Forty-five minutes later, Anne’s glance swept admiringly over Niall’s tall, powerful form. She sighed. “I wish I could be there to stand at yer side. How many will there be at the chief’s council?”
Niall shrugged into the plaid jacket she held out for him. “With my family and the clan’s higher lairds, about twenty men.”
“Twenty against one,” Anne murmured in dismay.
He laughed and gave her an affectionate kiss before she slipped away to return with his plaid. “I’d prefer to think of this as a friendly reconfirmation of my father’s wishes, rather than a battle of wills.”
Anne busied herself draping the Campbell plaid over Niall’s left shoulder, then fastened it to hang down his right side with a silver brooch engraved with the clan badge of wild myrtle. When finished with the task, she lifted her eyes to him. “Ye’ll have enemies there, and no mistake. Be careful.”
Niall’s gaze was tender. “I’ll be careful, lass. Though we Scots are a hardheaded lot, it’d still take severe misconduct on my part to negate my father’s decision. And I think I’m man enough to handle a little dissension from my people.”
“Aye, that ye are.” Anne managed a smile. “Man enough and more.”
A hot look flared in Niall’s eyes. “Have a care, lass. If ye persist in talking like that, I’ll have to take ye in my arms and kiss ye until ye swoon from the sheer joy of it.”
“And ye know as well as I, it’s time for ye to leave.” Her glance swept over him one last time. Dressed in his doublet, trews, and white shirt beneath his plaid and jacket, Niall looked the consummate Highland warrior. The clothing clung to his powerful chest and shoulders, and molded tightly to his muscular legs and thighs.
Anne’s heart swelled with pride. He had the physical presence to be clan chief as well as the maturity and intelligence. They’d be hard pressed to deny him his rightful position. Yet still she worried . . .
There was an aura of impending doom hovering over Niall, and it frightened her. No, terrified her, for the premonition of death and destruction seemed almost palpable. Anne opened her mouth to beg him not to go, then clamped it shut.
To ask Niall to turn his back on his people was to ask him to stop his heart from beating or his lungs from inhaling the fresh Highland air. As heiress to Clan MacGregor—for daughters, in the absence of any sons, could also lead the clan—she understood that better than most. Niall wouldn’t be the brave, proud warrior she loved and respected if he didn’t face the dangers. But how she wanted to be with him! Wanted it, with all her heart, though she knew it couldn’t be.
Niall must face his clansmen alone. Her presence would only stir further resentment and speculation. But Anne’s prayers and all the strength of her love would go with him. Mayhap, in some small way, it would even the odds.
He stepped toward her. “I go off to fight the dragons,” he teased huskily. “Mayhap a kiss from a bonnie lassie would properly send me on my way.”
“It’s an honor and more, m’lord.” Anne rendered him a small curtsey. Then, before he could respond, she moved close to cup his smooth-shaven jaw. Lifting on tiptoe, she planted a gentle kiss on his lips.
Niall gathered her to him, forcing her soft curves against the full length of his hard-muscled body. “I’d more than a genteel peck on the lips in mind,” he growled and lowered his head toward her.
His kiss deepened, all but consuming her. Anne went limp in his arms, clinging to his jacket for support.
He raised his head, an arrogant smile on his lips. “I wanted ye to remember me, should I mayhap die in battle. Think ye I’ve left a lasting memory?”
“Aye,” Anne breathed, barely able to force the words past her constricted throat. “That ye have, m’lord.”
“Good.” He released her and stepped back.
“Niall.” Anne stayed him with a hand upon his chest.
“Aye, lass?”
“Yer request earlier—that I not speak to or be alone with Iain.”
He went still. “Aye?”
“I give ye my promise.”
An aching gentleness flared in his compelling eyes. “Thank ye, lass.” His big hand covered hers. “I don’t know anymore if I should’ve asked it, or if I even deserve yer sacrifice in this, but I accept yer offer nonetheless. It means a lot to me, especially at a time like this.”
“It’s all I can do, as little as it is.”
A wry grin quirked his mouth. “It isn’t a small thing, lass. Not small at all.” He turned then, strode across the room and, without a backward glance, opened the door and disappeared down the hall.
Anne returned to her bedchamber to find Agnes tidying the room.
The maidservant bobbed a curtsey. “So, did ye find the young lord, m’lady?”
“Aye, Agnes,” Anne replied. “I found him.” She paused, a small frown puckering her brow.
“What is it, m’lady?” the old maidservant asked.
“Och, naught.” Anne shook her head and sighed. “I’ll just feel better when the chief’s council is over. I’m the cause of such animosity here. I wouldn’t want that to harm Niall’s chances for the chieftainship.”
“The young lord can well handle the fools in that room,” Agnes staunchly defended him. “He’ll win them over, and no mistake.”
