Child of the Mist (16 page)

A soft smile lit Anne's face as she walked back to the window for her harp. In spite of her intentions to the contrary, Robert Campbell and she had grown close of late. Her initial impression had indeed been accurate. Unlike his enigmatic son, the father was open, warm, and sincerely seemed to enjoy her company.

In the social isolation of the past month, Anne had been surprised to discover how deep ran her need to be of service, to interact with others. She was well aware of her calling to heal but the strength of the drive, the spiraling ache deep in her gut when she found her natural instincts to be with others so stymied by Niall Campbell's well-intentioned if misguided constraints, was disconcerting. There were times she feared she might go mad from the pain. A slow death, indeed, and far worse than any fate the Campbell tanist might ever imagine for her.

With a determined shake of her deep russet curls, Anne flung the disquieting thoughts aside. Her mind had been made a long while ago; it was only guilt at her deception that pulled her back, time and again, to the same pointless reflections. Pointless, as were her tumultuous feelings for Niall Campbell.

"Come, lad." Anne paused before little Davie. "Your master awaits."

The Campbell sat in a huge English chair, his feet propped on a stool, his arms comfortably padded with pillows. His pensive gaze was riveted out the window. At the sound of Anne's entry, he turned. A smile brightened his pale face.

He motioned to her. "Come, lass. An old man requires a bit o' cheer on such a gloomy day."

Anne smiled as she lowered herself into the chair Davie pulled over for her. "On such a day, what cheers you cheers me, m'lord." She positioned the clarsach on her lap. "And what ballad would you hear? Your favoritethe Douglas tragedy?"

"Aye, lassie, but wait a bit. I want to talk."

The Campbell's eyes strayed to where Davie sat on his stool by the door. "Fetch me a bowl o' Maudie's cock-a-leekie soup from the kitchen, laddie. And a goblet o' claret."

He glanced at Anne. "And you, lass? Have you eaten your midday meal?"

Anne shook her head. "Nay, m'lord, but I'll see to my hunger later. I much prefer visiting with you."

He grinned, then waved Davie out of the room. His smile faded. "The old woman . . . Ena's her name, is it not? Niall told me you visit her often."

Uneasiness rippled through Anne. "Aye, that I do, m'lord. She is harmless enough."

Robert frowned. "She is thought by some to be a witch. 'Tisn't wise to be seen associating with her, lassie."

Anne stared at him for a long moment. "I find no harm in Ena. She's a good, gentle woman. Are you ordering me to stay away?"

"Nay, lassie." He took her hand. "I've no wish to deny you your friends." The Campbell eyed her closely. " 'Tisn't Niall's desire to make you unhappy, either. He has spoken to me about his decision to forbid your healing arts in Kilchurn. As hard as it may seem, his choice is wise. Mayhap someday, when things are more stable, but not now. My clan is superstitious, and the witch law . . ."

Anne laughed wryly. "Och, well I know about that. Your son constantly reminds me o' the witch panic. But I'm a healer. I have already learned much from Ena that can help all."

He raised a graying brow. "And have you, now? Is a cure for the consumption part o' that knowledge?"

"Nay, m'lord." She smiled sadly. "But if you ever have the dropsy . . ."

Robert chuckled. "Och, lassie, you brighten my lonely days. My children love me, but I see them so little o' late. With Niall forced to take over the chieftainship in all but nameas well he shouldand my Caitlin spending most o' her time visiting the MacArthurs, and the rest o' it mooning over the MacArthur heir, well, it seems life itself is slowly taking them from me."

He paused to shift to a more comfortable position in his chair. "Aye, they're both good and faithful children but life must go on, and a sickroom's a gloomy place." Robert squeezed her hand. "But you, lass, you come here everyday and spend hours with me."

"I don't mind, m'lord. I value your friendship"

"And you've found few friends in Kilchurn," he finished for her. Bright blue eyes studied her closely. "And what o' Niall? Have you two grown close? I'd hoped for a grandson before I died."

Anne flushed. "M'lord . . ."

"Och, lassie, I'm sorry." Robert engulfed her hand between two of his own. "Forgive an old man's meddling. 'Tis naught but an honest concern for your happinessand that o' my son's.''

