“Why, Father?” Niall demanded, his voice hoarse with frustration. “Why did ye do such a thing?”
Robert Campbell straightened in his chair and sighed. “Why obtain legal ownership over MacGregor lands?” He shrugged wearily. “Because I finally tired of their senseless raids, their burning of our crofts and theft of our livestock. It was the work of fools, this incessant picking at us when they never had any hope of winning. Duncan convinced me it was the only way to end the feud. They’d either come to heel or be driven off. It was the best course for all, even if the MacGregors were too blind to see it.”
“But they’ve held those lands for centuries, legally or not. It’s their heart’s blood. They won’t give them up, not until the last one of them is dead. Our feud will now escalate to all-out war!”
“Even the MacGregors can’t prevail against a royal charter. They’d risk banishment, if not proscribement.”
Niall shuddered at the word. Proscribement required the clan name be struck from existence, the lands forfeit, and the men hunted like animals with a price on their heads. Yet what other choice would the MacGregors have? Clan honor would never permit them to give up their land, to become little more than tenants to the Campbells.
“The feuding had to stop!” Robert said defensively, apparently noting his son’s gloomy countenance. “We, too, have our honor, and that honor requires we do all within our power to protect our own. And I meant to be gracious with the MacGregors. Only their chief would’ve known the full extent of the grant. It was my bargaining piece.” His face brightened. “But now it doesn’t matter. Our clans will be joined when ye and Anne wed. Ye can sign the grant over to her as a wedding gift. MacGregor lands will stay MacGregor.”
“Somehow,” Niall muttered, “I don’t think Anne will see it quite so benignly. I wish ye hadn’t given Duncan leave to tell everyone. I could’ve used some time to break it to her in a gentler fashion.”
His father frowned. “Aye, mayhap that wasn’t wise. But Duncan was so happy, so eager to share the news, and now that the feuding’s ended . . .”
Niall clamped down on his anger at his uncle’s cruel thoughtlessness. In the past, he knew his father would’ve never been so easily manipulated, but the sickness ravaging his body had also weakened his mind. There was naught to be done about it. Naught save get to Anne as quickly as possible and try to explain.
He gripped his father’s shoulder in a parting gesture. “It’ll all work out in the end. Anne and I’ll work it out. By yer leave, I would see to that now.”
Robert waved him away. “Aye, do that, laddie. I’ve no wish for the lass to suffer needlessly. Go to her. Tell her the truth of the matter.”
Niall strode from the room. Tell her the truth of the matter. He wondered if the truth might not come far too late to assuage the pride of a beautiful, russet-haired MacGregor.
His pace down the corridor quickened to a dead run. The evening meal was sure to have started by now. Anne may have already heard the news about the land grant. He needed to get to her, to explain, to soothe away her fears, or yet another wall would come up between them.
Curse it all! Why, when they finally seemed to be coming to some sort of understanding, did this have to happen?
He reached the head of the stairs overlooking the Great Hall and paused, scanning the room for sight of her. Though the meal was over, Anne was still seated at the main table. Even from the other side of the room, Niall could see her pale, drawn expression, the rigid set of her slender shoulders. She knows, he thought with a sinking feeling, yet is too proud to leave, seeing it as an admission of her pain.
His clan, however, seemed oblivious to her. There she sat in the midst of the jubilant toasts and joyful revelry, alone and suffering, as beautiful in defeat as in defiance. An overwhelming impulse to go to her rose in Niall.
Anne sensed his presence even before she felt his touch. She tensed, barely controlling the impulse to jerk away. Ever so slowly, she turned to look up at him, making no attempt to hide her contempt.
He smiled thinly, flashing her a gentle but firm warning. “Not here, Annie.” He offered her his hand. “Pray, come with me.”
She rose, refusing his assistance. “Aye, m’lord. Ye’re right. What I’ve to say is best heard in private, or this verra eve the feud will start anew.”
