Child of the Mist (30 page)

"Now, get on with ye. The meeting starts even now."

From behind her, Anne could hear the scrape of chairs and rise and fall of deep male voices. She turned and hurried down the tunnel toward the narrow strips of light in the panel wall. As she reached the secret door, the voices faded. Through the slits, Anne saw Niall rise and lean forward on the table, his solemn glance scanning the faces aligned down its oaken length.

She inhaled an admiring breath. The look Niall gave them was bold, penetrating and self-assured.
Even now he begins,
she thought. Pride for the powerful, commanding man filled her. He was clan chief already, if only the others had the wisdom to see it. If only they had the courage to rise above their petty differences and groundless fears.

"As is our tradition," Niall began, his deep-timbred voice reverberating throughout the chamber, "I stand. before you, clan tanist and chieftain-elect, to accept your sworn fealty to me as the Campbell. But first, custom allows the occasion to air questions or grievances that might preclude your acceptance o" me. I will tolerate no doubts or lack o' commitment once this council ends."

Niall lowered himself to his chair and leaned back with an air of supreme confidence and lack of concern. "If there are any objections, speak them now or forever bury them in your heart."

There was a heavy silence. Not a few uncomfortably averted their gazes from Niall's piercing stare. For a few heart-stopping seconds, Anne thought Niall had managed to intimidate them with the power of his presence. Then one of the lairds cleared his throat.

"You have something to say, Andrew?" Niall calmly demanded of the man who was one of his most troublesome lairds.

Andrew glared at him. "This council is illegal!"

A dark brow raised. "Och, and how so?"

The laird nervously scanned the others, searching for some sign of support. "There is one o' your family not present. One whose claim to the chieftainship is nearly as strong as your own. Without his presence, how can the decisions made here be considered fair?"

Niall's eyes narrowed. "And are you mayhap speaking o' my cousin, Hugh?"

Andrew swallowed convulsively and nodded. "Aye."

"And what was I to do with him," Niall inquired icily, his glance moving to encompass the entire gathering, "after he attempted to murder the Lady Anne MacGregor? Allow him to remain here and permit him the opportunity to try again?"

"He is mad, nephew," Duncan interjected. "Allowances must be made."

Niall's gaze swiveled to his uncle. "Allowances
have
been made for a long while now. But is Hugh worth endangering an alliance with Clan MacGregor, o' stirring anew a feud we've finally managed to end?"

No one replied.

I wouldn't deny my cousin his birthright, but the welfare o' the entire clan comes before that o' a single member," Niall softly reminded them. "And Hugh forfeited that privilege when he threatened the peace between our clans."

"And what has Iain done?" Duncan demanded. "He isn't mad, nor has he threatened the lady's life, yet you've all but banished him, too."

Anne sucked in a startled gasp. Blessed Mother, the attacks begin and this one was as deadly as they came. Niall dared not reveal his knowledge of a traitor, yet how could he justify what might seem an irrational vendetta against lain otherwise? And what would Iain say to defend himself?

Niall shot lain a thunderous look. The younger man had paled at his father's accusations and, for an instant, was speechless.

"What's between lain and myself is personal," Niall ground out in the sudden silence. " 'Tisn't a fit topic for this council."

Duncan rounded on his son. "And what have you to say, lad? Does or does this not bear on Niall's fitness to be chief?"

Iain's jaw hardened. Watching him, Anne realized he sensed he was but the pawn in some game being played out here.

He shook his head, refusing to be dragged in. "Niall's a hardhearted, stubborn man," he said, "but that has never been reason to deny a chieftainship. I won't pretend my affection for him hasn't changed, but the rest o' it, as he said, is between us."

Surprise mixed with anger flashed in his father's eyes. "You would support his claim over yours then?"

"His claim was decided two years ago when the Campbell named him tanist. Why is there suddenly such doubt afoot?"

Pride swelled in Anne for her friend's honest heart, even in the face of Niall's continued animosity. Mayhap Niall would now realize lain wasn't the sort of man to be a traitor. Mayhap, just mayhap they could once again be friends.

