Anne gave a small cry and buried her face in her hands. “Och, nay! Poor Nelly. She came to me last night, and I saw the bruises on her face. She said he’d beaten her, but I never thought he’d kill her!” She lifted tear-filled eyes to Niall. “What are we to do?”
“Ye speak as if ye know who Nelly’s murderer is,” Iain cut in. “Who is he, Anne? And why did he kill her?”
“Iain—” she began.
“Nay, lass.” Niall held her in the iron grip of his dark gaze. “She doesn’t know, and neither do I,” he said, turning to his cousin. “We were about to find that out from Nelly.”
“But ye and she both know why Nelly was killed, don’t ye?” Iain persisted. “And, somehow, Anne’s welfare is tied in with it.”
Niall clamped down on an angry retort. “The welfare of the entire clan’s tied in with it. But, for the time being, I don’t wish to speak further of this. Leave us.”
The blond man faltered in the silence that engulfed them, a bewildered expression on his face. “The welfare of the clan? What are ye talking about? What’s going on?”
Niall’s rugged features tightened in anger. “Leave us, Iain!”
Anne laid a hand on Niall’s arm, a silent entreaty in her eyes. She glanced up at Iain. “Do as he says, Iain. Please leave us.”
His stormy countenance swung from Anne to Niall, then back. Iain bowed low to her. “As ye wish, m’lady.” He shot Niall one last, furious glare and left the room.
Niall rounded on her. “Ye’d no right to interfere. What’s between us is ours to settle. Don’t ever—”
“Ye’re no longer so certain Iain’s yer traitor, are ye?”
He paused, then sighed. “After all that’s transpired in the past few days, nay, lass, I’m not. Leastwise, I’m not so certain he’s alone in this. Malcolm, or even Duncan, may have a hand in the treachery as well.”
“Or even be the ones solely responsible for it.” Anne frowned in thoughtful consideration. “And what of Hugh? He may also be helping from the outside.”
“Aye, there’s Hugh to consider as well.” Niall’s fist pounded the bed beside him. “The suspicions are eating me alive! Not only has the traitor or a henchman tried to kill me several times, but he’s now murdering others within my own castle. And I no longer even have the certainty of knowing who it is!”
“Iain wasn’t even here in time to kill Nelly.”
“Aye,” Niall agreed, “if he was ever at Balloch to begin with.
Though I begin to have second thoughts regarding Iain, I still cannot discount all the possibilities.” He shifted to a more comfortable position. “Think about it, Anne. That day I sent him away, I was shot with the quarrel. Iain could’ve still been here, fired the crossbow from the forest. And he could have remained here, using Nelly to poison me, and then when she began to have second thoughts, killed her.
“Nay,” he said, “Iain’s fortuitous arrival to rescue ye may have been as well planned as everything else he did. One thing is a certainty. He never meant to let ye die. He wants ye for himself. But he may have needed to make it look like he’d just come from Balloch, to divert suspicion from himself when Nelly’s body was found.”
“A clever plan, indeed,” Anne agreed softly. “Yet if Iain isn’t the traitor, how much more clever is the real one to divert suspicion so skillfully to others? Don’t blind yerself because of yer unreasoning jealousy. Think ye on that, Niall Campbell.”
Perhaps it was his utter weariness, or the stress of the past few hours, but at her words something snapped in Niall. “And mayhap I wouldn’t be so unreasonably jealous,” he growled, grasping her arm, “if ye weren’t so constantly and ardently defending him! Think ye on that, lady.”
It was too much, after all Iain had done for them. Anne was barely able to contain the stinging retort that rose to her lips. Then reason filled her. They were both at the limits of their endurance. This wasn’t the time to push the matter further.
Agnes bustled in with the nettle tea. Anne glanced at her and forced a smile. “The Campbell’s ready for his hands to be tended. Do ye know what needs to be done?”
