Child of the Mist (6 page)

A loud commotion reached Anne as she strode into the main hall and toward the huge, open doorway. From the outer bailey came the sound of men's shouts, the clang of weapons, and the stamping and snorting of nervous horses. She stepped out into the keep's inner courtyard. No one was about. Anne's pace quickened.

She was out the gate and halfway across the outer bailey before a servant scurried by, a harried look on her face. Anne grabbed her by the arm.

"What's amiss? Why is everyone rushing about?"

"R-rushing about?" the little maidservant panted. "Dinna ye know, ma'am? 'Tis the Campbells! They're at our gates, a whole army o' them! Och, 'twill go bad for us now, very bad!"

Her silver eyes turned to the parapets where, even now, MacGregor clansmen were massing, the stiff wind flapping their red tartans about their legs like crimson flames. The stout form of her father paced the walkway. She headed toward him.

He was staring out over the hills, his features grim. Anne followed his glance and gasped. There, in what seemed an endless mass of tartan hues, was a huge army. Though Campbells were most prevalent, Anne could also make out the colors of several other clans. Campbell allies, one and all, she thought bitterly, and armed to the teeth for war.

"Give him to us, MacGregor!"

Three Campbell men rode forward. From her vantage point, Anne recognized one of them as Niall's mad cousin, Hugh.

"Give us our tanist or you'll rue the day you so foully took him!" the oldest of the trio, a tall, bearded blond man, shouted.

'And who are you to threaten me, Campbell?" Alastair MacGregor boomed back at him. "I'll keep your man as long as I please,' and no amount o' threats will make me give him up before I'm ready.

You'll not menace me from my own castle!"

"Och, and will we not?" The sandy-haired Campbell gestured about him. "Think long and hard, man. Tomorrow, at dawn's first light, well ask you again."

Before her father could reply, the leaders turned their horses and galloped away, their army following swiftly behind. On a distant hillock they halted. As Anne and her father watched, the warriors began to set up camp.

"What will you do, Father?"

"And what do you suppose?" he snapped, his eyes burning with an admixture of rage and frustration. "They'll lay siege if we don't give him up, and how long could we last?"

Alastair gripped the stone wall, his shoulders hunched in despair. "Och, curse the day I ever laid eyes on that man," he muttered, half to himself. "Curse the day I ever entrapped Niall Campbell! I should've known a traitor helps neither side."

"What are you saying? How did you entrap Niall Campbell?" Anne's nails sank deep into the flesh of his arm. "And what do you mean, 'a traitor'?"

He shook her hand away with an exasperated gesture. "Leave me be, lass! I've got to think! Got to find a way out o' this that'll save both our hides and our honor."

Her father stalked off, his head bent in deep concentration. Anne turned back to the scene outside the castle walls. Lovingly, her gaze swept the wooded glens, the bracken-strewn hills and meadows, the rocky crags. MacGregor land.

For eight years now they'd borne the periodic raids, the dreaded attack of intruders. But today was the culmination of their deepest fears, for the nightmare had at last become reality in an army that stood ready to destroy them. And there was naughtnaught at allthey could do about it.

"What do you want with me?"

Niall stood before Alastair MacGregor, groggy from being dragged from a heavy slumber, his hands and feet in shackles. His glance strayed to the deep, stone-cut window across the chief's room. It was pitch black outside. What time was it? Midnight or past?

Alastair watched the guards shut the door behind them before answering. "We have a problem."

Niall's attention riveted on the older man. "We do? And what might that be?"

Damn him,
the MacGregor cursed silently. Even in chains the arrogant young whelp refused to make it easy. Something inside Alastair hardened.
Well, he'll not best me in this, for I've naught left to lose. . . 
.

"Your clan lies outside the castle," Alastair said. "They demand your return."

Niall shrugged. "Then 'tis simple. Give me to them."

"Nay, 'tisn't simple at all. MacGregor honor couldn't bear such disgrace."

Tawny-brown eyes studied him. Alastair saw the understanding flare in their depths.

"'Tis as you say," Niall admitted at last. "'Tis never a simple matter where Highland honor's concerned. What do you want o' me?"

The MacGregors hands clenched. His heart quickened in excitement. "An end to the feud."

