Child of the Mist (24 page)

"'Twill be as you ask, m'lord." Anne gathered her skirts and fled the room, but not before the sound of Niall's voice, once more at his father's bed, reached her retreating ears.

"Father," he groaned. "Och, Lord . . . Father!"

From her chamber window, Anne watched the endless procession of mourners arrive the next day. The vibrant hue of various clan tartans, their lairds and warriors come to honor the memory of the powerful Campbell chief, blanketed the road leading to Kilchurn from dawn to dusk. All had journeyed to pay their respect, then prepare for the funeral feast to be held in the Great Hall that evening. All said their good-byes, touching the corpse lying on its bier in the chapel in a gesture to indicate they'd done nothing to contribute to the death, and to gain immunity from future dreams about the deceased.

All,
Anne mused sadly,
but I
. She, alone of the castle's inhabitants, had not been invited for the traditional visit. She, who'd come to love the Campbell like a father, who'd held him in her arms as he gasped out his last breaths, was relegated to the prison of her rooman outcast, a pariah. In the past day as the castle bustled with preparations, she'd seen no one but Agnes.

It was from the old maidservant that Anne had gleaned what little information she could about Niall. He was holding up well, Agnes had said, but that look in his eyes.

The old woman had shivered when she'd said that, but Anne couldn't drag another a word of explanation from her. All she could extract was a promise to ask Niall to come to her when he found a free moment. It was Anne's only comfort in the somber hours that dragged bythe anticipation of seeing Niall, of speaking with him.

He arrived just after dusk. For want of anything else to do, Anne was busy putting the finishing touches on Caitlin's gown, a gown she now doubted she'd ever be able to gift the headstrong girl with.

Anne sighed as she painstakingly stitched around the final neckline flower. Why was every overture she made of friendship twisted into some evil intent? It almost seemed as if someone was purposely thwarting her efforts.

"Who are you making the gown for?" a deep voice inquired.

Anne jumped, stabbing herself with the sewing needle. She rose to her feet, sucking at the throbbing finger, and came face to face with Niall.

Dressed in formal doublet and belted plaid, he stared down at her, his face solemn. The pain in her finger vanished.

"Th-the gown? 'Twas meant for your sister, though I wonder now if shell ever . . ." Her voice faded.

There were dark smudges of exhaustion under Niall's eyes. His face was drawn and haggard. She wondered if he'd even had time to sleep. Forgotten were the endless hours of worry and pain, as an urge to comfort him filled her. Anne laid down her sewing and took Niall by the arm.

"Come." She pulled him over to a high-backed chair. "You look past weary. Seat yourself and have a cup o' wine."

Niall allowed himself to be led to the chair and seated, but refused the wine. "The vigil begins at midnight and I must keep it at my father's side. Even one cup o' wine, I fear, would put me fast to sleep. And that wouldn't be conduct fitting the new clan chieftain."

"Then they've already accepted you?" Anne's shoulders sagged with relief. "Despite Duncan's threats, there was no problem?"

"There's been no official confirmation or ceremony as yet. That must wait until after the funeral. But did you doubt there'd be any difficulty?"

"All the talk about me, and now the rumors that I'd poisoned your father . . ." Anne hesitated. "Truly, I didn't know what to think."

A determined glint flared in Niall's eyes. "There'll be no problem. I'll see to that." He took her hand and drew her to him. "But I didn't come to speak o' the chieftainship. I came to ask if you wished to accompany me to the chapel? Say your farewells to my father?"

Anne nodded. "Aye. More than anything, I've a wish to pay him my respects." In spite of herself, her voice trembled. "W-would it also be possible to attend his burial on the morrow? 'Tis my right and duty to be there."

Niall frowned. "It might go hard for you. Can you bear it?"

"With you at my side I can bear anything."

"Then, aye, you may come," he replied, his gaze steady, inscrutable. " 'Tis past time you left this room. To keep you here any longer would only give credence to the foolish talk."

Anne bowed her head to hide her happiness. Then, mastering it, she met his gaze with a steady one of her own. "I've a confession to make. My words to you, when you last came to my chamber, weren't the complete truth. I was angry, felt betrayed. I said things I didn't"

A calloused finger touched her lips. "Hush, lass. 'Tis o' no import. You went to him when he needed you. That's all that matters."

She knelt before him and placed her hand on his bare knee. "Then you don't think I did anything to hurt him, do you?"

Though he'd all but implied it, Anne still needed to hear him speak the words. "Truly, I've kept my word and treated no one since Davie. All I gave your father was a sip o' water. I swear it!"

Niall gazed down at her with tired, empty eyes. "I never doubted that for a moment, lass."

Relief washed through her, yet the lack of expression when he'd answered plucked uneasily at Anne's heart. He was so exhausted he was driving himself on sheer will alone. It had to explain the dearth of emotion in his voice, the indifference that deadened his eyes. It had to, or else she'd be forced to believe he'd finally admitted their problems were insurmountable. And that possibilitynow, when they were both so vulnerable and needywas more than she could bear.

