Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  Keeping his hand on her shoulder, Rob nodded at his nephew. John hesitated, then came forward, but he paused as his gaze met the girl's. Green, then gray, then black, her eyes glistened in the firelight. Somehow they seemed to weaken his will; he found he could not look away. Her luminous, unsettling stare held him prisoner. He could feel the disquiet all around him and thought of the men who watched in silence, waiting for him to move. Abruptly, he came closer.

  When he took Muriella's hand, she wanted to pull away, but she would not let the men see her retreat, not even now, when she could barely stand. Instead, she allowed him to draw her nearer the warmth of the fire.

  "'Tis only her finger that's been hurt. The blood is from her finger," John announced. His voice was strong and deep, but even so, it could not quite break the spell Muriella had cast over the waiting men. They shifted uncomfortably, watching her with narrowed eyes. "Archie, will ye cauterize and bind this for her? I wouldn't know how myself and it looks none too good."

  Archie came forward reluctantly and knelt to examine the finger. "She's bled a great deal," he said. "She'll be needin' some rest before she rides again. I wouldn't be knowin' how well 'twill mend."

  Shaking his head, Archie began to work, bathing the half- finger in the warm water John brought, before taking a smoldering branch and holding it to the open wound to stop the bleeding. Muriella remembered the pain of leaving her mother, her confusion, and fear—and made no sound when the heat burnt her finger. That kind of pain was nothing compared to every other kind she had learned this day. She opened her eyes only after Archie had wrapped it with the wild grasses and herbs he carried in a leather pouch at his belt.

  As he covered the stump with a piece of clean cloth, Muriella looked up at him in gratitude. She did not wish to see what Lorna had done to her. When someone offered her a bowl, she took it without a word and stepped back out of the circle, seeking a tree or boulder to lean against. She felt her strength disintegrating and knew she had to be alone for a few moments. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she sank down beside a bent oak, cradling the bowl of food in her chilled hands.

  As she ate, she tried to shut out the sight of the men gathered around the campfire—these strangers who watched her warily and murmured in discontent beneath their breath. She felt completely isolated, utterly alone amidst the hostility all around her. In that instant, her longing for Lorna, her mother, and especially Hugh was so intense she ached with it. Fighting back tears, she chewed fiercely on a piece of dried venison.

  John had watched the girl slip away but did not try to stop her. He could see she was too weak to flee just now. Besides, her presence and the strange glow of her eyes reminded him too forcefully of the restless mood of his men. He shook his head in impatience when he realized he shared their feelings. There was something disturbing about the intensity of that girl's gaze.

  He looked up to find his uncle watching. Rob's forehead was furrowed in concern, and he glanced often toward the tree where Muriella sat. She's yer responsibility now, Rob's gray eyes seemed to say. John took a bite of his bread, chewing it with unnecessary vigor. Uncle Rob was right, but that did not mean his nephew had to like it.

  He resented Muriella, he admitted to himself, because without her his future held little. As a second son, he could look forward to next to nothing from his father's vast holdings.

  Everything would go to his older brother, Colin. But then King Jamie had given this girl to Argyll as a ward. Because of her, John would be wealthy and powerful; without her he would be impotent—no man at all—and that made him furious. He owed his entire future to a girl he didn't even want. And yet he had to have her. His only other choice was to take his brother's charity, and that would be even more galling.

  Abruptly, he tossed his bowl aside and made his way to Muriella where she crouched stiff and silent beneath the oak. He could not see her face but could hear her shallow breathing. He knelt beside her, his cloak brushing the damp grass at his feet.

  She did not look up. After a long silence that began to thunder in John's ears, he said, "I'm sorry it had to be this way. But there’s naught else we could do."

  Muriella raised her head. "Ye could have left me with my family, where I belong."

  Her voice vibrated with bitterness and John drew back a little, struggling to suppress his own anger. "'Twas no' safe," he said stiffly.

