Child of the Mist (9 page)

Iain. else would have better cause than Iain to see him dead? When his father had first turned ill, Niall, thanks to a faction highly in favor of Iain, had not automatically been chosen tanist. In the end the position had finally fallen to him. He'd thought Iain had accepted it but now he wondered. Perhaps, even after all these years, Iain was biding his time.

But his boyhood friend, gallant, courageous Iain? Niall flung aside the gnawing suspicions with a violent shake of his head.

Proof. He had no proof and there were others. He mustn't forget the others, like Hugh and Uncle Duncan.

But cousin Hugh, though well known to covet the chieftainship, was far too unstable to be accepted by the clan. And Duncan, though his father's brother and a strong advisor, might be considered too old to bring much long-term stability. But Iain . . . Iain was young, strong, and very capable.

Suddenly, proof or not, Niall couldn't stand the thought of Iain near anything that was his, and that included Anne. He growled a brief word of explanation to Duncan, then wheeled his mount around and rode back to join the pair.

He pulled up alongside Anne. Niall's keen glance scanned both of them before finally settling on his cousin. "Your father wishes to speak with you. Ride ahead."

Iain laughed. "Have a need to be with your lady, have you? Och, cousin, why not just come out and say it? You've never couched words so gently before."

"Ride ahead and no more o' it!"

"M'lady." Iain nodded to Anne, then urged his mount forward.

She waited until her blond companion was out of earshot, then turned to Niall. "Was it necessary to be so rude? He only tried to keep me company, to distract me from my sorrow."

Niall snorted disdainfully. "And did he now? I think he sniffs a little too closely at what's not his."

Indignation surged through Anne. "Why, you crude, churlish knave! We may be handfasted, but I'm not some piece o' chattel you must protect from your lust-crazed warriors. And I won't abide you telling me who I may and may not take as friend. There'll be few o' those at Kilchurn as 'tis."

"Fear not, sweet lass." Niall chuckled grimly, refusing to allow her to anger him. "I've already taken steps to remedy that wee shortcoming. The rider I sent ahead will notify the castle o' our arrival. And I've' ordered a feast this eve to welcome you to the clan. So you see, you'll soon have more friends than you'll know what to do with."

"Aa feast?"

Anne swallowed hard.
He thinks to unsettle me,
she thought and shook her head firmly. "Pray, don't go to such trouble for my sake. There's no need to make pretenses you do not feel. 'Twill fool no one, at any rate.''

Niall clamped down hard on an angry retort. "And I say you mistake yourself, madam. All pretense aside, the only way you'll ever gain acceptance is if I accept you. The feast is but my way o' showing that. So don't turn up that haughty little nose o' yours. 'Twillna endear you at Kilchum."

I don't care"

"And I say, don't let fly what you can't call back. For better or worse, Kilchurn is your home, the Campbells your people, for the next year at least. Besides," Niall continued in a gentler tone, I don't wish you ill. You saved my life, after all, and at great expense to yourself."

"And I don't need your pity," she snapped back at him. "'Twas a point o' honor that saved your life and naught else."

"Then attend the feast as a point o' honor, for to hide in your room would only confirm what my clan already thinks o' MacGregors."

Anne's hands tightened about her horse's reins. "And what might that be?"

Niall's glance moved casually to scan the countryside. "Och, naught really. Just that MacGregors are all cowards."

"Why, you big, arrogant"

"Now calm yourself, lassie." Her dark companion laughed. "Those weren't my thoughts.
I
certainly have never doubted your courage. I was thinking o' what others might say, if you failed to show your face this eve."

"I'll be there," Anne muttered, "and no mistake. Are there any other surprises you've planned tonight? If so, tell me now."

He coolly assessed her, his eyes moving over her face and body until Anne's cheeks flushed with exasperating warmth. Realization of his interpretation of her words flashed through her mind. Disgusting, ruttish stag!

Niall returned her anger-bright glare. "Nay, no others. I'd imagine you've already envisioned far worse than I could ever surprise you with. Now, if you'll permit me, I'll remove what must surely be my unpleasant presence. Will you mind riding alone, or shall I send back one o' my men?"

Anne shot Niall a contemptuous look. "Don't concern yourself about me. Considering the choice o' company, riding alone is far more to my liking."