A small frown wrinkled Agnes’s brow as, for the first time, she seemed to note the sudden tension in the room. “Aye, m’lady.”
Gently, Anne pried Niall’s fingers loose from her arm. “Good. I’ll leave ye to his care. I’ve a need for some private time, as I’m certain,” she added meaningfully, “does the Campbell himself.”
With Niall’s wrathful gaze burning into her, Anne rose and headed for her room.
Anne slipped from her bedchamber and quietly, ever so carefully, closed the door. It was well past midnight. Kilchurn was shrouded in silence and sleep. Even the guard stationed outside her door since her return from the stake was snoring soundly.
For the span of an inhaled breath Anne hesitated, her courage deserting her. The decision to seek out Iain in his bedchamber had been supremely difficult. The consequences if Niall found her there were terrifying. Not only had she given him her word she’d not meet privately with Iain anymore and was now about to break that word, risking Niall’s anger and the loss of his love, but she also endangered Iain’s life as well.
In the end, however, it was all for Niall anyway, whether he ever understood or accepted it. Though the common people seemed finally to be warming to her, little had changed in Kilchurn in the past week since her rescue. If anything, thanks to Duncan and Malcolm, the situation was worsening. It was time to take matters into her own hands.
With that resolve to bolster her, Anne gathered her skirts and quietly made her way down the hall. Someone, and Anne was convinced it was either Malcolm or Duncan, had notified the queen of Niall’s flagrant disregard for the law. Even now, a royal representative was on his way from Edinburgh to judge the facts and report back to Queen Mary. Niall risked losing his chieftainship, if not his life, should the findings go against him. And, until a royal judgment had been made, Niall’s hands were tied when it came to Malcolm and Duncan.
In the meantime he was besieged with local officials and various Campbell lairds. All protested the course of recent events, already magnified beyond reason by rumor and speculation. Though Niall had managed to turn aside most accusations and dispel many of the false tales, sending the majority of his lairds back home satisfied with the true facts, the grumblings and unhappiness continued. Anne could see it in the faces of some of the castle servants, many of the clansmen, and, most especially, in Duncan’s eyes.
His animosity had evolved into outright hatred, a hatred he made little attempt to hide. Even Caitlin, who spent many hours with Anne each day filling her in on the current state of affairs, was distressed by her uncle’s unbridled rancor. The girl would pour out her heart to Anne, hurt, unable to understand what was happening.
Before her very eyes, Anne saw the Campbells being split into factions, one turned against the other. And all, it seemed, because of her. Though she was innocent of cause, it mattered not. It was tearing Niall apart.
He had avoided her ever since they argued that day. Though he was still angry over her defense of Iain, she refused to ignore his continued unfairness toward the younger man. It broke her heart to be yet another source of pain and problem to Niall, but what was she to do? Accept a wrong being perpetrated upon an innocent man? Watch Niall make a monumental error in judgment and not stand up to him over it?
She couldn’t do that. To ignore a wrong went against everything Anne was and believed in. And she’d never betray her principles, not even for love.
Yet love, in the end, was what was leading her down the darkened corridors toward the room of a man whom she had promised Niall she’d not speak to, much less visit alone. But what choice was there? Anne well knew Niall’s stubborn pride. He’d fight until he was overcome and destroyed. And that destruction now seemed imminent if something wasn’t done soon.
She would leave Niall, go back to her people. For some reason, Duncan had made her the focal point of all the dissension. For some reason, he seemed to fear her because of her growing relationship with Niall. In her absence, she hoped at least that particular conflict would die. Niall’s jealousy would also end, and he’d be able to separate Iain’s desire for her from the possibility his motivations were that of a traitor.
Without those additional issues to distract him, Niall could at last turn all his efforts to discovering the real traitor, to strengthening his precarious position as Campbell chief. Perhaps he might finally even give Duncan’s possible involvement greater scrutiny. It certainly seemed that he was beginning to do so. And perhaps the witch fever Malcolm continued to stir would also calm. Indeed, what would anyone care about a witch who was no longer among them?