In silence, they made their way to the library. As soon as Niall closed the door behind them, she rounded on him. “Of all the greedy, thieving—”
“Are ye going to judge and hang me before I’ve even had a chance to defend myself?” Niall eyed the little spitfire standing before him. He had never seen her so mad or so exquisitely beautiful. All he wanted was to take her in his arms and kiss away her anger, but he knew the act would never soothe the pain lying beneath her rage. The only way to do that was first to win back her trust.
Her fists clenched at her sides, Anne glared up at him. “There’s naught ye can say that speaks more clearly than what ye’ve done, Niall Campbell! Ye’ve finally succeeded in destroying us. Ye must feel so verra, verra proud!”
“I’d naught to do with this, Annie. Today’s the first time I knew about the grant.”
“And I say ye lie!”
He grabbed her arms and pulled her to him. “Woman, I told ye once before—I never lie! Are ye so blinded by emotion ye can’t listen to reason? Am I talking to a fool?”
“The only fool here is ye, if ye think I or my clan will accept this! We’ll fight ye to our last breath before giving up our land!” Her voice lowered to a calm flatness. “But then, mayhap that’s what ye wanted all along. With this royal grant, we now go against not only ye but the Crown as well. What better ruse to annihilate us completely?”
“By mountain and sea, Annie! Listen to me!” Niall gave her a small shake. “I’ll be chief soon. Do ye truly believe I’d do aught like that? What purpose would it serve? Ye’re firstborn of yer clan.
There are no males with greater claim than ye. If we legalize our union at year’s end, in a sense we’ve joined our lands anyway. So ye see, there’s really no problem.”
“No problem? A year’s too late! Ye legally own our lands as of today. It’s no longer ours, don’t ye see? We’ll be the laughingstock of the Highlands! No wedding a year from now will change that.
Ye’ve made us look the fool. It’s done, Niall Campbell, and naught—naught—will ever change that!”
She wrenched away, turning her back to him. “I beg leave to return to my people. I’ve more than served my purpose and cannot bear another day in this castle. If ye’ve even a shred of compassion, ye’ll not humiliate me further.”
“Don’t even think it!” Niall growled. “Ye’re upset and not reasoning clearly. We had something growing between us, Annie. Will ye let the schemes of others destroy it?”
She whirled to face him, her eyes blazing with silver fire. “And I say ye’re mistaken, m’lord. We’ve naught. Do ye hear me? Naught! Don’t think to placate me with soft-spoken words. Ye’re no better than the rest of them! Let me go, I say!”
At the disdainful finality in Anne’s voice, Niall’s patience faded. In its place rose a hard resolve. If she wasn’t clearheaded enough to know her own heart, he’d have to take command. All Anne needed was time. Time to be convinced of his true motives, to find some way out of this quagmire of wounded honor.
He shook his head. “I won’t free ye from yer vows. We’re handfasted for a year. Willing or no, ye’ll stay here for that time and not a moment less.” He turned to walk toward the door when her tear-choked voice halted him, her bitter words slicing deep to lay open his heart.
“I hate ye, Niall Campbell,” she cried. “Mark well my words. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make ye rue the day ye brought me here!”
“W-water . . .”
Niall slipped his arm beneath his father’s head. Lifting him, he offered the dying man a sip of water.
The Campbell shot him a grateful smile then, with a sigh, closed his eyes. Niall laid him down. For a long while he sat there, watching the bedcovers rise and fall with his father’s labored breathing.
I’ll be chief verra soon now. The thought gave him little comfort. The position held no joy or attraction for him. It was nothing but a heavy responsibility and burdensome worry. Of late, all it seemed to do was drive one wedge after another between him and Anne.
Anne. When had she begun to fill all his waking moments and become so important to him? Yet now, when he needed her most, she couldn’t be further away.
“H-have ye talked to the l-lassie?”
Niall shook his head, gazing down at the pain-bright eyes staring once more up at him. “Nay, she refuses to see me. It’s been well over a week now, and she hasn’t budged from her room. My only comfort is that Agnes assures me she’s alive and eating.”
“It’s my fault. My foolish scheme to end the feud caused this.” Robert sighed. “Och, why did I let Duncan talk me into this? Wh-what was I thinking?”
