Child of the Mist (11 page)

Anne found lain there. Like a beacon in the night he drew her, the only person in the crowded room whom she knew to be friend.

At that moment, lain looked up. He smiled and strode over to her.

Niall's grip on Anne's arm tightened when he noted the direction his cousin's path was taking. He forced his muscles to unclench, his breathing to even.

Iain. Can it really be Iain?
he asked himself for the hundredth time.
I can't believe it. I won't believe it, not yet, not without proof. And it isn't the time to reveal your suspicions to Iain or any man. Play the fool awhile longer. Lure the traitor into the trap. The victory, when it comes, will be all the sweeter for the waiting.

Despite the calming words of reason, a cold anger stirred in Niall at Anne's welcoming smile for the blond man. All his iron control couldn't mask the muscle that twitched in his jaw as a sudden thought assailed him. Could his cousins flirtatious attentions toward Anne have a more sinister purpose than the light-hearted teasing it appeared? Could Iain somehow plan to use her against him? It would be the way of a traitor.

But it was too soon to place all his suspicions on Iain, Niall reminded himself. There were others just as suspect. He must remember that. He
must
remain in control and clearheaded. It was the only way to ferret out the traitor.

Niall inhaled a rasping breath. Damn, but the doubts, the constant questions, were eating him alive!

"Lady," Iain's deep voice intruded on Niall's tormented thoughts. His cousin rendered Anne a customary nod. "I'm pleased to see you're no worse for the journey's wear." His eyes gleamed in open admiration. "The blue o' that dress becomes you greatly."

Anne flushed. Grimly, Niall recalled she'd not reacted half so strongly when he'd complimented her earlier. He glared at the younger man. Iain seemed not to notice.

" 'Tis time to be seated," Niall growled, his decision made.

Until he could ascertain Iain's true intentions, every effort must be made to keep Anne from his cousin. It was the safest course of action. Niall turned to her, eliminating Iain from the conversation.

Anne pulled her gaze from Iain's smiling countenance. "Aye. As you wish, m'lord."

The hard glitter in Niall's eyes startled her. Whatever was the matter now?

She glanced at Iain. " 'Twould please me greatly if you'd sit by me at table. A familiar face, among so many strangers"

"Iain will sit elsewhere."

Puzzlement darkened her eyes. " 'Tis a simple matter to move one person. Please, m'lord"

"My mind is made. Now, no more o' it." Niall led Anne toward the table.

She considered protesting his highhanded manner but a glance at Iain quashed that idea. His deep blue eyes had narrowed to slits. Were they always so at odds with each other? Anne wondered.

The main table was raised above the others on a dais, situated perpendicularly to two other long tables. Though the lower tables were comfortably provided with padded benches, the chief's had English chairs covered in bright green damask. As Niall held out a chair for Anne, Iain took his place down at the far end of the main table.

It seemed too great an insult to one of the Campbell's immediate family when she knew Iain's rightful place was at center table. Her heart went out to the young man.

"How can you be so cruel to your cousin?" she demanded softly when Niall was seated beside her.

"He means you no discourtesy in his kindness to me."

"I've my reasons," he muttered. "Now, no more o', it!"

Anne's lips tightened but she withheld comment. Rebellious, uncomplimentary imprecations, nonetheless, roiled in her head.
If I were you, you pigheaded dolt,
she raged at Niall silently,
I'd withhold my good will from the father, not the son. He's the one to beware, with those dead eyes of his
.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anne noted Duncan Campbell seating himself on Niall's other side. At the memory of the older man's inscrutable expression, a premonitory chill prickled down her spine. Mad cousin Hugh, cold-eyed Uncle Duncan. The disparity between the Campbell's personality and his reputed conduct toward her clan. The strange circumstances surrounding the Wolf's capture. What had her father said that day of the Campbell army's arrival? Something about entrapping Niall . . . and a traitor?

Aye, there was indeed something dangerously amiss in the castle, but what, she had yet to fathom. And now, vowed to the Campbell tanist as she was, Anne sensed she risked full involvementeven to the endangerment of her life.

