Niall’s long legs quickly carried him through the corridors to Anne’s bedchamber, his mood far from pleasant. Iain was right. He should send Anne away before it was too late. But how could he do so when he had just come to know her, and the knowing was so achingly sweet? From her gentle goodness to her fiery temper, Anne fascinated and challenged him. To let her go was painful past consideration.
He needed her. Only she could drive away the dark loneliness that had so long enshrouded his heart. Only she fulfilled him, like no other woman since his first Anne had. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her go. They’d work everything out. Niall had to believe that. Any other contemplation stirred anew the niggling fear that his own needs might be of more import than Anne’s safety. The time might come when he’d be forced to face it, but not now. Now, there was still hope.
Save for Agnes, tidying the fresh rushes on the floor, her bedchamber was empty. Niall went to the old maidservant. “Where’s the Lady Anne?”
Agnes whirled around. “S-she’s seeing to some personal business, m’lord.”
Niall’s gaze narrowed. “And, pray,” he drawled, “what’s this personal business ye seem so hesitant to reveal? Yer loyalty’s first to me, Agnes. I want a full accounting of where she’s gone.”
“Aye, m’lord.” Agnes curtsied her obeisance. “She has an herb garden in the forest. She slips away to tend it whenever she can.”
Niall’s features tightened with disapproval.
“I saw no harm in it,” Agnes hurried to explain. “The garden gave her pleasure. She never used any of the herbs for healing, only dried and stored them in that chest.” She gestured to the carved box standing near Anne’s bed.
With a low growl, Niall strode to the chest and flung back its lid. “It’s empty. Where are these herbs ye speak of, woman?”
“Only this morn she tossed them all down the privy. I think she feared them being used against her, of their existence causing ye harm. It was a great sacrifice on her part, I think, m’lord.”
“I’ve a calling to heal . . . It’s sacred to me . . .”
Anne’s words that night he had first taken her to see his father came back to haunt him. She had given up so much. So much, and now even to turn from all thought of healing . . .
Niall squared his shoulders. There was nothing to be done for it, leastwise not right now. Indeed, there was nothing that mattered more than Anne’s safety.
He hurried to his own bedchamber and returned with a short sword. Fastening the scabbard belt about his hips, he motioned the old woman forward. “Lead me to her, Agnes. Now!”
Agnes nervously bobbed another curtsey. “Aye, m’lord.”
It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, Anne thought. Despite Angus’s discreet presence nearby in the trees, the tears streamed unashamedly down her face. She dug up yet another feverfew plant, then tore it into tiny pieces before reburying it beneath the earth. Even dumping the jars hadn’t tugged at her heart like this.
But these were living things, full of promise, brimming with hope. Hope for the future of her healing—and with their destruction that hope died. Still, she had to do it. Their death ensured the end of all evidence against her. For Niall, she’d do even that.
A weak breeze stirred the quiet forest, affording a brief respite from the unusually warm summer day. Anne paused in her vigorous efforts, lifting her damp, heavy mass of hair from the back of her neck. Sadly, she surveyed her garden.
Only half a row remained and all the plants would be gone, torn to shreds and buried beneath the dirt. In but a few weeks’ time, the weeds and wild grasses would again take hold. Soon there’d be no sign a garden had ever grown here. Anne wondered if her life at Kilchurn would one day matter as little. No impression, no imprint left on anyone.
This time the tears were of self-pity, but Anne quickly wiped them away. Her life at Kilchurn had mattered, had made an impression. She had served the Lord there the best she could. And there was her friendship with Iain, with Ena and Agnes, all friends strong and true. There were glimmers of acceptance now from some of the other castle folk as well.
Maudie and Angus had definitely warmed to her after Anne’s treatment of little Davie’s burnt hand. And several of the serving maids had come to her for advice on feminine ailments, advice that required but a few quick words that any lady of the castle would be able to give. She had been more than happy to assist them, without a qualm that she was going against her promise to Niall.
Aye, Anne consoled herself, Campbell acceptance was indeed slow in coming, but coming it was. All it would take was time. All it would take was continuing faith in God. In the meanwhile, with Niall at her side, she’d forge ahead and face what life held bravely. Her love for him was that deep, that sure.
Perhaps the wind rustling through the trees covered the sound of their approach, or perhaps it was her self-absorbed thoughts, but Anne suddenly found Niall and Agnes standing before her. She climbed to her feet, the trowel still clasped in her hand.
“Niall, Agnes,” she whispered, her gaze swinging from one to the other. “I—”
“Why are ye here?” Anger darkened his eyes. “Haven’t I told ye time and again it’s dangerous to venture outside the castle?” He paused, suddenly aware of his stable man’s presence and that he was reprimanding her in front of servants. “Go Agnes, Angus,” he growled, motioning them away. “Return to the castle.”