Niall laid a comforting hand on his father’s shoulder. “Don’t waste yer strength worrying over this, Father. I, of all people, realize how hard the choices are. Ye made the decision in good faith. Ye couldn’t know what lay ahead. Anne and I’ll work this out.”
“She’s a sweet lass.”
“Aye, Father.”
“Y-ye care for her, don’t ye, laddie?”
He stared down into his father’s bright blue eyes. “Aye.”
“B-bring her to me. I must say my farewells.”
Niall frowned. “She won’t come. She holds ye as responsible as I for the land grant.”
The Campbell’s trembling hand grasped his son’s shirt to pull him close. “I-I’m dying, lad! She’ll come.”
The effort took all his remaining strength. Robert fell back, a harsh cough wracking his body. He motioned for his handkerchief, but not fast enough to hide the bloody spittle that rose to his lips.
Niall winced at the sight. He stood. “I’ll do what I can.”
Without a word, he strode past his sister and uncle and left the room. Niall’s resolve, however, ebbed with each step down the corridor. Anne wouldn’t listen to him. He knew too well her stubbornness, her fierce pride. If it had been anyone but his father he’d have never approached her at this time, for he wasn’t fool enough not to recognize a hopeless situation. Yet, somehow, some way, he must convince her. It was his father’s last request. He couldn’t fail him.
Agnes answered Niall’s knock. Her eyes widened when she peeped through the door. “Aye, m’lord?”
“Let me in. I must talk with her.”
The maidservant blanched. “Och, nay, m’lord. It’ll only make things worse. Give her more time, I pray ye.”
“There’s no time left. Let me in.” He held her gaze until she finally stepped aside. Niall strode in then turned to the old woman. “Leave us.”
Agnes shot a hesitant glance across the room, then curtsied and hurried out.
Anne stood by the window. Her gaze, riveted on some faraway spot, never wavered, though he knew she must be aware of his presence.
“Get out.”
Her flat command only reinforced Niall’s earlier misgivings. He squared his shoulders and headed toward her, prepared for the battle to come.
The afternoon sun bathed her in a golden hue, setting off sparkling auburn highlights in her long, unbound hair, drenching her delicate features in glowing radiance. Until this moment Niall hadn’t realized how much he had missed her. An intensely painful longing swelled in his chest.
If only she’d let him hold her, kiss away all the cares that separated them. He knew, if only he could take her into his arms, he could ease the agonizing barriers between them. It had worked before. Dare he try again?
“Don’t even think about touching me!” The words escaped Anne’s lips in a low snarl. “I swear I’ll scratch yer eyes out if ye do.”
Niall inhaled a shuddering breath. Had his feelings been that strong, that palpable, that she sensed them with such ease?
“I believe ye, Annie,” he finally replied, his voice low. “I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for my father.” He paused for some reaction. There was none. “He’s near death.”
“I know.”
Her voice remained flat, her gaze unwavering in its direction out the window. Niall moved a step closer. “He wants to see ye.”
“Nay.”
It was the answer he had dreaded. Niall inhaled another ragged breath. “Please, Annie.”
The catch in his deep voice sent a frisson through Anne. She wrapped her arms protectively about her. Even now, after all he had done to her, how could the sound of him so easily melt her resolve? But not this time, not this time or ever again!
The effort to deny him, though, brought tears to her eyes. She shook her head. “Nay, I said! I don’t care if he’s dying! I don’t care what his last requests are! And I don’t care that ye’ve a need to fulfill them. He’s yer father, yer problem. Don’t lay it upon me!”
“Don’t lay it upon ye?” Niall’s fists clenched at his sides. Och, but how he wanted to shake her! “And where else would one lay such cares but at the feet of a healer, especially one who claims to follow the Lord’s call? Ye told me ye’d never turn from anyone in need. Doesn’t yer sacred duty extend to the deathbed? If ye refuse him now, aren’t ye gainsaying everything ye’ve devoted yer life to? And aren’t ye also turning yer back on God?”
