“Curse the woman!” Niall groaned as he swung up onto his mount. He urged the horse out of the stable yard, clearing the castle gate at a dead run. Of all the morns to have to ride off after Anne, he thought in groggy disgust. His head pounded, his eyes were gritty and blurred, and his stomach churned unpleasantly. But then, when had she ever made things easy for him?
He turned his mount in the direction of the only place, besides Ena’s hut, he knew Anne might go—the little burn where he had found her and Iain that day. The movement of his horse’s legs, striking the earth in relentless rhythm, gradually intensified the thrumming in Niall’s skull. He thought he’d go mad. He lowered his head in an attempt to ease the throbbing agony, the nausea welling inside him. How, in this sorry condition, would he be able to confront Anne when and if he finally found her? He could barely stay astride his horse!
With a supreme effort, Niall straightened. It didn’t matter how he felt. He had borne worse; battle was a pitiless arbitrator when it came to one’s injuries. The rules were simple. Ignore the pain and continue fighting—or die. He just fervently hoped that, this day, there’d be no fighting or dying required.
Niall cleared the top of the hill overlooking the burn, to find her horse grazing peacefully nearby. There was, however, no sign of Anne. His irritated gaze swept the area, finally following the little brook down to Loch Awe itself. There, not far from the shore, was a man bent over someone. As Niall watched, the man shoved the limp form beneath the water.
“Cruachan!” Niall roared.
The man in the lake stiffened then turned. An icy chill spread through Niall. It was Hugh, his hands clenched around Anne’s neck. In the next instant he dropped her and began to move toward the shore. Anne slowly sank below the water. Rage exploded within Niall.
He reached the water’s edge just as Hugh gained the shore. With a powerful swipe of his arm, Niall knocked his cousin to the ground, then leaped from his horse and flung himself into the lake. He plowed through the water, his progress an eternity, but at last he reached Anne.
Niall pulled her into his arms. She was waxy pale, limp. “Annie,” he cried, “can ye hear me? Ah, open yer eyes, lass!” Niall turned, his long strides carrying them swiftly back to shore.
He laid her on the ground, tenderly brushing the wet, tangled hair from her face. A hollow, hopeless feeling swelled inside him, calling forth a memory of another time, another loss.
“Nay, not ye, too, lassie,” he whispered. Niall gathered her to him, pressing her tightly to his chest. “Not ye, too.”
“Move away, cousin.”
Niall lifted his head. Hugh stood before him, sword drawn, the familiar crazed light gleaming in his eyes.
“Go to the devil!” Niall clasped Anne protectively to him. “I won’t give her to ye!”
The tip of Hugh’s sword came to rest against the side of Niall’s neck. “She’s a witch and I must be sure she’s dead. It’s for the best, cousin. Unhand her.”
Masking his rising anger behind a shuttered expression, Niall lowered Anne to the ground then rose. He forced a casual motion in her direction. “Ye’re right, of course. Have at it, then.”
As he stepped toward Anne, Hugh’s eagerness betrayed him. With a swift movement, Niall slammed into his cousin, knocking both of them to the ground. Hugh brought up his sword hilt, striking a blow to the side of Niall’s head. Niall’s grip loosened. Hugh rolled away.
Shaking the scattering of stars from his eyes, Niall sprang to his feet. His grip on his own sword was none too soon. With a wild cry, Hugh was upon him. Metal met metal. Hugh’s madness lent him a power beyond that of most men. Niall backed off from his cousin’s nearly overwhelming strength.
An irritatingly incessant clanging pierced the fog surrounding Anne. Consciousness returned. She inhaled a painful, shuddering breath, then coughed. A choking spasm shook her. For a long, terror-filled moment, she thought she’d never breathe again. Then the air began to fill her lungs.
She rolled over onto her stomach and expelled a weak groan. How it hurt to breathe! And her throat . . . At the realization of what had happened, of the danger she still might be in, Anne struggled to rise.
The effort proved fruitless. She had to content herself with lifting her head. For a moment, confusion mingled with a nauseating weakness. Her world whirled before her. Then it righted.
The sight of Niall, engaged in combat with Hugh, filled her with renewed strength. She pulled herself up to rest upon her elbows. He had come! Niall had come to save her!
Hugh was tiring. Niall, however, though the sweat beaded his brow, appeared as fresh and strong as if he had only begun to fight. His claymore moved with effortless ease, parrying each of Hugh’s more awkward thrusts with battle-honed skill.