  "They all tell me that." She looked up at the blur of his face in the darkness. "And mayhap they're right. But the danger was mine to face, no’ yers. Besides, I know it wasn't really for my sake ye came."

  John blinked at her in astonishment. He had not expected this kind of response from the girl who had seemed so weak a few moments before.

  When he did not answer at once, Muriella plunged on.

  "But then I forgot, ye were in danger of losing Cawdor. And ye couldn't let that happen, could ye?" She was startled by her own bitterness, by how easily it became confused with sorrow.

  Without thinking, John took her hand roughly, as if the pressure of his fingers could make her understand. "We would have been foolish to risk a loss like that, don't ye agree?"

  Muriella felt his frustration in the careless touch of his hand when she met his eyes fully for the first time—blue eyes chilly as the night. She caught her breath and her hands grew clammy. She closed her eyes to shut out the image forming in her mind, but in the darkness behind her lids a torrent of water rose, swirling furiously about her waist. She tried to fight against the white, rushing foam, but it was sucking her under; she could not breathe. Muriella opened her eyes, gasping, and turned away as the image disintegrated and the roar of the water stopped pounding in her ears. She was not even aware that John had risen and returned to the circle of firelight.

  In the unnerving stillness he left behind, Muriella tried to fight off the chill that crept over her quaking body. It was not a true vision, she told herself, but only a waking nightmare caused by her weariness. Still she could not quite make herself believe it. She was not usually so timid. Hugh had taught her to defend herself with dirk and bow, and though she had never come close to his prowess, she was fairly accomplished “for a girl,” he’d told her more than once.

  Despite the Roses’s panic, she had left Cawdor Castle without a weapon. In her yearning to reach the river, she had forgotten the most basic things her betrothed had taught her.

  And now she was defenseless. She, as much as anyone, had let this happen. She wanted desperately to get away, to find her way back to Kilravok, to her mother and Hugh.

  Her heart beat faster at the thought. Bunching her damp skirts in her hands, she rose carefully to her knees. She did not dare stand or they would certainly see her. Her mouth dry, Muriella held her breath as she stood awkwardly, trying not to make a sound. Before she took a step, however, her head began to spin and her body to sway. She gasped and grasped the tree in both hands, resting her forehead against the rough bark. She was too weak, she realized, and the pain in her hand too intense. Even if she could get away without the Campbells' knowledge, she could not crawl all the way to Kilravok. She was trapped, just as Rob had said.

  A weight like lead settled in her chest as she sank back against the support the tree offered. Her gaze was drawn reluctantly to John. She watched, unable to look away, as he paced the glen in agitation, unable to stay still even for a moment.

  Then Rob began to sing softly.

  She hadna ridden a league, a league,

  Ne'er a league but one,

  When she was 'ware o' a tall young mon

  Riding slowly o'er the plain.

  One by one, the other men joined in. Even John paused, listening.

  But nothing did the tall knight say, And nothing did he blin,

  Still slowly rode he on befar, And fast she rode behind.

  At last the voices seemed to draw John in, and he crouched beside his men to take up the verse.

  "This river is verra deep," he said, "As it is wondrous dun;

  Bu
t 'tis sich as a saikless maid,

  And a leal true knight can swim."

  As the mournful tune, the quiet drone of the voices, crept into Muriella's heart, she shivered, closing her eyes to the dark circle of heads burnished golden by the firelight. Still the voices crooned their song, weaving about her an invisible web of melancholy.

  "But ride on, ride on, proud Margaret

  Till the water cooms o'er yer bree:

  For the bride maun ride deep and deeper yet

  Who rides this ford wi' me."

  The last note quavered, then faded away. In the lingering silence, the girl heard the gurgle of a nearby burn, which slowly began to soothe her until her exhaustion overcame her and she slept.

  ~ * ~

  Muriella awoke and sat up, listening. It was still deep night and she was thankful for the wolf pelts someone had tucked around her. Aside from the snoring of the men who crowded the tiny glen, the night was silent. Yet something had awakened her. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and wondered what it could be. She recognized the soft rumble of the burn nearby, but knew it was not that which had shaken her from her sleep. Then she heard it—the thrumming of hooves in the darkness.