She glared at him then, her lips trembling. A wild hope flared.
“Hate me if ye will,” Niall pressed on, sensing she was near her breaking point. “I’m alive and strong. Ye’ve many years to exact yer revenge upon me. But forgive my father and go to him. A healer’s compassion shouldn’t recognize clan loyalties.”
All the anger, all the fight, fled Anne in one mighty rush, leaving only a hollow, aching void. What was the use? As powerful as her animosity toward Niall and his father was at this moment, her love for the Lord was yet stronger. And, if the truth be told, she hadn’t the courage to see this through, anyway, or sever the emotional bonds that already tied her to the Campbells. Well, to at least one Campbell, at any rate. And he was dying.
Anne wiped her tears away. “Lead me to him then, but remember one thing, Niall Campbell.”
“Aye, lass.”
“This changes naught between ye and me.”
Niall eyed her for a moment then nodded. He walked from the room.
Anne swept past him when he opened the door to his father’s chamber, ignoring Caitlin’s horrified gasp and Duncan’s muttered oath. Only from a distance did she hear anything, as she leaned over Robert Campbell’s bed.
He had worsened so rapidly in the past week. She studied his face, noting the almost translucent skin, the blue tinge to his lips, the sunken, haggard features. Niall had been right. His father was indeed close to death. In spite of Anne’s intention to harden her heart to him, the pitiful sight of the Campbell, the memories of his kindness to her, erased her cold determination.
With a small sigh, Anne settled in the chair Niall provided. “Och, m’lord.” She took the Campbell’s thin, cool hand. “It’s a sad thing to see ye like this. Is there aught I can do to ease yer suffering?”
A radiant smile spread across the old man’s face. “Och, lassie, y-ye’ve already done it by coming to me.” His glance moved to the tall man standing behind Anne. “I told my son ye would. D-didn’t I, laddie?”
Niall’s deep voice, so close behind, sent a curious thrill through Anne. “Aye, Father.”
The Campbell’s eyes crinkled with affection, then he slowly licked his lips. “I’ve a taste for a bit of broth, laddie. W-would ye send down to the kitchen for a cup of Maudie’s soup?”
“Aye, Father.”
The Campbell motioned toward Duncan and Caitlin standing near the window. “T-take them with ye. I’ve a wish for a private moment with the lass.” He watched his son lead the others from the room before turning back to Anne.
She eyed him quizzically. “All of a sudden, ye’ve certainly regained yer strength and with it yer appetite.”
The Campbell’s smile was sad. “I’ve no hunger. Far from it. I but wanted a moment of privacy with ye, lassie. My son wouldn’t like me interfering, but it’s a d-dying man’s prerogative, wouldn’t ye say?”
“As if ye’ve ever needed anyone’s permission for aught, m’lord.”
He chuckled weakly then winced. “Och, lassie, my son has met his match in ye. His first wife was a sweet angel, b-but ye are as proud and brave as any warrior. Niall will need such a woman in the long, dark days ahead.” A furrow of concern creased his forehead. “Y-ye’ll stand by him, won’t ye, lassie?”
Anne couldn’t meet his gaze. “There are things between us, m’lord . . . things that cannot be breached.”
“H-he needs ye, lassie!”
“Nay, m’lord. He has all he needs now, for he has MacGregor lands. He doesn’t need me.”
Robert clasped her hand between his. “It was never Niall’s intent to take yer lands. If there be fault, it lies with Duncan and me. It was our plan, and our plan alone, to go to the queen. Niall never knew aught about it.
“In a moment of great a-anger against yer father,” he continued, “I finally agreed with my brother th-that we should end the feud in any way we could. The land grant seemed the best, the only way.”
The Campbell shook his head. “I was so tired of the endless years of fighting, the destruction on both sides. I only meant to gain control over yer clan, not destroy them. I might have been wrong”—he raised his eyes to hers—“but I made the best decision I could for the good of my clan.”
Anne exhaled a long breath. “I understand, m’lord.”
“Then ye’ll forgive my son?”
“Ye said he knew naught about the grant. There’s naught to forgive.”
