Child of the Mist (8 page)

He raised his eyes to gaze at them. "Ever honor, help, and respect each otherand know that now you are truly one."

A broad smile lit his face. "'Tis over, the hand-fasting. You may kiss her."

Kiss her,
Niall thought. Ah, well, she was his now and if it would but put an end to this odious ceremony. . . .

He pulled her to him. His powerful arms encircled her.

In rising horror, Anne watched the approach of Niall Campbell's ruggedly hewn face.
Holy Mother, 'tis too much after such a day!
she protested silently.
I can't bear it! If he kisses me, I'll surely swoon!

She shook her head wildly in an attempt to evade the hard, inexorably descending mouth, struggling in his arms. A hand seized her head in an iron clasp. In helpless fascination, Anne stared up at him, a cry clawing its way to her throat. Before it could break free, his mouth captured hers.

Strong, hard lips slanted over hers, forcing Anne back against the unyielding grip of Niall's hand. For a moment slowed in time, she fought him, her fingers digging into his broad, linen-covered chest, before finally surrendering to his overwhelming powerand the cruel reality of her fate.

She was a fool to fight him; Niall Campbell owned her now in body and life. To resist would only shame her before the clan. There was nothing left but acceptance, but that acceptance would be as cold and unyielding as she could make it.

Anne relaxed in his arms, neither pulling away nor returning his kiss. The change in her response startled Niall. He drew back to scan her face. Silver eyes, devoid of expression, stared up at him.

So, this is how it's to be,
he mused wryly.
A frigid bedmate
.

Disappointment shot through him, then Niall reminded himself of the true purpose of the hand-

fasting. She was comely enough, but he'd neither the time nor inclination to woo a wench, willing or not. Issues of far greater import demanded his attention. Like the identity of a certain traitor.

The realization, hovering at the edge of his consciousness, rushed back with disconcerting force. With a low, angry curse, Niall released Anne.

His frowning glance found the MacGregor. "Tis done then, the vows said and sealed."

He nodded to his cousin. "Let us be gone."

Iain grinned. "Not so fast, cousin. Custom, not you, dictates the pace. As clan witness to this hand-fasting, I'm required to give your lady a kiss. Would you have her feeling unwelcome to the family?"

Niall's gaze narrowed. He gestured toward Anne with an impatient sweep of his hand. "Make it quick, then."

As she stood there in stunned surprise, Iain took her into his arms. His intense blue eyes, deep and fathomless as the waters of mighty Loch Awe, smilingly swept over her. Then his lips touched hers, gently covering her mouth.

It was too much. First the cold ownership of Niall's kiss, and now Iain's expert assault. She'd never kissed a grown man, aside from her father's affectionate caresses, and now to have two in one day! Anne groaned in dismay, moving to push Iain away.

"Enough, cousin." Stirred by the unexpected surge of possessiveness Anne's small sound evoked in him, Niall stepped forward to grasp his cousin's arm.

The flare of irritationor was it jealousy?burning in Niall's eyes was not lost on Iain. With a reluctant grin, he released Anne.

"Welcome, lass. You'll make a fine Campbell, and no mistake."

Anne shook her head. "N-nay. 'Twill never be. Though I journey far from home and hearth, I'll always be a MacGregor."

"And journey you shall," Niall's steel-timbred voice intruded. "Your belongings are packed; the horses await. Let us be gone."

Anne glanced toward her father, unable to hide a look of silent supplication. He paled. Remorse surged through her at the expression of pain and regret that crossed his face.

With a determined thrust of her shoulders, she faced Niall.
'Twill do no good to bemoan your fate, Annie girl,
she told herself firmly.
You're handfasted now, and that's that
.

"Aye," she murmured, returning Niall Campbell's glittering stare with a resolute one of her own. "Let us be gone. 'Twill do no good to linger over things that cannot be changed."

She extended her hand to him. "Better to face bravely what life brings, to forget the past and forge onfor the good o' all, MacGregor and Campbell alike."

The lowering sky, heavy with dark, moisture-laden clouds, precluded overlong farewells. For that, at least, Anne was thankful. If she'd lingered a moment longer, she'd have surely burst into tears in front of them all, mortifying both herself and her father, and no doubt adding to Niall Campbell's rising exasperation. But the thought of several hours' ride, in what rapidly threatened to turn into a typical Highland downpour, was enough to put a damper on leave-takings between travelers and well-wishers alike.

They mounted quickly. The huge castle doors swung open. For a moment, Anne stared out upon an assemblage of tartan-clad warriors. Then Niall urged his mount forward. As he cleared the fortress' portals, a cheer rose from the army outside the gate.

"The Wolf! The Wolf o' Cruachan lives!"

At the outcry Niall rose in his saddle, his right arm lifting in a close-fisted salute. "Cruachan!" he shouted,' the harsh Campbell battle cry echoing across the hills.

Urging his horse onward and followed closely by Anne and Iain, Niall rode to the head of his forces. With a motion of his hand, he signaled the journey to begin.

Anne never looked back. She didn't dare or the tears would have surely flowed. Riveting her gaze on Niall's broad back, riding ahead with his cousin, Hugh, and the older man who'd been the spokesman for his return, she steeled herself to the sight of the beloved land she was leaving behind.

