The servant could barely contain her excitement. "At the foot of the mountains, in the little valley over the hill. Shall we go see them, miss?"
Grasping Megan's hand, Muriella drew her toward the stairs. "Oh, aye!" she said.
"But don't the seamstresses need ye here?"
Muriella smiled over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. "They'll manage without me." When the girls reached the bottom step, she paused. "I'd begun to think I'd go daft with those women always fluttering about. They remind me of my aunts; they never run out of things to say."
"But—"
"Don't worry. They've had me all morning, and ye know the Earl won't mind."
Megan had to admit that was true. Once he'd become convinced Muriella would not try to flee, the Earl had allowed her more freedom to do as she wished. Each day, following whatever fancy struck her, the two girls walked down by the loch or followed the path of the river or wandered in the garden. Once they had even shared a wild ride along the shore. Duncan and Adam Campbell, their swords at their sides, were never far behind on these daily expeditions outside the keep; at the Earl's suggestion, John had set them to watch over Muriella until the wedding.
As the girls went through the hall, Muriella saw Duncan rise, motioning to Adam across the room. Though she had become accustomed to their presence long since, at first she had wanted to hide from the curious eyes that followed her everywhere. But gradually she had realized the boys were no threat to her. They left her in peace as much as they could but were always nearby in case she should need them.
She forgot about the guards when she and Megan reached the top of a low hill that sheltered the valley from the west.
Muriella stopped to catch her breath, enchanted by what she saw.
The Gypsy camp spread below her, covering the floor of the valley in an uneven circle. The men were raising striped, multicolored tents, and the women were unpacking dilapidated wagons whose sides were painted with faint but still-discernible symbols in black, red, and gold. Many of the dark-haired women circled the fires dotting the landscape, and the air rang with laughter and the jingle of many bracelets. At the far end of the camp, where the river crossed the valley, a deep purple tent was already standing. From inside it, Muriella could hear the song of a harp. She smiled, shrugging away the weight of the endless morning.
Megan tugged at her mistress's elbow, and the two girls, Duncan, and Adam started down the gentle slope toward the camp. "Shall we sit by the fire and listen to the women?" Megan asked. "Mary says last time they came they told some wonderful, strange tales."
Muriella was hardly aware the servant had spoken. She was staring at the purple tent as if hypnotized. The notes of the distant harp had captured her, drawing her forward. "We must go," she said. Willingly, she let the music pull her from one end of the camp to the other.
Megan followed at her mistress's heels, intrigued. All at once, Muriella's eyes reminded her of the gray green loch on a day when no breeze stirred its gleaming surface. As they approached the tent, the flap covering the door was thrown back and a man stepped out into the light. In his hands he held an ancient clareschaw—the small Highland harp that minstrels had carried since music first rose from the wild Scottish hills.
Muriella stopped to stare at him, although she was not certain why. What was it that arrested her? His eyes, which were a strange shade of gray that flickered into green when the sunlight struck them? Or was it his thick, silver gray hair that curled down to his shoulders and blended with his full gray beard? His face was weather-beaten; deep lines ran from his nose to his mouth, cutting across his leathery, reddish brown skin. Clearly he was not a stranger to the sun.
While Muriella continued to stand mute, the Gypsy sat cross-legged on a cushion with his harp resting on his knees. When he had settled himself to his satisfaction, he looked up. "So," he said finally, "ye've come."
Megan gaped at him, charmed by his deep, melodic voice, which gave even those simple words a touch of magic.
His gaze locked with Muriella's, the Gypsy smiled and pointed to an embroidered pillow beside him. "I'm Alex," he said. "Will ye sit?"
Megan stood undecided for a moment, then backed away. The Gypsy's piercing gaze made her uneasy, as did the way he seemed to draw her mistress down to the pillow without a word or touch. The servant shifted from one foot to the other, feeling she did not belong. She looked over her shoulder and caught sight of Duncan hovering by the nearest campfire. With a last concerned look at her mistress, Megan went to join the squire.