Robert leaned back and closed his eyes. “Good.” He lay there a long while, his breathing labored, as if the talk had taken what little strength he had. Anne finally made a move to disengage her hand, thinking he had fallen asleep, but the action only caused his eyes to snap open.
He stared at her a moment longer, then smiled. “Ye’ll stay with him, then? Be a good helpmate? Give him b-bairns?”
“M’lord . . .” Anne heard the door open and someone walk in.
“Yer word, lass!” Robert gasped. “I’ve no time left for—”
He choked, the sound hard and gut-wracking. It increased in intensity until he seemed unable to catch his breath. Anne lifted his shoulders to aid his efforts, but it did little good. Robert Campbell’s face turned red, then purpled as he struggled for breath.
Anne reached for the cup of water on the nearby table and held it to his lips. The old man took a sip and swallowed, and then a strange look crossed his face. A gurgling sound rose in his throat. As Anne watched in rising horror, bright red blood began to spew from his mouth.
Robert clutched at her. A glazed expression dulled his eyes. Anne turned. Her frantic gaze slammed into the serving maid standing there with a covered tray in her hands.
“Niall! Get Niall!”
Nelly dropped the tray and ran. Niall must have heard Anne’s cry. Before the servant even reached the door, he rushed past her and was at the bed in a few quick strides.
“Father!”
Anne surrendered the limp form and stepped back. Through a mist of tears, she watched Niall clasp his father to him and murmur something into the old man’s ear. Then there were hands pushing her aside, as Duncan and Caitlin hurried forward.
There was little more Anne could do. The lung hemorrhage was fatal. Caitlin’s wails signaled the end. Gently, Niall laid his father down and pulled the comforter over his face. Then he took his sobbing sister into his arms, his tortured glance meeting Duncan’s.
His uncle stood there, his shoulders stiff, his hands fisted. “Ye shouldn’t have left him alone with her.” He spat the words at Niall as if they had a foul taste. “She was looking for a chance to avenge the loss of her lands—and ye, ye fool, gave it to her.”
A shuttered look darkened Niall’s face. “Have a care, Uncle. It’s yer grief that makes ye speak so.”
Duncan grabbed Nelly. “Ye were here. Ye saw. Did she give my brother aught? Do aught untoward?”
The dark-haired maid shrunk back from the ferocity of Duncan’s anger. “I-I saw the lady give him something to drink, m’lord. That was all.”
“Was there something in the drink? Did she try to poison him?”
Nelly hesitated, then slowly wet her lips. “I can’t be certain, but it looked as if she put something into the cup. What it was, though, I don’t know.”
With a low curse, Duncan released Nelly and stalked over to Anne. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her to him. “What did ye give my brother, witch? Tell me now before I choke the life from ye!”
For an instant Anne stared up at him, too shocked to reply. Then she began to struggle. “I gave him naught but a sip of water. Now, pray unhand me.”
“Do as she says, Uncle,” Niall growled in an ominous tone. “I won’t dishonor my father’s deathbed by this ridiculous scene. Let her go.”
Duncan dragged Anne toward Niall. “Ridiculous, ye say! Nelly just said—”
“And it’ll take a lot more than Nelly’s word to convince me Anne did aught untoward. Let her go!”
Niall stood before his uncle, his wide-legged stance emanating an unmistakable threat. Duncan glared back, his face a mottled red. Finally, he released Anne.
“I’ve tried mightily to ignore the rumors and gossip spreading through the clan about this woman,” he said. “But no more, nephew. Does she now hold a greater power over ye than yer own family? If so, yer judgment’s tainted, yer loyalty’s suspect, and I don’t know ye anymore. Don’t know ye at all.”
“Get out!”
In rising dismay, Anne watched as Niall motioned for his uncle to leave. The effort it took for him to control himself, from the furious workings of his jaw to the ragged rasp of his breath, filled her with pain.
Dear Lord, wasn’t it enough his father had just died? Must he now be forced to endure the torment of fighting with his uncle? And why, once again, must she be so intricately entwined in it all?