Thanks to Caitlin inadvertently revealing its location one day, Iain’s room was easy to find. It was a lucky thing she had. Anne dared not ask anyone about it or Niall would’ve known soon thereafter. Iain was the only one she could trust not to go to Niall. Iain, though his ultimate motives might differ, would help.
She reached his room. Before she could lose any more of her courage, Anne tried the latch. Though she hated sneaking in to wake Iain, it was better than risking possible notice by tarrying in the hall and knocking at the door. Blessedly, the latch opened. Anne slipped inside.
For a moment she stood there, searching out the bed in the dimly lit chamber. A sudden thought assailed her. What if Iain weren’t alone and had taken some serving maid to his bed? Anne hesitated then decided to move closer before she woke him. If he had a companion, she’d leave as quietly as she had come.
Only one body lay in the bed. Anne touched Iain’s bare shoulder. He flipped over and grabbed her arm. Before she could cry out, she was wrenched up against him, a dirk’s blade pressed to her throat.
“Who sent ye,” Iain rasped in her ear, “and what do ye want?”
Anne froze, the knife too dangerously close to dare struggle. “It—it’s me, Iain,” she whispered. “Anne.”
“Anne?” The blade lowered, and he turned her face to his. “By mountain and sea, Anne,” he groaned. “What are ye doing here? If Niall finds us . . .”
“I know, Iain.” She shoved herself to a sitting position. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t need yer help. I don’t know what else to do.”
He levered himself up and resheathed his dirk. The comforter fell away, the flickering firelight revealing a muscled expanse of broad, lightly haired chest and taut abdomen. She flushed and averted her gaze.
Iain saw her embarrassed movement and smiled. “Would ye like me to dress?”
Anne jerked her glance back to him. “Nay. There’s no time. What I have to say, I must say quickly and leave. It’s too dangerous for me to linger.”
“What do ye want from me, lass?”
A lump rose in her throat, but she forced her words past it. “I want to leave Niall and go back to my people. Will ye help me do that, Iain?”
“Why, Anne? Why do ye want to leave Niall?”
“Because I’m a danger to him, even to the possible loss of his life. He won’t willingly let me go, so I must do it for him.”
“I could take ye to Balloch Castle,” he offered softly. “I would protect ye from him.”
Anne shook her head. “Nay, Iain. It’d only make matters worse. I’ll hurt Niall enough in the leaving. I won’t hurt him in that way, too. I ask only that ye make arrangements for an escort for me back to Castle Gregor.”
“I can do that.” He frowned. “It’ll be difficult getting ye out of Kilchurn unnoticed, though. Niall has ye watched at all times now, for fear of further harm befalling ye. How did ye manage to slip from bed without him waking?”
She lowered her head. “We’ve always slept apart.”
“Aye.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Most likely a result of fighting about me.”
“That isn’t why, but it doesn’t really matter. I can’t stand by and watch Niall go to his destruction. Will ye help me or not?”
Iain nodded. “Aye, ye know I will, lass. I’ll send ye a message when the arrangements are made. Be ready. It could well come at a moment’s notice.” He paused. “The difficult part is still how to get ye out of Kilchurn.”
“It isn’t a problem. I know a way. Just tell me where we’ll meet, and I’ll be there. And, Iain,” she said, touching his arm, “ye’re not to go with me. Niall mustn’t suspect ye’re involved in this.”
“And do ye think I care what he thinks? Besides, he already knows my feelings on the matter.”
“But he won’t be sure ye were involved if ye’re here and I’m gone. I’ll leave him a letter, making it appear I managed it all myself. That I sent word to my father and it was MacGregors who were waiting to take me away. Ye’ve only to find men who can keep our secret. Can ye do that?”
Iain leaned back and nodded. “Aye. I know a few, enough to get ye safely home.”
Anne rose from the bed. “Good. I must go now, Iain.”
