Anne watched Iain being carried off to his bedchamber, then turned to Niall. “It’s past time I look at yer wounds. After yer battle, they’re sure to need tending.”
“Shouldn’t ye see to Iain first?” he asked. “He’s hurt worse than I, and the physician may need help removing the quarrel.”
She arched a quizzical brow. “I didn’t think ye’d want me near him.”
He studied her for a moment in thoughtful silence. “I was wrong about him.”
“Tell Iain that, not me,” Anne shot back, a ripple of anger in her voice.
Niall sighed. “I will, have no fear. But I wanted ye to know too. I’ve been wrong about so much these past few months. I trusted no one, not even ye at times.”
“I know.”
Anne forced the tension to ease. It wasn’t Niall she was angry with, not really. They were all on edge after the violence of the past night and today’s confrontation outside the castle. But what if he were also saying he had erred in his feelings for her? It was foolish to ask, but she needed to know.
Her eyes lowered. “And were ye also wrong in loving me?”
Niall lifted her chin. “Nay, never that, lass.” A fierce tenderness smoldered in his eyes. “Never that.” He hesitated. “Would ye like to go to Iain? See to his proper tending?”
She smiled and nodded. “Aye, for a wee bit of time, if ye will. The quarrel missed any vital organs, but I’d like to see Iain’s wound properly cleansed and dressed so it won’t fester.”
Niall motioned her forward. “Then go, lass. I’ll be here when ye return.”
Love flared in her eyes. Then, gathering her skirts, Anne hurried off.
Murdoch had just finished removing the quarrel from Iain’s chest. Anne found her friend in bed, pale and pain-wracked, his eyes clamped shut. She knelt and took his clenched hand in hers. Gently, she pried open his long, strong fingers, then moistened a cloth and wiped his sweat-damp brow.
Iain’s lids fluttered open. Eyes, as blue as Loch Awe on a summer’s day, gazed up at her. “Ye shouldn’t see me like this.”
“And what do I see,” she countered softly, “but a verra braw man? It was wonderful what ye did for Niall, putting yerself between him and the crossbow.”
He smiled wanly. “I couldn’t betray yer trust. Ye’ve never failed to champion me, even in the darkest moments.” Iain’s mouth twitched in self-disgust. “Even when I unwittingly failed ye and sent ye into a greater danger than Niall ever did.”
She put a gentle finger to his lips. “Hush, Iain. Save yer strength. It’s of no import anymore. Let us tend yer wound.”
“Nay, a moment more, lass.” Iain caught her hand. “Let me say what I must. Only then will it be truly over.”
“Then tell me.”
He dragged in a steadying breath. “I should’ve guessed it was my father who was behind all of this. Long have I known he coveted the chieftainship. I just never thought him capable of such cold-hearted murder and treachery.” Iain shook his head in disbelief. “Och, what a fool I was!”
“Don’t blame yerself, my friend. He fooled us all. He’d had years to plot and plan, from the beginning of the feud until now. And he was such a clever man. He knew how to turn the weaknesses of others to his own gain.” Anne stroked Iain’s cheek. “But he’d no power over strength. Our friendship saw us through.”
“Aye,” Iain agreed gruffly. “Our friendship and the love between ye and Niall. I only hope to find such a love some day.” He grinned wryly. “One that’s equally returned, of course.”
Anne laughed. “And are ye trying to tell me, Iain Campbell, that no lass has ever fallen in love with ye? Why, ye’re one of the handsomest Highlanders I’ve ever set eyes on.”
His grin faded to a sad wistfulness. “There’s never been a lass like ye, Anne MacGregor.”
“But there will, Iain,” she whispered fervently, moved by the tenderness of his gaze. “One who’s my match, and more. One who’s truly worthy of a man as braw and good as ye. Now, not another word,” she said, rising to her feet. “It’s time to see to yer injury. I can’t tarry here all day. Niall’s wounds need tending too.”
A dark blond brow quirked in surprise. “He let ye come to me first?”
“He sent me to ye.”
“I hope we can someday be friends again.” Iain sighed. “We were once, ye know. The best of friends.”
“And ye will again. But I think the course of yer friendship will depend more upon ye than Niall.”
“Och, and how so?”
“Niall’s a proud man. He’ll feel awkward around ye for a time, imagine he’s not worthy of yer acceptance or forgiveness.”
Iain’s expression darkened. “As well he should. He was unreasonable and arrogant.”
“Aye.” Anne nodded. “But he also knew, from the day my clan captured him, that a traitor was involved. Right or wrong, he suspected it was ye. So, he couldn’t verra well confide in ye, and yer attentions to me were so easily misinterpreted in light of those suspicions. Niall thought ye were using me in some way to further yer plotting.”
Iain frowned in thought. “It explains many things.” He met her gaze. “I’ll talk with him. In time, we’ll work out the problems between us.”
“Good. I grow weary, ye know, of being the peacemaker between ye.” Anne paused to signal Murdoch. “Come now; let’s see to Iain’s wound.”
The old physician nodded and shuffled over.