"Hugh and lain are not the true issue here!" a smooth, articulate voice unexpectedly announced. "There's doubt afoot because Niall's immortal soul is in danger."

All eyes swung to Malcolm, sitting opposite Niall at the far end of the table. Anne's gaze followed the rest. She swallowed a panicked sob.
Och, Niall, here it comes now
. She glanced back to him and could have wept with pride.

Niall's face was an expressionless mask. "Matters o' religion are also not a topic for this particular council," he coolly replied. I govern Campbell hearts and bodies, you govern their souls. I've no intention o' interferring in your domain, unless it endangers one o' the clan."

A sly smile quirked the preacher's mouth. "And what say you to a witch burning? There is now law to back me on that."

Niall smiled back, but the expression never quite reached his eyes. "I obey all laws, but those same laws will be applied in a fair and humane fashion. There'll be no witch panic on Campbell lands, or torture to extract confessions as the only means o' evidence."

"And will you just as fairly consider all accused o' witchcraft," Malcolm persisted, "be they noble as well as peasant?"

"Aye," Niall countered smoothly, though even Anne could see the muscle jump furiously in his jaw. "I haven't changed in my judgements or treatment o' the people,
when
concrete evidence was truthfully given."

"Then," Malcolm said, triumph sharpening his voice, "in all fairness, you are called to judge the Lady Anne MacGregor, named by her own people the Witch o' Glenstrae."

A murmur of excited male voices swirled around the room as Niall sat there, staring stonily back at Malcolm.

"Curse you, Niall!" Anne heard Iain mutter. "I warned you o' this."

Niall, however, seemed unaffected by the turmoil. He paused to pour himself a glass of claret from the flagon at his end of the table. Swirling the burgundy in the glass, he examined its sparkling hues as the others slowly calmed and silence once more fell upon the gathering.

At long last, he raised his eyes to that of his bastard uncle. "And what has that to do with my fitness as chief? That the Lady Anne is called the Witch o' Glenstrae? They are but words, nothing more, as is my title o' Wolf o' Cruachan. Make no further accusations unless you have proof."

"What about the Campbell's death?" the preacher shot at him. " 'Twas said the wench was with him at the last, gave him a cup o' poison."

"She was with him little more than five minutes before the end came. And the word o' a jealous serving maid is hardly a reliable witness. Not to mention," he added, "I later tasted the contents o' the cup and found 'twas only water. Or would you say my word is less than that o' a serving maid, as well, since you seem so determined to condemn Anne?"

"Then what o' the murrain?" Andrew supplied. " 'Tis strange our cattle have been untouched while other clans' died, until the MacGregor woman arrived. 'Tis said she put a curse on our cattle in revenge for the royal grant o' their lands to us. What say you to that, Niall?"

"Superstitious nonsense!" Niall snapped. " 'Tis a pestilence most probably spread from diseased cattle brought here from other clans. The McCorquodales recently had a bout o'murrain and their lands border ours."

"What o'her strange healing skills?" Duncan added quietly. " 'Twas Hugh himself who saw her breathe life back into a stillborn babe. How do you explain that, nephew?"

Niall's head turned to his uncle, the tension rising in his voice. "I'm no physician. I've no explanation for everything, but there is much in nature still unexplained. To attribute the unknown to witchcraft is the work o' ignorant minds!"

"Then the Reformed Kirk, the religion o' our land,"

Malcolm silkily offered, ''is a Kirk o' ignorant minds. Is that what you meant to say?"

Niall froze. Though he might himself only pay lip service to this new but hugely popular religion, nowadays it was the heart's blood of most Scotsmen. To ridicule or ignore its power would be folly indeed. For the first time since the council began, Niall was suddenly unsure of its eventual outcome.

Anne saw the look of indecision flare in Niall's eyes. Her heart went out to him. Her greatest fear had been that, like a pack of wolves, they'd drag him down on this very issue. And now it seemed her worst fears were about to come to fruition.