Muriella sat on the soft cushion and found it much more comfortable than the hard chairs and benches at the castle. She did not look up at the Gypsy's face; like Megan, she had been disturbed by the power in his eyes. Instead she studied his clareschaw with interest. It was the music that had brought her here, after all, and she wanted to hear more. But Alex did not move to pick up the instrument. With a slight smile playing about his lips, he watched the girl and waited.
"Is there no’ something ye wish to ask me?" he suggested at last.
Muriella considered the question for a moment, then murmured, "Ye seemed to expect me. How did ye know I'd come?"
"I dreamed of ye last night. My dreams speak to me, and I've learned to listen well, for they never lie, as men do."
With a sharp intake of breath, Muriella leaned closer. "Ye have the Sight, then?"
"Aye, since I was a wee bairn." He pushed the hair back from his face as his eyes grew warm with memories. "I recall the very day it first came to me. I was standin' above a river, starin' into a pool of clear water, when I saw the face of a woman I didn't know. At first I thought she'd fallen in, but when I leaned to fetch her out, 'twas no one there at all."
"But ye met her afterwards, didn't ye?"
"That I did. 'Twas no' till many years later, but I knew her just the same." The Gypsy's thoughts were drifting away; he brought himself back to the present with an effort. "And what of ye? When did ye first know ye had the power?"
Muriella's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't remember. Besides, 'twasn't me who had the power. 'Twas the power had me." She stared down at her hands to hide her distress, but Alex seemed to sense what she was feeling. He reached out to cover her fingers with his.
"I know," he whispered. "Ye wonder sometimes if yer mind and body are yer own anymore, but 'tis the price ye pay for havin' the gift."
Muriella looked up at him. "How did ye know?"
"'Twasn't hard to guess. I could see it in yer face." He ran his fingertip lightly over the corner of her mouth. "Here, where yer confusion has changed the curve of yer smile. And here"— he traced the slight shadows under her eyes—"where fear has left its mark on many a sleepless night." He touched her cheeks gently. "Here, where the pain has settled in the wee hollows." At last he rested two fingers on her eyelids. "And most of all, here in yer eyes, where I see the knowledge that tears at yer heart." As he spoke, Muriella realized he too bore the signs of suffering from the weight of a burden sometimes too heavy to bear. Then he took her hand to place it against his cheek.
Without conscious thought, she followed on his face the path he had traced over her own. She touched the grooves and wrinkles and hollows of his leathery skin, and in that moment felt the strands of their pasts had been woven together because of the grief they'd shared.
"Ye see, lass, that ye aren't alone."
She drew away, bewildered by the lump in her throat. "Does it ever get any easier? Does the fear go away?"
"No," Alex told her sadly. "But in time, ye learn to make the best of a power ye can't fight." He regarded her for a moment in silence, then added, "Ye're to be married within the month, isn't that so?"
"Aye," she said. "The Earl of Argyll has given his son a gift—me."
The Gypsy sighed. "Ye're young, lass. Ye must come to accept the bonds ye can't break."
"I can't do it," she cried. "I'm afraid—" "Of what?" he asked gently.
Muriella shook her head. "I don't k
now."
His gaze clouded over and he turned away, listening to a sound she could not hear. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. "Ye'll learn things today that ye’ve no wish to know."
Muriella touched his hand and felt the trembling of his fingers and the chill that had settled on his skin. "Tell me—," she began, but he interrupted her.
"Ye've come here to forget, no' to remember. Listen to the sound of the river. 'Tis singin' today and won't stand for any sadness." He did not look at her, but picked up his harp and began to strum a tune she had never heard before. His fingers moved lithely over the strings, weaving a pattern of notes that echoed the soft rumbling sound of the river nearby. The leap and swirl of the water sang through the seasoned harp in Alex's hands. In spite of her unanswered questions, Muriella felt herself being drawn into the pleasing rhythm.
The tent blocked the river from her sight, but with his music, Alex re-created the jubilant bright cascade of water over stones. Her heartbeat answered the pulse of the song, the song
the pulse of the rushing river. She smiled slowly, with delight. "I'm thinkin' yer friends are wantin' to dance," Alex said, motioning toward Megan and Duncan and Adam.