He stayed her with a light touch on her arm. “Anne.”
She glanced down at him lying there, a golden-haired young warrior. “Aye?”
“In time, may I come to visit ye?”
“Ye’re my friend, Iain. Ye’ll always be my friend.”
His blue eyes darkened. “And Niall will always be yer love? Is that it?”
She gave a sad little nod. “Aye.”
From a shadowed doorway, he watched Anne leave Iain’s room. What good fortune that he had come upon her, just as she was sneaking into the lad’s bedchamber.
Something was afoot, and no mistake. They’d both require some close watching in the next day or two. One way or another, though, their clandestine meeting this night would serve him well. One way or another, he’d turn it to his own advantage.
Niall strode into his bedchamber and flung himself into one of the hearth chairs. Ah, but he was weary! The day had begun badly as it was, and the arrival of the queen’s envoy had only made it worse.
After the initial flurry of preparing accommodations and seeing to his needs, it had been necessary to spend long hours with the man, addressing all the charges brought against him. Not surprisingly, Malcolm had been his accuser.
He thought the inquiry had gone well, that the royal envoy had been satisfied with his answers. The final decision, however, rested in the hands of the queen. It was all that prevented him from banishing Malcolm from Campbell lands. Niall smiled grimly. For a time more he must be patient, but once he had received official absolution of the crimes brought against him . . .
If everything went as he hoped, in but a matter of days Niall would be free of at least one of the thorns in his side. Just one of many, he reminded himself, but it was still progress of a sort.
The arrival of the last of his warriors sent out on the secret mission had only added to the day’s stress. None had returned with any useful information. There seemed to be no true disloyalty among his lairds. Normally, that would’ve been the best of news, but not now. Now, he desperately wanted to find the traitor outside Kilchurn.
Hugh remained somewhere in the mountains near Ben Cruachan. His cousin ran with a group of outlaws who appeared content with periodic cattle raids upon nearby crofts. In time, Niall would see to their capture. But not now. Now, it was enough Hugh stayed far from Kilchurn and made no overt attempts against him.
If only he could catch the traitor in a false move. Even Duncan was now kept at arm’s length, after a heated argument over his ruthless persecution of Anne. Though the tanist claimed he was borne along on the tide of law and religion in condemning Anne—and regretted it deeply—Niall found the act hard to forgive. His uncle’s actions had heightened his suspicions about the man’s true motives, motives that might well include treachery. For all practical purposes, Niall was now alienated from every close male member of his family.
Aye, he mused glumly, and alienated from Anne as well. The continuing dilemma of her loyalty to Iain, over what Niall saw as her expected commitment to him, ate at him. Now, more than ever, he wanted her, needed her love.
Her stubborn devotion to his cousin, however, was more than Niall could bear. He knew he was being an irrational, jealous fool, knew his feelings were clouding his judgment, but why couldn’t she understand and be there for him when he needed her most? Aye, needed her most of all while he fought through this quagmire of doubts and suspicions.
He knew it was his pride that, in the end, kept him from her. He was the one at fault, not her. Yet it seemed his pride was sometimes all he had left these days.
His mouth quirked wryly. Perhaps he put far too much store in his pride, if it kept him from the woman he loved. It had kept him once from God as well, when his anger and pain at losing his first Anne had driven him from obedience to a Creator who could allow such a tragedy to occur. In the doing, he had let his life become bereft of God and the peace and joy he had once had. Would he let his foolish pride now also drive away Anne?
Niall rose from his chair, his long, lithe strides carrying him across the bedchamber and down the corridor in a matter of seconds. Before he lost courage, he must speak with Anne. Before his pride once again seized hold, he must humble himself, beg her forgiveness.
She wasn’t, however, in her bedchamber. Niall frowned. Where could she be? It was nearly time for the supper meal. Mayhap she was already below, awaiting him in the Great Hall.