She took the big, square hand that lay listlessly on the chair's armrest. Raising it to her lips, Anne kissed it before pressing it to her cheek.

"I wish there were more I could do for you, now, in your time o' sorrow. I never meant to hide away in this room. 'Twas only at your express command that I did so. My place has always been at your side." She kissed his hand once more. "I wanted you to know."

Niall stared down at her, some deep emotion churning in his eyes. Then he sighed, the sound one of ineffable sadness. He took Anne's hand and rose, pulling her up with him.

"Come, lass," he said. " 'Tis time to see my father."

"How
dare
you shame your father's memory? How
dare
you allow
her
in the funeral procession?" a woman shrieked as she leapt in front of Niall and Anne the next morning.

Her eyes were wild, her face tear-streaked and pale. Her hair beneath the plaid that covered her head was tangled and tumbled down onto her face, but Anne still recognized the tormented features. It was Hugh's mother.

"You banish my son, then refuse to allow him to return for his uncle's funeral," Lydia Campbell cried, only half aware she'd begun pounding on Niall's chest. "Yet you permit this witch"

Gently, Niall captured her arms and held her to him until two serving women hurried over. "Go with them, Aunt Lydia," he said, no trace of emotion in his voice. "Your grief has befuddled your reason. 'Tisn't the time or place to question my decisions. We'll talk later."

He watched the women lead her away, sobbing as if her heart might break. Then, without another word, he took Anne's arm.

She shot him a hesitant glance as they walked along, but could detect no reaction beneath his stony mask. There were reactions aplenty, however, in the faces of those awaiting them.

Caitlin stood there, a horrified expression on her face. Duncan, a few feet away, had his head bent in heated discussion with the Reformed preacher. Both men, as Anne neared, halted their talk to turn the full brunt of their gaze upon her. From the hostility emanating from them, she knew she'd been the topic of their conversation.

Well aware of Duncan's feelings for her, she ignored him and fixed her glance on the preacher, hoping to determine the extent of his animosity. Malcolm was a short man, with little of the Campbell look about him. His stern visage of dense black brows and beard fairly reeked of fanatical energy and inflexibility. The look in his penetrating brown eyes as he surveyed her was hard and unforgiving.

Anne shivered. One way or another, Duncan'had turned another Campbell against her and gained a powerful ally in the bargain.

Concern for Niall filled her. Would his uncle somehow use the preacher and his religious influence over the people to turn the clan against their new chief? It would be easy enough if the rumors of her involvement in the Campbell's death could be twisted into outright lies. Noting the look of malice that curved Duncan's lips as he straightened and began to move toward them, Anne felt certain it was a distinct possibility.

Niall's grip on her elbow tightened as the older man drew up before them. He gave him a brief nod. "Aye, Uncle?"

"I've a wish to speak with you." Duncan's frig-

id gaze brushed over Anne before returning to his nephew. "Alone."

"You may say what you wish in front o' m'lady," Niall said, a warning smoldering in his eyes. "I've no secrets from her."

The lines about Duncan's mouth tightened. "The matter concerns her. I thought only to spare her feelings."

Anne turned to Niall. "I've no wish to be cause for further discord. I can wait a ways"

"Nay, lass," Niall growled. "Your place is here, at my side. My uncle can speak his peace now and get it done with, or let it rot."

"Young fool!" Duncan snarled as he took a step closer. "You're set on the course o' your own destruction if you continue on this path! Your loyalty to this woman is sadly misplaced. Will you sacrifice family and clan for the likes o' her?"

"And will you fan the flames o' this destructive feud by refusing to accept her?" Niall shot back, his voice a harsh whisper. "I didn't think you capable o' such petty conduct."

A challenging light flared in Duncan's eyes. "Would you banish me, too, then? You've already driven Hugh and my son away. Strange conduct, indeed, but mayhap all part o'
your
plan to assure none o' your immediate male relatives are deemed acceptable for naming as chieftain over you, not to mention as your tanist. Is that it? Some insignificant laird as second in command would never present a challenge to your chieftainship, would he?"

Niall ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "I haven't time for such foolishness. Let it be, I say, until my father's buried. You gave your word."

"Aye, that I did, and I'll keep it." Duncan sighed, the fight visibly ebbing from him. "Truly, nephew, I meant only to warn you o' what the people would think if you insist on allowing your lady to attend the funeral. Is that not my place, to keep you attuned to the mood o' the people?''

"Aye, Uncle," Niall agreed, his taut-muscled frame relaxing. "But I'll not bend to some whim that is false and unfair, either." He motioned toward the casket. "Now, enough o' this. 'Tis past time we buried my father."

Niall turned to Anne and once more offered her his arm. She hesitated, her glance skittering from one man to the other. Then she placed her hand on Niall's arm.

With each advancing step, Anne's feeling of apprehension grew. Niall may have been fooled by his uncle's apparent submission, but she knew better. The hard, malicious light in the older man's eyes continued to burn even as he'd appeared to acquiesce. Niall's desire to make peace had blinded him to the evil fires smoldering beneath the surface of Duncan's smooth concern.