Niall signaled for the feast to begin. Anne found little interest in the sumptuous fare, though, at any other time, the fresh, fried Loch Awe trout, succulent slices of cured mutton, and stoved chicken surrounded by onions, potatoes, and carrots would easily have tempted her appetite. There was scant energy left for eating at any rate. All her efforts were needed in maintaining a calm, proud front for the curious, hostile-eyed Campbells.

Her lack of interest in the fare wasn't lost on Niall. He noted how she moved the food around on her plate to feign eating it, her refusal of the dessert of sugar rolls and honey cakes sprinkled with ground almonds, the pale, taut look on her face. The coolly restrained reception of his people didn't help he knew, nor did Caitlin's glaring animosity on Anne's other side.

Curse it all,
Niall thought in exasperation. Though he knew a MacGregor wouldn't be readily accepted after years of bitter feuding, he'd hoped for a more pleasant evening. A sense of the long, difficult road ahead for Anne filled him. He made a silent vow to aid her as best he could.

Guilt at the memory of the look on her face earlier plucked at him. Perhaps he'd been too harsh with her. He knew she'd been upset over his refusal to allow Iain to sit with them.

Niall sighed. If only he dared trust her with his cousin. But he didn't dare trust anyone right now, not even his own family. Damn that traitor to hell!

The meal ended, and the minstrels with pipes and harps arrived to entertain the gathering. Niall sat through the singing, becoming more tense by the moment. Finally, when the fiddlers entered to take their seats and the rushes were moved aside for the dancing, he could bear it no longer.

His wounded leg be damned! Perhaps a turn at a reel would ease the unpleasant churning in his gut.

He offered Anne his hand. " 'Tis time for the dancing to begin."

She stared down at his large, calloused palm, well aware tradition dictated the lord and his lady lead the first dance. But to go down to the dance floor, to stand there and subject herself to the full examination of all. . . .

Anne rose in a rustle of skirt and petticoats, her expression inscrutable save for the resolute silver fire in her eyes. "As you wish, m'lord."

She allowed him to escort her onto the dance floor. Together with Iain, Duncan, Hugh, Niall's sis-

ter, Caitlin and two other women of the clan nobility, they formed lines, the men opposite the women, for the reel. As the music began, Anne turned to face Niall. Standing in place, they executed the intricate
pas de basque
steps recently popularized by Queen Mary's court. Then, moving in unison, the two of them crossed behind Iain and his partner to meet in the center with the third couple in line, Duncan and the dark-haired Caitlin. Joining hands in the middle above their heads, they moved in a circle to the music.

As they danced, Caitlin's seething animosity, barely restrained during the meal, flared into overt hostility. It grew until Anne thought, at any moment, the girl would halt and, in the middle of all, attack her. Fortunately, the dance just then required partners to be exchanged. Niall whisked his glaring sister away.

"You must be patient with our little Caitlin," Duncan murmured as he moved with Anne down the center of the line behind his niece and nephew. "She doesn't take kindly to a MacGregor in our midst, and hasn't the maturity o' years to hide it."

Anne shot him an assessing glance. "Indeed. 'Tis a trait in short shrift this eve. But do not lay the blame too heavily on Caitlin's shoulders. She, at least, has the excuse o' youth."

Duncan's mouth tightened. "That may be, lady, but you'll not win our hearts with an arrogant air. If compromise is needed, mayhap it should come"

Once more they met in the middle with Niall and Caitlin. For a brief moment Niall scrutinized Anne's face. With a frown, he noted the anger burning in her eyes. Had. Duncan said something untoward?

Niall shot a glance at his uncle before the two couples separated once more to dance away. The older man's features were calm, a slight smile on his lips. Niall relaxed.

He turned back to his sister. It seemed there was no need to look further than her for the source of Anne's discomfiture.

"You've played the role o' hostess poorly this eve, lassie."

Turquoise eyes glared up at him. "Och, and how so?"

"You know the answer as well as I." Niall steadily returned her gaze. " 'Tisn't proper to treat the Lady Anne so inhospitably. I expect you to set the example. No good will come o' continuing the feud at her expense."

"You're the only Campbell here who stands to profit from her presence." Caitlin's rosy lips curved disdainfully. "Couldn't you have found a bedmate closer to home, brother dear?"

Niall's eyes narrowed but he withheld comment. He swung his sister about and headed up the outside of the line to rejoin Anne and Duncan.

