Child of the Mist (15 page)

Brushing back a stray tendril of hair that had escaped the snug braid hanging down her back, Anne returned her attention to the little hut and the concoction of comfrey tea era was carefully pouring into a small earthenware cup. Her gaze followed the gnarled hands as the old women offered the brew to the young child held in her mother's arms. The little girl had fallen from a tree several, hours ago, breaking her right wrist. She now looked at the liquid offered her with youthful suspicion.

"Drink it, lassie," Ena urged. "Tis the knitbone tea. "Twill hasten yer healing." Her eyes twinkled with warmth and humor. ''Ye wouldna want all yer friends to call ye a wee bairn, would ye?"

The girl grimaced, then hastily swallowed the concoction. Ena gave the mother a few more instructions. Both she and Anne assisted the pair out to the ox cart where the father waited.

After seeing them off, Ena turned to Anne. '"Will ye share a spot o' tea before ye leave for the castle?"

Anne smiled. "Aye, but I can't tarry long. "Twill soon be sunset and I must return to Kilchurn."

"Ye dinna wish to miss the evening's meal with yer lord, do ye, lassie?"

A teasing light gleamed in the old woman's eyes. Anne started to deny it, then thought better of it. It was true enough at any rate. The more she was with Niall Campbell, the more she enjoyed him.

She gave a rueful nod. "Aye, he's certainly not the evil man the tales would have him be."

They halted at the hut and Anne allowed Ena to enter first.

"The tales o' the evil, murdering Wolf o' Cruachan?" Ena sat and began filling two cups with rose hips. "Och, lassie, 'tis all one warrior's silly boasting to another, until the man scarce resembles the legend. Not that Niall Campbell isna a brave man."

She paused to pour a pot of simmering water over the rose hips. "He's just not a self-serving whiner, like some o' the Campbells these days."

Anne's brow puckered. Perhaps she could learn a bit about Niall's problems from Ena.

"There's trouble in Castle Kilchurn then?"

"Something's afoot," Ena mumbled, pausing to allow the tea to steep before handing her a cupful. "I am not certain exactly what, but I dinna like the feel o' things these days. The portents dinna bode well"

"Are you a witch then," Anne interrupted eagerly, "to speak so o' portents?"

"Nay." Ena shook her head. "I'm no witch, just a watchful old woman with a bit o' wisdom after all these years." She shrugged. "Mayhap 'tis something in the air. I dinna know. What I do know, for I can feel it in every bone o' my body, is that the young lord is in great danger. Ye must help him."

Anne stared at her. "In danger? But how and from whom? And how can I possibly help him?"

Ena sipped her tea. "I dinna know, lassie. 'Tisn't something o' the head, but o' the heart. I feel it, that is all. And as far as helping him, why, keep yer eyes and ears open, give him all yer loyalty and devotion. Ye never know when ye might see or hear something, have some bit o' information cross yer path that could be o' use."

"He won't trust me or what I say over his kin." Anne sighed. "I mean naught to him. He doesn't want or need my help."

"Doesna he?" Ena's brows lifted. I wonder. Ye've already won over the heart o' the Campbell. I hear ye visit him every day. How far behind can his son's heart be?"

"The Campbell's a sick and lonely old man," Anne protested. "Few will stay near him long for fear o' catching the consumption. I but try and bring a little cheer to his days. Why, I don't think Sir Niall even knows I visit him. If he did, he'd most likely forbid it."

"Mayhap, and then mayhap not," Ena eyed her intently. "Does it bother ye then, the fact that Sir Niall might find ye appealing?"

At the sudden turn in the conversation, Anne felt the heat flare in her cheeks. "Nay, o' course not. I don't care what he thinks o' me. Our handfasting is but an act o'convenienceclan convenience. I fully plan to return home as soon as the year is over."

"Och, and that would be a sad day for Campbell and MacGregor alike! He
needs
ye, lassie. Canna ye see that yet?"

"Nay." Anne vehemently shook her head. " 'Tisn't true. He needs no one, and certainly not"

A firm knock sounded at the door. Anne glanced at it, then back to Ena. The old woman climbed to her feet and hobbled over. At the sight of the person who stood there, she dipped in an awkward curtsy. "M'lord. I'm honored"

"Is the Lady Anne here, Ena?"

At the sound of Niall's deep voice, Anne rose. Had she violated yet another of his strictures by coming to visit the old healer? She moved to stand behind Ena.

"I'm here, m'lord. What do you wish?"

Niall's dark eyes swept over her. "Come away, lass. I've a need to talk with you."

Anne smiled at Ena. "Thank you for the tea. I'll return soon."

They were hardly out the door when a strong hand gripped Anne's arm. She turned to Niall. "Aye, m'lord?"

He began to lead her away. "You're determined to thwart me every way you can, aren't you?"

"How,' m'lord?" Anxiety rose at the grim tone to his voice. "What do you mean?"

Niall halted, pulling her around to face him. "I asked you not to do your healing among my people, explaining all the while my reasons for it, my concerns over your actions being misconstrued as witchcraft. And still you keep company with old Ena. Don't you know she's thought a witch? What do you think the village considers your visits here to be? What do you think they consider you? Damn it, lass. Are you bent on your own destruction?"