The road turned south along the River Strae, its current turbulent with melted winter snow. A fine mist rose from the water-battered stones. Anne inhaled deeply of the scent of rich, damp earth.

The meadows were alive with springtide flowers, gallant little daffodils, delicate snowdrops, and yellow primroses. The milk-white petals of the delicate Star of Bethlehem gleamed among the rank growth of ivy and fern in the nearby woods. Everywhere she looked she saw the heartbreaking beauty of her land. A lump rose in Anne's throat.

"Don't fret so, lassie," Iain Campbell gently intruded as he rode up alongside her. "'Tisn't as if you'll never see your home again. In time, when the feuding cools, I'm sure you can talk Niall into bringing you back for a visit. We're nearly neighbors, after all."

She gave him a misty-eyed smile. "My thanks for your kindness. I don't think your tanist will have much time for humoring the likes o' me, though."

Her gaze turned to rest again on Niall, riding ahead, deeply immersed in conversation with Hugh and the sandy-haired man. "He seems to find Campbell concerns' o' far greater import. I wonder what clan he's planning to raid now that MacGregors can no longer be his enemies?"

Iain's mouth quirked at the bitterness in Anne's voice. "Och, lassie, don't be so hard on him. With his father ailing, Niall's had a heavy burden o' responsibility laid on him these past few years. Give him a chance. He's not a cruel man, just a wee bit harder since his wife's death."

"Aye," she muttered, I know how deeply he mourns his wife. Too bad he didn't mourn her enough to prevent our handfasting."

"Well, I'll not speak about something I know little about." He turned toward her. "Would you like to learn a bit about our clan, before we reach Kilchurn Castle? Mayhap 'twould ease your way."

Anne nodded. It was hard to stay glum with a man as handsome and charming as Iain Campbell at her side. "Aye, that would be nice."

She pointed to the older man riding on Niall's right. "And who might he be? Surely someone o' power, for he spoke for your clan in demanding Sir Niall's return."

A bitter smile touched Iain's lips. "Och, a man o' power, and no mistake. He's Duncan, laird o' Balloch Castle on Loch Tay and the Campbell's younger brother. He's also my father."

She shot him a sideways glance.
He doesn't get on with his father,
Anne thought, noting the tight expression on Iain's face. She quickly stifled the impulse to ask him more. It wasn't her concern. She had problems enough without seeking more.

"And Hugh, the witch-hater." Anne gestured to the brown-haired man riding on Niall's other side. "Where exactly does he hang on the Campbell family tree?"

"Mad cousin Hugh? His mother is Lydia Campbell, sister to the Campbell and my father."

"Is he really mad?" Anne asked, recalling the crazed look in Hugh's eyes the day of the raid.

"In some ways, aye. And yet, there are times when I wonder if there's not a method to his madness . . ." Iain paused. "At any rate, when he commits himself to a cause, he can be quite fanatical, going on for hours, even days, on the same subject. He bears a heavy grudge that his mother was born female, for it puts him fourth, after Niall, my father, and myself, in line for the chieftainship. As you can imagine, 'tis one o' his favorite topics. We tend to ignore him when he starts up about it."

"Poor man," Anne murmured pityingly.

"Niall told me Hugh tried to kill you." Iain shook his head in wonder. "Yet you can still say that, after what he almost did to you? Och, you're a rare one."

She glanced at him. "I'm a healer, Iain. My heart goes out to those in distress, whether o' the body or mind."

"Well, don't concern yourself with Hugh. He'd not appreciate your efforts. On the contrary, 'twould be very dangerous for you. He hates witches above all else."

"And why is that?"

Iain shook his head. "I don't know, lass. It makes about as much sense as most things Hugh takes a disliking to. But for your own sake, stay clear o' him."

"Aye," Anne muttered uneasily.

Movement up ahead distracted them into silence. They watched as Niall, with a wave of his hand, sent a rider galloping off down the road. Stretching tall in his stirrups, Niall stared after the man until he disappeared from view. Then, with a dark frown, he settled back onto his horse.

A plan. He must have a plan for discovering the traitor. Niall glanced behind at the ruddy, good-hearted faces of his warriors. To question the motives of even one of them sickened him. But he must, for more was at stake than his personal safety.

His clan was also in grave danger. If the traitor had truly stirred the feud all these years, ambition was evidently a higher priority than Campbell welfare. And he as tanist seemed to be all that stood in the way of that ambition.

But who would want him dead? There were several lairds to consider, ones he'd had as tanist to deal with severely in the past. And he didn't dare discount someone who might hold a secret grudge, one he'd no way of knowing about. Yet, as thoroughly as he tried to sift through every possible motive, the spectre of the chieftainship rose above them all.

His own family. Could one of them possibly covet it enough to eliminate him as rightful heir, to become a traitor? There were several males in direct line for the eagle feathers of clan chiefhis uncle and two cousins closest of all. To add their names to the list, much less actually consider them, twisted like a dagger in Niall's gut. But consider them he did and, gradually, one name rose above the rest.