Child of the Mist (14 page)

"A hug o' comfort is hardly a sin," Iain muttered. "I won't leave you here to suffer his wrath. I'm not afraid o' him."

"He won't harm me. You know that. 'Twill be all right." Her hand gripped his arm. "Please, Iain."

Iain hesitated, indecision wavering in his eyes, but at last he resheathed his sword. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. "Farewell, lass. If ever you need me . . ."

Anne smiled. "Aye, well I know. Fare you well, my friend."

He mounted and rode away. Anne faced Niall. He'd sheathed his sword, but the look in his eyes remained hard and unforgiving. Slowly, like a person going to his doom, Anne walked to stand before him.

Her small chin lifted a defiant notch. Perhaps she was partly in the wrong but she was past weary of his suspicions.

"Well, m'lord? So at last you've caught me in my 'unfaithfulness.' What is my fate? I but await your pleasure."

"Don't mock me!"

"Then what would you have me say? I doubt you'd believe me at any rate!" Anne threw up her hands in frustration. "Why do you treat us like this? I've done naught, and neither has Iain. Are you trying to destroy our friendship? Is that it? Do you hate me so much you wish me friendless?"

"I don't hate you!" Niall growled. "Don't put words into my mouth, nor lay deeds at my feet not o' my doing."

He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Why is it that every time we're together we fight? 'Tisn't my intent. I swear it."

"Then why such anger toward Iain?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, save that Iain may not be all he seems." Niall lifted her chin. "I'm sorry if that's not enough, but 'tis all I can offer."

Anne wrenched away, incredulity darkening her eyes to stormy gray. "You insult me with your suspicions, all but do battle with Iain, and then offer that most inadequate o' explanations? Nay, it can
never
be enough! Despite what you may think, I'll not shirk my vows, no matter how odious they be. And don't worry about my fidelity to you, not with Iain or any other man. I can bear anything for a yearand that includes the likes o'you!"

He cocked an amused brow. "Och, and can you? And exactly what have I done that's so unforgiveable? Raped you, beat you, locked you in your room? I've the right do all that and more, yet all I've asked is that you stay away from Iain"

"Is that the truth o' it, now? Your truth, mayhap, but not mine. I say you've tried to take away my only friend, not to mention refused me my greatest joy in life, my healing. Why, you've really done naught, m'lord, but attempt to destroy my freedom, my very identity!''

His eyes strayed to the plaid she wore. "Aye, your very identity!" MacGregor identity," he rasped. "And the source o' all our problems."

His hands moved to the silver brooch upon her shoulder and began to unfasten it. "You talk about having no friends, then flaunt this plaid in everyone's face."

Anne's hands halted his. "What are you about?"

"Isn't that obvious? I don't want you wearing this in Kilchurn."

She stared at him for a moment, and read the hard resolve in his eyes. What was the use? And she
had
been a fool.

Her hands fell to her sides. "As you wish, m'lord."

The cold irony in her voice vibrated along Niall's tautly strung nerves. With a force that surprised even him, his fingers tightened in the plaid and he pulled her to him. "Curse you, woman! Why do you fight me every step o' the way? Why must all the effort be mine? You say you want friends, then don't wear this for a time. Appear to them not as a MacGregor, but as a womanmy woman. And as for Iain," he continued, anger beginning to thread his voice, "why do you constantly run to him and shut me out? You are vowed to me, yet have you ever made one gesture of friendship?"

Anne's anger evaporated, leaving only confusion. Friendship? Was it possible? Could he truly want her friendship? Her mind whirled back to the events of the past few days.

The memory of his anger and arrogance immediately flooded her but, when the roiling emotions settled, she admitted many were the times he'd also been gentle with her, apologized for his earlier harshness. And last eve, when he'd lowered his defenses to explain why he wouldn't bed her. . . .

"II don't know what to say," she murmured, "how to answer you."

Anne grasped his forearms. How warm he felt beneath his linen shirt. She ran her fingers along the corded length, marveling at the crisp texture of hair where the rolled up sleeves met bare skin. Awesome power lay coiled beneath the rippling surface, yet he had never so much as threatened her. True, he'd tried to control herand that was harm enoughraised his voice a time or two, but he'd never, ever, lifted a hand to her.

