When the servant sniffed the air, biting her lip in concentration, Muriella smiled. Thank God for Megan, she thought. Once when John had come to check on the girls, he had told the servant she need not stay in the chamber constantly, but she had chosen to do so just the same. The two girls had divided their time between watching the changes beyond their window and working on a new set of clothes for Muriella.
"My mistress can't keep wearin' Elizabeth's ill-fittin' gowns," Megan had declared that first day before John could leave and lock the door behind him. "And if we're to be here with nothin' to do, we could start a gown or two and some kirtles, couldn't we?"
John had stared at her in surprise. Megan had never been one to speak out so boldly before. But he had to admit she was right. Within the hour, Mary and Jenny had brought linen and wool, needles and fine thread.
"Thank ye for thinking of such things," Muriella had told her. "And thank ye for staying by me. 'Twould be lonely indeed without ye."
"'Tis only right, miss," Megan had explained matter-of-factly before turning to sort through the fabrics spread over the bed. Muriella had joined her, grateful for the work; it kept her mind busy and did not allow her to dwell on the dull ache that never seemed to leave her. She felt as if she were suspended in time—waiting—though she did not know what she was waiting for.
Megan rose to pick up the simple gray wool gown she had been laboring over so carefully. "Have I done it right this time?" she asked, holding the seam out for inspection. She had never been at her best with needle and thread, but she had learned quickly that Muriella sewed a fine, strong seam.
"Aye, 'tis much better," her mistress observed, running a finger over the tiny stitches. "Even my mother would say so."
Smiling with pleasure, Megan drew her stool closer to the window and settled down to her task once more. "Did yer mother teach ye to sew?" she asked.
Muriella nodded. "Aye, and to weave. 'Twas the only time I spent with her, really, when we sat together in the solar." The thought saddened her. She wondered if she would ever see Isabel Calder or Hugh or Lorna again. "She loved to make tapestries, ye see, and it seemed to me she never left the loom. I could no’ sit still for so long."
"Aye," Megan interjected, "I know just how ye felt. Sometimes I think my back won't ever be straight again."
"Do ye know what my mother told me when I said the same? She said she was doing the work of the fairies, weaving the patterns they'd put in her fingers with their magic. She used to sing a song that matched the rhythm of the loom as she worked the shuttle back and forth. She hypnotized me with her sweet voice, I think, till I came to love the weaving as much as she did."
Megan looked up eagerly. "Can ye sing it now?"
Muriella shook her head. "I don't remember the words. She made them up as she went along. 'Twas part of the magic."
The servant sighed in disappointment, and Muriella turned her attention back to the half-finished linen kirtle in her lap. Thus the two girls had sat for many hours in the past week, while Megan kept boredom at bay with her lively chatter. Day by day, she told her mistress all she knew of the inhabitants of Kilchurn Castle.
That was how Muriella had learned of Colin's wife, Janet, who had never set foot here, but stayed in Castle Glamis—Castle Gloom, as Megan called it—outside Edinburgh. "And wise she is, if ye ask me. 'Tis best to stay as far away from Sir Colin as ye can." Then there was the servant Jenny, who fancied herself in love with Colin and followed him about "like a wee, lonely pup." But according to Megan, Colin did not seem to mind.
Muriella had learned too about Elizabeth and her unhappy marriage to Lachlan Maclean. "She didn't go willingly, I'll tell ye that. But 'twas nothin' she could do to change her father's mind. They say she wept and refused to eat till they feared she'd starve herself to a shadow. Still, in the end, it didn't matter. The
Laird had his way and that was that."
It sounded so simple, Muriella thought. A whole life disposed of with a few brisk words. The same, no doubt, that would seal her own fate.
"The Earl's home, I hear," Megan said now. "They say he’s no’ in a pleasant frame of mind. But ye'll be seein' that for yerself soon enough. I expect he'll be sendin' for ye."
Muriella considered the information in silence. She felt Megan was warning her, but before she could ask a question, there was a brief knock, then the door flew open and John entered the chamber.
