Child of the Mist (23 page)

The effort took all his remaining strength. Robert fell back, a harsh cough wracking his body. He motioned for his handkerchief, but not fast enough to hide the bloody spittle that came to his lips.

Niall winced at the sight. He rose. "I'll do what I can."

Without a word, he strode past his sister and uncle and left the room. Niall's resolve, however, ebbed with each step down the corridor.

Anne wouldn't listen to him. He knew too well her stubbornness, her fierce pride, and knew as well that she now hated him. If it had been anyone but his father he'd never have approached her at this time, for he wasn't fool enough not to recognize a hopeless situation. Yet, somehow, someway, he must convince her. It was his father's last request. He couldn't fail him.

Agnes answered Niall's knock. Her eyes widened when she peeped through the door. "Aye, m'lord?"

"Let me in. I must talk with her."

The maidservant blanched. "Och, nay, m'lord. 'Twill only make things worse. Give her more time, I pray ye."

"There's no time left. Let me in."

His steady gaze held hers until she finally lowered her eyes and stepped aside. Niall strode in, then turned to the old woman. "Leave us."

Agnes shot a hesitant glance across the room, then curtsied and hurried out.

Anne was staring out the window. Her eyes, riveted on some faraway spot, never wavered, though he knew she must be aware of his presence.

"Get out."

Her flat command only reinforced his earlier misgivings. He squared his shoulders and headed toward her, prepared for the battle to come.

Anne stood before the window, her slender form rigid and hostile. The afternoon sun bathed her in a golden hue, setting off sparkling auburn highlights in her long, unbound hair, bathing her delicate features in glowing radiance. Until this moment Niall hadn't realized how much he'd missed her. An intensely painful longing swelled in his chest.

Lord, if only she'd let him hold her, kiss away all the cares that separated them! He knew, if only he could take her into his arms, he could ease the agonizing barriers between them. It had worked before. Dare he try again?

"Don't even think about touching me!" The words escaped Anne's lips in a low snarl. "I swear I'll scratch your eyes out if you do."

Niall inhaled a shuddering breath. Had his feelings been that strong, that palpable, that she sensed them with such ease? His fists clenched at his side.

"I believe you, Annie," he finally replied in a low, pain-rasped voice. "I wouldn't be here at all if 'tweren't for my father." He paused for some reaction. There was none. "He's near death, Annie."

"I know."

Her voice remained flat, her gaze unwavering in its direction out the window. Niall moved a step closer.

"He wants to see you."

"Nay."

It was the answer he'd dreaded. Niall inhaled another ragged breath. "Please, Annie."

The catch in his deep voice sent a frisson through Anne. She wrapped her arms protectively about her. Even now, after all he'd done to her, how could the sound of his voice so easily melt her resolve?
But not this time
, she fiercely reminded herself,
not this time or ever again!

The effort to deny him, though, brought tears to her eyes. She shook her head. The movement spilled the moisture onto her cheeks. "Nay, I said!"

She turned tear-bright eyes to him, her anger a heavy, heated aura. It was so hard, remembering the pleasant hours spent at the Campbell's bedside, basking in the warmth of his friendship, and all the while he was plotting to steal MacGregor lands.

"I don't care if he's dying!" Anne cried. "I don't care what his last requests are! And I don't care that you've a need to fulfill them. 'Tis your father, your problem. Don't lay it upon me!"

"Don't lay it upon you?"
Niall's fists clenched at his sides in a frantic effort to control his impulse to shake her. "Lord, woman! Where else would one lay such cares but at the feet o' a healer? You told me you'd a calling, that you'd never turn from anyone in need. Doesn't your sacred duty extend to the deathbed? If you turn from him now, aren't you gainsaying everything you've devoted your life to?"

She glared at him then, her lips trembling. A wild hope flared in Niall.

"Hate me if you will," he pressed on, sensing she was near her breaking point. "I'm alive and strong. You've many years to exact your revenge upon me. But forgive my father and go to him. A healer's compassion shouldn't recognize clan loyalties."

All the anger, all the fight, fled Anne in one mighty rush, leaving only a hollow, aching void. What was the use? She hadn't the courage to see this through, to sever the emotional bonds that already tied her to the Campbells. Well, to at least one Campbell, at any rate.

And he was dying.