Relentlessly, Niall drove the other man backward, his face set in grim determination. Hugh, scrambling away from the increasingly damaging blows, finally lost his footing. He fell, the sword still clasped in his hand.
Niall’s blade found his throat. “Yield, cousin.”
Hugh shook his head. “Nay. I won’t yield to one who defends a witch. Kill her first. Then I’ll surrender.”
“Ye’re mad.” Frustration threaded Niall’s voice. “Yer unreasoning hatred has twisted yer mind until ye can no longer divine truth from fantasy.” He sheathed his sword. “Be gone from me. Until ye can find it in yer heart to accept Anne, ye’re banished from Kilchurn.”
Hugh struggled to his feet. “Ye cannot! Ye haven’t the authority.”
Niall arched a dark brow. “Haven’t I? Do ye think my father would fail to back me in this?”
“She . . . she has bewitched ye both!” As if to add further emphasis to his accusation, Hugh turned his head and spat on the ground. “Ye’ll see. The Campbell will soon die, no doubt helped along by her spells. But there’s still ye, then, isn’t there? And ye aren’t fit to be chieftain, with that devilish witch at yer side. Something will still have to be done about ye.”
“And ye’re the one to do it, mayhap? Do ye conceal yer treachery behind a mask of false madness?”
Even as he spoke, Niall regretted his words. He knew Hugh wasn’t the traitor. He couldn’t be certain, though, that his cousin wasn’t in league with him. Hugh, even as a lad, had always been easily led by others more clever than him. And that issue of succession had always stuck in his cousin’s throat. Unfortunately, for all his lack of intelligence and common sense, Hugh could be fiercely loyal when he put his mind to it. Niall knew he’d never wring a willing confession from his cousin.
Niall sighed, suddenly weary to the point of exhaustion. “Anne’s no witch. It’s but yer madness that makes ye see that.” He motioned toward Hugh’s horse. “Now, no more of it. Yer banishment stands. It’s death if I set sight upon ye before ye come to yer senses.”
His cousin glared at him. “This isn’t the end of this, Niall. I’ll be back to finish what I began this day, and no mistake!”
“Well, it’ll be the end of ye if ye return. Be grateful ye’ve yer life. It’s likely more than ye deserve.”
Hugh sheathed his sword and stomped off to his horse. With a despairing eye, Niall followed his cousin’s progress until Hugh rode from sight. One by one, his family was splitting apart. First Iain and now Hugh, both now at odds with him—and both because of Anne.
Nay, Niall quickly corrected himself, the main cause of his falling out with Iain was because he suspected him traitor. And Hugh simply because he had tried to kill Anne.
Anne! Niall wheeled about to find her sitting there, quite alive. For a fleeting moment he was overcome with the impulse to run to her, gather her into his arms, and tell her how thankful, how happy he was she had survived. But only for a moment.
The look in Anne’s eyes was bitter. It rekindled the original emotions that had sent Niall out after her. The wench had the audacity to be angry with him, after all she had just put him through? Well, two could play this game.
He strode over, refusing to be moved by her sodden, bedraggled appearance or by the purpling bruises on her neck and jaw. He surveyed her indifferently. “Well, madam? What have ye to say? Ye seem determined to get yerself killed.”
“And what do ye care?” she was barely able to croak. “I’d have thought it would’ve solved all the problems our handfasting has caused ye. Mayhap, for yer own good, ye were a bit too quick to arrive.”
Something exploded in Niall. He pulled her up to him. “Little fool! Why do ye say such things? Why do—”
Ensnared in her tear-filled silver eyes, Niall couldn’t continue. He saw nothing but her delicately carved features, her soft, slightly parted lips.
Their glances locked. Something intense flared between them.
Anne’s tearful defiance evaporated like the morning mists. Niall’s overpoweringly masculine presence, towering above her, banished the memory of last night. Nothing mattered but this moment and the sweet reality of being in his arms. With a small moan, she laid her head upon his chest, her hands entwining about his neck.
Niall stiffened. His hands dropped. Afraid he’d push her away, Anne clung all the more fiercely to him.
After a time weighted slowly on the passing wind, he groaned and wrapped his arms about her. “Och, Annie, Annie,” he whispered, “why do ye persist in tormenting me? Do ye know the terror I felt this morn when Agnes burst into my chamber and told me ye’d gone riding alone? And then when I saw Hugh drowning ye, I almost went mad!”