“Most likely.” Anne sighed. “Still, I wish I could be there to know the charges they bring against me.”
“They could be hard to hear, m’lady.”
“Aye, but the knowledge might aid my efforts to win them over. I must know what’s in their hearts if I’ve any hope of changing them.”
“There is a way.”
Anne’s gaze riveted on her. “What are ye saying? Is there a chance I could overhear the council meeting?”
Agnes nodded. “It’s a secret, a hidden tunnel that runs from the council chamber to the storerooms. From there, another tunnel leads to the outside. It was devised for escape in times of battle.”
Anne could barely contain her excitement. “Would ye lead me to it? I swear I’d never reveal the secret, and it’d help in learning the charges against me. I only ask this in the hope of aiding Niall.”
Hesitation flickered in the maidservant’s eyes. Then she nodded. “Aye, lass. I’ll help ye, but no one must learn of this.”
“Then let us be gone.” Anne gathered up her cloak. “There’s not a moment to spare.”
Few noticed their passage through the castle, for Kilchurn was abuzz with preparations for the evening feast to celebrate Niall’s confirmation as chief. Anne knew Niall had ordered things to be carried out as if his new rank was a foregone conclusion, fully aware that any show of uncertainty would weaken him in the eyes of the council. He had planned for everything, from the feast to the magnificence of his dress, but the true battle had yet to begin.
The tunnel leading from the storeroom was musty, dark, and strewn with cobwebs. They stumbled along without a torch, for Agnes had said the approaching light might be discovered through the narrow vents on the secret panel separating the council chamber from the hidden corridor. Finally, Agnes gripped Anne’s arm, pulling her to a halt.
“The chamber’s just up ahead,” she whispered. “The tunnel now narrows so only one may pass at a time. Go ahead. I’ll await ye here.”
Anne gave the old woman a quick hug. “Thank ye, Agnes.”
“It’s naught, lass. I’ll do aught for ye and the young lord.” She gave her a small push forward. “Now, get on with ye. The meeting starts even now.”
From behind her, Anne could hear the scrape of chairs and the rise and fall of deep male voices. She turned and hurried down the tunnel toward the narrow strips of light in the panel wall. As she reached the secret door, the voices faded. Through the slits, Anne saw Niall stand and lean forward on the table, his solemn glance scanning the faces aligned down its oaken length.
She inhaled an admiring breath. The look Niall gave them was bold, penetrating, and self-assured. Even now he begins, she thought. Pride for the powerful, commanding man filled her. He was clan chief already, if only the others had the wisdom to see it. If only they had the courage to rise above their petty differences and groundless fears.
“As is our tradition,” Niall began, his deep-timbred voice reverberating throughout the chamber, “I stand before ye, clan tanist and chieftain-elect, to accept yer sworn fealty to me as the Campbell. But first, custom allows the occasion to air questions or grievances that might preclude yer acceptance of me. I’ll tolerate no doubts or lack of commitment once this council ends.”
Niall lowered himself to his chair and leaned back with a demeanor of supreme confidence and lack of concern. “If there are any objections, speak them now or forever bury them in yer heart.”
There was a heavy silence. Not a few uncomfortably averted their gazes from Niall’s piercing stare. For several heart-stopping seconds, Anne thought Niall had managed to intimidate them with the power of his presence. Then one of the lairds cleared his throat.
“Ye’ve something to say, Andrew?” Niall demanded calmly of the man he had once mentioned was one of his most troublesome lairds.
Andrew glared at him. “This council’s illegal!”
A dark brow raised. “And how so?”
The laird nervously scanned the others, searching for some sign of support. “There’s one of yer family not present. One whose claim to the chieftainship is nearly as strong as yer own. Without his presence, how can the decisions made here be considered fair?”
Niall’s eyes narrowed. “And are ye mayhap speaking of my cousin Hugh?”
Andrew swallowed convulsively and nodded. “Aye.”
“And what was I to do with him,” Niall inquired, his glance moving to encompass the entire gathering, “after he attempted to murder the Lady Anne MacGregor? Allow him to remain here and permit him the opportunity to try again?”
“He’s mad, nephew,” Duncan interjected. “Allowances must be made.”
Niall’s gaze swiveled to his uncle. “Allowances have been made for a long while now. But is Hugh worth endangering an alliance with Clan MacGregor, of stirring anew a feud we were finally managing to bring to an end? Or, leastwise we were until the land grant took away their lands and gave them to us.” No one replied. “Well, be that as it may, I wouldn’t deny my cousin his birthright. The welfare of the entire clan, however, comes before that of a single member,” he said. “And Hugh forfeited that privilege when he threatened the peace between our clans.”
“And what has Iain done?” Duncan demanded. “He isn’t mad, nor has he threatened the lady’s life, yet ye’ve banished him too.”