The old maidservant glanced from her master to mistress, then hurried off with Angus.
Niall waited until the servants were out of earshot. “Well, madam? Why are ye here?”
A variety of responses swept through Anne’s head, but she decided the truth was the best. “I felt the need to visit this garden one final time and destroy the last evidence against me.”
“Evidence? Explain yerself. Ye speak in riddles.”
“Evidence of my healing.” Anne inhaled a deep breath and forged on. “I was there, behind a secret door, when ye met with yer council. I heard all the accusations brought against me to discredit yer claim to the chieftainship. I wouldn’t have my conduct used against ye again.”
“So ye disposed of all yer herbal medicines and are now destroying yer garden.” Tenderness flared in his eyes. “Truly, lass, ye sacrifice too much for me.”
The trowel dropped from Anne’s hand. With a cry, she ran to him. They clung to each other for a long, soul-searing moment.
A soft smile curving her lips, Anne then lifted her eyes. “Do ye know how much I love ye? Don’t ye know by now that I’ll do aught for ye? Aught.”
With a wild groan, Niall’s mouth came down on hers, devouring her joyous offering until he teetered on the brink of control. Then, with a tremendous effort, he straightened, moved away.
Dazed, Anne staggered back a step. “What is it, Niall?”
His low, throaty chuckle echoed in the forest stillness. “Naught. Ye said ye’d do aught for me, and I but need a moment to tell ye what I wish.”
“And what is that?”
“A bairn. An heir.” He stroked her cheek. “Yet though I desire that greatly, some part of me fears it as well. I don’t want to lose ye in childbirth.”
“And aren’t we rushing things a bit, worrying about losing me in childbirth when we’ve both agreed to remain chaste until our year of handfasting’s done?” Anne asked with a smile. “Not to mention I’ll bear no bairns save for my legally wedded husband? But dinna fash yerself. I’m strong and healthy. And,” she said, her face softening with a gentle, loving look, “I’d sooner have a few months in yer arms—God willing as yer wife, of course—even if it killed me, than a lifetime without ye.”
Once more, Niall’s arms tightened around her. “Don’t say that! Don’t ever speak of dying! I fear for yer safety enough as it is.” His mouth lowered to the fragrant tumble of her hair. “Even now, I wonder if my selfishness in keeping ye here will be yer death. I should send ye away before it’s too late.”
Anne’s arms entwined about Niall’s neck. She clung to him, as if to prevent that terrible thought from becoming reality. “Nay. I beg of ye. Let me stay; let me fight at yer side. Though our enemies are many, we’re not beaten. I’m not afraid. If the time comes when, because of me, I fear for yer life, then I’ll leave and willingly. But not before. I won’t desert ye!”
“Och, Annie,” Niall groaned. “I don’t want ye to go. I need ye.
But—”
She pressed a gentle finger to his lips. “No more, my love. The time isn’t right to speak further of this. God willing, it’ll never be right. Don’t ye agree—” She stopped, overcome with a sudden feeling of coldness, of lurking evil. It struck her so forcibly Anne knew it for what it was.
Niall noted the change, the shudder that wracked her slender frame. He grasped her arms. “What is it, lass? What frightens ye?”
Anne gazed up with fear-widened eyes. “Someone’s here . . . watches us,” she whispered.
Niall stiffened, bent close. “Where? Do ye see him?”
She shook her head. “Nay, but I know it all the same. I’ve felt it before. We’re in danger.”
“Stay behind me. If we’re set upon, flee to the castle.”
“But I can’t—”
“I’ve my sword,” he rasped in her ear. “I can hold them off until ye send help. Now, no more of it!”
Niall released her, then turned slowly, casually. Taking Anne by the hand, he began to lead her across the forest glade toward the castle. All the while, he scanned the area for sign of an intruder. Despite his vigilance, the warning came too late.
A movement, a flash of something metallic in the bushes off to his left, caught Niall’s eye. He lunged to cover Anne. A crossbow quarrel plunged into his chest.
“Niall!”
“Stay back!” he cried, sinking to his knees. “Behind me!”
“Nay!” Anne gripped his short sword and wrenched it free. Evading Niall’s attempt to stop her, she ran toward the spot where the quarrel had flown, the sword raised high.
Another crossbow bolt could come flying toward them at any moment. Her only hope was to take the offensive and pray their attacker was a coward, for to cower behind Niall could well be the death of them both. Many a Scotswoman, and she included, had been schooled in the defensive use of the short sword. She only prayed their mysterious intruder wouldn’t choose to test her on it.
