Child of the Mist (45 page)

Though misgiving roiled inside Iain, he'd grimly nodded his assent. There was too much awry of late, but whether it stemmed from Niall's strange behavior or from another source, Iain had yet to fathom. One way or another, some decisive action had to be taken.

" "Twould seem so," he'd sighed his acquiescence. "For the clan's sakeand Anne's."

Now a niggling question again eased to the forefront of Iain's mind as he watched Niall's party halt before Kilchurn's gate. How had the outlaws known about Anne's departure and eventual destination, to be waiting for them on the road? He had told no one, save. . . .

"Ho, guard!" Niall shouted, reining in his stallion just shy of the drawbridge. "Open the gates!"

Duncan leaned forward between the crenelated wall. "Nay, nephew, 'twill not be! Not until you renounce your right to the chieftainship. You are no longer fit to be the Campbell!"

Niall's grip tightened around Anne. "Damn him," he muttered. "What is Duncan's game?"

Anne's glance swung up to where the three men waited. "I don't know, but Malcolm and Iain stand with him. Surely Iain isn't party to this."

"You think not?" Niall rasped. "Mayhap there has been more than one traitor all alongand they are my two uncles and cousin."

"Och, Niall! What will you do?"

"I have no choice. I must demand they send out a champion to fight me."

She gripped Niall's arm. "Nay, you can't! You are injured. You've ridden all night without sleep. The man would kill you!"

He shot her a roguish grin. "Have you so little faith in my warrior's abilities? Did I not, with only a wee bit o' aid from you, hold off fifteen men until help arrived? The stakes are different now, but just as high. I can do it again. I have to."

Niall turned back to the parapets. "I claim right to do battle for the chieftainship!" he shouted in clear, ringing tones. "Send out your champion!"

Iain exchanged a glance with his father. "You misjudged Niall if you thought he'd give up easily."

Duncan shrugged. "Did I? He is tired, wounded. Killing him won't be such a difficult task for a man such as you. Go down, Iain. You are his match, and more in the condition he is in. I'll name you my tanist once Niall is dead. And you can have his woman in the bargain."

His son's gaze narrowed. "I thought you hated Anne, believed her a witch. Why would you now offer her to me?"

"Aye, brother," Malcolm heatedly interjected. "That wasn't part o' the"

"She's no more a witch than you or I," Duncan replied, raising a hand to silence the preacher, "but I dared not disobey the law. However, since the royal envoy already confided to me there was no case against the lady, I have little problem now with giving her to Iain."

He turned to his son. "You do want her, don't you, Iain?"

Iain stared down from the parapets, his eyes seeking out Anne, possessively clasped in Niall's arms. "Aye, I want her," he admitted softly. "But she loves Niall and would never have me the way I want her to. Nay," Iain finished, his deep voice raw with emotion. "I'll fight Niall for her safety and because he's no longer fit to be chief. But not to have Anne. If I kill him, she'll never be friend to me again."

"'Tis for the best, at any rate." Duncan gripped his son's arm. "Have a care how you fight Niall. Work to tire him and wait for your opening. Give no quarter for he'll give none, not for a cause such as this. One mistake and, wounded as he is, he could well kill you."

Iain jerked away. "You needn't lecture me on battle techniques. I'm well aware o' Niall's prowess with the claymore. I know the fight could go either way."

"Go then," Duncan growled. "And don't fail me."

As Iain strode away, he heard his father bellow down to Niall that his champion would soon meet him. His long strides carried him to his bedchamber where he quickly girded himself with his own claymore, while keeping a firm rein on his emotions.

There was no time left for doubts. No time to ponder the turn of events that had led to this momenta battle to the death with his cousin and boyhood friend. Yet as strong a hold as Iain kept on his feelings, he couldn't help but wonder if something outside them all hadn't driven them to this sad course of events.

It was an uneasy, sickening feeling, but it crept back to haunt him again and again as he strode back through the castle to the outer gate. He, Hugh, Niall, and Anne. All driven, all manipulated, but why? And by whom?

Kilchurn's gates swung open. Iain walked through, claymore in hand. At the sight of him, Niall cursed softly. Anne gave a small cry.

She grabbed his arm. "Nay, Niall. Not Iain. I beg you. Don't fight Iain!"

He swung to face her, his eyes blazing pits of light. "Damn you, woman! I didn't choose to fight him. He did! Accept it, once and for all. He's the traitor. And accept the fact that you must finally choose between us!"

Niall advanced toward lain. "You've dreamt o' this day, this very moment, for a long while now." He raised his sword before him. "Come, cousin. Let us do battle and I will show you the fate o' traitors!"

Iain glared back at him. "I'm not a traitor! Your own arrogance has brought you to this day!"

"Then let my arrogance win it for me!" Niall declared, swinging his sword.

His opponent moved quickly to parry the blow. The metallic clang of swords meeting, the grunts of two men straining with all their might to overcome the other, filled the air. Back and forth they thrust and hacked as the minutes ticked by with lumbering slowness, neither giving quarter.

Sweat beaded Niall's brow. His recent wounds tore open to brightly stain his bandages. He began to tire. Iain worked him around the battle area, quickly settling into a defensive posture in an effort to conserve his own strength while draining Niall of his.

Niall's hard-driving offense required more power and effort, but Anne knew it was the only tactic he dared use. He must overcome Iain before his strength drained, ebbing away as inexorably as the blood now streaming from his wounds. It was a dangerous ploy, yet the only one he had left.