Anne sucked in a startled gasp. The attacks begin, and this one is as deadly as they come. Niall dared not reveal his knowledge of a traitor, yet how could he justify what might otherwise seem an irrational vendetta against Iain? And what would Iain say to defend himself?
Niall shot Iain a thunderous look. The younger man had paled at his father’s accusations and, for an instant, was speechless. “What’s between Iain and me is personal,” Niall ground out in the sudden silence. “It isn’t a fit topic for this council.”
Duncan turned to his son. “And what have ye to say, lad? Does or does this not bear on Niall’s fitness to be chief?”
Iain’s jaw hardened. Watching him, Anne realized he sensed he was but the pawn in some game being played out here.
He shook his head, as if refusing to be dragged in. “Niall’s a hard-hearted, stubborn man,” he said, “but that has never been reason to deny a chieftainship. I won’t pretend my affection for him hasn’t changed, but the rest of it, as he said, is between us.”
Surprise mixed with anger flashed in his father’s eyes. “Ye’d support his claim over yers then?”
“His claim was decided two years ago when the Campbell named him tanist. Why is there suddenly such doubt afoot?”
Pride swelled in Anne for her friend’s honest heart, even in the face of Niall’s continued animosity. Mayhap Niall would now realize Iain wasn’t the sort of man to be a traitor. Mayhap, just mayhap, they could once again be friends.
“Hugh and Iain aren’t the true issue here!” a smooth, articulate voice announced unexpectedly. “There’s doubt afoot because Niall’s immortal soul’s in danger.”
All eyes swung to Malcolm, who sat opposite Niall at the far end of the table. Anne’s gaze followed the rest. She swallowed a panicked sob. Och, Niall, here it comes now. She glanced back to him and could have wept with pride.
Niall’s face was an expressionless mask. “Matters of religion are also not a topic for this particular council,” he coolly replied. “I govern Campbell hearts and bodies; ye govern their souls. I’ve no intention of interfering in yer domain, unless it endangers one of the clan.”
A sly smile quirked the preacher’s mouth. “And what say ye to a witch burning? There’s now law to back me on that.”
Niall smiled back, but the expression in his eyes was flat and hard. “I obey all laws, but those same laws will be applied in a fair and humane fashion. There’ll be no witch panic on Campbell lands, or torture to extract confessions as the only means of evidence.”
“And will ye just as fairly consider all accused of witchcraft,” Malcolm persisted, “be they noble as well as peasant?”
“Aye,” Niall countered smoothly, though even Anne could see the muscle jump in his jaw. “I haven’t changed in my judgments or treatment of the people, when concrete evidence was truthfully given.”
“Then,” Malcolm said, triumph sharpening his voice, “in all fairness, ye’re called to judge the Lady Anne MacGregor, named by her own people the Witch of Glenstrae.”
A murmur of excited male voices swirled around the room as Niall sat there, staring stone-faced back at Malcolm.
“Curse ye, Niall!” Anne heard Iain mutter. “I warned ye of this.”
Niall, however, seemed unaffected by the turmoil. He paused to pour himself a glass of claret from the flagon at his end of the table. Swirling the burgundy in the glass, he examined its sparkling hues as the others slowly calmed and silence once more fell upon the gathering.
At long last, he raised his glance to meet his cousin’s. “And what has that to do with my fitness as chief? That the Lady Anne’s called the Witch of Glenstrae are but words, naught more, as is my title of Wolf of Cruachan. Make no further accusations unless ye’ve proof.”
“What about the Campbell’s death?” the preacher shot at him. “It’s said the wench was with him at the last, and gave him a cup of poison.”
“She was with him little more than five minutes before the end came. And the word of a jealous serving maid is hardly a reliable witness. Not to mention,” he added, “I later tasted the contents of the cup and found it was only water. Or would ye say my word is less than that of a serving maid, as well, since ye seem so determined to condemn Anne?”
“Then what of the murrain?” Andrew supplied. “It’s strange our cattle have been untouched, while those from other clans have died, until the MacGregor woman arrived. It’s said she put a curse on our cattle in revenge for the royal grant of their lands to us. What say ye to that, Niall?”
“Superstitious nonsense!” Niall snapped. “The pestilence most probably spread from diseased cattle brought here from other clans. The McCorquodales recently had a bout of murrain, and their lands border ours.”
“What of her strange healing skills?” Duncan added quietly. “It was Hugh himself who saw her breathe life back into a stillborn babe. How do ye explain that, nephew?”
Niall’s head turned to his uncle, the tension rising in his voice. “I’m no physician. I’ve no explanation for everything, but there’s much in nature still unexplained. To attribute the unknown to witchcraft is the work of ignorant minds!”
“Then the Reformed Kirk, the religion of our land,” Malcolm silkily offered, “is a Kirk of ignorant minds? Is that what ye meant to say?”
