Child of the Mist (26 page)

His cousin's motives were more than apparent.

Niall had seen the look in Iain's eyes whenever he gazed at her. Iain wanted Anne.

But Annewhat did she want? With a mighty effort fueled by his anguish, Niall rose and walked to the hearth. Setting his glass on the mantle, he leaned on the wooden overhang and stared, unseeing, into the flames.

Did Anne love Iain? Had they Iain together as lovers? He'd kill Iain if they had.

A rage, white-hot and searing, grew within Niall. He was surrounded on all sides by betrayal and the one haven where he'd thought he'd find comfort had never been more than a sweet illusion. The rage subsided at the vision of the beautiful woman that flashed across his mind.

Och, Annie,
he thought with a bittersweet pang,
you called to my heart. Yet, when I came, you turned from me, leaving me more alone than I was before. I was a fool to have let myself trust you . . . much less need you
.

Music, soft and lilting, floated to his ears. Niall raised his head, wondering at its source.

It was Anne, playing her clarsach.

He turned from the hearth, his gaze moving to the door that separated their rooms. She was awake. But dare he go to her, as confused and exhausted as he was? He risked betraying too much. It would be wiser to avoid her.

Even as he admitted the fact, Niall's legs were already carrying him toward the door. Though he dare not trust his heart to her, the physical solace of her body was safe enough. She owed him that much at least.

Anne couldn't sleep. Exhausted from the emotionally draining day, she'd gone to bed early but once there, could only toss and turn. A jumble of thoughts and impressions assailed her. The haggard look of grief on Niall's face as they lowered his father into the grave. The strain of the funeral feast from which she'd excused herself as soon as it was considered proper. And then, after everything else, the unexpected surprise of Iain's visit.

That, mayhap most of all, nibbled at Anne, driving all hope of rest from her mind. What was she to do about Iain? The chance of Niall hearing about Iain's visit was too great to ignore. There were too many people in Kilchurn eager for her downfall not to consider the possibility. And if Niall should hear of this latest news from anyone but her, Anne feared it might drive the final wedge between them. More than anything else, Anne didn't want that to happen.

She never wanted to be a problem to Niall again. All Anne desired was to be close, to comfort and support him. To be everything to him, to the extent of his need. He might not love her, at least not like he'd loved the Lady Anne Stewart, but what he was capable of giving she would accept and cherish.

Love was like that, she supposed, especially when it had finally turned your brain to a pile of mush. With a sigh, Anne rose from her bed and donned her warm bed robe. She walked over to stare out the stone-cut window.

What time was it? At least midnight by her calculations. Far too late to speak to Niall tonight about Iain, no matter how desperately she needed to tell him. The admission would have to wait for the morrow.

Her clarsach lay beside the oaken bench beneath the window. Anne picked it up, nestling its sensuously curved frame in the crook of her arm. Her fingers strummed the taut strings, coaxing a hauntingly sweet melody from the vibrating strands. The music soothed her, easing the raw ache in her heart.

How she wanted to go to Niall, to feel the strength of his arms about her, to bury her face in the comforting warmth of his chest! But that was not to be. Niall's need for rest was of greater import than her petty desires.

She jumped at the sound of the door between their rooms opening, her fingers striking a discordant note on the harp. Anne turned, her startled gaze meeting Niall's. He stood there in the doorway, his stance wide-legged, dressed in only a bed robe knotted loosely at his waist. Through the portion that gaped open from his waist up, a powerful, hair-roughened chest heaved with some barely repressed emotion.

She laid down her clarsach and rose. ''What is it, m'lord? Did my playing waken you?"

Niall stared back, a sudden surge of tenderness flooding him. She stood there, her curly mane cascading about her shoulders and down her back, dressed in a simple white nightdress beneath her open bed robe. She looked so beguiling, so sweetly girlishand so innocent of any wrongdoing.

The anger ebbed, leaving only a curious, quivering ache in the middle of Niall's chest. He was too weary for a battle tonight. Too overwhelmed with the events of the past few days to face the truth. The morrow was soon enough to deal with the unpleasant task of confronting her.

