Only she could drive away the dark loneliness that had so long enshrouded his heart. Only she fulfilled him, like no other woman he'd ever known. He couldn't, wouldn't, let her go.

They would work everything out. Niall had to believe that. Any other contemplation stirred anew the niggling fear that his own needs might be of more import than Anne's safety. The time might come when he'd be forced to face it, but not now. Now, there was still hope.

Her bedchamber was empty save for Agnes, tidying the fresh rushes on the floor. Niall went to her.

"Where's the Lady Anne?"

Agnes whirled around. Should she tell him where her lady had gone? Informing the Campbell of Anne's secret herb garden might stir once again the conflict between them. Well aware their relationship was just beginning to flower, Agnes was loathe to damage it.

"S-she is seeing to some personal business, m'lord," the old maidservant stammered.

Niall's eyes narrowed. "And, pray," he drawled, what is this personal business you seem so hesitant to reveal? Your loyalty is first to me, Agnes, then to your mistress. I want a full accounting o' where she's gone.

"Aye, m'lord." Agnes curtsied her obeisance. "She has an herb garden in the forest that she slips away to tend whenever she can."

Niall's features tightened with disapproval. Agnes quickly attempted to explain. "I saw no harm in it, for the garden gave her pleasure. She never used any o' the herbs for healing, only dried and stored them in that chest." She gestured to the carved box standing near Anne's bed.

With a low growl, Niall strode to the chest and flung back its lid. " 'Tis empty. Where are these herbs you speak o', woman?"

"Only this morn she tossed them all down the privy. I think she feared them being used against her, o' their existence causing you harm. 'Twas a great sacrifice on her part, I think, m'lord."

"I have a calling to heal . . . 'Tis sacred to me."

Anne's words that night he'd first taken her to see his father came back to haunt him. She'd given up so much, Niall thought with a surge of remorse. So much, and now even to turn from all thought of healing. . . .

Niall squared his shoulders. There was nothing that mattered more than Anne's safety.

He hurried to his own bedchamber and returned wi"Lead me to her, Agnes. Now!"

Agnes nervously bobbed another curtsy. "Aye, m'lord."

It wasn't supposed to be this hard, Anne thought miserably, the tears, despite Angus's discreet presence nearby in the trees, unashamedly streaming down her face. She dug up yet another feverfew plant, then tore it into tiny pieces before reburying it beneath the earth. Even dumping the jars hadn't tugged at her heart like this.

But these were living things, full of promise, brimming with hope. Hope for the future of her healingand with their destruction that hope died. But she had to do it. Their death ensured the destruction of all evidence against her. And for Niall, she'd do even that.

A weak breeze stirred through the quiet forest, affording a brief respite from the unusually warm summer day. Anne paused in her vigorous efforts, lifting her damp, heavy mass of hair from the back of her neck. Sadly, she surveyed her garden.

Only half a row remained and all the plants would be gone, torn to shreds and buried beneath the dirt. In but a few weeks' time, the weeds and wild grasses would have taken hold. Soon there'd be no sign a garden had once grown here. Anne wondered if her life at Kilchurn would one day matter as little. No impression, no imprint on anyone.

This time the tears were of self-pity, but Anne quickly wiped them away. Her life at Kilchurn
had
mattered, had made an impression! There was her friendship with Iain, with Ena and Agnes, all friends strong and true. There were glimmers of acceptance from some of the other castle folk as well.

Maudie and Angus had definitely warmed to her after Anne's treatment of little Davie's burnt hand. And several of the serving maids had come to her for advice on feminine ailments, advice that required but a few quick words that any lady of the castle would be able to give. She had been more than happy to assist them, without a qualm that she was going against her promise to Niall.

Aye, Anne consoled herself, Campbell acceptance was indeed slow in coming, but coming it was. All it would take was time. In the meanwhile, she would forge ahead and face what life held bravely with Niall at her side. Her love for him was that deep, that sure.