He turned to leave when a bit of parchment on the table just inside her bedchamber door caught his eye. His name, in Anne’s feathery scrawl, was written upon a small scroll sealed with red wax. As he picked up the letter and broke it open, uneasiness coiled within him. How strange that Anne would choose such a manner to communicate with him.
Niall, twice before I begged ye to let me return to my people. I ask ye no longer. His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. Even now I am on my way home, my clansmen having come for me. It’s over between us.
I beseech ye, don’t follow. It’s better I’m gone from yer life.
The letter was signed simply “Anne.” Niall groaned and threw back his head, his eyes clenched in pain. The parchment crumpled in his fist.
How could she do this to him? How could she be so cruel, so hard-hearted? It wasn’t like her . . .
His eyes snapped open. Nay, it wasn’t like Anne at all. Someone had surely said something to frighten her or convince her she was saving him by sacrificing their love. A fury smoldering within, Niall pondered all possibilities—and alighted on the most obvious culprit.
Iain. It had to be Iain. Who else would she listen to? And who else but Iain desperately wanted her to leave?
With a harsh cry, Niall stormed from the room. He paused only long enough to send the guard to gather more men, ordering him to bring them to Iain’s bedchamber. Then Niall strode off.
For a brief moment he considered going back for his sword, then decided his dirk would be more than adequate. He wouldn’t give his cousin opportunity to attack. He’d strike first to win the advantage.
He paused outside Iain’s bedchamber to withdraw his dirk, then walked in without knocking. Iain was sitting by the fire, a book in his hands. Seemingly not at all surprised at Niall’s arrival, Iain calmly closed the volume and laid it aside. His gaze when he looked up at Niall was cool, unperturbed.
Niall’s temper exploded. He advanced on Iain. Grabbing the front of his shirt, he pulled his cousin to his feet and pressed the dirk to his throat. Iain tensed but said nothing.
Niall pushed the knife a little deeper. Blood welled at the blade’s tip, trickling down Iain’s neck and chest to stain his shirt. He still didn’t move.
“How long?” Niall demanded hoarsely. “How long ago did she leave?” He pulled the dirk back a little.
“Two hours,” came the terse reply.
Niall cursed. “Why did ye do it? Why couldn’t ye leave Anne and me be? Ye’ve finally gone too far, cousin. Now ye haven’t even Annie’s influence to protect ye!”
“Do ye think I care?” Iain snarled in reply. “Anne’s safe now. From Malcolm, my father, and most of all, from ye. She was in more danger from ye than from them, for ye professed to care for her, to protect her, and didn’t. Yer selfish needs blinded ye to her danger, and always will. I’m glad I helped her escape and naught, naught ye can do to me will change that!”
Something inside Niall shattered, severing his emotions from all rational control. Kill him! a voice screamed inside his head. Kill him! End his life once and for all! End at least one of yer problems with one clean thrust of yer blade. Then Anne can come back and all will be well . . .
The sound of the guards rushing into the room wrenched Niall from his violent thoughts. His rage-clouded vision cleared. Once again he saw before him his cousin, a man who refused to lift a hand to defend himself. To ram the dirk home now would be murder. No matter what Iain might ultimately be—a traitor, a murderer—Niall was neither.
He removed the blade from Iain’s throat and shoved him back into his chair. “Ye won’t escape yer well-deserved punishment. It’s only delayed until I return with Anne.” Niall motioned to the guards, secretly pleased by the spark of anger that flared in Iain’s eyes at his mention of bringing back Anne. “Take my cousin down to the dungeon and clamp him in chains,” he ordered his men. “I’ll deal with him later.”
Iain leaped to his feet. If not for the drawn swords instantly pointed at him, he would’ve attacked Niall. As it was, his powerfully muscled form trembled with barely suppressed rage as he permitted himself to be bound.
He’d not allow the guards to lead him away, however, without firing some parting words. “Ye’ve also gone too far, cousin!” Iain cried. “This won’t set well with the clan. Beware yer followers, for ye may soon have none to lead!”