"And how do you propose we do that?'

Alastair walked to the whiskey decanter and leisurely filled two cups with the potent brew. Prolonging the effect of his reply, he handed one of the cups to Niall before answering.

"How else, but in the age-old custom o' joining the clans? You'll take my Annie as wife."

Niall stared at him for a long moment, then downed the contents of his cup in one gulp. He handed it back to Alastair.

"Nay, it can't be. I am honored by your offer, but I cannot wed your daughter."

"And why not?" Alastair calmly inquired. To find offense at the refusal would only weaken his plan. "'Tis a marriage made in heaven. My Annie's a beautiful, kind-hearted lass, a wee bit headstrong but from what I've seen and heard o' you, you're just the man to tame her. She's well built, healthy, and will bear you fine sons. What more can a man ask? 'Twill join our two clans
and
put an end to the feud."

"Indeed, she seems everything you've said and more." Niall ran a hand raggedly through his hair. "The problem lies not with her, but with me. I still mourn my wife."

Alastair nodded sympathetically. I can well understand your hesitation. I, too, lost a beloved wife. But it has been a year, a fair time for a mourning. You're the chief's son and clan tanist. You, o' all men, recognize that the peoples' welfare comes before your own desires, however justifiable they may be. None will condemn you for ending your mourning, not when 'twill bring an end to the feuding."

"And I don't care what anyone thinks, one way or another!" Niall rasped, his tall frame tensing in anger. "Who is to say a year is long enough? I'll not shame the memory o' my wife for anyone! Do you hear me, MacGregor?
Anyone!
"

Alastair's jaw clenched. This was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated. He hadn't counted on the man's deep emotions for his wife clouding his judgement.

"And I say, think again. You're hardly in a position to refuse. Though you managed to escape death once, I've naught to lose nowand you've everything."

Niall laughed. "And do you think I believe you'd dare kill me with a Campbell army outside your gates? Your castle would be overrun and every man, woman, and child put to the sword. 'Tis the Highland code."

"Who said I'd kill you?" Alastair shook his head, a grim, deadly smile twisting his mouth. "I'm not fool enough to make a martyr o' you, to return you to them clothed in the glory o' death. Nay, I thought rather to send you back a little less a man than when you came." His bushy gray brows arched. "If you get my meaning?"

Niall stiffened. The man must be addled even to suggest such a thing! He shuddered at the thought then, regaining his composure, looked deep into the MacGregor's eyes.

His enemy's gaze was as firm as his own.
He's backed to the wall,
Niall realized.
All that's left is his honor
. And that, Niall well knew, was a life-or-death matter.

But where was the honor in shaming his beloved's memory? Though he was far from wanting another wife, the MacGregor lass was comely and many marriages had been made for less than romantic reasons. He never hoped to have again what he'd once had anyway. That kind of love came only once in a lifetime. But to wed before he'd mourned as he saw fit. . . .

"And if you did such a thing, what good would I be to your daughter then, man?" Niall inquired coolly, determined not to give the MacGregor an inch in this battle of wills.

The look of surprise on the man's face salved some of Niall's wounded pride. He made his decision. All issues of love and honor aside, he knew he had to survive if for no other reason than to discover the traitor.

"You're a hard one, MacGregor." He sighed. "I'll give you what you want, but you must meet me halfway. After all, I've my pride to consider, too."

Alastair smiled, sensing the victory within his grasp. He'd won, so why not be generous?

"Ask, and if 'tis within reason, 'tis yours."

"I'll need another year before my mourning's done. I'll handfast with your daughter for that time, then wed her. 'Tis the best I can do."

Handfast,
the MacGregor thought. Lord, Annie would balk at that unwed state worse than at marrying a Campbell. To live together as man and wife without a church-sanctioned ceremony might be acceptable to many, a "trial marriage," so to speak, where both could go their way if things didn't work out, but he knew his daughter. For all her flaunting of a woman's customary strictures, she'd never go against the proper religious morals her mother had instilled in her. Yet, noting the determined set to his prisoner's jaw, he also knew Niall Campbell wouldn't budge from his offer. Annie would just have to understand.

