Child of the Mist (18 page)

With a low growl, Niall pulled her to him, ripping Anne's bodice to expose her chest. He entwined a hand in her hair, pulling her mouth up to his.

The feel of his hair-roughened chest rasping across her sensitive nipples sent an involuntary shudder coursing through her. Then Niall's lips crushed down on hers. Anger at his brutish treatment surged through her.

She caught his lip between her teeth and bit hard. He jerked in pain. In the next instant, he had her head wrenched back.

"Am I too gentle with you?" Niall demanded softly. "Do you mayhap like it rougher? I would have thought not, but the way you bite and claw at me, press your body so tightly to mine . . ."

"There is
naught
I like about you!" Anne cried. "You are a crude, rutting beast to treat me so! Let me go, I say!"

A grim smile touched Niall's lips. He pressed her so snugly to him that her small breasts flattened against the hard planes of his chest.

"I have every right to do whatever I wish with you, lady. Do you deny it? Have you forgotten your vows?"

The reality of her situation slammed home with painful clarity. Anne inhaled a tremulous breath. What had happened between them to turn Niall Campbell into an unfeeling brute, into aa rapist? Why was he punishing her? What had she done to deserve this?

Hot tears filled her eyes. It didn't matter. He'd never have treated the Lady Anne Stewart in such a manner. The pain of that realization was suddenly more than she could bearmore than the shame of standing before him, her bosom exposed, more than the dread of the rough coupling to come.

With a harsh sob, she nodded her acquiesence. "Aye, m'lord. You have every right indeed." She raised tear-bright eyes to him. "But what have I done to deserve such harsh treatment? Tell me, and I will do all in my power to make amends."

Niall stared down at her, the sweetness of her entreaty piercing the thick fog of his drunkenness. For the first time since he'd entered her room, he saw her as the beautifully stirring woman she was rather than an object of his enraged frustration. His glance moved from her kiss-swollen lips, a streak of his own blood upon them, to the ivory expanse of her bosom.

The pale swell of her soft, pink-tipped breasts, rising with each shuddering breath as she fought back her tears, kindled some deep, primitive response.

She was his and he had treated her like a whore. No matter what she'd done, she didn't deserve such handling.

Shame flooded him. Though he wanted her still, Niall found he could no longer touch her. He stepped back.

"You can never make amends," he rasped, forcing his gaze back to her tear-streaked face. "All you care for is your own wants and needs, and I am tired o' it. Do you hear me? So very,
very
tired."

He strode from the room, leaving the door wide open and Anne staring speechlessly after him. She stood there for a long while, her limbs frozen, her heart twisting within her chest. She had hurt him, but in what manner she still had yet to fathom.

One thing was crystal clear.
She
was the cause of this eve's drunkenness, the source of an anger so great he had almost resorted to violence.

The realization tore through her. Anne floundered in an agonizing maelstrom of emotion. Then reason returned.

No matter what the cause, he had no right to treat her this way. Yet, as reprehensible as his conduct had been, Anne felt compelled to go after Niall. Once and for all, they'd settle the bitter differences between them.

She glanced down at herself and smiled wryly. Her impulse to seek out Niall must first be tempered with a little sanity. Rushing bare-breasted across the Great Hall at supper time would hardly soothe Niall's volatile mood.

Anne crossed her room and closed the door, her glanced already seeking out her clothes chest. It would take but a few moments to don a new gown. Surely, Niall would not have gotten very far by then.

He was not in the Great Hall, though all were engrossed in the evening meal. He'd passed this way, however, for none would have begun eating without him giving leave. Anne paused at the top of the stairs leading down from the sleeping chambers. Once more, her eyes scanned the room for Niall. He was nowhere to be seen.

She hesitated, gathering the courage to cross the Great Hall. The kitchen, storerooms, and stairs to the lower level were on the other side. Though Anne doubted Niall would have gone there, she had to make certain before searching elsewhere.

The conversations at the dining tables lowered dramatically at Anne's approach. She pretended not to notice. Head held high, she crossed before the outright stares and whispered comments, nodding her greeting at the occasional passing servant, who acknowledged her presence. She pushed open the kitchen door. The servants immediately ceased their work.