All the doubts about Iain flooded Niall with renewed force. He gave a harsh laugh. “Spoken like a true traitor.” He signaled the guards. “His presence sickens me. Remove him from my sight!”
Their band had gotten a late start. Before departing Campbell lands, Anne had paid Ena one last visit. The old healer was well, recovered from her terrifying stay in Kilchurn’s dungeons. Their farewell had been tearful, for neither knew if they’d ever see each other again.
Now, the day was edging toward twilight. Anne’s gaze moved to the setting sun. They had been on the road two hours and had at least another two more before reaching Castle Gregor. It would be well into the night before she arrived home.
Anne glanced at the men riding with her. There were four of them, all “broken men” from other clans who had pledged their loyalty to Iain in return for the protection of the Campbell name. As one of Niall’s under chieftains, Iain possessed considerable power and resources of his own. Yet Anne couldn’t help but worry about him. When pushed far enough, Niall could have a fearsome temper. And Iain would never back down.
With a small shudder, she shoved the anxiety aside. There was naught more she could do to ease the rivalry between them, save leave them both. That in itself might be all that was needed. She hoped, she prayed, that it would be so.
Once again, Anne glanced toward the mountains. Amid a wild landscape, Ben Cruachan towered over the land. Its lower slopes were heavily wooded, thinning as the elevation rose to bare and lumpy crags, the summit split into two cones. The mountain exerted a vital, powerful influence over Campbell lands—bold, proud, compelling. So much, she realized with a bittersweet pang, like the dark man she was leaving behind.
She loved Niall, would always love him. But Anne wasn’t certain there could ever be a life for them together. Mayhap in time things might settle down, tempers and unreasoning fears might fade. But that could also be a long while from now.
Niall was a virile, lusty man in his prime. He could well tire of waiting and take another wife. Their handfasting only bound them for a year, less than ten months more. And Anne knew how badly Niall desired an heir.
Tears, maddeningly frequent of late, filled her eyes. There was nothing else she could do. If she must give him up to save him, so be it. Her love could do no less. It was enough that he lived. It had to be.
Up ahead, the cry of a sparrow hawk rent the silent evening. From behind them came an answering cry. Her companions exchanged troubled glances, reining in their mounts. Unease spiraled through Anne. There was something not quite right . . .
The thunder of horses pounding over the hills bordering the road filled the air, mingling with harsh shouts and battle cries. Iain’s men closed in around her, drawing their swords. Then, in a clash of horseflesh and metal, the attackers, twenty strong, were upon them.
Screams of pain as blades cut into living flesh, squeals of terrified horses, rose to engulf Anne in a horrifying cacophony. Her companions fought bravely to protect her, taking down an impressive number of the enemy before finally falling to the overwhelming odds. Almost before it had begun, the battle was over.
Anne sat there on her horse, alone amid the carnage, her traveling gown splattered with blood. She swung her gaze around the band of men encircling her. From the plaids they wore, they were Campbells, but not ones she recognized. What did they want from her? Indeed, who were they?
The sound of another rider drawing up behind her sent a premonitory prickle through Anne. There was a malevolence emanating from him so tangible, it was almost as if he had run his finger down her spine. She stiffened, dreading the confrontation to come. Slowly, she turned in her saddle.
“So, we meet again, witch.” Hugh Campbell chuckled. “And once more ye’re totally at my mercy.” He motioned to Anne. “Bind her. We must be off. It’s too dangerous to linger so near Kilchurn.”
She unsheathed her bodice knife. “Kill me now, Hugh. I’ll not go with ye. Let me die with these brave lads and be done with it.”
“And spare ye the torment I’ve planned for ye this night?” He grinned, his glance skimming her slender form. “I think not. I’ve a taste to know yer witch’s charms before I kill ye. Ye’re a special lass to have enchanted a man such as Niall Campbell. I’ll know the reason why.” He backed his mount away. “Take her.”