Niall froze. Though he might himself only pay lip service to this new but hugely popular religion, nowadays Anne knew it was the heart’s blood of most Scotsmen. To ridicule or ignore its power would be folly indeed. For the first time since the council began, Niall suddenly looked unsure of its eventual outcome.
Anne saw the indecision flare in Niall’s eyes. Her heart went out to him. Her greatest fear had been that, like a pack of wolves, they’d drag him down on this very issue. And now it seemed her worst fears were about to come to fruition.
Her nails scored her tightly fisted palms, but she made not a sound, expending her efforts in willing all her strength and support to Niall. Help him, Lord! Och, help him!
He finally expelled an exasperated breath and gave a mocking shake of his head, an action Anne knew instinctively was pure bluff.
“I intended naught of the kind, though all here will admit that ignorance grants little consideration to wealth or status in life. All I meant to say was, as clan chief, I must deal with all issues in a calm, informed manner. How else am I to govern wisely?”
Anne saw the doubts fade from some of the men’s eyes. Several even leaned back in their chairs, their minds apparently made in Niall’s favor. Hope flared in her breast. Good. He’s beginning to win them over.
“Aye, govern wisely, indeed,” Malcolm growled, apparently sensing he was losing support on this issue. “And how is that possible, when ye seem all but besotted with the MacGregor wench? Besotted so thoroughly,” he added, “that some would say bewitched. It’d be an easy thing for her to have slipped a love potion into yer drink or sprinkled it on yer food.”
“And it’d be an even easier thing to care for her because she’s a kindhearted, beautiful woman,” Niall countered. “If any of ye had taken the time or made the effort to get to know Anne, ye might understand that.”
“We have tried, but there’s something about her,” Duncan said.
“Those eyes . . .”
“They are eyes and naught more!” Niall snapped. “I find yer arguments dwindling to the ridiculous. If there are no further issues of import, mayhap it’s time to end this council.”
“Aye, nephew.” Duncan sighed. “Mayhap ye’re right. There’s one issue more to discuss, though, before we swear our fealty.”
“And what’s that?”
“The naming of yer tanist. In times as unstable as these, a successor is vital.”
Though he had the leave to name his tanist at his leisure and planned to wait until the traitor was discovered before doing so, the hearty agreement swelling around the table made Niall reconsider. Gaining the support of these men had been more difficult than he had anticipated. The tide could still turn if he miscalculated his real influence over them. Niall hated being forced into something he wasn’t really prepared for, but a compromise in this case might well be the prudent course.
His gaze swept the gathering as he considered the merits and weaknesses of each man there. When his glance met Iain’s, Niall stiffened. Though he had been surprised and more than relieved by Iain’s support, Niall wondered what the true motives behind his cousin’s actions had been. Iain could’ve guessed there’d be dissent and chosen the wiser course of appearing to be on Niall’s side. A wiser course, indeed, if he had thought Niall was considering naming him tanist this day.
If it hadn’t been for the issue of the traitor hanging over his head, Niall would have chosen Iain as tanist. But not now. He dared not place his cousin in such a position of power. But if not Iain, who?
His glance continued to skim the men, weighing, considering. None of his trusted warriors had returned as yet with any information regarding Hugh’s activities or whereabouts, or of any possible traitorous actions on the part of his lairds. And now, more than ever, he desperately needed that knowledge.
Niall’s eyes met those of his second cousin, Andrew. Traitor or not, that laird had never been a serious candidate. The man was far too concerned with his own needs. And, without further information, Niall dared not place his trust in any of the other lairds present, either. It would be too difficult to keep a close eye upon their activities, scattered as their holdings were on the huge expanse of Campbell lands. It was wiser to choose a tanist from those near by. It would be easier to watch him . . .
His gaze passed Duncan. As much as he hated to admit it, the reality was that even his uncle could be the traitor. There was something to be said, though, for keeping one’s enemies close.
Anne certainly suspected him, but then those two hadn’t really gotten on from the start. Still, though his uncle was a cold, controlled man, his advice in the past had always been directed toward the betterment of the clan. Yet, on the other hand, there was also the matter of his active involvement in securing the MacGregor land grant . . .
With a frustrated sigh, Niall rose from his chair. “The choice of clan tanist is a difficult one, for many issues must be taken into account. Youth and battle prowess must be weighed against the equally valuable attributes of maturity and wisdom. Sometimes, there’s no one perfect individual for the task.”
He leaned forward on the table, his next words low and carefully measured. “I possess the youth and battle prowess. Taking that into account, I’ve decided to draw on maturity in choosing my tanist.”
In the anticipatory silence, Niall inhaled a deep breath and forged on. “As the first of my duties as yer new chief, I name my uncle Duncan tanist to Clan Campbell.”