Glancing up at his noisy entrance, Muriella caught her breath. For some reason, no matter how many times she saw him, a glimpse of his face was a shock to her. It was almost as if, so long as he was out of her sight, she could believe he was no more than a name that had no substance. But once he stood before her, she felt his presence like a gust of air that knocked the breath from her body. He stopped still in the middle of the room, staring.
My God, John thought as he caught sight of the slender girl framed by the light from the window. She looked so slight, ethereal, as if she might blow away at a sudden draft. The sunlight touched her hair and body, emphasizing her fragility and the pale translucence of her skin. She had lost weight during her week of confinement. At the moment, she did not look like an heiress to a large and important fortune. She looked, instead, like a lost child.
John smothered a flicker of pity when he remembered this child, who was not yet a woman, held his future in her hands. He felt again the resentment that she should have such power over him. "The Earl has called for ye," he said with unusual harshness. "'Tis no' wise to keep him waiting."
Dropping her linen on the stool at her feet, Muriella rose. "Shouldn't ye take the time to bind and gag me? Aren't ye afraid I'll run?"
John took a step forward, his blue eyes glinting a sharp warning. "Is that what ye intend? Do ye mean to see how far ye can push us before we find it necessary to break ye?"
With an effort, Muriella kept her face expressionless. "I don't—"
"Because we'll do it, I promise ye that. Colin is no’ the only one here with a temper, and don't ye forget it. Now come. My father's waiting."
Although she wanted to send him away, to stay where she was until the Earl was forced to come to her, Muriella knew that would be a mistake. She saw with annoyance John had not even waited to see if she would come; he had already left the room. Biting her lip to quell her anger, Muriella followed him into the hall. Confident she was behind him, he was leading her beyond the stairway to a part of the castle she had never seen.
The passageway they entered, hung with tapestries and carpeted with fine Persian rugs, was very different from the bleak rooms and endless gloomy corridors she had already passed through. But even here nothing could eradicate the chill that had settled permanently inside the thick stone walls. She noticed John's leather boots were lined with fur and he'd tossed a wolf pelt over his long saffron shirt to keep out the cold.
Muriella was suddenly aware of how inadequate her own light wool gown was. Strange, she mused, that these halls should be so damp and uncomfortable when outside the sun was bright. Even the Campbell's wealth could not bring that warmth inside where it was needed.
As she shivered at a sudden draft, she saw a tapestry rippling in the gust of air. The vivid hanging depicted a battle scene in intricate detail. She stopped to examine it more closely.
Though she wanted to shut out the sight of the blood and clashing swords, she could not help but marvel at the fine work. Fascinated, she ran her fingers over the fabric, admiring the tight weave.
"I told ye, my father doesn't like to wait," John said impatiently from out of the gloom.
Muriella fought back an angry response and turned away from the hanging. When John disappeared into a strange room, she followed him slowly across the threshold. Several oil lamps and a roaring fire that seemed to welcome her lighted the chamber. She shook her head in disbelief, noticing with growing surprise the patterned blue Persian rug and the carved bookshelves along the walls. So this was the library. Muriella had always loved that room at Kilravok, but it
had been small and cold compared to this magnificent chamber.
She forgot the Earl as she glided toward a bookcase and ran her fingers reverently across the leather binding of the nearest manuscript. There were many like it; the browns and tans of the tooled leather books broke up the monotony of gray stone walls that curved up to the vaulted ceiling.
"Can ye read, lass?"
She turned toward the Earl, who sat behind a large oak desk cluttered with parchment and open books. Odd, she thought, but he did not look at all formidable. In fact, more than anything, he looked tired. The light in the room was soft; in the yellow glow of the lamps, the girl could see the resemblance to Rob. The same patchwork of tiny lines crossed the same nose and cheeks, but the eyes were harder blue and the lines of his mouth were sharper. Still, this man was not an ogre as she had made herself believe. Yet he was the one who had given the orders that changed her life.
"I asked ye if ye know how to read." His voice was curiously gentle.
"Aye. My mother taught me. At Kilravok, the library was my favorite room."
