Muriella’s soft smile surprised Megan. For some reason, it reminded her with sudden clarity of the look she had seen in her eyes the night before. What was it Sir John had said? Do ye think she knew? She couldn't have known. The servant shivered and, after a moment's hesitation, touched her mistress on the shoulder.
"Aye?"
Taking a deep breath, Megan said, "Last night, when ye sent me down to the Hall, Sir John said something that made me wonder—" She broke off to swallow dryly. "Ye have the Two Sights, don't ye?"
Muriella wanted to deny it—she had spent her whole life in an effort to do so—but she could not. "Aye," she murmured, "I'm afraid 'tis true."
"Afraid? But why? 'Tis a wondrous gift to know how to see the future. Ye must be blessed indeed." Megan wanted to reach out to touch Muriella again, as if she might absorb some of the magic, but she withdrew her hand when her mistress tensed and turned away.
"'Tis a curse, no’ a gift. I don't see joyful things, ye ken, only death and sorrow. And even though I know 'tis coming, I can't stop it." She took a deep breath. "It's never given me pleasure, only pain. Can ye understand that?"
Megan stood with her mouth open, hands buried in the pockets of her plain muslin gown. "No, miss, I can't."
With a sigh, Muriella rose, smoothing out the creases in her skirt. "Have ye ever been swimming in the sea?"
"Aye, as a bairn, but I don't see—"
"Didn't ye ever feel afraid while the waves crashed around ye?"
Megan considered; her eyes widened as a memory struck her. "Aye, one day the wind came up and the water rose so high I could no’ even see the shore. I was sore afraid then, I can tell ye."
Muriella nodded. "That's how 'tis when the Sight comes to me. 'Tis as if I'm out there in the sea and the water beats against me till I can't stand upright anymore. I can feel the waves pulling at my feet, swirling about my head, choking me, and I have to fight with all my strength to keep from going under. I can kick out and wave my arms, but I can't win, because the sea is stronger. It'll drown me someday, because I’ve no' the power to stop it."
"Have ye tried?" Megan asked.
"Aye, every day of my life. And till yesterday, I thought I'd learned to shut out the knowledge I didn't want. I’d no' had a vision in a long, long time."
When her voice trailed off, the servant touched her hand, unable to conceal her impatience. "What happened then?"
Muriella crushed the petals of a rose between her fingers without knowing she did so. "The Campbells came for me." There was such misery in her voice that Megan knew she could not question her further. But she did not really understand. "Aye, well, things are different for ye now."
With a sigh, Muriella inhaled the fragrance of the garden as if it had the power to heal her. When the smell of fear had dissipated, she asked, "Can ye take me nearer the water? I'd like to watch it move with the sun upon it."
Megan frowned and bit her lip. "We'd have to wind our way through this," she waved her hand to indicate the tangled greenery, "and I'd no' like the watchmen to see ye."
At Muriella's obvious disappointment, she sighed and took her mistress’s hand to draw her forward.
Muriella was not aware of the damp branches that scratched her skin; the water was calling, and she heard nothing else. When the two girls reached the wall surrounding the peninsula and keeping it apart from the loch, Muriella scrambled up the rough-hewn stones to perch on the uneven strip at the top.
She went very still as she gazed at Loch Awe, wandering away among the islands and the trees. The water reflected the sky and the hills of fir and pine on every side, as well as the image of her face. In the distance, she heard the slap of oars. She stared as a cloud covered the sun and the scene in the water disappeared.
Nearby, an old man rowed a small boat across the loch. In his wake, the water rolled away like swells of carved, living glass. For an instant, the sun crept from behind its mask, and was caught, reflected, in a perfect curve of water. The loch transformed the image, twirling the cloud like the long tresses of a woman's hair, and the sun became her radiant face.
Muriella strained to hear as a high sweet voice began to sing. She turned to Megan in surprise, but the servant was silent and immobile beside her. Muriella lifted her head, the voice swelled in the wisp of a breeze, then faded into silence.