Anne motioned to Maudie, the head cook. The rotund little woman curtsied nervously before her, the wooden spoon she'd been using to stir a pot of soup still clutched in one hand.

"Aye, m'lady? What is it ye wish?"

"Er, Sir Niall," Anne murmured, lowering her voice for Maudie's ears alone. "I've a need to talk with him. Has he passed this way?"

A distinctly uncomfortable expression settled over the cook's face. "Aye, m'lady," she began slowly. "He was here a few moments ago but soon departed."

"Do you know which way he went?" Anne persisted, vaguely annoyed at the woman's reluctance to volunteer further information.

"Aye, m'lady."

Anne's annoyance grew. "Well, then pray tell me!"

Maudie pointed to the door across the kitchen. It led down the stairs to the servant's quarters. "He went that way, m'lady."

"Thank you, Maudie." Anne gathered her skirts to head across the kitchen when the cook stayed her.

"M'lady," she began, her pale blue eyes anxiously searching Anne's face. "H-he wasna alone when he left."

"And, pray, who was with him?"

The other woman's eyes couldn't quite seem to meet hers. "He took that girl, Nelly, with him."

The admission sent a frisson of uneasiness through Anne. Though she hardly knew most of the servants, Anne had not failed to notice the striking, flirtatious Nelly. How could one not be aware of her seductive looks and swaying hips, or of the lusty appraisals and ribald comments from the men every time she was in the vicinity?

But what business did Niall have with the serving maid? Before the question fully formed in her mind, Anne knew the answer. In his besotted state, it could be anythingeven to his bedding of the woman.

Anne's mouth went dry. Her heart commenced a heavy pounding in her breast. Had Niall taken the woman belowstairs to couple with her? She had to know.

"Thank you, Maudie." Anne backed away. "You may return to your"

"She's a tart, that one is," the cook interjected quickly, her features softening in concern. "And she's always cozying up to her betters, the Campbell men in particular. Why, I know for a fact she's bedded Hugh Campbell many a time, and 'tis even said Sir Duncan"

Anne held up a silencing hand. "It doesn't matter, Maudie."

"But if ye'd seen the way she came up to Sir Niall and all but rubbed her body against his and he so befuddled with drink," the woman protested, "ye wouldna be so quick to blame him. He's just a man, with a man's natural appetites, after all."

" 'Tis no excuse, Maudie."

The little cook fell silent. Woman to woman, she met Anne's gaze, then nodded. Maudie curtsied and hurried back to the hearth.

The woman stirred the kettle of soup simmering over the fire, her mouth moving silently. Anne dragged her glance from the hearth to see how much the other kitchen staff had overheard. All eyes were carefully averted, all hands busily engaged.

They know
. The realization stirred her to action. With a whirl of skirt and petticoats, Anne was gone, her destination the stairway to the servant's quarters. She'd not allow foolish gossip or speculation to influence her. There could be some reasonable explanation for Niall's departure with Nelly. And, one way or another, she still needed to talk with him.

Yet as her hand traveled along the rough stone wall as she descended the steps, Anne's resolve faltered. The dank mustiness of the ancient corridors wafted up to her on a chill current of air. In the pitifully inadequate light from the flickering torches, the pervasive feeling of dread grew.

She halted and inhaled a fortifying breath. What was she afraid of? Whatever she discovered, it would be the truth. As difficult as it might be to face, it was far better than allowing the doubts to nibble away at her heart.

Anne forced herself onward, her footsteps soundless on the hard dirt floor. The corridor seemed to go on forever. She suddenly realized she'd no idea which room was Nelly's, for she'd never been belowstairs. Perhaps it was better if she turned back now.

A low, husky laugh floated out of the darkness. Anne halted. It came again, followed by the murmur of a feminine voice. Anne forced herself to move in the direction of the sound, down the next corridor that crisscrossed the main one.

A door stood open, a dim red-gold light spilling out to puddle on the hallway floor. The woman's voice came again, this time loud enough to reach Anne's ears.

"Och, m'lord," the woman purred. "I've wanted ye for a such a long, long time and now, at last"

"Hush, lass," ordered a deep masculine voice, rough with desire. "No talk. Just let me look at you, touch you . . . taste you . . ."