A glimpse of tartan—Campbell colors—was all Anne caught of the disappearing attacker. His plaid was pulled up to cover his head. She saw nothing more but a flash of bare, masculine legs and a body bulked beyond recognition by the belted plaid.
Anne halted and ran back to Niall. He was still kneeling on the ground, both hands about the quarrel’s base where it protruded from high up in his chest. His breathing was ragged, his teeth clenched. Before she could reach him, he tore out the crossbow bolt.
With a low groan, he fell, the quarrel clenched in his hand. Anne ran to his side, flinging herself down beside him. She reached beneath her skirt to tear loose a large wad of petticoat. Gently, she turned Niall over, cradled his head in her lap, and opened his shirt to examine the wound. She breathed a sigh of relief. It had missed his lung.
From the trajectory of the quarrel and Niall’s position just before he had lunged to cover her, Anne knew the quarrel had been aimed straight for his heart. Was it the work of the traitor, some disgruntled clansman, or one of her own people in Campbell disguise, at last seeking revenge for the land grant?
She quashed the speculations and shoved her petticoat inside Niall’s shirt to cover his wound.
“Well, lass? Will I live?”
At the amusement in Niall’s deep voice, Anne jerked her gaze to his face. He was pale, his brow damp, but a grin quirked his full, firm lips. She forced a trembling smile. “Aye, m’lord. It’ll take more than a puny quarrel to fell a big lout such as ye.”
He chuckled, and the movement brought a grimace of pain.
“There ye go again, making me laugh when I’m wounded. Ye’re a heartless wench, and no mistake.”
“I’ll show ye how heartless I can be, when I get ye back to the castle. Yer wound will need cauterizing, and I must send for Ena. I have no more salves or medicines, ye know.”
A large hand clasped her arm. “Nay, lass. I’ll allow Ena’s ministrations because she’s accepted by the clan, but not yers. And even hers I’ll accept little of, for I must appear to respect the healer sanctioned by the Kirk. And that’s Murdoch, our castle physician. I’d wish it otherwise, for I trust yer ministrations far more than his, but it’s for yer own protection. If aught happened, if the wound festered and I died, I wouldn’t have ye blamed.”
“But he’ll hurt ye,” Anne protested. “Mayhap try to purge or bleed ye, as if those treatments would aid in the healing of a wound. How can ye expect me to stand by and watch that old fool—”
His grasp tightened, cutting off her protest. “Because I ask it, Annie lass. Ye said ye want to stay with me, to fight our enemies. Well, our battle must be waged in many ways and on many fronts. Some things must be compromised if we’re to prevail. This is one such compromise. I’m willing to make it.”
“But to ask me watch ye needlessly suffer!” Tears choked her voice.
“It’s the way of war,” he replied softly. “Haven’t ye the courage for it?”
She studied him for a long moment. “I know not the depth of my courage, but my love for ye is more than sufficient to meet the task. Since ye ask it, I’ll stand back and watch that simpleton of a physician treat ye. But hear me well, Niall Campbell. If ever the time comes when yer life’s in danger because of his ministrations, I’ll step in to save ye. Naught ye can ever say or do will keep me from that.”
Something flared in the depths of his rich brown eyes. “Then let us pray that day never comes, sweet lass, for I fear it could well mean yer life.”
Hard, angry eyes watched as Niall, supported by two clansmen, was assisted back into Kilchurn. Anne followed close behind, surrounded by an armed escort of six more men. The eyes, shining with a malevolent light, turned from the sight. Hands clenched knuckle-white at his sides.
Curse that insufferable, interfering witch! the man swore beneath his breath. If not for her quick response with the short sword, he’d have had the time to reload the crossbow and finish Niall. Taking care of her afterwards would’ve been easily seen to. But he had dared not linger to fight off some crazed female with only his dirk and crossbow for defense.
He had meant to kill her after Nelly had hurried to inform him of Anne’s presence in the forest. But when he had seen Niall there and heard him ask her for a child, something had snapped. The memory of another time, another childbirth that had ended to his advantage, came to mind. And now, once again, his claim to the chieftainship was threatened from a similar quarter. Time was running out.
He didn’t want peace between Clans Campbell and MacGregor. He didn’t want a marriage alliance, an alliance that, if Niall and Anne’s passionate response to each other in the forest was any indication, seemed to be rapidly becoming a reality. Niall’s death was the only solution. With him gone, the witch would be helpless and easily seen to.
Things had taken a complicated turn with her arrival at Kilchurn. Plans, so carefully made, were suddenly going awry. It was past time to take a more subtle if even deadlier bent.