  She dug her fingers into the earth and tried to feel relief. These men were coming to take her home. Home? That meant Cawdor, she reminded herself, and Cawdor was not where she wished to be. She wanted to be back at Kilravok where she and Hugh had played as children, where she had been happy. Before she'd begun to recognize the brutal world that existed beyond the soft, curving hills of her home.

  She sensed movement nearby, and her breath escaped in a rush when she heard the warning shout reverberate through the trees.

  "Ware! Arms!"

  Shadows leapt into men all around her. John Campbell appeared from beneath a fur on one side, his uncle from the other. Both struggled to shake away the webs of sleep.

  "Take the lass and go," Rob commanded at last. "My sons and I will hold them off till ye get clear away."

  John looked down at Muriella. "No," he said. "I'll stay to face the Calders with ye."

  "Get ye gone!" his uncle said gruffly. "I know ye can't bear the thought of missing a chance to cut down a few more men, but ye'll have to swallow yer disappointment this time. The girl is more important than a single sword against this enemy. 'Tis her safety ye must think of, Johnnie. And once ye're back at Kilchurn, take care of the girl. She's a canny lass, is that one."

  John looked unconvinced, but at the adamant expression on Rob's face, he nodded reluctantly. Leaning forward, he grasped his uncle's hand. "Take care." Then he turned and called for his horse. Kicking the pelts from around Muriella, he pulled her to her feet. The unexpected motion broke the spell that had held her in its grasp. With little effort, she shook her hand free.

  Her head was spinning at the confusion of sounds that assaulted her ears—the clanging of swords, the muttered oaths, and the terrible cries of death that shattered the darkness. But no, that was not yet. Later it would come; just now she heard only the labored beating of her own heart. She turned toward Rob and reached out blindly. "I won't go unless ye come too."

  He smiled while adjusting the sword at his hip. "There now, lassie, ye've no cause to worry for me. I'm a clever old man, am I, and no' afraid of any Roses or Calders, ye can bet."

  In Muriella's inner sight, his body turned and turned again in the stiff white folds of a winding sheet, and she knew his faith was foolish. He would die, and soon. The sounds in her head spun faster and faster. She covered her ears with her hands, but the screams only grew louder. She fought to stop the spinning, to gain control of her body, but she was powerless.

  She felt John pulling on her hand and resisted. Perhaps if she stayed, if she refused to leave Rob's side, she could change the future and banish this feeling of helplessness. Why had the vision come to her if not as a warning? "I won't go!" she cried. "He was kind to me."

  "Come, we've no' much time." John insisted. "Ye can see him at Kilchurn."

  "No!" she repeated in desperation. "If ye leave him now, ye’ll never see him alive again!"

  Shaking his head with exasperation, John lifted her off the ground to place her, protesting, on his waiting horse. He leapt up behind her, then, without a backward glance, he and a few of his men left the clearing.

  Muriella fought the dizziness that overwhelmed her at the sudden motion of the war-trained animal. The horses were fleeing from the dim light of the fire and she yearned toward it.

  Once again, fear touched her as they rode into the starless night. Hearing the tumult begin in the glen they had left behind, she sat motionless in the saddle. Rob would certainly die, and the others, perhaps all of them—because of her. No matter what they had done to her, that knowledge was a weight too heavy to bear.

  Oblivious of the girl who sat silently in their midst, the men rode hard mile after mile. The rocking of the horse was like a drug to Muriella, lulling her body into painful weariness, but John seemed unaffected. He held her tightly and did not relax his grip. She perched in discomfort for a long time before she heard a cry from up ahead.

  "Loch Awe, Sir John. We're nearly home now!"

  Muriella felt John heave a sigh of relief, then lean forward eagerly. As they paused at the top of a ridge, she realized why.