Anne stood there, not quite sure she was understanding all she was hearing. Niall had been worried, even frantic over her leaving the castle alone? Was it possible? Did she actually mean something to him? If only it were so!
Then what about Nelly? a small voice persisted in asking, squelching the rising joy. Ask him about Nelly.
Inhaling a deep breath, Anne released her grip. She leaned back to stare up at Niall. “There’s no need to say things ye don’t mean, m’lord. I’m quite aware yer tastes don’t run to women like me.”
A furrow wrinkled Niall’s brow. “What are ye talking about?
What’ve I ever done or said to make ye believe I don’t find ye appealing? As crude as my behavior was last night in yer chamber, I’d hardly call it the act of a man who didn’t want ye.”
“Then why did ye turn to Nelly?” Anne blurted the question in a painful rush of words, then immediately regretted them. Why, oh why, had she asked? Now he’d only smile smugly and inform her it was none of her concern, that he’d do whatever he wanted with whomever.
“Turn to Nelly?” For a long moment Niall couldn’t fathom what Anne was talking about. Then a sickening realization flooded him.
Anne knew about his tryst with Nelly. But how?
“Who told ye? Who—”
“I saw ye with her below stairs!” Now that the truth was out, Anne couldn’t seem to curb her words. “Ye were holding each other . . . and kissing . . . and . . . and then I couldn’t bear to watch a moment longer and I ran away.”
Niall gave her a small shake. “Enough, Annie. I believe ye were there. But if ye were, ye must also know that was as far as it went. I couldn’t go on.”
She lowered her head. “I didn’t see aught after that. I told ye. I didn’t stay.”
A gentle hand lifted her chin. Warm brown eyes met hers, and Niall’s mouth curved up in the beginning of a beautiful smile. “Och, Annie, I didn’t bed her. I swear it. She made the mistake of calling yer memory back to me, and by then the liquor had begun to wear off. I realized it wasn’t her I wanted. It was ye.”
He searched her face. Anne’s expression was carefully blank, betraying nothing of what she was feeling. Niall sighed. “I know ye’ve no reason to believe me, but I’ve never before done that with a servant. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I wanted ye to know.”
“Truly.”
Her flat response stirred Niall’s growing exasperation. “Ye’re determined not to make this easy for me, are ye?” A wry grin touched his lips. “Well, I suppose I deserve it. I hurt ye, and now ye’re exacting a fair measure of pain from me in return.”
“I am not!” The denial was quick and hot. “I-I haven’t a care one way or another what ye do!”
“And I say ye lie, Annie lass.”
A spark of deviltry danced in his eyes, melting the last bit of Anne’s resistance. She wanted to reach up and kiss him. At the thought, a sweet tremor shook her slender form.
Niall noticed the small shudder. “What a dolt I’ve been to keep ye standing here in this breeze, soaked to the skin as ye are. If ye don’t get out of those wet clothes soon, ye’ll surely catch the ague.”
Before Anne could protest that it wasn’t the cold that had her trembling, Niall swung her up into his arms and strode to his horse. He placed her atop the animal. In the next instant, he leaped up behind her.
The failed opportunity for a kiss momentarily disappointed her, then she decided all wasn’t lost. As Niall guided his horse to where her own mount waited, Anne comforted herself with the realization that, at long last, she had managed to extract some admission of affection from the Campbell tanist. And, though a kiss would’ve been heavenly, riding back to Kilchurn in the strong embrace of his arms wasn’t so bad either.
After a hot bath and bracing toddy, Anne slept well into the afternoon. Then, quite refreshed, she rose and dressed. Deciding to catch a breath of air before seeking the company of the Campbell as was their late-afternoon habit, she headed up to the tower walk.
The wind on the open roof area was strong. The flag bearing the Campbell arms of a fierce boar’s head snapped briskly. Anne was soon forced to seek the shelter of the tower wall near the stairs.
She had just settled on the rough wooden bench positioned to afford an impressive view of the rolling, tree-covered hills surrounding Loch Awe, when Caitlin exited the tower stairway. The girl’s gaze met hers. Caitlin hesitated, then resolutely gathered her skirts and approached.
“Well, are ye quite happy with yerself?” the black-haired girl demanded with a sneer. “Ye knew of Hugh’s hatred for ye, and yet ye insisted on riding out alone, luring him into what he’d no control over. Now he’s banished, and all because of ye!”