The scene was hauntingly beautiful. She felt a constriction in her chest, a heightening of all her senses, as if the wild beauty of this place were too much for her sight alone to bear. Despite the sorrow within her, she could not help but respond to the exultant voice of the wind. She leaned out, wanting to capture the moment in her open palms, but when she drew her hands close, they were empty. Her heart dragged, her breath became painful, and an unnatural silence locked her in its grasp. "Listen!" she hissed. "They're coming."
"Who's comin'?"
Muriella looked right through the servant. "They're coming."
"Do ye mean the Calders? Och! We'd best get inside!" "No. 'Tisn't the Calders. Listen."
Megan tried to concentrate so she might understand. She twisted her fingers together, glancing twice toward the path that had brought them here, before she finally heard it. It was not the sound of an invading party. The tread of the horses was too plodding. In fact, the sound was melancholy and echoed the expression on Muriella's face. The servant took her mistress's arm beseechingly. "We must go inside, miss. We must!"
Without waiting for Megan, Muriella scrambled off the wall and started back from where they had come, feeling her way toward the castle gate. Megan followed reluctantly, her beating heart a hollow and persistent warning.
~ * ~
"I will go, and caution be damned!" John cried, glaring at his brother across the crowded library.
Colin rose from his chair and moved toward the fire. "Johnnie, I've told ye, it wouldn't be wise to go after the Calders now. Wait till the Earl gets back from the Isles. We can strike then if we want. But not now."
As he paced back and forth, John cursed under his breath. "I can't stay still. They've killed Uncle Rob and twenty-six others, and who knows what else they have planned for us?" His grief and exhaustion had combined with uneasy dreams of the slaughter, leaving him frantic with his own frustration.
"Haven't ye been responsible for enough death, little brother? Or do ye wish to see the entire clan ruined before the week is out?"
John fought down an angry reply, sickened by the nightmarish memory of David Campbell's ghastly tale and gaunt, gray face. He could not quite conquer the thought that it should have been he who sat there, broken and bleeding. He noticed with disgust that his brother appeared to be well rested. The events of the previous night obviously had not disturbed his sleep. "I might be able to make up for yesterday with a surprise attack on the Calders," he said.
"And who would ye take with ye? Tell me that. Would ye gather the men who have not slept for more than three hours and who rode all day and half the night? Or do ye intend to wait till Richard comes back, then drag his men out again? I'll tell ye, Johnnie, Kilchurn wouldn't be safe if ye did that. We've lost too many men as it is. Don't be a fool."
With an effort, John kept his fists at his sides. "Then what do ye intend to do?"
Aware of the suppressed fury in his brother's voice, Colin smiled to himself. "I intend to wait, as I told ye, till our father returns."
"What if the Calders strike again? Or the Roses? There's nothing to stop the Roses from riding south to attack us."
Colin pressed closer to the fire, stretching his hands toward the flames. "I think I'd best speak to the gurrl about that. Mayhap she'll know of their plans."
John smiled at Colin's simplicity. "She won't be eager to tell ye anything, even if she knows, which I doubt. Ye'd be wiser to leave her alone for a time."
“She’ll tell me,” Colin muttered, “whether she wishes to or no’.”
“More likely she’ll bury a dagger in yer chest, nor would I blame her.” John remembered her chilling
anger the night before, that he had felt in her gaze. It weakened him somehow, that memory, and his fury grew hotter, more volatile.
With a snort, Colin turned away. "Where would she be getting a dagger, do ye think? And how would she raise it if she had one, with her hands tied behind her back? I'm no' a fool like ye, Johnnie. I won't give her a chance to thwart me." Colin moved past his brother and started toward the door. "I'll speak with her now, and we'll see what she has to say."
John shifted uneasily. Did the girl deserve Colin's tactless questions? John shook his head. And yet—if she had once shown a moment of weakness, if she had wept or shivered or turned to him for comfort, he could have borne anything for her sake. But Muriella had made it clear she did not need him—not nearly as much as he needed her. For a moment he was tempted to let Colin barge into her chamber all-unsuspecting, but he decided against it. "Wait," he said, "there's something ye should know."
"What could ye possibly tell me that I wouldn't already know three times over, little brother?"
"I might tell ye," John spat, "that I gave Megan a dagger last night to cut the bandages with."