It was a glorious late July day. Sparrow hawks and golden eagles soared overhead, their hoarse screams rending the deep summer silence. The purple-pink heather was just beginning to bloom on the hills. Fragrant lavender, growing along the sides of the road, perfumed the air with its delicate scent.
As their party rode along, Anne’s gaze swept the familiar landscape. The scene stirred a memory of that day, now nearly three months past, when she had ridden the opposite way toward Campbell lands. Then she had been handfasted to a man she despised, her life in a shambles.
Now she was going home to MacGregor land, if home could ever again be anywhere Niall wasn’t. She glanced at him. His attention was momentarily diverted as he spoke with Iain, who rode beside him. Anne’s eyes softened with love.
He had been so busy in the past month since Hugh’s and Duncan’s deaths. The queen had accepted the royal envoy’s findings. All charges against Niall had been dropped.
Once Hugh’s and Duncan’s funerals were over and the two men properly buried, Niall had lost no time in banishing Malcolm from Campbell lands. The preacher had been escorted away, unrepentant to the end, raving about witchcraft and Anne’s guilt.
In the long days Niall and Iain both spent recuperating from their wounds, Anne had begun Caitlin’s lessons in the healing art. The ebony-haired girl was an apt pupil, showing a real talent for the craft. Slowly, as she gained confidence and enthusiasm for her new skill, her love-struck preoccupation with Rory MacArthur eased.
In the time not spent with Anne learning to mix the various concoctions and potions, Caitlin talked with her brother. Anne couldn’t help but laugh at Niall’s surprise at the depth of his sister’s maturity. She had chided him, telling him he’d have known Caitlin better if he had cared to take the time.
He had laughed and pulled her into his arms, admitting that, once again, she was right.
There was much, indeed, to be thankful for in the past days, including Niall’s surprising offer to take her to Castle Gregor for a short visit. Anne knew it had been a great sacrifice on his part, to spare the time for what was essentially a frivolous journey. She was grateful and loved him even more because of it. There remained but one small doubt to nibble away at what would’ve been her complete happiness.
Since the night he had rescued her from Hugh’s evil clutches and asked her to be his wife, Niall had never again mentioned marrying her. Anne wondered about that. After much thought, she could only find one reason for his reticence on the subject. Niall regretted the offer.
She knew she should be patient and trust that Niall would again broach the subject when the time was right. She wasn’t one to nag, and would never force him to wed because of a prior offer likely made in haste. Niall would come to her willingly or not at all.
Perhaps she was foolish to doubt Niall’s devotion to her. He treated her, as he had for a long while now, with all the heartfelt abandon of a man in love. If only, Anne sighed, as she redirected her attention to the road ahead, he would seal that love with the final commitment of marriage vows.
As they neared the village of Glenstrae, a large crowd of peasants began to line the road. Anne turned a questioning gaze to Niall.
He grinned back. “Yer people, m’lady. Turned out to welcome ye home.”
A suspicious half smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Another of yer surprises, m’lord? I wonder what else that devious mind has in store for me this day?”
“Ye’ll have to wait and see, won’t ye?” he drawled in reply. Niall glanced at Iain. “What say ye, tanist? Will she like what I have in store for her?”
Iain chuckled. “I don’t know. She was none too pleased the last time we were here. Ye may find, cousin, ye’ve more trouble on yer hands than ye bargained for.”
“Whatever are ye two men talking about?” Anne demanded in exasperation. “I don’t like being left out of this conversation, much less yer plans.”
Niall smiled. “Have patience, my love. In due time, all will be revealed.”
She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his suggestion, when a woman with a child in her arms ran forward from the crowd. It was Fiona.
“Her name’s Annie,” the young peasant said, lifting a fat, healthy infant up to Anne.
She took the baby in her arms and cuddled it to her. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Anne asked, glancing over at Niall.
Tenderness flared in his eyes. “Aye, lass, that she is.”
Anne flushed and quickly handed the baby back to its mother. “Come to the castle soon, and we’ll spend more time with the bairn. I’ve a wish to know my namesake better.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Fiona agreed happily. “Why, this verra eve I’ll be there for ye. The whole village is—”
“Come along, Anne.” Niall took hold of her horse’s reins, urging her on. “Time enough to visit later. Yer father awaits.”
Anne glanced in momentary confusion from Fiona to Niall, then nudged her mount to catch up with Niall’s. “What was she talking about? Exactly what is the whole village up to?”
He shrugged. “Mayhap yer father has something special planned. We’ll find out soon enough.”
“Aye, I suppose we will,” Anne muttered, still bewildered.
Their arrival in Castle Gregor was a joyous affair. After the usual greetings, Anne found herself bustled upstairs to her old bedchamber by Agnes and Anne’s two married sisters. While all happily gossiped, her clothes were unpacked and belongings put away. Then Mary, Anne’s youngest sister, brought out a gown of shimmering ivory silk. Its neckline was a simple, rounded scoop edged with the finest lace, the sleeves long and snug, the dress fitted in bosom and waist before flaring gently to the floor.
“It was Mither’s,” Mary offered, her voice choked with memories. “We’d like ye to wear it today, in honor of an end to the feud and the joining of our clans.”