Mayhap the wind rustling through the trees covered the sound of their approach, or mayhap it was her self-absorbed thoughts, but Anne suddenly found Niall and Agnes standing before her. She climbed to her feet, the trowel still clasped in her hand.

"N-Niall, Agnes," she breathed, her silver eyes swinging from one to the other. "I"

"Why are you here?" he demanded, anger darkening his eyes. "Have I not told you time and again that 'tis dangerous for you to be alone outside the castle?"

He paused, suddenly aware of his stable man's presence and that he was reprimanding her in front of the servants. "Go, Agnes, Angus," he growled, motioning them away. "Return to the castle."

The old maidservant glanced from her master to mistress, then hurried off with Angus.

Niall waited until the servants were out of earshot. "Well, madam. Why are you here?"

A variety of responses swept through Anne's head, but she decided the flat truth was the best. "I felt the need to visit this garden one final time and destroy the last o' the evidence against me."

"Evidence?" Niall's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Explain yourself. You speak in riddles."

"Evidence o' my healing," Anne patiently began again. She inhaled a deep breath, then hurried on, "I was there, behind a secret door, when you met with your council. I heard all the accusations brought against me to discredit your claim to the chieftainship. I wouldn't have my conduct used against you again."

"So you disposed o' all your herbal medicines and are now destroying your garden." A look of shattering tenderness flared in his eyes. "Truly, lass, you sacrifice too much for me."

The trowel dropped from Anne's hand. With a cry, she ran to him. They clung to each other for a long, heated moment, the passion building.

Then Anne lifted her eyes, a soft smile curving her lips. "Do you know how much I love you?"

With a wild groan, Niall's mouth came down on hers in rapacious hunger, devouring her joyous offering, demanding more. His tongue plunged into her mouth in fierce possession, then retreated to plunge again and again. Anne arched toward him.

His hands were crazed, moving down her back, massaging her, molding her tighter and tighter to his hard length. The bulging evidence of his arousal pressed, hot and heavy, against her belly. Niall moaned aloud when her fingers traveled down his body to caress him.

"Och, lass!" he cried. "Touch me. Hold me."

"Aye, my love," Anne breathed, her voice a husky whisper. "That I will. Only tell me what you wish, and I will give it to you."

Niall's eyes clenched shut. For a moment, he threw back his head, surrendering to the exquisite pleasure of her touch. Then, with tremendous effort, he straightened. He captured her hand and moved it away.

Anne dragged her passion-heated gaze to his. "What is it, Niall?"

His low, throaty chuckle echoed in the forest stillness. "Naught. I but need a moment o' control to tell you what I wish."

"And what is that?"

"A bairn. An heir." He stroked her cheek. "Yet though I desire that greatly, some part o' me fears it as well. I don't want to lose you in childbirth."

"And won't that childbirth happen one way or another if we continue the frequency and passion o' our couplings?" Anne asked with a smile. "Don't worry yourself. I am strong and healthy. And," she said, her face softening with a gentle, loving look, "I would sooner have a few months in your arms, even if it killed me, than a lifetime without you."

Niall's arms tightened around her. "Don't say that! Don't ever speak o' dying! I fear for your safety enough as 'tis." His mouth lowered to the fragrant tumble of her hair. "Even now, I wonder if my selfishness in keeping you here will be your death. I should send you away before 'tis too late!"

Anne's arms entwined about Niall's neck. She clung to him fiercely, as if to prevent that terrible thought from becoming reality. "Nay. I beg o' you, nay. Let me stay, let me fight by your side. We are not beaten, though our enemies are many. I'm not afraid. If the time comes when I fear for
your
life because o' me, then I will leave and willingly. But not before. I won't desert you!"

"Och, Annie," Niall groaned. "I don't want you to go. I need you. But"

She pressed a gentle finger to his lips. "No more, my love. The time isn't right to speak further o' this. God willing, 'twill never be right." Her lips curved in a seductive smile. "Besides, I much prefer to speak o' your wish to make a child. This forest seems a most pleasant place to do so."

The rigidness eased from Niall's big body. He laughed. "Och, and does it now, lass?"