But now, now what he needed was rest. Perhaps Anne's songs, and later her body, would soothe him to it.

He sighed and shook his head. "Nay, lass, I was never asleep. I but heard your music and thought to ask you to play for me. You used to play for my father." His lips curved into a wistful smile. "Will you do so as willingly for me?"

Anne nodded. "Aye."

Niall motioned to her clarsach. "Then bring your harp and come with me."

She followed him into his bedchamber, dark save for the small circle of light cast by the hearth fire. He pulled up a tall-backed chair to face his before the fireplace, then glanced at Anne.

" 'Tis warmest here. Come, seat yourself."

The realization of her vulnerability in Niall's bed-chamber struck Anne with the force of a blow. Suddenly, she felt weak-kneed. She had dreamt of this long-desired moment, yet now, when it was finally upon her, she wanted to flee. Too much hung in the balance. She was no longer sure she had the strength to face it.

Anne forced herself to move forward. It was too late to turn back. That choice had been made when she'd revealed her love for Niall to Iain. She owed Niall at least the same honesty she'd shown his cousin. And that honesty began with telling him about Iain's visit this eve. But how to begin? How to tell him without stirring afresh Niall's anger against Iain? Anne settled herself in the chair, but the strings of her clarsach remained silent.

At the worried chewing of her lip, Niall cocked a questioning brow. He motioned toward her harp. "Have you no song for me, lady?"

"Aye, but first I've something to speak o'." Anne imagined he could hear the pounding of her heart from where he stood.

He waved her words aside with a movement of his hand. "In time, lass. But first, a song."

"What would you like to hear, m'lord?" she murmured, both relieved and frustrated to put the matter aside, if only temporarily.

His eyes burned into Anne with a fierce intensity as he seated himself opposite her. "A song o' love," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "About the enchantment o' a beautiful woman."

Anne swallowed hard. The deeper meaning to his words sent a small shiver of excitement through her. Her fingers, seemingly of their own accord, strummed the opening notes.

"Mayhap you'd like the 'Vision of a Fair Woman' then. 'Tis an ancient Celtic song."

Niall nodded.

His eyes, burning with an inner intensity, so mesmerized Anne that the song flowed from her lips almost without conscious effort. Her voice rose and fell with the melody, breathless at first but growing stronger with each haunting phrase. And all the while, Niall watched her.

"Tell us some o' the charms o' the stars:
Close and well set were her ivory teeth;
White as the canna upon the moor
Was her bosom the tartan bright beneath.
Her well-rounded forehead shone
Soft and fair as the mountain snow;
Her two breasts were heaving full;
To them did the hearts of heroes flow. . . ."

Like some Highland cat he watched her, motionless, tense with waiting, but waiting for what? Anne felt like a doe, alone, poised for flight, sensing danger but not knowing from whence it came. And all the while Niall, the dark, powerful animal, just sat there, watching . . . waiting.

". . . her countenance looked like the gentle buds
Unfolding their beauty in early spring;
Her yellow locks like the gold-browed hills;
And her eyes like the radiance the sunbeams
  bring. . . ."

The closing stanza ended in a breathless whisper as Anne's throat constricted, smothering with the sense of impending capture. She had never seen eyes quite like his, smoldering golden-brown in the dim firelight. They glowed with some otherworldly fire. They beckoned her toward a heady oblivion she was helpless to resist. Her fingers fell from the strings.

"That night you learned o' the land charter," his deep voice shattered the suddenly heavy silence, "you begged me to free you from our handfasting."

She barely had breath to reply. "Aaye?"

Niall leaned forward. "Do you still wish that?"

The question dissipated the dreamlike trance that had followed Anne into the room. Why was he asking that? Of all times, when she felt herself hanging on the abyss of surrendering everything to him, why was Niall asking such a question?

Did he need some pretense to free himself now that he was about to secure his position as chief? Mayhap he'd finally admitted she was more hindrance than pleasure, that her unpopularity with his clan would never improve.

Or mayhap there was some other reason. Mayhap, just mayhap, Niall was attempting to plumb the depths of her commitment to him. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. The truth remained the same.