The three had turned their backs on the fire and were swaying with the music. Only then did Muriella realize others were playing their harps and the pure sweet notes of a flute rose now and then above the melody. Suddenly, as if beckoned by a silent hand, the Gypsies began to drift away from their tasks toward the glowing bonfire. They paused just beyond the reach of the flames, eyes closed, while the music possessed them. Men and women alike raised their arms until palm met palm; then they began to turn slowly, drawing Megan and the others into the dance with them.
Just when Muriella felt she could not resist the lure of the music any longer, a woman knelt and reached for her hand. "Come," she crooned, "leave yer troubles for a time."
Muriella nodded, staring fascinated at the pendant that hung on a chain around the woman's neck—an intricate golden flame with a ruby at its center. The ruby flashed and glimmered when the Gypsy moved, so the flame itself seemed to flicker.
Alex followed Muriella's gaze. "Lovely, is it no’?" "'Tis beautiful."
"Come," the woman repeated. "Ye must answer the call of the music before it fades away."
With a last look at Alex, whose head was bent so she could not see his eyes, Muriella rose and moved toward the circle of laughing dancers.
~ * ~
Crouching low in the saddle, Andrew Calder watched and waited, his hand poised above the hilt of his sword. Through the pattern of leaves hiding him from view, he could see the blue and green Campbell plaid draped over the shoulders of the men coming toward him. Leaves and plaid shifted, blended, became indistinguishable, then separated once again as the five men on horseback rode ploddingly toward Calder's hiding place.
"Are ye ready?" he hissed to the men who waited with him. "We’d no’ want to miss our chance."
"Aye, we're ready, sir, but—"
Calder turned in irritation at the uncertainty in the man's voice. "Davie?" he rasped. "What's worrying ye now? We've twice as many men and they won't be expecting us."
David Fraser looked unconvinced. "Aye, but 'tis a lot of money, just the same. The Campbells won't soon forget this one, Andrew. Are ye sure ye want to risk it?"
With a snort, Calder looked away. "I intend to risk everything to get back what they stole from me. If ye're afraid of trying, ye can leave us now, Davie. But ye knew before we started what we meant to do." He leaned forward to get a better view of the approaching riders. They were Campbells all right, and their saddlebags were fat and heavy, just as his informant had promised. This little raid might just be worth the effort.
Of course, no matter how much gold was hidden in those bags, it could not compensate him for the loss of Cawdor. Calder glowered through the foliage, remembering that, like a fool, he had felt relief when his oldest brother died so young. It had not occurred to Andrew that as the second son, he would not inherit all his brother John had lost. He had been furious when he learned that Isabel Calder had borne a baby girl who became John Calder's heir.
"Look at those bags," one man whispered reverently. "There must be a fortune on the backs of those nags."
"Money for the big wedding, I'll wager," another sneered.
"They tell me the Earl can't spend enough on the girl. But then"—he elbowed Calder roughly—"he's thinkin' to get it back, no doubt, after the ceremony."
"There won't be a wedding if I have aught to do with it,"
Andrew snapped. "Mayhap this time Argyll will see I'm no’ boasting when I say so." His fingers closed on the cool metal of his broadsword. Andrew had been all for seeing the girl never lived to enjoy her inheritance, but William Calder had advised against it. He claimed the clan could not afford the full-scale war with the Roses the girl's murder would have caused. The old man had even hinted he had other ways of seeing that Cawdor remained in Calder hands.
He had been wrong. The Campbells had seen to that.
"If ye mean to stop the ceremony, why do ye wait?" Davie demanded. "Why haven't ye tried for the girl yet?"