"Damn ye! Are ye determined to wipe out the Campbells in a single day? Why didn't ye simply give the girl a satchel of poison to kill us with and an escort back to Cawdor?"
For a flicker of an instant, John wondered if he'd done it on purpose—left her a weapon and the chance to slip away. He brushed the thought aside. It was madness, after all she'd cost them in less than a single day. John thought his brother might strike him, but Colin only glared furiously, then turned to leave the room. John followed at a distance. He had a feeling he'd better be nearby when his brother confronted the girl face-to-face.
"M'lord?"
John paused, squinting into the shadows where a man stood waiting, while Colin went on ahead. "Richard?"
"Aye." Richard Campbell moved forward into the dim light. His clothing was caked with earth and blood, his arms black to the elbow. "We were too late. They were already dead. All of them."
"I know. David made it back. He told us."
"I'm sorry, m'lord. There have no' been many like Rob Campbell."
John was silent for a moment, fighting off the blackness that took his sight and left him shaking. He clenched his fists until the pain brought him sharply awake. "No," he managed to choke out. "There was no’ even one like him."
Shaking his hair back from his face, Richard sighed wearily. "We buried most of them in the glen. Rob and his sons we brought back."
"Thank ye, Richard. Ye did what ye could. Ye must rest now. The others will see to the bodies."
"Aye, I sent most of the men off already. I swear Andrew was asleep in the saddle all the way back."
"Johnnie! Where the devil are ye?" Colin's bellow echoed through the halls long before he appeared. When he spotted his brother, he stopped still. His breathing was ragged, his jaw set in a dangerous line. "She's gone, do ye hear me? The gurrl is gone!"
~ * ~
Muriella and Megan rounded the corner, coming upon the front gate just as a shout rose in the courtyard.
"The girl must be found and soon! Every damned one of ye drop what ye're doing to look for her. And when ye find her, bring her to me." It was Colin's voice. Already Muriella recognized it.
"Miss." Megan put her hand on her mistress's shoulder.
"Won't ye come inside before Colin comes out?"
Muriella shook Megan's hand away as she peered at the narrow arm of land that reached inward across the loch to hold the castle bound to the shore. A string of horses wound away into the trees still touched with mist. Half the animals carried no riders, but the remaining saddles were filled with long awkward bundles wrapped in rough lengths of plaid.
One of those bundles was Rob Campbell; she was sure of it.
As she stood unmoving, the noise from the courtyard seemed to increase tenfold until it shattered the peace of the still morning. Feet clattered across the cobbles, men swore, and sword rattled in their sheaths.
"Miss, they're lookin' for ye, and mighty angry by the sound of it."
Still Muriella did not move, not even when the gate screamed up, setting free the men inside. They swarmed through the wild gardens, circling the castle and heading toward the shore, stopping only briefly to gape at the somber line of horses. Soon the landscape was dotted with the blue and green Campbell plaid. Muriella thought they would never turn to look at the spot where she stood just below the gate, but her thoughts were interrupted by Colin's triumphant cry. "Here she is, by God!" His face was flushed, his eyes ice blue. As he came toward her, he clenched and unclenched his fists threateningly.
Attempting to pull Muriella with her, Megan shrank away. Colin reached them before they had taken more than a few steps. Pushing Muriella aside for the moment, he twisted his hand in Megan's hair and dragged her forward. "What have ye done? Are ye such a blithering fool that ye can't see the danger out here? The Calders will come to take her away and no doubt kill her. Then all this"—he motioned toward the waiting horses—"will have been for naught."
As he drew back his hand to strike Megan, Muriella flung herself at him, knocking him off balance. "Ye won't!" she demanded. "Leave her be!"
Colin turned, startled by her attack. "I'll do as I please. Ye have naught to say about it. Don't forget I can beat ye too." He leaned forward menacingly. "And I intend to. But not just now." Nodding to a man behind him, he called, "Take her inside!"
"No! I won't go till Megan comes with me."
For a long moment, Colin glared at her while the pulse in his throat throbbed. The girl thought to defy him, but she would learn. He took a step forward.
"Ye won't hurt me," she declared, facing him squarely.
"And why, pray tell, won't I?"