Anne drew up at the door. Her tortured glance took in the scene of a half-naked man and woman standing in the room's opposite corner. It was Niall, his dark mane tumbling down to hide his face as he lowered his head to Nelly's breast.

As his mouth devoured one dusky nipple, the woman threw back her head in triumph. She moaned. Her hands moved up his arms to stroke his broad, bare chest hungrily before sliding down his sides to slip around and grasp Niall's taut buttocks.

As his mouth moved to the other breast, its nipple already pebble-hard, Nelly drew Niall to her and began a rhythmic motion against him. It was Niall's turn to moan now. Clasping her head between his hands, he crushed his mouth to hers.

A light sheen of sweat glistened on his upper torso, glinting off the powerful play of muscles in his shoulders and back. Anne could hear the ragged rasp of his breath as Nelly's undulating hips increased their tempo.

Anne's nails scored her tightly fisted palms. She felt as if she were drowning, the horror of what she was witnessing driving the breath from her body. Yet still she watched.

Nelly's hands moved once again, slipping around to the front of Niall's trews. With impatient jerks of the fabric, she quickly freed his hard, swollen arousal. Then, with a knowing smile, Nelly sank to her knees.

Anne backed away. She whirled first in one direction then the other, attempting to recall which way she'd come.

''Lord . . . Nelly!" Niall exclaimed on a shuddering, blissful breath, and Anne cared no more.

She fled down the shadowed corridors, toward what, she did not know. It didn't matter. The anguish of Niall's betrayal followed swiftly on her heels, mocking her even as she went.

The woman's musky scent, sweetly intoxicating, wafted up to Niall. As she skillfully worked her mouth up and down his engorged, throbbing shaft, he fought hard against the rising need for release. Lord, it had been so longtoo longand now he was as close to losing control as some lad at his first coupling. Ah, but it felt good. So very,
very
good!

Nelly stirred at his feet, pausing to raise her dark, dancing eyes to his. "M'lord?"

Niall's hands moved caressingly in her tumbled mass of hair. "Aye, lass?" His voice was but a thick rasp in the stone-muffled silence.

"Do I please ye, m'lord?"

"Aye." Niall stroked the side of her face. "That you do, Nelly lass."

"Then ye'll take me as yet mistress?"

The maidservant rose, one hand entwining about his neck while the other continued its rhythmic stroking. "I am as lusty as any man and will warm ye through many a cold winter's night. And I am not jealous that ye're bound to another. I'm more than a match for that whey-faced MacGregor wench."

At the mention of Anne, Niall stiffened. The liquor coursing through his veins had worked its mind-drugging magic for a long while now. Long enough to allow Nelly's earthy sensuality to seduce him down here, long enough to relax his strict personal code against sexually involving himself with the servants.

But now its effects had waned, helped along by the memory of Anne MacGregor, striking his conscience like a cold dash of water.

With a low curse, Niall pushed aside Nelly's excitingly stimulating hands and stepped back. He eyed her voluptuous form for one last, lingering moment, then shook his head. "Nay, lass. That can never be." Averting his gaze from her full, pouting breasts, Niall began to dress.

She made a move toward him and laid a hand upon his chest. "But, m'lord. What have I done to offend ye? Just say the word and I will make amends."

Another voice, murmuring almost the same phrases, slipped forward from a distant corner of Niall's mind. Anne. She had been just as confused, just as pleading this eve when he'd stormed into her room and all but ravished her. Yet the look in her eyes had been different, sweetly concerned despite his brutal treatment of her, not at all like the sharp, calculating gleam sparkling in Nelly's dark eyes.

Nausea surged through him. Suddenly, Niall had to get out of a room that seemed to whirl about his head. He backed away.

"There's no need to make amends. I erred in coming down here. I am sorry."

"But, m'lord"

Niall held up a hand. " 'Tis over, Nelly."

A look of disbelief twisted the woman's face. "I canna believe ye prefer
her
to me. Why, 'tis impossible! She's bewitched ye, she has. That's the answer. That MacGregor slut is indeed a witch!"

Niall strode from the chamber, refusing to listen a moment longer to the edge of hysteria that sharpened Nelly's words to a strident pitch. The voice, however, endlessly calling Anne a witch, followed him down the corridor, grating on his tautly strung nerves until it made his head pound.