"I doubt our handfasting brings your son much happiness, m'lord. It seems all we ever do is fight. And there are even times when I think he must despise me, for he never calls me by my given name." She shook her head, a small frown marring her brow. "Truly, I don't understand it."

" 'Tis a simple enough explanation, lassie." The Campbell released her hand to lean wearily back in his chair. "Niall's first wife was named Anne. Mayhap 'tis still too painful for him to speak her name."

"I didn't know, m'lord."

Anne straightened in her chair. At every turn, despite her determination to view Niall Campbell as a hard, heartless villain, he instead proved himself a man of deeply felt emotions.

In spite of her resolve to keep her perspective regarding Niall Campbell, Anne couldn't help wanting to hear more. "He told me little o' his wife. If I knew more o' her, mayhap 'twould ease my understanding."

A faraway light shone in the old man's eyes. "She was a Stewart lass. Niall loved her from the first time he set sight upon her. It was at a
ceilidhs
one winter's evening. The Stewart chief had come for a meeting and brought his family. To honor him, I'd ordered the traditional gathering o' singers and musicians. Och, what a fine evening 'twas, with the storytelling, rousing music and dancing!"

He glanced at Anne. "But I ramble in my tale. She was a bonnie lass, Annie Stewart was, her hair o' palest gold, her form as sweet and lush as a summer-ripened peach, her nature o' the gentlest kind. Niall was devoted to her, and she to him. Yet their love, it seemed, was not sufficient to overcome the cruel fate that dogged Annie's childbearing. In the eight years they were wed, she miscarried three bairns, finally dying in the bearing o'the fourth, a stillborn son. Her death almost destroyed Niall."

"And I, because my name is the same, constantly remind him o' his beloved wife."

An unexpectedly savage pain slashed through Anne. Niall's first wife was everything she wasn'tmeek, gentle, delicately feminineand Niall had loved her madly.

"I didn't tell this to discourage you, lassie."

The Campbell's deep voice intruded on Anne's pensive musings. Startled silver eyes turned back to him. "Wh-what did you say, m'lord?"

"You must have patience with him. Someday Niall will allow himself to love again, and that lass will be the most fortunate woman in the world. It could well be you, Annie."

"Nay, 'twill never be!" She shook her head vehemently. "We have naught in common save the battleground o' our opposite opinions. He never even wanted to handfast with me. He only tolerates my presence as a clan necessity."

"Nonetheless, there is something growing between you. Even I can see it."

Anne stared at him, even as she struggled to contain the sudden swirl of hope within her breast. "Nay, 'tisn't true. Your affection for me only clouds your perception o' the situation. You see what you want, not what is."

He wagged a silencing finger, an affectionate smile on his lips. "Hush, lassie. I know my son. And, one way or another, time will tell. I only hope to live long enough to see that happy day."

Robert leaned back in his chair. "Now, I've a need for a song. Play the one you spoke o'. Play for me, lass, and have patience."

For a long moment Anne fought the impulse to deny once more the content of Robert Campbell's words, as if in the doing she could bury the persistent hope the speaking had stirred. Her gaze turned toward the narrow slash of window across the room.

The rain had ceased sometime during their talk. A furtive ray of light from the setting sun had escaped the clouds to find entry through the window. Like some happy portent after the long days of gloom, it illuminated the chamber, bathing it in golden light. Like the promise of happiness at the end of a terrible sorrow, Anne thought in rising joy, if only one could first weather the storm. If only one had the patience, the love, to persevere. . . .

She picked up the clarsach and strummed the opening chords, a smile on her lips. "Patience you say, m'lord? That I have aplenty."

The Campbell sighed, a look of peace on his face, as Anne began to sing.

"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas, she says
And put on your armour so bright;
Let it never be said, that a daughter o' thine
Was married to a lord under night.
Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care o' your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa the last night . . ."

Niall strode down the long corridor leading to his father's room. He'd only just now returned from a week's pursuit of the reivers and he was wet, cold, and hungry.

For a fleeting moment, Niall allowed himself the fantasy of sinking into a hot bath and cleansing the filth from his body, of imbibing a glass or two of a fine claret. He could almost taste the dry red wine, imagine how the liquid would course down his throat to spread its sweet, mellow warmth thoughout his body. Then he sighed. No matter how pressing his own needs, his first duty was to his father, who'd be awaiting a report of the expedition.