"Because I am Cawdor. Ye know ye'll lose it if ye lose me. And if ye hurt Megan or me, I swear I'll find a way to go. Till Cawdor's safe, we’re safe."
Colin paused with his hands in midair. The girl was right, damn her. He was powerless for the moment. He could not take the chance she would carry out her threat. But his arms trembled and he longed to crush her between his palms.
Then John appeared at his brother's side. Taking Muriella's arm in one hand, he motioned Megan forward with the other. He wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Suddenly he was appalled by the violence, the rage that simmered always beneath Colin's arrogance. He did not want to be his brother's mirror. "Leave them, Colin. I'll see to them. Ye must take care of Uncle Rob and his sons."
"We must not let this pass, little brother," Colin hissed. "Do ye hear?"
"Don't worry. I'll talk to them." John spoke calmly, adamantly.
Colin, still too angry to breathe evenly, gasped, "Get them away, then. Out of my sight!"
Propelling the two girls before him, John leaned down to mutter in Muriella's ear, "Ye would be wise to leave Colin alone.
I wouldn't be surprised if he killed ye."
"Wouldn't ye? Does he care so little for Cawdor?"
John stopped, swinging her to face him. "I'm warning ye. Ye’d do well to listen."
His last words were lost beneath the deep, labored tolling of a bell. Muriella looked up, caught by the unexpected volume of sound, and just for a moment her eyes met John's. This must be the ringing of the soul bell for the men killed the night before: the mournful clang, clang, clang for each year a man had lived. Judging by the number of horses trailing away from the gate, the tolling would not cease for a long, long time. Muriella felt a strange tightness in her throat. Without thinking, she started toward the burdened animals, but John stopped her. "Ye'll go inside now. Ye've been enough trouble for one morning."
Looking up at him sadly, Muriella said, "I want to see Rob Campbell before they bury him. If I don't, he'll surely haunt me." John too had meant to see and touch his uncle before his burial, so the dead man would leave him in peace. But he intended to say his farewells later, in a more private place. "'Tis no' the time—"
"I need
to say good-bye now," Muriella interrupted. Her jaw was rigid, her gaze unwavering.
Her determination, as well as his own gnawing grief, silenced the objections that rose to his lips. John let her go without further protest. Muriella did not wait to see what he would do, but turned at once toward the horses. She went by instinct to the first animal and, with her hand on the muddy blanket, took a deep, steadying breath. Then she lifted the dark wool to look for the last time at Rob Campbell's gray, lifeless face. Without hesitation, she reached out to touch the sunken cheek, her eyes moist at the memory of the sound of his voice.
John stood where Muriella had left him, watching her in bewildered surprise. She was so clearly grieving; her expression was full of tenderness. She had known his uncle for only a few hours, yet she seemed to recognize what kind of man he had been. How was it she had come to understand so much in so little time?
He saw the blanket slide from her fingers, saw her turn back to where he waited. Before his common sense could stop him, he went to meet her. Grasping her arms, he looked down into her grief-darkened face and asked, "If I’d stayed with him last night, could I have stopped it?" He nodded toward the horses with their grim burdens.
Muriella blinked up at him in astonishment. She wanted to tell him yes. She wanted to tell him the blame was all his, but she could not lie. Besides, there was something in his face—a kind of desperation that had not been there the night before. "I don't know," she said at last.
John turned away for an instant, trying to hide his disappointment. "So be it," he murmured in a barely audible voice. "We'd best go in now."
As he led her toward the open gate, Muriella realized she had been wrong after all. John might not have said good-bye nor turned his head to see his uncle one last time before he left that glen, but he had looked back—and was looking back still.
Chapter 5
Archibald, Second Earl of Argyll, sat on his horse, watching with impatience as a string of cattle crossed the winding dirt road. A farmer ambled after the noisy beasts, hands buried in his flea-bitten fur pelt. He seemed unconcerned that the Earl—dressed, as befit his station, in velvet doublet and trews, a fine fur cloak and a plaid held in place by the well- known Campbell brooch—had been waiting for some time. The groom shifted uneasily in his saddle. He could feel Argyll's displeasure heavy and dark in the air.
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