  The loch spread below them, wide, rippled and dark, while the moon swept a silver path across its heart. Along the bank, the trees shimmered with leaves that appeared silver white in the moonlight, making the shadows beyond seem even darker. The scene was beautiful in a ghostly way—so beautiful that it made her ache.

  The other horses had clattered down the hill and were beginning to pick their way toward the shallow water where they could cross with ease. The men, excited by the prospect of reaching home, urged their animals forward incautiously. Just as John's horse stepped into the water, the animal in front stumbled, dumping his rider into the icy loch. The path of the moonlight seemed to break into fragments that glimmered for a moment in the darkness, then disappeared.

  Muriella had seen it before. She stiffened as the water splashed over her ankles and John leaned forward in irritation. "Are ye daft, man? 'Tis black night out and the horses can't see their way. Ye know how dangerous are the caverns and currents beneath the surface. If ye slipped into the water, we might never find ye again. Besides, ye might have broken yer neck!"

  Shaking himself, the man lunged for the horse's bridle. As he got the animal under control, he laughed, calling over his shoulder, "Aye, I might have done it at that. Mayhap I'll tell my Flora she nearly lost me. That would warm her up, sure enough."

  John was silent, but the other men chuckled. Their journey was finally over.

  Muriella could just discern the outline of a range of mountains to the east and north. They looked huge in the darkness, and their presence sent a shiver down her back. When John tightened his arm around her waist, she saw they were circling toward a castle that loomed before them.

  It stood on an outcropping of land that appeared, for an instant, to be surrounded by the waters of the loch. Then John guided his horse into a narrow channel of stone, invisible until horses and riders were upon it.

  Suddenly, the castle was there, its walls rising steeply into the night. Some of the tension left John's body. "'Tis Kilchurn," he whispered. "We're home."

  To Muriella it looked dark and gloomy—a cold prison. The chill reached out to enfold her. "Yer home," she said, "not mine.

  Ye've taken that away from me and well ye know it."

  She felt him stiffen as if she had struck him. He removed his arm from around her waist, slapping his horse's side as he did so. She could feel his anger in the labored rise and fall of his breath, but he did not answer. There was nothing he could say.

  They moved in silence over the drawbridge and into the still courtyard.

  Chapter 3

  The men who sprawled on piles of hay at the edges of the courtyard heard a shout that woke them from their sleep. Then the gate
began to rise, squealing and scraping as it hit the stone walls. The men shook their heads to clear the drowsiness away and stumbled through the darkness, groping for torches. As the clatter of hooves on cobbles filled the enclosure, each man lit his torch and, holding it high over his head, moved to take the reins that were tossed in all directions from the necks of panting horses.

  In contrast to the men who had just awakened, who moved numbly about their tasks, the ones who rode under the gate laughed and called noisy salutations. Except for John. As he slid from his horse, peering through the melee of foaming, stamping animals and exhausted men, he remained grimly silent. The first person he recognized in the fitful light of the torches was Duncan, his squire.

  "M'lord?" The young man glanced at the girl still huddled on the horse's back. "Is that her?"

  John waved the question away. Turning his back on Duncan's curiosity, the older man continued searching for a particular face. "Is Richard Campbell here?"

  "Aye. He couldn't sleep, he said. Thought ye might need him, though I couldn't see why ye should."

  Duncan realized his cousin was not listening. The young squire noticed for the first time that John's shoulders sagged and his face was haggard. "M'lord—" "Richard!" John shouted.

  Responding to the cry, a tall man with dark red hair shoved a sleepy groom aside. He was followed by a younger version of himself, except the hair was brighter and the face covered with freckles.

  "Was there trouble?" Richard asked. "I told Andrew here 'twouldn't go well, but he only laughed."

  "Aye, well I'm glad to see ye're awake.'" John grasped Richard's hand in relief. "I need ye to go back. Uncle Rob is still there with most of the men. I wouldn't even know how many of the enemy there were. But I want ye to take as many men as ye can gather. Donald will tell ye where."