Four burly warriors closed in on Anne. She slashed out as the nearest one grabbed for her, leaving a deep gash in his arm. He cursed and drew back, clutching the wound.
Another arm snaked about her waist, nearly unseating her. Anne wheeled, her dagger arcing toward her newest attacker. She had meant only a glancing cut, but the man leaned forward at the last moment. The blade went deep into the outlaw’s gut.
With a strangled cry, he loosened her and toppled from his mount, her dagger still embedded in his belly. Anne stared down at him, horrified at what she had done. The momentary distraction was all the advantage the others needed.
One grabbed her by the hair, dragging her off her horse. Another two leaped down to pin her roughly to the ground, wrenching her arms behind her to bind them tightly. In the next instant, she was jerked back to her feet.
Hugh rode up. “Ye’ll pay for that, wench! I don’t sell the lives of my men cheaply. When I’m done with ye, each and every one will have ye in turn. Then I’ll slowly, but ever so thoroughly, choke yer life away.”
“Never!” she cried. “Never, do ye hear me! I’ll kill myself before I let that happen!”
A cruel smile touched his lips. “And when will ye have that opportunity, devil’s handmaiden? We’ll guard that precious life of yers with our own. Until, of course, we’re done with ye. Come, let us be gone!” Hugh cried.
Turning his horse, he galloped off over the hills, headed toward Ben Cruachan. Anne was lifted into the arms of a nearby man, her mount left standing where it was. In a flurry of hoofbeats and choking dust, the outlaw band headed out after its leader.
She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her twelve bodies, all dressed in Campbell plaids, were sprawled bloody and lifeless on the ground. And nearby, heedless of the slaughter, her horse moved to graze upon a succulent patch of grass.
Niall, accompanied by one of his warriors, raced his horse down the road. He had kept up the frantic pace for well over an hour. From the spacing of the hoof prints in the dirt ahead, he knew he should soon overtake Anne’s much slower party. Though there were four men with her to their two, if the need arose, he felt confident they could physically overpower them. He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He dreaded endangering Anne in a fight.
As they crested the next hill, an unnatural stillness lay upon the scene that greeted them. Bodies were scattered on the ground. In the deepening twilight, the distance made it difficult to make out form or gender. With his heart in his throat, Niall urged his stallion on, checking his speed only when he reached the bodies.
His horse skidded to a halt. Niall was off its back in an instant. He ran from one corpse to the next, quickly ascertaining Anne wasn’t among them. Relief surged through him. He began to examine the bodies more closely. Four he recognized as Iain’s men. The other eight he knew as men he had banished as outlaws. In the belly of one, Niall found Anne’s dagger.
“Ye little wildcat,” he whispered in admiration. He withdrew the knife and wiped its blood-stained blade clean on the grass. “Keep fighting them, Annie. I’m coming.”
Niall slipped her dagger into his belt and swung onto his horse, readjusting the claymore hanging at his back. His clansman quirked a questioning brow.
“Their track leads toward Ben Cruachan,” Niall said. “Return to Kilchurn and bring a party of forty men back on this trail. I’m riding on.”
“But they’re a large group, m’lord,” his warrior protested. “At least ten or more men. Even ye cannot take on that many alone.”
“If luck’s with me,” Niall muttered grimly, “I won’t have to. But I don’t know who has the Lady Anne, so I can’t be certain what sort of danger she’s in. I must go on. Now off with ye,” he commanded, “and don’t waste an extra moment in returning. I’ll need yer help soon enough, one way or another.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The man reined his horse about and galloped back in the direction of Kilchurn.
Niall watched as he disappeared over the hill, then urged his own mount onward. Two hours’ time would be lost before his men arrived again at this spot. And, from the looks of things here, the outlaws had at least a half-hour lead. Time was against him. Time and the unknown enemy who now had Anne.