The Earl smiled to himself. He had been wary about meeting the girl because of the stories the men were circulating. Having seen her, he wanted to laugh at their simplicity. Muriella seemed normal enough. Her red hair was neatly braided and her green eyes sparkled just like any other girl's. "Tell me," he said, "would ye like to read here in the afternoons? As ye can see, there's much ye could look at."
The pleasure drained out of Muriella's face. "I can't. They don't allow me to leave my room." The Earl frowned as he remembered Colin’s account of her first morning at Kilchurn. "Aye, they told me. But 'twas yer own fault, I hear. Ye should no’ have tried to run away."
Out of the corner of her eye, Muriella could see John nodding in agreement. For a moment resentment choked her. "I didn't think 'twould hurt to see the garden. I wanted air, that's all."
Argyll regarded her doubtfully. "Didn't ye wish to flee from us then? I rather thought it might have entered yer head a time or two. From what Johnnie tells me, ye weren't too pleased when they took ye from Cawdor."
Muriella felt his cool appraisal, the expectant stillness on his weathered face, and guessed he was testing her somehow. She decided to tell the truth. "No, I wasn't pleased. I would have left here at once if there'd been a way. But ye see, I recognized even then that there was nothing—no one—to run to. Surely ye know that."
With a hint of a warning in his voice, the Earl said, "I know it well, lass, and 'tis glad I am to see ye do too. 'Twill no doubt save a lot of foolishness in the future." He paused to let the message sink in, then, satisfied he had made his point, added in a kinder tone, "But so long as ye understand, there's nothing to keep ye from roaming the keep and grounds as ye like." He looked up at John, who stood back in the shadows. "What room have ye given her?"
"Elizabeth's."
Argyll tensed at the mention of his daughter's name. Elizabeth's, was it? He would alter that soon enough. "That room was stripped when she married. There's no' a rug on the floor nor hangings on the walls. Have her moved to yer mother's chamber." Turning to Muriella, he explained, "Ye'll find it a mite more comfortable there. I see they haven’t been treating ye well. But we'll remedy that, ye can be sure. Come here, lass, and show me yer skill at reading. There hasn't been a young voice here in a long time." Not since Elizabeth left, he added silently.
Surprised at the change in his tone, Muriella went to stand beside him, reaching for the book he held out to her. She was aware of John's gaze, but did not look up, though she felt his eyes upon her like a heavy hand on her shoulder. The sensation disturbed her and she struggled to keep her voice steady as she read from the yellowed page.
The bird, the beast, the fish eke in the sea,
They live in freedom, every one in his kind,
And I, a man, and lacketh liberty!
What shall I say, what reasons may I find
That fortune should do so?
Muriella lowered the manuscript to look at John. Her eyes blazed and he read the accusation there. He clenched his fists. Must she always be looking at him with her mistrust so clear on her face? After all, he had only done what was best for her. He had saved her from a Calder sword. What was it she had said to him? The danger was mine to face, not yers. But that was foolish. Surely she did not mean she would have stayed at Cawdor to die?
Oblivious of the looks passing between the two young people, the Earl pushed the manuscript away. "Ye have a lovely voice, lass. Do ye have the Gaelic?"
Muriella shook her head. "I have a little Latin, but no one ever taught me the Gaelic."
"Well then, ye must come here often and begin to learn it.
'Tis yer heritage, ye know. Mayhap I'll even teach ye myself. And lass"—he took her by the shoulders, drawing her toward him—"ye must remember that we brought ye here to keep ye safe, but ye shall no’ be our prisoner." He turned back to his son to add, "See that she has two men to watch her always. We don't want to tempt fate, after all. We've only just found her. 'Twould be a shame if we lost her again so soon."
Was he trying to frighten her? Muriella wondered. Or was this just another warning? She felt the determination in his grip on her shoulders, yet there was tenderness in his eyes.
Concentrating on those eyes, she saw pain there too; he was suffering and did not wish to show it.