He grinned, then signaled his mount forward. Anne watched him ride away, relief flooding her at being free of Niall Campbell's loathsome presence. Her gaze sought the form of his golden-haired cousin riding up ahead.

Och, she silently mourned, if only Iain had been her father's choice. He, she could have come to care for. And his bedding of her, if not pleasant, would have at least not been the terrifying, degrading experience she feared awaited her at the hands of the legendary Wolf of Cruachan.

She'd seen it all, guessed her fate, in that last look he'd sent her. Her fateand horrible it was.

The rain that had held off all day began to fall. Anne pulled her cloak tightly around her to ward off the encroaching dampness, shivering even as she did. Up ahead, through the mist that rose from the land, she could make out the white-capped, twin peaks of Ben Cruachan. Soon, they'd clear the last of the hills. Soon, the deep waters of Loch Awe would come into view.

Loch Awe and Castle Kilchurn, that great stone fortress of Clan Campbell. Soon it would imprison her as mercilessly as it held others out. And soon, all too soon, she must face Niall Campbell alone themacross the unlikely battlefield of a bed.

"Here, lassie," Old Agnes murmured soothingly as she stepped away from the tub of steaming water and bustled over to Anne, "let's get those wet clothes off and ye into this nice warm bath. 'Twill take the chill from yer bones. Ye dinna want to catch the ague, do ye?"

The ague,
Anne thought humorlessly. Folk sometimes died if its fever and lung sickness couldn't be controlled. It would be the answer to all her problems. She'd escape this unfriendly place, not be forced to face Niall Campbell and his unwelcome advances. Aye, the ague for once seemed a most welcome fate.

Numbly, Anne felt hands touch her as the old maidservant worked free the fastenings of her gown. The air of the bedchamber, though warm from a roaring hearth fire, still made her tremble when the sodden clothes finally fell away.

Agnes wrapped an arm around Anne's shoulders, firmly guiding her to the large wooden tub. "That's my lass," she crooned. "Just step into this nice warm water and ye'll soon feel better. We've enough time before the feast even to soap yer hair, then dry it before the fire. Ye'll look glorious when I'm through with ye, and no mistake."

Anne obediently climbed in and sank beneath the water. As the heat gradually replaced the shuddering spasms, her eyes closed and she sighed.

A gnarled hand stroked her head. "See, lassie? Didna I tell ye? 'Twill be all right soon enough. Now, let me wash yer hair with some o' this fine soap. Doesna it smell heavenly?"

Anne inhaled deeply of the sweet lavender scent. The gentle, kneading motion of the maid's fingers lulled her into a deeper and deeper state of relaxation. She sank lower into the water. It was so blissful, so comforting, Anne thought dreamily, after the tense, uncomfortable journey and arrival at Kilchurn.

The rain had continued for hours and their party had arrived miserably soaked to the skin. Though Niall immediately hustled her upstairs to her room, insisting she get out of her clothes before she took a chill, Anne couldn't help but notice the sullen stares and raised brows that followed them through the keep.
News travels fast,
she'd thought grimly,
and bad news fastest of all
.

Hostility pervaded the Great Hall as they'd walked across it, hounding her down the cool stone corridors, tailing her to the very door of her chamber. Only now, safely inside, the cold finally seeping from her in the gently lapping water, did Anne at last allow herself to relax. If only she didn't have to ever leave this room. . . .

All too soon, it seemed, Agnes was urging Anne from the rapidly cooling water. "Come along, lassie." The old woman wrapped a bath sheet about Anne's water-slick body. "Come, sit before the fire and I'll comb out yer hair. 'Twill be so lovely when it's dried, as thick and wavy as 'tis. How would ye like me to dress it for the feasting?"

Anne lowered herself to the cushioned stool before the fire. She shrugged. "'Tis o' no import. Do with it what you will."

Agnes frowned. "Now, lassie, dinna talk like that. O'course it matters. Ye want to be looking as pretty as ye can for the young lord, dinna ye? "Tis past time he find happiness again, and no"

A cool gust of air halted the maidservant's good-hearted ramblings. Both turned to the door, now standing ajar. In its opening stood the tall, slim figure of a girl of about the age of fourteen, her long, black hair wafting gently about her shoulders in the back draft of the hallway. Even from across the room, Anne could see the flashing brilliance of her turquoise eyes, flashing angrilyat her.