Anne paced the confines of the small tower room, anxiously casting about for any means of escape. The narrow slit of window precluded its use. The room’s single door was bolted from the outside. At the base of the winding stairs was a guard, with the rest of Hugh’s men camped outside.
She ground her teeth in frustration. So many obstacles to overcome, each one nearly impassible in its own right. And so little time left before Hugh came for her.
They had ridden up into the mountains for well over an hour before arriving at the ancient stone tower. The repairs inside, however, were of a more recent nature. Anne wondered if this was the boyhood haunt of Niall, Iain, and Hugh. It would explain Hugh’s use of it now to carry out his depraved revenge against her.
Anne halted at the door, a sudden thought assailing her. How had Hugh learned of her journey back to Castle Gregor? She knew Iain would’ve never betrayed her, and the preparations had all been made in secret. Had someone seen them leave and sent a message to Hugh? Or had some spy overheard Iain as he made the arrangements?
In the end, it didn’t matter. She was now the prisoner of a madman.
Iain had said there was a madman in Kilchurn, that day he had discovered Nelly’s body. Was Hugh that madman? He hated Niall. Had he mayhap been manipulating Nelly from the outside to do his will?
Fear roiled through Anne. Niall was in terrible danger, and there was nothing she could do to warn him. Nothing indeed, she realized with a sudden surge of impotent anger. Nothing . . . but die at the hands of a witch-crazed traitor.
She sagged against the door. What had she ever done to deserve this? How had she sinned, to escape one horrible death only to fall prey to an even more gruesome one?
The burning at least would’ve been quick, if excruciatingly painful. But to be ravished by Hugh and all of his men before being murdered was an even more fearsome fate. At the stake, Anne still had her dignity, but even that would be stripped from her before this eve was done. Och, but she hated being so helpless, so . . .
The sound of someone climbing the stone staircase echoed hollowly in the tower. Anne lunged back from the door. Once more she scanned the room for a sign of a weapon, for hope of escape. There was none. Save for a threadbare bed, the chamber was empty.
The door unlocked with a metallic clank and swung open to reveal Hugh standing there. Anne held her ground, refusing to cower before him. Defiance flashed in her eyes.
Hugh momentarily faltered. Then the old madness crept into his eyes. “Yer spells will serve ye poorly this eve, witch!” He held up a small bag hanging from his neck. “I’ve an amulet to protect me.” Hugh waggled the sack before her eyes and laughed.
He shut and locked the door, then dangled the key from his finger as he faced her. “Do ye want this, lassie? Well, come and take it.” He slid it beneath the belt that bound his trews.
As Hugh advanced, Anne backed away until she stood beside the bed. She inhaled a steadying breath. She must confront him, must get the key. If that required touching him, letting him get close to her, then she would. She’d do whatever it took to get that key. He’d quickly discover she was no fearful maid.
Her hand moved toward him, toward the belt. A strange, excited light gleamed in his eyes. He captured her hand and twisted it roughly behind her, then grabbed her other arm and pulled it behind her as well.
“Did ye think ye’d get the key so easily, my beauteous little witch?”
His head lowered to hers. His hot breath wafted across her face. Anne fought back a surge of nausea. Hugh’s body moved closer, pressing into hers.
She froze. Everything that was in her screamed to get away from him, but she forced herself to stand totally still. If she fought too hard, she’d never have a chance at the key. And the key was everything—her one hope of freedom.
Hugh chuckled, a cold edge of irony in his voice. “Ye’re just like all the others. Ye’ll sell yer soul to get what ye want. Only this time, the devil’s in league with me. It’s all part of our plan. Yer death will begin the feud anew. Niall will finally fall.”
His mouth descended, grinding brutally, painfully, over hers. At the same time, he levered himself against her, forcing Anne off balance. An icy, awful fear shot through her. She fought to maintain her footing, but the effort was to no avail. With a choking cry, Anne fell onto the bed, Hugh atop her.