At her intent perusal, the Earl thought suddenly, vividly of Rob's loss and felt an aching emptiness in his stomach. For the second time, his eyes began to burn, and for the second time, he fought back the bleakness that swept over him. Along with his brother, all that was good in the Earl had gone. Rob had been his other side—the gentleness, the undisguised affection, the unswerving loyalty to all he loved, the simple human understanding. The hole where Rob Campbell had once stood was dark and cold now—empty.
Argyll was so shaken by the image that his vision blurred. He was surrounded by men, yet completely, inescapably alone, as he had always known one day he would be. Only Muriella's tentative smile and the compassion in her eyes penetrated the fog around him. He focused on her face until the blackness turned to gray.
"Ye must take care," he said at last, with difficulty. "Do ye understand?"
"Aye," she told him softly.
Argyll nodded, pleased, and before he realized what he was doing, reached out to touch her hair with his fingertips. He sighed and just stopped himself from calling her Elizabeth.
"There's trouble!" Colin exclaimed from the doorway. Argyll let his hand fall to his lap. "What is it?" he asked wearily. He had had enough trouble for one day.
His son nodded toward Muriella. "Send the girl away." With a wave of his hand, the Earl murmured, "Ye must go now. We've business to discuss."
For a moment, Muriella had thought he would tell her of his grief, but she saw now how foolish she had been. At the sound of Colin's voice, Argyll turned toward his son as if Muriella ceased to exist in that moment. Without a word, she did as he bid her and left the room. Colin glanced after her, waiting until she was lost in the shadows before pulling the heavy door closed.
"Well?" Argyll demanded.
"A messenger just rode in from Nairnshire with news that William Calder and his three sons have filed two legal petitions with the Precentor of Ross. The first claims that inheritance can't be passed through the female line."
"'Tis easy enough to disprove," the Earl interrupted. Colin shrugged. "The second"—he paused, glancing at John—"the second claims they have evidence proving the girl illegitimate."
"What?" The Earl stood abruptly and brought his fist crashing down on the desktop. "What evidence?"
Smiling with satisfaction at his father's reaction, Colin pulled a chair forward and settled himself on the brocade seat. "The Precentor appears to be in league with the Calders. He won't say what the evidence is."
“Have ye given me a bastard to marry then?" John demanded.
"Quiet, boy! 'Tis some trick they've thought up among them to stop us fr
om getting the girl's fortune. I must think what to do. And I'll need yer help, not yer anger!"
"Mayhap 'tis no' a trick. Mayhap she is a bastard." Colin's lips twisted slightly upward; the idea seemed to please him.
"Then why have they waited till now to show their evidence? They could've done it long ago."
"Mayhap," Colin said skeptically.
"I don't understand," John muttered. "William Calder chose to step down in favor of his son. Why is he fighting to keep Cawdor now?"
"He didn't know his son would die in less than four years, and the only child would be a girl. He's regretting his haste, no doubt."
"Then why hasn't he done something before this?"
The Earl leaned back in his chair. "I believe he thought he'd get Cawdor back somehow, so long as the girl was nearby. But he doesn't want to let it fall into Campbell hands. He knows we're too strong for him. He's afraid, that's all, and desperate as well."
John paced the room, brow furrowed.
"Johnnie, do ye really believe I'm so careless? Muriella is the legitimate heiress. I know her history. Don't worry, we'll fight them through the courts."
John swung to face his father. "Why don't we just kill Calder and his three sons? Ye said they're afraid of us. We are stronger. Why must we wait?"
Argyll peered at his older son, who sprawled in his chair, smirking. "Leave us, Colin."
"But—"
"Leave us."
Even Colin dared not question the quiet authority in his father's command. He rose, pushed his chair away, and strode out, slamming the heavy door behind him.
"Sit down, Johnnie. There's a thing or two ye must learn." Unwillingly, John took Colin's chair.
"Ye need to know, boy—" "I'm no' a boy."
"As ye wish, so long as ye listen. There are ways to get what ye want without killing, Johnnie. There's always a bargain of some kind ye can make."
His son glared down at his hands. He knew all about his father's bargains. "Ye mean like the one ye made with Donald Dubh before ye set him free to start a revolt?" He could not hide his distaste at the memory.
Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses Page 71