"Nay, I don't wish to be freed from our hand-fasting." Anne laid her harp at her feet, then squarely met his gaze. "My place is with you, for as long as you'll have me."

"And why do you want to stay, lass?"

Her grip tightened on the chair arm. "Because I love you."

The surprising admission snapped the last of Niall's control. God help him, but he couldn't wait until the morrow! Coupled with her sweet lie just now, her betrayal hurt too much to bear a moment longer.

"And do you?" Niall asked with a mocking smile. "As much as you love Iain?"

"I don't understand." Unease spiraled through Anne. How could he be so calm, so casual, about her heart-wrenching admission? "What have my feelings for Iain to do with you?" She forced the words past her suddenly constricted throat.

Niall shrugged. I was but attempting to determine the extent o' your loyalty. Whom do you love more, Anne? Iain or me?"

Anne struggled to stand, tears glimmering in her eyes. "You mock me, mock the honest admission o' my feelings for you, to ask such a thing! Why would you want to hurt me like that?"

"Hurt you?" Niall leapt to his feet. "And can anything I say or do compare with what you've wrought by your liaison with Iain this eve? Answer me that!"

She blanched.
Holy Mary, he does know, and because of my hesitation I've lost the chance to tell him myself. He'll never believe I was going to now
.

"I was afraid o' this." Anne sighed, lowering herself back to her chair. Her gaze slid to her hands clasped in her lap. "There are no secrets from you in this castle, however benign they may be."

"Let me be the judge o' that," Niall said, his voice dangerously soft.

Silver eyes rose to meet his. "There's little to tell at any rate. Iain was simply concerned for my welfare."

"And 'twas necessary to seek out the privacy o' your bedchamber to do so?" Niall paused. "Was Agnes with you?"

"Nay."

Even in the firelight, she could see the dark flush that suffused Niall's face. "Naught happened," Anne hastened to explain, panic rising within her. "I swear it!"

"Mayhap not." Niall's voice was taut with barely contained fury. "Tis difficult to judge without knowing the real reason for my cousin's visit. What was it, lass?"

She hesitated. The same dilemma confronted her as before. How was she to tell Niall the truth without betraying Iain?

"I await your answer, lady."

The hard edge to his voice prodded her to action. She wet her lips, then hurried on, "I'll tell you, m'lord, and gladly, if only you'll swear Iain will come to no harm because o' it."

"I'll make no oath on that!" Niall snapped savagely. "If you think to protect his deceit"

"There was no deceit!" Anne cried. "He but wanted to take me away with him, away from all the hatred here against me. He was concerned for my safety, that's all!"

"And I say you lie! You're lovers, aren't you?"

In one quick step Niall was before her, pulling Anne into the unyielding hardness of his body. She gazed up into eyes blazing with anger and, surprisingly, a tortured pain. For a moment, she couldn't find her breath. Then it came, expelled on a shuddering whisper.

"Och, nay. Nay, Niall. I don't love Iain, at least not in the way you mean."

Niall's grip tightened painfully. Anne squirmed in his grasp.

"Niall, please. You,'re hurting me."

He released her with a jerk, and gave a shaky laugh. "Then we're even. But don't mistake my acceptance o' this as trust. Too many times have your path and Iain's crossed for me to ignoreor forgive!"

"Forgive?" Anne's eyes blazed silver fire. "There's naught to forgive, you suspicious, pigheaded dolt! Och, I don't know why I thought telling you would've made a difference, if I'd ever had the chance! But, nay, so sooner had the deed been done when your people came running to tell you everything. Do you trust me so little you must surround yourself with spies?"

Niall turned toward the hearth, unable to meet her gaze. "II can't afford to trust anyone just now. You know how precarious my position as chief is . . ."

"Aye," Anne interjected bitterly, "and I suppose I should accept that I must, o' necessity, be considered a threat to your precious chieftainship."

She paused, as an insight into the source of his continued mistrust suddenly struck her. "But this isn't solely an issue o'jealousy, is it? O' your fears that Iain and I are lovers?" Anne took a deep breath before continuing. "Nay, 'tis o' far greater import, 'tisn't it? Like, mayhap, that Iain is your traitor?"