“Because of me?” Anne wasn’t prepared for an argument over Hugh. “I nearly drowned because of him. I’d hardly say that was much of a plot to lure Hugh to his destruction. If it hadn’t been for Niall’s timely—”
“Exactly!” Caitlin swept Anne’s protest aside with an imperious wave of her hand. “Ye knew he’d come to yer aid. Why, ever since yer arrival, my brother acts as if he has a ring in his nose and all ye’ve to do is tug on his rope and—”
“Och, Caitlin!” Anne laughed. “If ye think I’ve such influence over yer brother, ye’ve been sadly misled. Niall’s his own man and beset with far more important matters than when and how high to jump at my behest.” Her smile faded. “It was never my intent to get Niall to banish Hugh. Hugh needs help, not punishment.”
Caitlin faltered momentarily, then gathered new ammunition and forged on. “It all comes down to the same thing. Ye’re not wanted here. Even if my brother is temporarily entranced with ye, he’ll soon lose interest. Ye’ll never be half the woman the Lady Anne Stewart was. Niall will eventually realize that.”
Though the girl’s words stung, Anne refused to show it. “Only time will tell, won’t it?”
“Och, aye.” Caitlin sniffed. “In the meanwhile, though, ye could well destroy him. Every day the rumors grow that ye’ve bewitched Niall, that ye have him under yer spell. By the time he assumes the chieftainship, no one will want to follow him.”
“And are ye one of those who believe I’m a witch?”
The softly couched question gave the girl pause. “I . . . I’m not sure I believe in witches.” She tossed her head in defiance. “It doesn’t matter what I think, anyway. The rumors are beginning to undermine my brother’s position. If ye care even a fig for him, ye’d leave, and be quick about it!”
“And if ye cared even a fig for me, ye’d have made more of an attempt at hospitality toward Anne,” a deep voice dryly interjected.
Both women turned to find Niall standing in the tower doorway, a grim expression on his face.
“Now, brother, this isn’t what it seems,” Caitlin began, hurrying to him.
“On the contrary. It’s more than evident what’s going on here.” Niall held up a hand to halt her. “And I won’t have it, do ye hear me, Caitlin? Wed or not, Anne’s now the lady of this castle. She’ll be treated as such.”
“Ye’re not chief yet, though ye seem more than eager to forget that of late. I need only obey Father’s orders, not yers.”
Niall grabbed his sister’s arm. “Then why not pay him a visit? Let him decide Anne’s proper treatment in this castle.”
“Nay.” Caitlin jerked away. “I don’t want him upset. Besides, she’s won him over too.”
“Och, and has she now? Then more the reason for ye to treat Anne well. It’s past time ye gave up this foolish nonsense.”
“Nay.” Anne moved toward Niall. It was time to end this battle between brother and sister. “I’ll not force my presence where it isn’t wanted. I know ye mean well, m’lord, but it’d be too humiliating, having others coerced into including me when they’d no wish to.” She could feel her cheeks warm as she held his strangely piercing gaze. “Let it be, m’lord. Ye can’t force friendship or respect. It has to be earned.”
“Aye, that it does, lass.” Niall’s calloused palm caressed the silken line of Anne’s jaw. “And ye’ve certainly earned mine.”
Caitlin glared at Niall, an expression of youthful distaste contorting her pretty mouth. “Och, if ye could only hear yerself! Ye’re so besotted—”
“Enough!” Niall roared. “I care not for yer opinion, only for yer compliance. I asked ye before and I ask ye one time more. If ye cannot find it in ye to obey, mayhap ye need opportunity to think upon it more closely. Say, while visiting a few months with the Lady Mathilda in Edinburgh?”
His sister blanched. “But that’s so far away, and ye know what a puss Iain’s mother is about chaperones. Why, I’d hardly ever be able to see Rory, and I’d never have any time alone.”
“It’s yer choice.”
She stamped her foot. “Och, and ye’re a hard one, Niall Campbell!” Then, noting the unrelenting glint in her brother’s eyes, Caitlin’s slender shoulders slumped. “But what choice have I? It’ll be as ye ask. Yer lady’ll suffer no further slights from me.”
“Good. Now leave us. I’ve a wish to speak with Anne alone.”
They watched Caitlin depart then turned to face each other. Anne wet her lips, wondering how to put her next words. She decided no matter how she said it, it would probably sound like a rebuke. “I thank ye for yer kindness, m’lord,” she murmured finally, “but the difficulty between yer sister and me is too insignificant to concern yerself over. Ye’ve problems of greater import—”
Niall took her into his arms. His head lowered until his warm breath wafted across her face. “Wheesht, lass. What I choose to do in regard to ye is my decision, not yers.” Slowly, he surveyed her. “Ye look well rested. Have ye recovered from this morn’s swim, then?”