Anne's hands moved to the belt that held his plaid in place. "Aye. We can spread out your plaid here beneath the trees and have plenty to lie upon as well as cover us. 'Tis a fine thought. Don't you agree" She stopped, overcome with a feeling of coldness, of lurking evil. It struck her so forcibly Anne knew it for what it was. Her hands tightened on Niall's belt.

He noted the change, the shudder that wracked her slender frame. He took her by the arms. "What is it, lass? What frightens you so?"

Anne gazed up with fear-widened eyes. "Someone is here . . . watches us," she whispered.

Niall stiffened. "Where? Do you see him?"

She shook her head. "Nay, but I know it all the same. I have felt it before. We're in danger."

"Stay behind me. If we are set upon, flee to the castle."

"But I can't"

"I have my sword," he rasped in her ear. "I can hold them off until you send help. Now, no more o' it!"

Niall turned slowly, casually. Taking Anne by the hand, he began to lead her across the forest glade toward the castle. All the while, he scanned the area for a sign of an intruder. Despite his vigilance, the warning came too late.

A movement, a flash of something metallic, in the bushes off to his left caught Niall's eye. He lunged to cover Anne. A crossbow quarrel plunged into his chest.

"Niall!"

"Stay back!" he cried, sinking to his knees. "Behind me!"

"Nay!"

Anne gripped his short-sword and wrenched it free. Evading Niall's attempt to stop her, she ran toward the spot where the quarrel had flown, the sword raised high.

Her heart was in her throat, knowing full well another crossbow bolt could come flying toward her at any moment. Her only hope was to take the offensive and pray their attacker was a coward, for to cower beside Niall could well be the death of them both. Many a Scotswoman, and she included, had been schooled in the defensive use of the short-sword. She only prayed their mysterious intruder would not choose to test her on it.

A glimpse of tartan, Campbell colors, was all Anne caught of the disappearing attacker. His plaid was pulled up to cover his head so she saw nothing but a flash of bare, masculine legs and a body, bulked beyond recognition from behind by the belted plaid.

Anne halted and ran back to Niall. He was still kneeling on the ground, both hands about the quarrel's base where it protruded from his chest. His breathing was ragged, his teeth clenched. Before she could reach him, he tore out the crossbow bolt.

With a low groan, he fell, the quarrel clenched in his hand. Anne ran to Niall's side, flinging herself down beside him. She reached beneath her skirt to tear loose a large wad of petticoat. Gently, she turned Niall over and cradled his head in her lap.

Anne opened his shirt to examine the wound. It was high and far out on his left shoulder. She breathed a sigh of relief. It had missed his lung.

From the trajectory of the quarrel and Niall's position, just before he'd lunged to cover her, Anne knew the quarrel had been aimed straight for his heart.

Was it the work of the traitor, some disgruntled clansman or, horror of horrors, one of her own people in Campbell disguise, seeking revenge for the land grant?

She quashed the speculations and shoved her petticoat inside his shirt to cover Niall's wound.

''Well, lass. Will I live?"

At the amusement in Niall's deep voice, Anne jerked her gaze up to his face. He was pale, his brow damp with moisture, but a grin quirked his full, firm lips. She forced a trembling smile.

"Aye, m'lord. 'Twould take more than a puny quarrel to fell a big lout such as you."

He chuckled and the movement brought a grimace of pain. "There you go again, making me laugh when I'm wounded. You're a heartless wench, and no mistake."

"I'll show you how heartless I can be, when I get you back to the castle. Your wound will need cauterizing and I must send for Ena. I have no more salves or medicines, you know."

A large hand clasped her arm. "Nay, lass. I'll allow Ena's ministrations because she is accepted by the clan, but not yours. And even hers I will accept little o', for I must appear to respect the healer sanctioned by the Kirk. And that is Murdoch, our castle physician. I would wish it otherwise, for I trust your ministrations much more than his, but 'tis for your own protection. If something happened, if the wound festered and I died, I wouldn't have you blamed."