The reivers to a man had been caught and hanged, but the effort had cost him two good lads, not to mention a varied assortment of wounds on several others. His hand rose to the ragged slash that wound its way from his left temple to his jawline. The outlaw leader, a huge bear of a man, had left his mark just before Niall had run him through with his claymore.

At the memory, a grim smile twisted his lips. The slight movement tugged painfully at his wound. Niall ignored it. Another scar was small payment for the safety of the clan and far less than the life price he'd exacted from his opponent. He'd have to take care, though, or he'd soon be so marred of feature Anne wouldn't be able to stand the sight of him.

Anne. Unbidden, her silver eyes flashed through his mind, followed swiftly by the vision of her finely sculpted features and slimly rounded form. How many times in the past week had his thoughts turned to her? And how many times had he jerked himself from the recollection only to find his breathing labored, his loins heavy with desire?

The heaviness had been with him almost constantly in the past few days. Niall knew he'd have to find release soon, before it became a physical pain. Aye, it had finally come to this. With a force that amazed him still, his need for a woman had returnedand the woman he needed was Anne MacGregor.

A sweet voice, accompanied by a harp, floated down the hall. Niall halted. It was Anne, singing to his father.

The melody flowed over him like a soothing balm. Once again, Niall grew warm with desire. With a low oath, he shook the languid feeling from him. Lord, the woman could stir him with but the sound of her voice!

A lad rounded the corner. Niall halted, the shadowed hallway effectively hiding him from discovery. As he watched, Davie knocked on the door to Robert Campbell's room.

The singing ceased and a minute later the door swung open. Anne's flame-dark head peeked through. When she saw the boy, she smiled. "Aye, laddie? Do you wish to see your master?"

Davie shook his head and shyly held up his right hand. "Nay, m'lady. 'Tis my hand. I spilled hot soup on it. Cook said ye've knowledge o'healing and asked if ye'd tend it."

Anne stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. She took Davie's small hand in hers. The skin on the back was reddened and beginning to blister. A simple poultice of nettle tea would alleviate the pain of the burn, and then. . . .

She stopped. Niall had forbidden her to treat anyone in the castle. Up until this moment, she'd obeyed him in that at least. Of course, until Davie, no one had asked for her assistance. That didn't lessen her obligation, however, to obey in thought if not in deed. It was just so hard to turn from someone in need.

"Please, m'lady," Davie interrupted her thoughts, his voice taut with pain. "It hurts so. Isna there anything ye can do?"

Anne stared down at him, chewing her lower lip in indecision. Why was the act, long ago determined to be good and right, suddenly so hard to carry out? Because Niall Campbell had asked her not to? Because she didn't want to hurt him, nor cause him further trouble? Was that it? Well, it wasn't reason enough to ignore Davie's plight.

She released the boy's hand. "Come to my room in five minute's time. I'll see to your hand as soon as I take my leave o'your master. And, laddie"Anne stayed Davie as he turned to go"for your sake as well as mine, no one is ever to know. Do I have your word on it?"

"Aye, m'lady."

"Good." Anne stepped back into the room and closed the door.

Niall watched until the boy once more rounded the corner and disappeared from view. The long dreamt of sight of Anne, bent over Davie's small hand, her beautiful features glowing with kindness and concern, filled him with a possessive pride. He could almost imagine her in the same role, examining the hand of one of their own children.

He caught himself. It didn't matter what his dreams were for the future. Reality was too harsh, too potentially dangerous to ignore. Anne had lied when she'd said she'd not heal in Kilchurn.

A spiraling rage grew inside him.
Damn her!
Niall cursed at the closed door. Despite his requests to the contrary, she stubbornly refused to listen. He hadn't the heart to deny the wee lad his healing, no matter how long Anne had been disobeying him in this. But . . . but . . .
damn her
!

Niall ran a hand across his jaw, stirring anew the raw, burning pain of his woundand the memory of his concern over how its appearance would affect Anne.
Fool!
he fiercely derided himself.
While you waste precious time mooning over her, she has been going about her business of scorning your requests and flaunting them in your face. Not only does the woman have no feelings for you but she actively seeks to undermine all you've tried to build toward peace between Campbell and MacGregor
.