Her nails scored her tightly fisted palms but she made not a sound, expending her efforts in willing all her strength and support to Niall. He finally expelled an exasperated breath and gave a mocking shake of his head, an action Anne knew instinctively was pure bluff.

"I intended naught o' the kind, though all here will admit that ignorance grants little consideration to wealth or status in life. All I meant to say was, as clan chief, I must deal with all issues in a calm, informed manner. How else am I to govern wisely?"

Anne saw the doubts fade from some of the men's eyes and several lean back in their chairs, their minds made in Niall's favor.
Good,
she thought, a tiny ember of hope flaring in her breast.
He is beginning to win them over
.

"Aye, govern wisely, indeed," Malcolm growled, sensing he was losing support on this issue. "And how is that possible, when you seem all but besotted with the MacGregor wench? Besotted so thoroughly," he added, "that some would say bewitched. 'Twould be an easy thing for her to have slipped a love potion into your drink or sprinkled it on your food."

"And 'twould be an even easier thing to care for her because she's a kind-hearted, beautiful woman," Niall countered. "If any o' you had taken the time or effort to get to know her, you might understand that."

"We
have
tried, but there is, something about her," Duncan said. "Those eyes . . ."

"They are eyes and naught more!" Niall snapped. "I find your arguments dwindling to the ridiculous. If there are no further issues o' import, mayhap 'tis time to end this council."

"Aye, nephew." Duncan sighed. "Mayhap you are right. There is one issue more to discuss, though, before we swear our fealty."

Niall eyed him. "And what is that?"

"The naming o' your tanist. In times as unstable as these, a successor is vital."

Though he had the leave to name his tanist at his leisure and had planned to wait until the traitor was discovered before doing so, the hearty agreement swelling around the table made Niall reconsider. Gaining the support of these men had been more difficult than he'd anticipated. The tide could still turn if he miscalculated his real influence over them. Niall hated being forced into something he wasn't really prepared for but a compromise in this case might well be the prudent course.

His gaze swept the gathering, considering the merits and weaknesses of each man there. When his eyes met Iain's, Niall stiffened. Though he'd been surprised and more than relieved by Iain's support, Niall wondered what the true motives behind his cousin's actions had been. Iain could have guessed there'd be dissent and chosen the wiser course of appearing to be on Niall's side. A wiser course, indeed, if he'd thought Niall planned on naming him tanist this eve.

If it hadn't been for the issue of the traitor hanging over his head, Iain would have been Niall's choice as tanist. But not now. He dared not place his cousin in such a position of power. But if not Iain, who?

His glance continued to skim the men, weighing, considering. None of his trusted warriors had returned of yet with any information regarding Hugh's activities or whereabouts, or of any possible traitorous actions on the part of his lairds. And now, more than ever, he desperately needed that knowledge.

Niall's eyes met those of Andrew. Traitor or not, that laird had never been a serious candidate. The man was far too concerned with his own needs. And, without further information, Niall dared not place his trust in any of the other lairds present, either. It would be too difficult to keep a close eye upon their activities, scattered as their holdings were on the huge expanse of Campbell lands. It was wiser to choose a tanist from those close by. It would be easier to watch him. . . .

His gaze passed Duncan. Anne's words about him flitted through Niall's mind. Aye, his uncle was a cold, controlled man, but his advice in the past had always been directed toward the betterment of the clan. Yet, on the other hand, his active involvement in securing the MacGregor land grant. . . .

With a frustrated sigh, Niall rose from his chair. "The choice o' clan tanist is a difficult one, for many issues must be taken into account. Youth and battle prowess must be weighed against the equally valuable attributes o' maturity and wisdom. Sometimes, there is no one perfect individual for the task."

He leaned forward on the table, his next words low and carefully measured. "I possess the youth and battle prowess. Taking that into account, I have decided to draw on maturity in choosing my tanist."

Niall inhaled a deep breath in the anticipatory silence and forged on. "As the first o' my duties as your new chief, I name my uncle Duncan tanist to Clan Campbell."