A cruel smile twisted the man’s lips. Aye, it was indeed past time to seize a firmer hold on the situation. It was time to use the foxglove . . .
Anne stayed out of Niall’s bedchamber whenever the physician was present, fearing she’d lose control if the man attempted some ignorant treatment that did little but hurt Niall. She was grateful for Ena’s presence, for the wiry little physician seemed to respect her advice. Anne only hoped her old friend could successfully temper the man’s more outlandish treatments.
Niall said little about what went on during the physician’s visits and, though he appeared pale and exhausted afterwards, his wound still managed to mend. But thanks only to Ena’s healing salves, Anne thought as she battled to maintain control of her frustration. Afterwards, she’d spend many hours in Niall’s room, reading to him, talking with him, holding his hand while he slept.
At Niall’s insistence, Anne was never alone with him—a trusted servant was always in attendance. Then there’d be no cause at a future date, he explained, ever to say she had slipped him a potion or poison if something untoward should happen. His concern for her worried Anne. Was he in more danger than he’d willingly admit, to now suspect attempts on his life from within his own castle?
Surreptitiously, Anne began to watch the preparation of Niall’s food and drink. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary in the kitchen. And Nelly always brought him his meals. Knowing the maidservant’s feelings for Niall, Anne doubted the woman would do anything to harm him. She wouldn’t be surprised if Nelly attempted to poison her food—that would eliminate a rival—but Niall was another matter altogether.
By the third day of his confinement, Niall was climbing the walls from boredom. Against his physician’s advice and Anne’s concerns, he rose and dressed. Staring down at her from his imposing height, he laughed at her protestations.
“I feel quite well,” Niall said with a maddening chuckle. “All I want is a short walk in the gardens. It won’t require the use of my arm, and I swear to ye, my legs are quite up to the task.” He encircled her shoulders with his good arm. “But, to assure my compliance, ye may accompany me.”
Anne stared up into his handsome face. Her heart melted at his boyishly compelling smile. “Och, have it yer way. Ye always were a pigheaded dolt!”
“Sweet lass.” He grinned down at her. “It warms my heart to hear such words of endearment fall from yer lips. Pray, what else is in that gentle, loving mind of yers?”
“Ye’re a rogue and a knave, Niall Campbell,” she declared in exasperation, “and well ye know it!”
“But ye’ll come with me to the garden?”
“Aye.”
A lazy smile teased his lips. “Good.”
Kilchurn’s gardens were spacious and well-tended. The air was scented with the lavender blooming from the many bushes scattered throughout the walled enclosure. Bright slashes of red and pink roses brightened the area, as did rhododendrons and fuchsias. It was a lovely, peaceful place. As Anne walked along with Niall, she was content.
A girlish giggle from the rose bower up ahead, followed by a low male voice, was the first hint they weren’t alone. Niall halted. A dark frown marred his brow.
“Not a word, lass,” he whispered. “I’ve a suspicion my sister’s up to no good, and I can well guess who with.”
He left her standing there and made his stealthy way to the bower.
What Niall saw stirred his blood to a boil. Caitlin and Rory sat on a stone bench, locked in a heated embrace. As if they didn’t know where to alight or what to do, Rory’s hands roved over Caitlin’s slender form.
Caitlin, however, seemed well aware what to do. Her hands were tightly entwined about Rory’s neck, pulling him against her as they awkwardly but determinedly kissed. As Niall watched the scene of youthful ardor, his hands clenched at his sides. Didn’t he have enough problems without worrying how much longer his headstrong, highly emotional sister would keep her maidenhood?
“That’s enough, Caitlin.”
With a gasp, his sister jumped away from Rory. The lad stared at Niall, transfixed with terror, while Caitlin frantically smoothed her gown and mussed hair. There was nothing she could do, however, about the becoming flush to her face, or that they’d quite obviously been kissing.
“H-how dare ye spy upon us?” she demanded, her surprise causing her to take the offense. “Ye could at least have made some noise to give us decent interval to compose ourselves!”
Niall cocked a sardonic brow. “Och, and is that the way of it? And should I have knocked first too?” His expression hardened with a glacial anger. “Nay, lass. Ye were raised better than this. If I hadn’t happened upon ye, I can only wonder how much longer ye’d have kept yer maidenhood. Then who would’ve had ye as wife?”
Caitlin sprang to her feet. “How dare ye speak to me like that? Och, but ye’re a crude, churlish knave to shame me so! And I care not for my maidenhood! I love Rory. I’d give it to him gladly!”