She grinned. “Och, aye, except for a tender jaw and sore throat.” Anne touched her neck. “I fear I’ll wear this circlet of marks for a few weeks, though.”
Niall’s gaze dipped to the blue-tinged impressions of Hugh’s fingers. He bent and gently kissed Anne’s bruised neck.
At the soft brush of his lips, Anne gasped. Her eyelids slid shut in pleasure. “M’lord!” she breathed then gave herself up to the welcoming haven of his arms.
But only for a moment. Then Anne pulled back. Brushing a windswept lock from her eyes, she stared up at him.
At the perplexed look on Niall’s face, a small smile touched her lips. There was one matter more between them, which until now had been overshadowed by last eve’s scene with Nelly. One matter more, and then mayhap they could begin anew.
“I’ve a question weighing on me, m’lord,” she began. “It was the reason I followed ye below stairs last eve.”
“Did ye mayhap desire the reason for my behavior in yer chamber?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
He sighed and motioned for her to sit beside him on the bench. “It was a combination of many things, lass. Lust . . . anger . . . hurt.”
“Hurt?” At the startling admission, Anne’s heart skipped a beat. Earlier, he had admitted to his lust, and she could understand how she angered him; he spared no words in reminding her of that quite often. But to have distressed him in some way!
She searched his face. “Pray, how have I hurt ye, m’lord?”
Niall turned from her. Leaning his head back against the tower wall, he appeared to study the scene beyond the castle. Finally he spoke, his voice low and controlled. “I was a fool to have thought this, but I’d hoped to forget about last night and the reason for my confused feelings. But it cannot be. It still stands between us.”
He turned to her, anguish burning in his eyes. “It’s but part of our ongoing battle over yer healing, lass. I came upon ye and Davie yester eve in the hall outside my father’s chamber. I heard ye tell him to meet ye later, so ye could treat his hand.”
At the sadness in his voice, Anne’s heart twisted in her chest. Och, the one and only time she had tried to heal someone in Kilchurn, and Niall had been privy to it! She had indeed helped little Davie, all the while feeling so guilty she had made a vow never to do it again—at least not until she had Niall’s permission. And now to have the painful sacrifice been for naught!
“I didn’t want to go against ye in this. Truly, I didn’t,” Anne said, placing a hand upon his arm, “but he was such a wee lad and in so much pain. How could I, or anyone, turn from him? Could ye?”
Niall shook his head. “Nay, I couldn’t. I suppose I was unfair to expect ye to. But I meant well, lass. Surely ye can see that. Already the rumors about ye are spreading. Caitlin’s words just a few moments ago must convince ye of that. And now I’ve banished Hugh . . . Well, tongues are sure to wag. Yer healing skills would only add to the talk.”
“I know that, m’lord. I try, truly I do. But it hurts to see folk in need and know I’ve the skills to aid them, yet not be able to do aught.” Anne bit her lip to keep the sob from her voice, but her words trembled nonetheless. “It fair tears out my heart!”
“Och, lassie.” Niall took her into his arms. “I’m sorry. Ye know I wouldn’t cause ye pain.” He paused to stroke her cheek tenderly. “Ye do know that, don’t ye?”
She managed a tremulous smile. “Aye, m’lord, I think I do.”
“Then will ye trust me in this for a while longer? Give my people time? Things’ll die down. Then we’ll see about yer healing.”
“Aye, m’lord. I’ll try.”
Niall frowned. “One thing more.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Aye?”
“Could ye possibly call me Niall, rather than m’lord all the time? I know it’s quite proper, but it strikes me as rather distant.” He crooked her chin with his finger. “And, if it’s acceptable, from now on I’d rather things not be so cold between us.”
Anne’s heart sang with delight. “Aye, that’s quite acceptable, m’lord—Niall.” She grinned.
Niall stared into her eyes, the look smoldering there igniting an answering flame in her. His lips, firm and sensually molded, moved toward her. He was going to kiss her!
The harsh sound of a throat clearing interrupted their heated reverie.
“Er, m’lord,” the tartan-clad man began when Niall and Anne turned to meet him. “The Campbell requests yer immediate presence in his chambers.”
Unconsciously, Niall gripped Anne’s hand. “Is there aught wrong with my father? Has his condition worsened?”