"L-Lady Caitlin," Old Agnes gasped in surprise. "What brings ye here so near the feasting? Why havena ye dressed"

The old servant's words died as Caitlin strode across the room. She eyed Anne, then sniffed disdainfully. "So, this is the wench Niall brought back from MacGregor lands. You're comely enough, I'll warrant, at least for warming my brother's bed, but I can't understand why he'd willingly bind himself to a MacGregor slut."

Anne went rigid, barely hearing Agnes's horrified cry. Clasping the sheet to her, she rose and moved the few feet to stand before Caitlin. Though the girl was taller by half a head, Anne stared steadfastly up at her, returning the hostile glare with a calm one of her own.

So it begins,
she thought.
And I must be the one to swallow my pride, to offer my hand in peace, if I'm to survive this year. Well, she's little more than a child after all
.

"Aye," Anne admitted quietly, "I'm MacGregor, and no mistake. But I'm not a slut and I'll thank you to remember that. Otherwise, we can never be friends."

Caitlin's lips curled contemptuously. "Friends? Hah!"

Water-damp hair brushed Anne's shoulders with her nod. "Aye, friends. Tis past time for the feuding to end. Can it not begin with us? 'Twould set an example for all to heed."

Surprise widened the girl's striking blue-green eyes. For a moment, Anne thought she saw hesitation flicker there. Then something passed across them, a memory perhaps. Caitlin's lips tightened with renewed resolve.

"Nay, it can never be. Though you saved my brother's life, too much has been ruined by this hand-

fasting." The ebony-haired girl vehemently shook her head. "Nay, I cannot be your friend. 'Tis impossible!"

In a flurry of skirts and whirling tresses, Caitlin hurried from the chamber. Silence hung heavy in the room for a time, until a fire-eaten log fell to the hearth in a loud explosion of wood and glowing sparks. With a deep sigh, Agnes went to shut the door, then moved to the curtained bed. She returned with a blue velvet dressing gown.

"Here, lassie," she said as she held it open for Anne to put on, "cover yerself before ye take a chill. Tis cold enough in this castle without ye enduring the stone damp on top o' it all."

Aye,
Anne mused, wrapping the dressing gown about her,
the castle's dwellers are a chill lot indeed. And each, for his own reasons, resents my presence here
. Expelling a deep breath, Anne turned back to the fire's warmth, fearing it was the last comfort she'd find in the night ahead.

A firm knock at the door interrupted Agnes. Quickly brushing the long mass of dark red curls to cascade down her mistress's back, the old servant finished fastening the clasp of the heavy pendant necklace around Anne's neck. Then she hurried to the door.

Anne continued to stare into the hand mirror, her pensive gaze riveted upon the twinkling blue stone surrounded by its ornate silver setting. It had once been her mother's, but that gentle lady was now dead over five years. Anne cherished the necklace with all her heart.

She sighed.
'Twill give me the strength to see this night through,
she thought,
and all the days thereafter, if only I keep it close. 'Twill sustain my courage so I don't bring dishonor upon my clan
.

The creak of iron hinges intruded on her poignant musings, and Anne laid down the mirror.

"M'lord. Your lady's ready just this moment."

Anne's gaze jerked around. Tall and broad-shouldered, Niall Campbell's powerful form filled the doorway. He now wore doublet, skintight trews that molded to his hard-muscled legs, and plaid draped across his body and over his left shoulder. A high-collared white shirt peeked from beneath the close-fitting, long-sleeved jacket. Stockings and soft, heelless brogs covered his feet.

Niall moved toward her, his leg wound barely seeming to hamper him, his stride one of a lithe, confident Highland warrior. Anne swallowed hard, a strange, languid warmth flowing through her.

His eyes, though still bruised and swollen from his beating at MacGregor hands, glittered in the firelight as he stared down at her. A curious half-smile lifted the corners of his mouth. At his bold perusal, heat flushed Anne's cheeks. It angered her, this continued, uncharacteristic response to him.

"Are you quite done staring at me, m'lord? If I haven't dressed to your satisfaction, there's yet time to change."

A chuckle rumbled deep within Niall's chest. "For such a wee wisp o' a lass, you're certainly always looking for a fight. But you won't get one from me."

He glanced admiringly down the length of her body. "That particular shade o' pale blue does special things to your eyes. You've dressed to my satisfaction and more."