"She saved my life!" he finally growled. "I'd have thought that alone would've endeared her to you. But no matter. You've only to obey me in this. Do you understand?"

"Och, and all too clearly." Caitlin's eyes filled with tears. "I'll obey you but, though I love you with all my heart, I can never be
her
friend. Her presence here has ruined my life!"

She danced off to rejoin Duncan, effectively ending the conversation.

Caitlin's parting words echoed in Niall's head. More unsettled than before, he rejoined Anne to begin the same dance routine with the next couple, Hugh and his partner.

That set, though no words were exchanged, was equally disconcerting. Hugh never ceased his furious glaring at Anne. Only Niall's quelling presence, hovering nearby, prevented outright rudeness on his cousin's part.

To Anne, the dance seemed to drag on interminably. One by one, she was forced to meet and deal with a gamut of hostile gazes from the other dancers.
And what did you expect,
she asked herself wryly time and again,
open arms and Highland jigs?

The music finally faded, signaling the end to the dance. Niall glanced down at Anne, suddenly weary of the evening's festivities. Her face looked pale and strained.

''You're tired, lass," he murmured softly, learning close as he spoke. "Tis been a hard day. 'Tis past time you were abed."

Silver eyes met his. "Aye," she whispered. " '"Twould seem so."

They left the hall, the lilting tunes and happy laughter following them like so many mocking spec- tres. Yet as eager as she'd been to leave the prying, unfriendly eyes in the Great Hall, the nearer they drew to the bedchambers, the heavier Anne's heart began to pound within her breast.

How would she ever bear what lay ahead? If only she weren't so tired, so emotionally drained from the events of the worst, the most confusing, day of her life! She wanted so to endure with dignity. If only he'd be gentle with her. . . .

Niall opened the door to Anne's bedchamber. Once inside, he turned to her, searching for words to express his regret at the night's unpleasantness. In spite of himself, all he could think of was how lovely the interplay of shadow and light was upon Anne's face. Lord, had he ever truly realized how beautiful she was?

Her hair fell like curling silk about her shoulders before cascading down her back. The sight of it filled Niall with a sudden yearning to touch it. Her soft, moist lips were slightly parted. His heart quickened as his gaze momentarily narrowed to the lush ripeness of her mouth. Yet it was the sweep of her long, sooty lashes, lowering to rest gently against the curve of her high cheekbones, that was his true undoing.

Anne's delicate flowerlike scent wafted up to him. Niall inhaled deeply. Desire, unwanted, unexpected, swept through him, igniting a roaring conflagration in his loins like flame through dry tinder. His breath caught in his throat. His hand brushed her cheek.

She tensed, and the effort to restrain herself from stepping away was evident. It shattered the mesmerizing fascination that held Niall entranced.

Damn it to hell! This is madness,
he raged at himself.
I want naught from her, and most certainly not her body. Nay, it can't be her body. I haven't desired a woman since
. . . .

The admission was painful, yet at the same time, oddly exciting. And it would explain the strange yearning, the heavy fullness that had settled in his groin at the sight of Anne just now. Aye, it would explain, but never justify it.

His hand cupped her chin. Apprehension flared in Anne's luminous eyes.

Niall shook his head, his voice ragged. "You've naught to fear from me, lass. Truly, I mean no harm."

"II don't fear you."

Niall's mouth quirked. "Och, and don't you now?"

She didn't answer.

"Well, no matter." His hand fell from her face. "If 'tis bedding with me that worries you, you've naught to fear. I won't force myself on you. 'Tisn't my way."

His eyes lowered. "I'm not ready to commit to a woman, to sire another bairn, no matter how dearly my father desires it. I spoke true in my reasons for our handfasting. The loss o' my wife . . . and wee son . . . pains me still."

With an effort, Niall lifted his gaze to hers. "I don't know what you thought or expected, but 'tis too soon."

Anne stared up at him, deeply stirred by the undercurrent of intense sorraw, by his plea for understanding. How quickly he could change from an arrogant, self-possessed warrior to a vulnerable, tormented man! Och, it was too much to fathom, especially tonight of all nights.

She managed a small, tentative smile. "Don't concern yourself, m'lord. I am grateful you'll go slowly with me. 'Tis more than I ever dared hope."