Her eyelids, weighted with growing languor by the heady nearness of him, reluctantly lifted. Compelling, gold-flecked brown eyes stared down at her, kindling a deep, aching fire. Niall's lips were clenched, his jaw rigid, but his erratic breathing belied his outward semblance of control. Strong fingers dug into Anne's arms but the pain was fiercely sweet in the spiraling current of excitement that engulfed her.

"Say naught, lass." Niall's head lowered, his voice rough velvet. "'Tis past time for talking.
Show
me what you feel."

His mouth descended, capturing hers in a hard, hungry kiss. For a moment Anne struggled, then yielded to him. Her arms entwined about his neck, her small body stretching to press against the full length of his.

At her eager response Niall shuddered, then crushed her to him. His tongue moved to, trace the soft fullness of her lips then, tentatively, slipped past her parted teeth. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, the long-repressed desire rising to surround him in a red-hot mist. His tongue plunged into her mouth in growing abandon, becoming wilder, thrusting. His hands roved over her back, then down to her small, rounded buttocks to press her more closely to his swollen manhood.

She trembled but didn't pull away, her own tongue shyly meeting his. A harsh spasm wracked Niall's body. He groaned.

If he took her now, out here beneath the trees, Niall sensed she'd not resist. And, suddenly, he wanted that, wanted it with a fierce, fiery need. For this moment in time, there was nothing but the passionate urgency of two young, ardent . . . Niall groaned and pushed Anne away, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. God, but it was still too soon, no matter how strong his reawakened needs! And he didn't know her, had yet to trust her fully. He willed his breathing to slow, his body to relax, avoiding Anne's glance until he could handle the excitement that stirred anew at the sight of her ripe, kiss-swollen mouth.

"11 beg pardon," he finally muttered, his voice still husky with desire. " 'Tisn't right, what we almost did, I told you before, II'm not ready."

Anne stepped back, wrapping her plaid protectively about her. "Aye, you said that, though your body speaks differently. But fear not, m'lord. I'll respect your request. I will not force myself on you."

She wheeled about and strode toward the horses.
Curse him!
Anne thought through her rising sense of shame and frustration.
He takes me and when I respond, he acts as if I'd been far too eager to throw myself at him
.

She stopped short. Well, mayhap she had. He
was
her clan's hated enemy. Eight years of bitter feuding should not be forgotten in but two days of hand-fasting.

Tears, maddeningly unwelcome, filled Anne's eyes.
I hate him!
she raged.
He toys with my heart at every turn! Och, how I hate him!

A hand gripped her shoulder and jerked her around. Brown eyes blazed down at her.

"I didn't mean 'twas your fault, lass," Niall rasped, his expression one of bewildered remorse. "II'm not angry at you, but at myself. Aye, angryand totally confused." A wry grin twisted his rugged face. "And, truly, can you blame me? One moment we're talking about friendship and the next . . . Well, we're all but mating on the ground."

Anne shook off his hand, her fists rising: to a position of exasperation on her hips. Enough of this maddening man!

"And what o' it? 'Twas a mistake on both our parts. Enough said."

"Aye," Niall agreed.

A soft smile grazed his lips as he moved to help her onto her horse. "Mistake or not, enough said . . . until the need arises to speak o' it again."

The hissing and popping of pine sap splattering onto hungry flames drew Niall's attention from the letter. He glanced up from the massive oak desk that commanded an entire corner of the library, his eyes moving wearily toward the stone hearth on the opposite wall. Outside, a heavy, late-spring rain slanted past the window, pelting the castle with wind-driven sheets of water.

A fine day to be indoors attending to clan business,
Niall thought.
Warm and dry, with a glass of fine claret to chase away the ever-present dampness
. Yet the feathery script on the parchment spread before him seemed as illegible as some foreign language. Too many impressions, too many memories, bombarded him until he found himself reading and rereading the page in an unseeing daze. Finally, after a futile hour of little progress, Niall put away the letter.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass. He swirled the crimson liquid, watching the interplay of firelight and shadow on the backdrop of fine crystal. It sparkled and shimmered in the hearth's amber glow like tongues of flame. Like the auburn glints in Anne's hair. Like the inner fire that flared in her eyes when she was angry.