Alastair extended his hand, a huge grin on his face. "We've a bargain. My Annie's yours." His expression turned serious as Niall clasped his hand. "I'd be obliged if you treated her kindly. Tisn't her fault, whatever bitterness you may feel toward me because o' this. Don't take it out on her."

"Don't concern yourself, man. I'll not harm her."

Niall then remembered the Reformed preacher who'd just a year ago returned from Edinburgh to take up residence once more on Campbell lands. His father's bastard brother, Malcolm Campbell, was a narrow-minded witch fanatic who'd already managed to stir the clan to the edge of panic. Niall wondered what the man's reaction would be to Anne.

He turned to Alastair. "'Twill go hard for her, nonetheless. Her witch's reputation has spread far and wide."

A wild fear sprung to the MacGregor's eyes. "You'll protect her, won't you? She's not a witch. 'Tis her great skills with healing and those strange gray eyes o' hers that give some folk pause. But she's not a witch.''

"I know that,' man. I'll do what I can." Niall gestured toward the whiskey decanter. "I'd like a wee more o' the potents, to seal the bargain as it were."

"Och." Alastair chuckled. "A man after my own heart."

He hurried over and refilled both cups. When Niall's was once more in his hand, the MacGregor raised his in a toast. "To an end to the feud once and for all, and to your"

"One thing more." Niall halted him. "As we're soon to be family, I can expect your full measure o' loyalty, can I not?"

The older man's gaze narrowed. "You already know the answer to that. What is it you want?"

"My capture. 'Twas too easy, you knowing when and where we were to attack. Who told you, MacGregor?"

"II don't know what you"

"No games, man! Don't protect a Campbell from one o' his own. Besides, who knows? He may have been the one responsible for the feud. Stranger things have happened. Tell me his name. You owe loyalty to me now, not him."

Alastair shook his head. "I can't tell you that, for I don't know the man. He came to me alone and kept his face covered. He was a crafty one and full o' hatred for you, but why, I don't know. He was careful to say little. I fear I can't help you."

"Damn!"

Frustration swelled in Niall until it nearly choked him. Save for having his suspicions confirmed, he was no closer to discovering the traitor than before. His only advantage lay in the fact the man didn't know that Niall yet suspected. It was small indeed, but all he had. But not for long. He'd see to that.

"No one must know, MacGregor. You must reveal the fact that you told me this to no one. Do you understand?"

"Aye. You have my word on it."

"Good." Niall raised his cup. "Then to the union o' our families. May it forever bring an end to the feuding."

Alastair once more lifted his cup. "To our families. May the Children o' the Mist once more live in peace with Clan Campbell."

The two men downed their drinks.

"How soon can the handfasting be done?" Niall asked. "I've a need to return home as quickly as possible."

Alastair's brow knit in thought. I must tell Annie, give her time to accept it. And her possessions need packing. Do you desire an elaborate ceremony?"

"Nay. We'll save that for the wedding."

"Then why not have it at midday? 'Twill give you time to rest and me time to break it to my daughter."

"As you wish, but we must depart immediately thereafter. Also, I'll need one o' my own as witness.

"Your clan will return at dawn's first light. You can come with me to the walls and call one inside. But no tricks. I'll not have you shame my daughter by telling her I forced her on you. Your word on it, Campbell."

Och, man,
Niall thought
. Suddenly you're caring for your daughter's feelings, after all but trading her off like some prize cow?
He controlled the sneer that threatened the comer of his mouth.

"You have my word on it, not that 'twill matter. Your daughter is too smart not to guess the truth." Niall laughed. "I don't envy you the task o' convincing her. I may as yet get out o' this. Then what will you do?"

The MacGregor's face reddened. "My Annie's an obedient daughter, for all her spunk. Shell obey her father, and no mistake."

Niall's dark brows arched challengingly. "Then call her, man. Now. Let's get this settled once and for all."

Anne awoke to her serving maid shaking her. "Ma'am? Please, ma'am, yer father's calling for ye."

"Wh-what?" Anne sat up, brushing the hair from her eyes. "Father? Did he say what he wanted?"

The little maid shook her head. "Nay. I was only told to dress ye, fix yer hair, and send ye on yer way as quickly as possible."

"Then let's get on with it." Anne sprang out of bed. "At this hour, I fear it must be important."