Niall’s hand shot out to grab his sister’s arm and jerk her to him. “Well, since I’m now responsible for yer conduct and marriageable state, and I don’t wish to see ye wed to Rory MacArthur, it’s past time I took firmer measures.” He spared a brief, withering glance for the trembling young man standing there, rooted to the spot. “Get out of my sight and my castle. And don’t come back!”
Rory fled, almost colliding with Anne, who had determined from the tone of the voices emanating from the bower that it was time she get involved. She paused to stare after the lad’s rapidly retreating form, then once more gathered her skirts and forged on. The deadly grimness to Niall’s voice filled her with rising apprehension.
“He isn’t worthy of ye,” Niall was saying in a low, furious voice. “Did ye hear him come to yer defense, or stand up to me for yer sake?” He gave her a small shake. “Well, did ye?”
Caitlin’s mouth opened then closed, her eyes filling with tears.
“He’s but a lad,” Anne interjected. “For all his size, he was no match for ye.”
Niall wheeled about, a thunderous look in his eyes. “And will ye, too, defend the little beggar? Well, I won’t have it, Anne!”
Anne noted Caitlin’s startled glance, swinging from her to her brother. In a flash of insight, Anne realized the only way to defuse the situation, before Niall took his pent-up frustration out on Caitlin, was to turn it upon herself.
Anne squared her shoulders and defiantly lifted her chin. “Ye won’t have it, ye say?” she deliberately mocked him. “And what would ye have me do? Cower in some corner each time I see ye about to make a fool of yerself?”
He glared at her with cold displeasure. “A fool, am I? There’s not a man alive I’ll let call me that. Do ye imagine because ye’re a woman ye can safely do so?”
“Safe or not,” Anne shot back, “I’ll do so, and gladly, if I think I’m right.” She deliberately turned from Niall to Caitlin. “Go to yer bedchamber, lass. It isn’t fitting ye should see yer elders argue.”
“Aye!” As if just remembering she was still standing there, Niall looked to his sister. “I’ll see to ye later.”
Caitlin fled without a moment’s hesitation, most likely realizing this wasn’t the time to attempt further defense. They watched her go, then Niall turned to Anne. “What do ye have to say for yerself, madam?”
She had never heard him use quite that silky, dangerous tone before. What if she had made him so angry he never forgave her? What if he turned his back on her forever?
Anne flung the foolish thought aside. Niall was proud, but he was also intelligent. He could be brought to see reason.
“I was wrong to call ye a fool, m’lord,” she began, honest remorse in her voice and shining in her eyes. “I beg pardon. It was but a ploy to divert yer anger from Caitlin.”
He subjected her to a cool appraisal, the taut look of rage already ebbing from his features. “And ye thought to turn it upon yerself, did ye?”
“Aye.”
“Ye risked much. I won’t be ridiculed before anyone.”
Anne’s head lowered. “I’m sorry, m’lord. Mayhap I chose poorly, but it was the best I could think of.”
A long finger crooked beneath her chin to raise it. “Next time, ask to speak to me in private. If ye don’t abuse that privilege, I’ll know it’s significant when ye use it. Agreed?”
She smiled, relief flooding her. “Agreed.”
Niall took her by the elbow. “Come, lady.” He led her into the bower, indicating for her to sit upon the stone bench. With a bone-weary sigh, he lowered himself beside her. “I fear my strength wasn’t adequate for the emotions of the past few minutes,” he said, his face suddenly drawn and haggard. “I’ve the strangest sense of fatigue, and my muscles feel so weak.”
Alarm filled Anne. She slid close, slipping her arm about Niall’s
waist to steady him. “Mayhap yer wound has broken open. Should I send for help to get ye back to yer chamber?”
“Nay. Allow me a few minutes more and I’ll make it under my own power. Though I may have erred in leaving my bed too soon, I’ll never admit it to any, save ye.” He lifted a halting hand to rub his eyes. “Och, but my head aches, and I can’t see too clearly.”
“How long have ye felt this way?”
Niall shrugged. “Off and on for the past two days.”
“Then ye lied earlier when ye said ye felt well.”
He gave her a mock scowl. “Do ye realize that, in the span of but a few minutes, ye’ve called me both a fool and a liar? What am I to do with ye?”
She returned his glare with a resolute one of her own. “Mayhap let yerself heal by staying abed as ye should?”
“Aye, mayhap ye’re right.” He smiled tiredly. “I thought my weakness was merely the effects of my wound. Yet I’m healing and these feelings worsen. Dinna fash yerself, lass,” he said, noting Anne’s look of concern. “It’s most likely the result of some spoiled food. It has happened before. I’ll get over it.”
“Aye, m’lord,” Anne murmured. “Ye’re a strong, healthy man. Most certainly ye will.”