Anne. When had he begun to think of her as Anne? A small, wondering frown puckered Niall's brow. The mention of her namehis beloved wife's nameno longer chafed the raw, festering wound of his loss. Yet when had that happened? He'd met her barely three weeks ago when she'd stood before all his men, a glorious, defiant beauty. Since then he'd spent but a few days with her, and most of those filled with constant conflict.

Already he looked at her in a different light. She stirred him like no other since the death of his first Anne. Stirred him deeply, yet what did he really know of her?

She'd been his enemy until a few days ago. In her heart, she might be his enemy still. What did he really know of her true feelings? What if, somehow, she was involved with the traitor?

Lord, what if
Anne
was conspiring with Iain to bring about his downfall? Had yesterday at the loch been the opportunity they'd been waiting for? Had their embrace been arranged to goad him into a fight?

The thought of Iain willingly raising his sword to fight sickened him. True, they'd sparred many times as boys and young men, but always in fun, always solely to improve their swordsmanship.

But not yesterday. Yesterday the blood lust flared brightly in Iain's eyes, so brightly Niall wondered if any quarter would have been given if he'd fallen victim to the younger man. Nay, as much as he hated to admit it, it appeared Iain had greatly desired his death.

It would also explain the seeming devotion that had so quickly grown between Anne and his cousin. Mayhap there was more there than affection, how-

ever platonic Anne claimed it to be. For that matter, his and Anne's handfasting could also have been part of a greater plan. After all, he'd only Alastair MacGregor's word on the true circumstances of his betrayal. What if they'd all been lies, twisted to manipulate him to the ultimate MacGregor revenge?

Niall's head lowered to rest in his hands. Lord, how he wished he'd someone to talk all this over with, to help him sift through the questions until he found the answers! His father would listen and understand, but he dared not burden him with this. Robert Campbell already clung to life by the most tenuous of threads. And, though he respected his uncle Duncan's wisdom, for some reasoncall it instinctNiall knew he dared trust no one with any possible claim to the chieftainship.

It was past time to put a plan into effect. On the morrow, he would summon several of his most trusted warriors to a secret mission. He would send them out across Campbell lands to visit secretly all the higher lairds, instructing them to keep-their eyes and ears open for any sign of suspicious activity. He'd ask for the first report in a month's time. Time enough for his men to uncover any plots outside Kilchurn, if that indeed was where the treachery lay.

In the meanwhile, Niall would continue to center his efforts on his immediate family. Besides Iain, that had to include Hugh,' Duncan, and even Malcolm. Preacher though he was, he, too, was a possible traitor. Niall dared leave no stone unturned no person unexamined. Now,
all
were suspect, including a certain lovely, silver-eyed woman.

Of its own accord Anne's pale, delicate face insinuated itself into Niall's mind. A fierce anger swelled at the thought of her possible deception, an anger that, upon closer examination, more accurately resembled pain. How could he misjudge her, for she seemed so brave and kind and good?

Mayhap his mourning heart had betrayed him. Mayhap he was so needful and she had happened along at the right moment. And mayhap, just mayhap, she saw him for the fool he was.

His head bent under the weight of such a horrible possibility. His fist unconsciously clenched until the curved bowl of his glass shattered in his hand. The claret ran between his fingers to mingle with his blood, but Niall was oblivious. With an angry motion, he swept the crystal shards from the desk.

Damn it to hell, he was no one's fool! Not his ambitious cousins', or any of his relatives' or lairds', and certainly no woman's! There wasn't time to cloud his mind with a beguiling lass, no matter how well-rounded and tempting. His clan needed him; his father depended on him.

He must harden himself to her, no matter how difficult, how cruel he might seem. Though Anne MacGregor might not be a traitor, he couldn't allow himself to forget the danger she presented from a less obvious sidehis hungry, wounded, needing heart.

Anne barely saw Niall for the next two weeks, save at the supper meal. Even then he seemed reserved, remotely polite as he inquired after her activities, offered her an additional portion or tempting dessert. After that tumultuous day at the loch, she didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned over his behavior. Finally, she let the matter cease to bother her. There were more pleasant, less disturbing, matters at hand, even in Iain's absence. Like learning more of the healing art from Ena.