Anne wiped her tears away. "Lead me to him, but remember one thing, Niall Campbell."

"Aye, lass."

"This changes naught between you and me."

Niall eyed her for a moment, then nodded. He walked out of the room.

Anne swept past him when he opened the door to his father's chamber, ignoring Caitlin's horrified gasp and Duncan's muttered oath. Only from a distance did she hear anything, as she leaned over Robert Campbell's bed.

He had worsened so rapidly in the past week. She studied his face, noting the almost translucent skin, the blue tinge to his lips, the sunken, haggard features. Niall had been right. His father was indeed close to death. In spite of Anne's intention to harden her heart to him, the pitiful sight of the Campbell, the memories of his kindness to her, erased her cold determination instantly.

With a small sigh, Anne settled in the chair Niall provided. "Och, m'lord," she murmured, taking his father's thin, cool hand, "'tis a sad thing to see you like this. Is there any way I can ease your suffering?"

A radiant smile spread across the old man's face. "Och, lassie, y-you've already done it by coming to me." His glance moved to the tall man standing behind Anne. "I told my son you would. D-didn't I, laddie?"

Niall's deep voice, so close behind, sent a curious thrill through Anne. "Aye, Father."

Robert's eyes crinkled with affection, then he slowly licked his lips. "I've a taste for a bit o'broth, laddie.

W-would you send down to the kitchen for a cup o' Maudie's soup?"

"Aye, Father."

The Campbell motioned toward Duncan and Caitlin standing near the window. "T-take them with you. I've a wish for a p-private moment with the lass."

He watched his son lead the others from the room before turning back to Anne.

She eyed him quizzically. "You've certainly regained your strength, and with it your appetite, all o' a sudden."

The Campbell smiled sadly. "I've no hunger. Far from it. II but wanted a moment o' privacy with you, lassie. My son wouldn't like me interfering but 'tis a d-dying man's perogative, wouldn't you say?"

"As if you've ever needed anyone's permission for anything, m'lord."

He chuckled weakly, then winced. "Och, lassie, my son has met his match in you. His first wife was a sweet angel, b-but you are as proud and brave as any warrior. Niall will need such a woman in the l-long, dark days ahead." A furrow of concern creased his brow. "Y-you'll stand by him, won't you, lassie?"

Anne couldn't meet his gaze. "There are things between us, m'lord . . . things that cannot be breached."

"H-he needs you, lassie!"

"Nay, m'lord. He has all he needs now, for he has MacGregor lands. He doesn't need me."

"Och, lassie." Robert clasped her hand between his. " 'Twas never Niall's intent to take your lands. If there be fault, it lies with D-Duncan and me. 'Twas our p-plan, and our plan alone, to go to the queen. Niall never knew anything about it.

"In a moment of great a-anger against your father," he continued, "I finally agreed with my brother th-that we should end the feud in any way we could. The land grant seemed the best, the only way."

The Campbell shook his head. "II was so tired o' the endless years o' fighting, the destruction on both sides. I only meant to gain control over your clan, not destroy them. II might have been wrong," he admitted, raising his eyes to hers, "but I made the best decision I couldfor the good o'
my
clan."

Anne exhaled a long breath. "I understand, m'lord."

"Th-then you'll forgive my son?"

"You said he knew naught about the grant. There's naught to forgive."

Robert leaned back and closed his eyes. "Good."

He lay there a long while, his breathing labored, as if the talk had taken what little strength he had. Anne finally made a move to disengage her hand, thinking he'd fallen asleep, but the action only caused his eyes to snap open.

He stared at her a moment longer, then smiled. "Y-you'll stay with him, then? Be a good helpmate and lover? Give him b-bairns?"

"M'lord . . ." Anne paused, as she heard the door open and someone walk in.

"Your word, lass!" Robert gasped. "I've no time left for"

He choked, the sound hard and gut-wracking. It increased in intensity until he seemed unable to catch his breath. Anne lifted his shoulders to aid his efforts, but it did little good. Robert Campbell's face turned red, then purpled as he struggled for breath.

Anne reached for the cup of water on the nearby table and held it to his lips. The old man took a sip, swallowed, then a strange look crossed his face. A gurgling sound rose in his throat. As Anne watched in rising horror, bright red blood began to spew from his mouth.