"She's not a witch!"

"It doesn't matter what you or I think." An undercurrent of exasperation threaded Niall's voice. "I've discussed this all with you before. Why won't you heed my words? I grow weary o' talking."

"I don't mean to disregard your request, truly, m'lord, but it seems we are fated to always be at odds." Anne tried to temper her reply with reason, knowing, in his own way, Niall meant well. "I think it better you not try to control my life. Let it take its natural course. 'Tis best for the both o' us."

"And is it now?" Niall tiredly shook his head. "Do you think I could stand by and watch you go to your destruction? You're my responsibility now. I promised your father"

Anne wrenched her arm from his grip. "I am no one's responsibility but my own! When, oh when, will you see that? I never asked for, or desired, your protection." She inhaled a steadying breath, forcing her voice to soften. "When will you allow me my freedom, m'lord? I can't live without it."

His brown eyes darkened in pain. "I'll give you all the freedom within my power, lass, but I won't, I can't, allow you to endanger your life."

He paused, noting the crowd of interested bystanders beginning to gather. "Now, no more o' this. I'll not allow you to entertain the people at my expense, either. Will you come o' your own accord?"

She stared up at him for a long moment more, confused by the strange mixture of frustration and compassion whirling inside her. Frustration at hav-

ing her life so strongly held in check. Compassion for him in his sincere belief he was right in doing so. Yet what else could she do but continue to fight him on this?

With a deep sigh, Anne turned from Niall. Her brisk strides carried her quickly across the village commons, the acute sense of being watched following her. The feeling grew until it became one of almost tangible discomfort. Full of malevolent intent, it hung heavy on the air, filling Anne with the memory of another unsettling dayof that day in the forest!

She whirled to confront the sender of such evil thoughts. Her glance careened into that of three men, glowering at her from beside the village well. There, dressed in bright plaids, were Duncan and Hugh Campbell. Beside them was yet another man, a fanatic hostility burning in his eyes. He was dressed in the robes of a Reformed preacher.

Soft, lilting notes rose from the clarsach as Anne's nimble fingers plucked its strings, but the resultant melody fell on unheeding ears. Her thoughts were far away, flitting over rain-drenched loch and mountains to a place called Glenstrae. She stared out at the leaden landscape, her somber gaze following the torrents of water relentlessly pelting the earth. Was it raining just as long and hard in MacGregor lands? Anne sighed and laid down her harp.

It had been well over a month now since she'd left her home. Relegated to a life among a hostile people, little had happened to change her initial expectations. True, she'd found friends, but Iain was gone and the Campbell was dying. And her relationship with Niall Campbell, what little there'd ever existed from their mutual debt of each other's lives, seemed to be deteriorating slowly.

They hardly saw each other of late. The Campbell tanist rarely found time even to make it to the even-

ing meal and, for the past week, had been far from the castle itself. It had been from this very window that Anne had watched Niall and his warriors depart on that mist-shrouded morn, in deadly pursuit of a band of reivers who'd burned several Campbell crofts and murdered the inhabitants. Seven long, lonely days without even the consolation of knowing that somewhere on the castle grounds was a tall, dark, unsettling man.

A mocking grimace twisted Anne's lips. Blessed Mother, but the solitude was beginning to turn her into some love-besotted fool! True, Niall Campbell was brave, strong, and revered by his men, but those weren't reasons enough for the small, needing ache she felt whenever she thought of him. Why, they hardly knew each other!

Anne paused. Aye, she hardly knew him. Yet the brief glimpses of his deeper side, those times he'd revealed a bit of that raw wound of his wife's loss, filled her with an inexplicable yearning to know more about him. Niall Campbell was a man like any other, and yet he was like no man she'd ever met before.

With a snort of disgust, Anne rose from the window seat and grabbed up her heavy cloak. The weather be damned! It was boredom that was driving her to such romantically melancholy thoughts. There was much to the man she still didn't know. She must stop placing so much value on the little she did know of him. And she must never forget all the damage Niall Campbell had wreaked on the MacGregors in the fearsome guise of the Wolf of Cruachan.

What she needed was a change of scenery. Old Ena would be in her hut, huddled before her small hearth fire for comfort from the bone-chilling dampness. There was sure to be a welcome there.

A timid knock halted her. Anne's glance swung to her bedchamber's thick oaken door. Who could it be? If it was Agnes, the servant woman would not sway her from her determination to visit Ena. Squaring her slim shoulders, Anne headed toward the door.

Instead of her maidservant, a small lad stood in the doorway. It was Davie, one of the Campbell's personal servants.

"Aye, laddie." Anne smiled down at him. "What is it?"

He swallowed a nervous laugh. "Th-the Campbell, ma'am. He wishes yer presence."

Anne tossed her cloak onto a nearby bench. "Then lead on, Davie."

The boy hesitated, his eyes scanning the room. "Er, m'lord wishes ye to bring yer clarsach. He's a need for some music to lighten the day."

"Och, and does he now?"