"Because I may no’ have to. My father has plans of his own. And I must confess, 'twould amuse me no end to see John Campbell of Lorne married to a penniless bastard." In the meantime, he intended to get what he could from the Campbells. He knew it would be impossible to break the clan, but he could certainly make them uncomfortable while his own pockets grew fat with their wealth. Then, if his father's plan failed—
Andrew Calder was no fool. He knew what would happen if Muriella became a Campbell. He and his father and brothers would be left in poverty while their inheritance passed to the coffers of their greatest enemy—Archibald Campbell. Argyll was second only to the King in wealth and power, but King James was busy with his squabbles at court. Here in the Highlands, it was the Earl who ruled. Calder had sworn he would not let Argyll have his way this time. He had had no difficulty finding men willing to join him in this enterprise; his brothers fought for the sake of Cawdor, the others for their hatred and fear of the Earl. They were outlaws now, every last one of them, and desperate enough to do whatever Calder asked of them.
"'Tis time!" someone hissed. "Be sure yer aim is true!" Calder drew his sword, grinning in anticipation of the fight.
The riders would be easy prey, but that did not dim his pleasure.
"Now!" he cried as he kicked his horse into action. In an instant, the narrow path was crowded by the outlaws, who screamed their war cry as they hemmed in the five couriers. The Campbells were hardly able to pull up their horses before the attack, let alone draw their weapons. They gave up the gold, and four of their lives, without a fight.
As Davie started to finish off the last of them, Calder stayed his hand. "Leave him. We want the news back at Kilchurn as soon as can be. By the telling of this deed, I'll make certain that from today, the Campbells will never forget the name of Andrew Calder!"
Chapter 9
Colin sprawled across the uneven bench, clasping a servant girl with one hand and a tankard of ale with the other. The Earl and John sat nearby. All three looked expectantly toward the man who had just ridden in from Cawdor.
"Well, Richard, what have ye found?" The Earl demanded. Richard wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve before answering. "M'lord, the Calders have two witnesses who swear Isabel Calder lay with a man besides her husband."
"That doesn't prove the girl is illegitimate!" John exploded. "They also swear Isabel and her husband kept apart and that he never lay with her at all."
Rising from the bench, John began to pace behind his father's chair. It seemed he had done little but pace the floor in frustration since they had taken Muriella from Cawdor.
"Be calm, Johnnie," Argyll demanded. "The witnesses have been paid, that's all. We'll simply have to force them to admit it.
Tell me, Richard, do the officials believe these lies?" "Aye, m'lord. But they'v
e no more desire to see the
Campbells at Cawdor than the Calders do."
"Thank ye," the Earl murmured absently. "Ye can go." Sighing in relief, Richard shambled off to the kitchen to find himself something to drink.
For the first time, Argyll became aware of the girl who sat beside Colin. "Can't ye send her away? We'll no’ want the servants knowing our business."
His oldest son smiled, tightening his hold on the girl. "Jenny here won't speak a word, will ye, hinny? She's quiet, is this one, the way I like 'em."
"Forget the girl," John interrupted. "What are ye going to do about this?" He bent down to look into his father's face. "And what if the witnesses aren't being paid? What if they aren't lying?"
"If they aren't, they'll nevertheless swear they are. I'll see to it. But I tell ye, they're false witnesses. Had they been legitimate, William Calder would have brought them forward a long time since." He paused, considering his son thoughtfully. "I'll go to Cawdor myself tomorrow. They all know I speak for the King. They'll listen to me."
Colin chuckled. "They know ye speak for Argyll and they’ll no’ listen. Maclean didn't hear ye, and the Calders have far more to gain than he did." He pinched Jenny, sliding his hand along her arm. "But if ye should be successful, I'm sure Johnnie's bastard will be grateful."
John stopped his pacing, clenched his fists, and moved toward his brother.
"Johnnie," Argyll interjected, "the men are in the courtyard preparing for the hunt. Go with them. Don't worry about this. I'll see it comes out all right. We've gone to too much trouble to give up now."
John glared at Colin for a moment longer, then spun on his heel and stalked out of the hall.
The Earl turned to Colin. "As for ye, I suggest ye take yer woman and get out of my sight."
His son shrugged. "The boy's a fool. Too sensitive by far. He won't ever make a good fighter; he's all hot blood and no common sense."
"Get out!" Argyll bellowed.
Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses Page 73