The man shook his head. “Nay, m’lord. A messenger arrived with an important document from the queen. Sir Duncan’s already with yer father, and it requires only yer presence as tanist to break the royal seal.”
“As ye wish.” Niall looked at Anne. “This should take but a short time. We’ll finish where we left off when I return. Will ye wait for me here?”
Anne smiled, her whole heart in the act. “Aye. I’ll wait.”
Niall never returned. Instead, he sent Davie to tell her he’d be detained longer than he had originally anticipated and that he’d meet her at the evening meal. Anne was disappointed, but she consoled herself with the thought that it was only two hours to supper time. They’d have the rest of the eve together.
The rest of the eve to talk and laugh and mayhap even take a walk together, she thought dreamily as she dressed. Anne hardly noticed when Agnes slipped the pale blue silk gown with the square, lacetrimmed neckline over her head, or when she fastened the sapphire pendant necklace about her throat. Her thoughts were far away as the maidservant plaited her hair then tucked it beneath a matching blue silk cap. All Anne could remember was the touch of Niall’s lips on her neck, of the fire burning in his dark eyes.
“There, all done.” Agnes dabbed lavender scent at the base of Anne’s throat. Her brow wrinkled as she glanced once more at her mistress’s bruises. “I wish ye’d allow me to hide those marks with a bit of tinted lead powder. It’s all the fashion at court nowadays.”
Anne firmly shook her head. “Nay, Agnes. I won’t cover the bruises Hugh gave me. It would make it seem as if I’ve something to be ashamed of. Besides, if I’d a need to hide aught, it’d be with one of my own concoctions, not with that foul lead powder.”
Agnes shrugged. “Have it yer way, lass.” She gave Anne a small shove. “Now, get on with ye. It’s time for the meal to begin, and ye don’t want to keep Sir Niall waiting.”
No, she certainly didn’t want to keep Niall waiting, Anne thought in anticipation as she hurried down the corridor. Even the occasional glares and whispered comments as she strode into the Great Hall failed to dampen her rising excitement. Indeed, only when Duncan appeared at her side and offered his arm did Anne’s happy bubble finally burst.
She eyed his proffered arm. “Thank ye, Sir Duncan, but I’d prefer to wait until Niall can escort me to table.”
“And it’s at Niall’s express request that I’m here, lady.” A flatly courteous smile touched Duncan’s lips. “He’s still in conference with my brother, and said to tell ye he didn’t know when he’d be done. I’m to lead ye to table and commence the meal.”
Anne’s heart sank. What could possibly be so important that Niall would miss the meal? The hope of a pleasant evening with him vanished before her eyes. It seemed there was always something, some duty, arising to thwart their budding relationship.
With a deep sigh, she accepted Duncan’s arm and followed him to the main table, trying mightily to hide the dejection that had suddenly engulfed her. She barely tasted the sumptuously prepared food or noticed the boisterous laughter and talk from the lower tables, so immersed was she in her disappointment. Little by little, though, as her natural optimism slowly resurfaced, Anne dragged herself from her misery.
For the first time she paid note to the elegant dress at the main table and the larger than normal amounts of wine being served. With a puzzled frown, Anne turned to Duncan. “Have I imagined it, or are the people more merry than usual this eve?”
A slow grin twisted Duncan’s mouth. “Och, it isn’t yer imagination, lady. There’s indeed cause for celebration.”
“And, pray, what’s the cause?”
Duncan’s brows drew up in surprise. “Hasn’t Niall informed ye of the queen’s charter, delivered just this day?”
Anne fought a surge of annoyance. Why must he persist in making her drag the news out of him? She shook her head. “Nay, I haven’t seen him since the arrival of the messenger. If ye’d be so kind as to enlighten me . . .”
He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It’d be best if ye first heard it from my nephew. The news might well upset ye. Mayhap he could find some way to soften it.”
“Please, Sir Duncan!” An uneasy premonition stirred within her. “He isn’t here and I’d prefer not to wait all night. Tell me and be done with it.”
The older man shrugged. “As ye will, lady. The queen has finally given us a land grant, one we’ve sought for many years. If ye recall, ye MacGregors have never had legal title to the lands ye’ve claimed, holding them only on the clan principle. Tradition, however, never carries the same power as a sheepskin grant.”
As rising comprehension, then horror, filled Anne, Duncan gave a harsh laugh. “Aye, it’s as ye suppose. Yer lands, m’lady, are now ours.”