“This isn’t over, nephew!” Duncan cried, as he turned and walked away.
Niall expelled a weary sigh. “Nay, I’d imagine not. But as clan tanist I proclaim a truce between us until my father’s buried. For the sake of our common love for him, can we have peace until then?”
“Aye,” Duncan flung over his shoulder. “For the sake of our common love for him. But only until then.”
Niall watched him depart then turned to Nelly and his sister. “Leave us. There’s naught more to be done until the preacher has come and gone. Fetch him for me.”
Caitlin opened her mouth, but the words were all but drowned in her tears. She nodded numbly and stumbled from the room, Nelly following closely behind.
“Niall?” Anne touched his arm. “I-I’m so sorry—”
He stared at her, his eyes burning pools of agony. “Not now, Annie. I can’t bear much more. Please go to yer room and don’t leave until I come for ye.”
She took a step closer. “But I want to stay, be of help—”
“Please, Annie!”
“It’ll be as ye ask, m’lord.” Anne backed away, lowering her gaze as much to spare herself further sight of his pain as to hide the hurt misting her own eyes at his rejection. She 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. From dawn to dusk, 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. All had journeyed to pay their respect and prepare for the funeral feast to be held in the Great Hall that eve. All said their good-byes, touching the corpse lying on its bier in the chapel to indicate they had 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, hadn’t been invited for the traditional visit. She, who had come to love the Campbell like a father, who had held him in her arms as he gasped out his last breaths, was relegated to the prison of her room—an outcast, a pariah. In the past day as the castle bustled with preparations, she had 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 said that, but Anne couldn’t drag another 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 by—the 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 give the headstrong girl.
As she painstakingly stitched around the final neckline flower, Anne sighed. Dear Lord, why is every overture of friendship I make twisted into some evil intent? Out of Christian charity she had tried so hard to build a bridge, but it almost seemed as if someone was purposely thwarting her efforts.
“Who are ye 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. The pain in her finger vanished.
“The gown? It was meant for yer sister, though I wonder now if she’ll ever . . .” Her voice faded.
Exhaustion smudged the skin beneath 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. An urge to comfort him filled her. Anne laid aside her sewing and took Niall by the arm.
“Come.” She pulled him over to a high-backed chair. “Ye look past weary. Seat yerself and have a cup of mulled cider.”
Niall allowed himself to be led to the chair and seated, but refused the drink. “The vigil begins at midnight, and I must keep it at my father’s side. As weary as I am, I fear even a cup of warm cider would put me fast to sleep. And that wouldn’t be conduct fitting the new clan chief.”
“Then they’ve already accepted ye?” 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 ye doubt there’d be any difficulty?”
“All the talk about me, and now the rumors that I’d poisoned yer father . . .” Anne hesitated, not wishing to add to Niall’s already heavy burden. “Truly, I didn’t know what to think.”
“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 of the chieftainship. I came to ask if ye wished to say yer farewells to my father.”
Anne nodded. “Aye. More than aught, I desire 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? It’s my right and duty to be there.”
Niall frowned. “It might go hard for ye. Can ye bear it?”
“With ye at my side, I can bear aught.”
“Then, aye, ye may come. It’s past time ye left this room. To keep ye 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. “I’ve a confession to make. My words to ye, that night I learned of the queen’s land grant, weren’t the complete truth. I was angry, felt betrayed. I said things I didn’t—”
A calloused finger touched her lips. “Wheesht, lass. It’s of no import. Ye went to him when he needed ye. That’s all that matters.”
She knelt before him and placed her hand on his bare knee. “Then ye don’t think I did aught to hurt him, do ye?” Though he had 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 yer father was a sip of 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 had 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 had finally admitted their problems were insurmountable. And that possibility—now, when they were both so vulnerable and needy—was more than she could bear.
She took the big, square hand lying 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 ye, now, in yer time of sorrow. I never meant to hide away in this room. It was only at yer express command that I did so. My place has always been at yer side.” She kissed his hand once more. “I wanted ye 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. “It’s past time we go to my father.”