Robert clutched at her. A glazed expression dulled his eyes. Anne turned. Her frantic gaze slammed into the serving maid standing there, a covered tray in her hands.

''Niall! Get Niall and quickly!" Anne cried.

Nelly dropped the tray with a clatter and ran. Niall must have heard Anne's cry. He rushed past before the servant even reached the door and was at the bed in a few quick strides.

"Father!"

Anne surrendered the limp form and stepped back. Through a mist of tears, she watched Niall clasp his father to him and murmur something into the old man's ear. Then there were hands pushing her aside, as Duncan and Caitlin hurried forward.

There was little more Anne could do. The lung hemorrhage was fatal. Caitlin's wails signaled the end. Gently, Niall lay his father down and pulled the comforter over his face. Then he took his sobbing sister into his arms, his tortured glance meeting that of Duncan's.

His uncle stood there, glaring back at him, his shoulders stiff, his fists clenched. "You shouldn't have left him alone with her," he spat the words as if they'd a foul taste. "She was but looking for a chance to avenge the loss o' her landsand you, you fool, gave it to her."

A shuttered look darkened Niall's face. "Have a care, Uncle. 'Tis your grief that makes you speak so."

Duncan grabbed Nelly. "You were here. You saw. Did she give my brother anything? Do anything untoward?"

The dark-haired maid shrunk back from the ferocity of Duncan's anger. "II saw the lady give him something to drink, m-m'lord. That is all."

"Was there something in the drink? Did she try to poison him?"

Nelly hesitated, then slowly wet her lips. "She put some powder in the cup, but what 'twas I dinna know."

With a low curse, Duncan released Nelly and strode toward Anne. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her to him. "What did you give my brother, witch? Tell me now before I choke the life out o' you!"

For an instant Anne stared up at him, too shocked to reply. Then she began to struggle. "Unhand me! I gave him naught but a sip o' water. I will not stand here and be falsely accused!"

"Do as she says, Uncle," Niall growled in an ominous voice. "I won't dishonor my father's deathbed by this ridiculous scene. Let her go."

Duncan dragged Anne toward Niall. "Ridiculous, you say! Nelly just said"

"And 'twill be a cold day in hell before I take Nelly's word over Anne's. Now, let her go!"

Niall stood before his uncle, his wide-legged stance emanating an unmistakeable threat. Duncan glared back, his face a mottled red. Finally, he released Anne.

"I've tried mightily to ignore the rumors and malicious gossip spreading through the clan about this woman," he snarled. "But no more, nephew. Witch or no, she has you in her power. Your judgement is tainted, your loyalty suspect, if you refuse even to consider that she murdered your father."

He stepped back from Niall. "II'm not sure you're fit to claim the chieftain's feathers!"

"Get out."

In rising dismay, Anne watched as Niall motioned for his uncle to leave. The effort it took for him to control himself, from the furious workings of his jaw to the ragged rasp of his breath, filled her with pain.

Blessed Mother, she thought, wasn't it enough his father had just died in his arms? Must he now be forced to deal with the issue of his right to accede to the chieftainship, not to mention the torment of fighting with his uncle? And why, once again, must she be so intricately entwined in it all?

"'Tisn't over, nephew!" Duncan spat.

Niall expelled a weary sigh. "Nay, I'd imagine not. But as clan tanist I proclaim a truce between us until my father's buried. Do you agree? For the sake o'our common love for him, can we have peace until then?"

"Aye." Duncan nodded, his reluctance evident. "But only until then."

Niall watched him leave the room, then turned to Nelly and his sister. "Leave us. There is naught more to be done until the preacher has been here. Fetch him for me."

Caitlin opened her mouth to speak, but the words were all but drowned in her tears. She nodded numbly and stumbled from the room, Nelly following closely behind.

"N-Niall?" Anne hesitantly touched his arm. "II'm so sorry"

He stared at her, his eyes burning pools of agony. "Not now, Annie. II can't bear much more. Please go to your room and don't leave until I come for you."

She took a step closer. "But I want to stay, be o' help"

"Please, Annie!"

The anguish roughened his voice to a raw, ragged edge. Anne backed away. She nodded, lowering her eyes to spare herself further sight of his pain, and to hide the hurt that misted her own eyes at his rejection.