“Och, but it’s too beautiful for a simple feast,” Anne said.
“But ye’ll wear it, nonetheless.” Agnes stepped forward and began unfastening Anne’s traveling gown. “Ye won’t begin yer visit here by hurting feelings. Yer sisters wish for ye to wear it, and wear it ye shall.”
Anne protested no more. She allowed herself to be undressed and bathed before donning the beautiful gown. The MacGregor tartan was then draped over her shoulder and fastened with the clan brooch. Her hair was brushed until it gleamed and fastened away from her face in a simple, feminine fashion, allowing the thick mass of russet curls to tumble about her shoulders and down her back.
Finally, as the sun slid behind the mountains, Agnes stepped back to admire their handiwork. “Ye’re so beautiful, m’lady,” she whispered.
Anne smiled at her loyal maidservant. “Only because ye’ve made me look so.”
A firm knock sounded at the door. Anne’s sisters were suddenly in a flutter. She cocked a quizzical brow and hurried to open the door.
Niall stood there, grinning back at her. He was dressed in his belted plaid, a snowy-white shirt beneath, a blue bonnet bearing the three eagle feathers denoting his rank as clan chief perched rakishly atop his ebony hair. He looked the picture of a Highland warrior, full of barely restrained power and masculine vitality. A fine, braw Highland warrior, Anne thought with a surge of pride, and mine. Niall offered his arm. “Come, m’lady.”
She eyed him warily. “What are ye about? It’s a half hour before the feasting begins.”
“We go to see yer father. We’ve a few things unfinished to discuss.”
Anne placed her hand on his arm. “As ye wish, m’lord.”
Alastair MacGregor, dressed as well in full Highland regalia, awaited them in his chambers. His eyes softened when he saw Anne. He walked to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Ye look so like yer sainted mither in that dress. I’m proud of ye, lassie.” His glance momentarily strayed to Niall. “Have ye found happiness with the Campbell?” Alastair’s piercing gaze returned to her. “Did I do well in giving ye to him?”
Anne looked to Niall. A soft smile curved her lips. In spite of it all, in spite of the lingering doubts she had about the depth of Niall’s commitment, she was content. She loved him with all her heart, and would stay with him for the full length of their handfasting. After that . . . well, it was still a time away and, God willing, mayhap by then even that last little misgiving would finally be eased.
She turned back to her father. “Aye, I’m happy with him. Ye did well, Father.”
“Good. Then I grant him his request.” He faced Niall. “Ye may take my Annie as wife.”
“Wife?” Anne’s grip tightened on Niall’s arm. “Ye want me as wife?”
“Didn’t I already ask ye that? Why would I have changed my mind?”
She flushed, not quite able to meet his gaze. “I . . . Ye never spoke of it since. I wasn’t sure . . .”
“There were preparations to be made, and I wanted to surprise ye.” Niall took her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “I thought ye’d like being wed here, where it all began with our handfasting.”
“Here? When?”
“Today, my love. In but a few moments more.”
“Och, Niall!” A lump formed in her throat.
“But first, I’ve a small wedding gift for ye.” He motioned for her to follow him to her father’s huge desk, then unrolled a large parchment scroll.
She frowned. “What’s this?”
“The grant deeding MacGregor lands to Clan Campbell. I wish to give them back as my wedding gift.”
Hot tears flooded Anne’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Thank ye,” she whispered.
Niall rerolled it, then handed it to the MacGregor for safekeeping. He once more offered her his arm. “It’s time for a wedding, m’lady.”
Anne smiled up at him, all the love in her heart shining in that single glance. “Aye, m’lord.”
With Alastair following, he led her from her father’s chambers and down the long, stone corridors to her clan’s Great Hall. They paused at the head of the stairs to gaze down on a room lavishly decorated with pine and heather, ribbons of crimson, green, and white interwoven among the branches. In the deepening twilight, hundreds of candles illuminated the huge chamber, casting a soft glow upon all the faces gazing up at them.
Iain was there, good friend and true, smiling his encouragement. Caitlin, Agnes, and Anne’s sisters stood around him, tears of joy in their eyes. And, in the mass of people, Anne saw Fiona and Donald with little Annie proudly cradled in her father’s arms. At that moment the babe gurgled loudly.
Niall chuckled. “That’s a bonny babe ye helped birth, lassie. May ours someday be as lively and healthy.”
A small, mischievous giggle escaped Anne.
Tawny brown eyes shifted back to her. “And, pray, what’s so amusing?”
She tossed her head. “Och, naught, m’lord, save that babes can be verra noisy and demanding. And, with parents such as we—a rumored witch and a wolf, no less—ye may well come to rue those braw words.”
“Well,” Niall remarked with feigned casualness, “the wolf part doesn’t overly concern me, and as for my wife being thought a witch . . . well, I’ve always said a spirited filly, if gentled well, is of greater value than some plodding nag.”
Anne scowled in mock outrage. “And there ye go again, Niall Campbell, comparing me to a horse!”
He threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. Then, to the accompaniment of the wailing bagpipes and arm in arm with the man she loved, Anne MacGregor, Child of the Mist, went down to her wedding.