The gamble paid off. Iain, once more inching back from a particularly vicious onslaught, stumbled over a rock jutting from the ground at an odd angle. He lost his balance. Niall took quick advantage and slammed into him.

Iain fell, his weapon still clenched in his hand. As he hit the ground, Niall's claymore was at his throat. Iain gazed up into eyes glittering with a murderous lightand saw his death.

Niall lifted his sword to deliver the fatal blow. "Die, you craven coward! Die the traitor's death you have earned!"

"Nay!" Anne screamed, and flung herself onto Niall's sword arm. "Don't do this. I beg you!"

Disbelief twisted his features. "You would beg for his life, knowing he meant to kill me? Get out o' my way, Anne! I won't have you shame me by begging for him in front o' all."

"And would you rather live with the shame o' knowing you killed an innocent man?"

"What would you have me do?" he tersely demanded. "Allow him to fight me again? Who would you rather sacrifice, Iain or me?"

"He isn't a traitor!"

Something hardened in Niall. "And if you're wrong, I could well die. Do you wish to take that chance? Choose, and choose now, Anne."

"I don't want either o' you to die!" she cried. "I love you, Niall. You are everything to me. But I can't condemn an innocent man to death because o' that love. I can't, I
won't
choose."

He stared at her, his eyes suddenly bleak. "Then I'll choose for you." Niall sighed, the sound weary and defeated. "And I only hope you can live with that decision."

He stepped back, motioning for Iain to rise. "Come, cousin." He lowered his sword to his side. "Anne claims you're no traitor. Prove the truth o' it to herand me."

The younger man climbed to his feet, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. He lifted his sword to Niall's chest. Niall didn't move.

Iain pressed the tip deeper, until blood welled at its point. Still, Niall did nothing. Confusion furrowed Iain's brow. He glanced at Anne.

Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes. "Iain, please. Don't do it. I trusted you. I've always been your friend.
Don't do it
."

His eyes turned back to Niall, his sword lowering to the ground. I can no more hurt her by killing you," he whispered thickly, "than you can by killing me."

The claymore was resheathed in the scabbard hanging at his back. "And Anne's right. I'm no traitor!"

"Then who?" Niall rasped. "Who
is
the traitor?"

"Kill him!" Duncan roared from his perch high on the walls. "'Tis past time for the misfortunes o' our family to be righted, for the chieftainship to pass into our hands. Kill him, Iain, and the chieftainship will finally be ours!"

Three pairs of eyes turned to gaze up at the Campbell tanist, the truth of Duncan's treachery filling each with a private horror. And all the while the man raved down at them, the realization he could no longer twist them to his evil intent driving him over the brink of madness.

"Kill him!" he screamed. "None will follow him anymore, not with that MacGregor witch at his side! I've seen to that. We've got MacGregor lands. We've weakened them with the feud I've stirred all these years. We can soon have it all. Don't fail me like Hugh and Nelly did. You're my son, Iain. You'll be chief someday. Kill the arrogant bastard. Be done with it!"

Iain shook his head. "Nay, Father!" he shouted back. "
You
are the one who has failed us all. You have shamed our family with your treachery. I'll have no part o' it!"

"Then die, as will the witch and Niall Campbell!" Duncan screeched.

A crossbow appeared in his hands.

"Get down, Iain!" Niall cried, pulling Anne behind him.

The crossbow glinted in the early-morning sun, aimed straight at the Campbell chief. Something flashed. With a cry, Iain flung himself in front of Niall. A quarrel sunk deep into his chest.

He fell. Anne screamed and fought to go to Iain. Niall held her firmly behind him.

High on the parapets swords gleamed as clansmen rushed to halt the tanist, slashing up and down until the blood streamed from their razor-sharp blades. Duncan's voice rose, assumed an agonized intensity, then faded in a strangled cry. "Kill him! Kill him! Kill hi"

Anne saw to the arrangements for care of Iain's injury, then watched them carry him off to his bed-chamber. She turned to Niall.

"I should look at your wounds now. After your battle, they're sure to need tending."

"Shouldn't you see to Iain first?" Niall asked. "He's hurt worse than I and the physician may need help removing the quarrel."

She arched a quizzical brow. I didn't think you'd want me near him."

He studied her for a moment in thoughtful silence. "I was wrong about him."

"Tell Iain that, not me," Anne shot back, a ripple of anger in her voice.

Niall sighed. "I will, have no fear. But I wanted you to know, too. I've been wrong about so much these past few months. I trusted no one, not even you at times."

"I know."

Anne forced the tension to ease. It wasn't Niall she was angry with, not really. They were all on edge after the violence of the past night and today's confrontation in front of the castle. But what if he were also saying he'd erred in his feelings for her? It was foolish to ask, but she needed to know.

Her eyes lowered. ''And were you also wrong in loving me?"

Niall lifted her chin. "Nay, never that, lass," he rasped, a fierce tenderness smoldering in his eyes. "Never that . . ." He hesitated. "Would you like to go to Iain? See to his proper tending?"

A radiant smile lit Anne's face. "Aye, for a wee bit o' time, if you will. The quarrel missed any vital organs, but I'd like to see Iain's wound properly cleansed and dressed so it will not fester."

Niall motioned her forward. "Then go, lass. I'll be here when you return."

Love flared in her eyes. Then, gathering her skirts, Anne hurried off.

Murdoch had just finished removing the quarrel from Iain's chest. Anne found her friend in his bed, pale and pain-wracked, his eyes clamped shut. She knelt and took his clenched fist in her hand. Gently, she pried open his long, strong fingers to entwine them in hers. With her other hand, she moistened a cloth and wiped his sweat-damp brow.