Colin went, pulling Jenny along behind him.
~ * ~
Several hours later the hunters returned. They burst into the Great Hall, laughing and triumphant. Most of them were streaked with blood; John's saffron shirt was dyed brown to the elbows, and where he had pushed back his hair, the blood had stiffened the tangles into permanent disorder. One sleeve was torn clear to the shoulder and his knee protruded through his filthy trews. But he was smiling as he had not smiled for many days.
Stumbling with the weight, he lifted a deer carcass into the air and shouted, "A deer! In this season! We shall eat well tonight after all."
The other men slapped him on the back with hands and elbows, applauding his success. "Och, Johnnie!
Congratulations!"
With John in the lead, the hunters paraded through the hall to deposit their treasures in the kitchen. When they returned, ale had replaced the day's kill. Joking and shoving, they settled around the tables while John sat on a stool by the fire. He leaned his head against the rough stone and grinned to himself.
There was a brief commotion in the courtyard, then Megan, Muriella, and her two guards came into the hall. Like John, they were pleased with themselves. For once Muriella's eyes were unshadowed. She smiled as she and Megan whirled for a moment in each other's arms. Breathing heavily with the exertion, they swung themselves toward the fire.
"What's this?" John exclaimed as he set his tankard on the floor. "What's turned ye daft in a single afternoon?"
Muriella did not hear him; she was still under the influence of the Gypsy music. Entranced by the graceful movement of the flames in the fireplace, she watched them leap and twirl like golden dancers.
"Och, Sir John! 'Tis the Gypsies yonder in the valley!"
Megan panted. "They're wonderful, m'lord. They sing and dance and their clothes are so bright." Unable to contain her excitement, the servant pirouetted once more.
Her pleasure was contagious. Without a word, Richard rose, smiling, and took her hand. Megan curtsied, then gathered her skirts about her as he twirled her out and back and out again. Then Duncan took up the beat, tapping his foot to the memory of the Gypsy songs, and bowed low before Muriella. She grinned, swaying with the rhythm of the crackling fire, and touched his hands briefly with her palms. Soon they were spinning beside Megan and Richard, tripping over the rushes and kicking them aside. The couples met and parted, met and parted, while Adam and two others joined them, until all were moving in a dance without pattern or partners. They needed no harps to guide their feet; the only music they recognized was their own muted laughter and the enthusiastic stomping of feet that urged them on. Muriella smiled and dipped and spun and curtsied, aware of nothing but her delight in the movement of her own body.
John watched in astonishment, as if this were an apparition created by the too-bright glare of the afternoon sun. His gaze was fixed on Muriella, who seemed to have forgotten, for the moment, the demons that usually haunted her. Why, with color in her cheeks and a little life in her eyes, she's lovely, he thought. Before he could stop to consider, he left his stool and went to take her hand.
Unconscious of the condition he was in or the interested stares of the men, John circled with his betrothed. As they whirled faster and faster he felt a strange stirring inside him. He had never seen her smile before, never seen her face when it was not clouded with accusations or mistrust.
He realized with a start that he was actually enjoying the feel of her body in his arms, the whisper of her hair as it rose and fell with the dance. Although she was to be his wife, he had never thought of her as desirable. But he had never before seen in her the woman she would someday be. John drew her closer until he could smell the scent of her hair and feel the swish of her skirts against his legs.
He smiled and felt the blood running hotly through his veins as she swung toward him so her breasts brushed his chest. God, but she was torturing him without knowing; it had been too long since he'd had a woman, and Muriella was weaving a web of enchantment with her smiles. Overcome by the sudden strength of his need, John buried his hand in her hair and tilted her head up with the pressure of demanding fingers. Then he lowered his head and kissed her, hard and full on her parted lips.
Just for an instant, still lost in the dream, Muriella felt a flash of warmth race over her flushed skin. Then the heat of John's mouth on hers shook her awake, and she clung to him, stunned by the pleasure of his kiss—at least for an instant. Until his grip grew tight and every moment hotter, burning away the music and the magic and the rhythm that had held her in its grasp.
She took a step backward. As John's bearded face came into focus, she felt the ground had slipped from beneath her. Her crippled finger throbbed dully. She swayed, her hands clenched into painful fists, as the water rushed about her body and she was sucked into the center of the raging white foam. For an instant she believed the vision was real, that her skirts were sweeping furiously around her ankles and her head was sinking under the waves, but as her body grew still, the image faded. "No!" she gasped, wrenching free of John's arms.
Muriella stood trembling from the vision. It had overpowered her so completely that even now she felt her legs might buckle. Her heartbeat slowed, seemed to drag in her chest, and she had to struggle to catch her breath. Frozen with shock, she took in for the first time John's soiled and rent clothing and his face, on which blood and dirt vied for dominance. He was still reaching out, waiting for her to return to him, while the rush of the water pounded in her ears.
The Sight had not touched her for many days, and now it would not leave her; her fear was so strong she could smell it in the air like the clinging odor of bitter herbs. She was weak with shaking, and all around the men were watching, staring open- mouthed, not bothering to hide their curiosity. With a strength of will she had not known she possessed, Muriella forced the vision back into darkness, then took another step away from John.
The silence stretched between them—chill and implacable—while he tried to collect his wits. She had bewitched him for a moment, that's what she'd done. He had not even tried to stop her. Now he became aware that the other dancers had stopped and everyone in the hall was watching to see what he would do. "There's work aplenty," he called to the men. "Don't stand about gawking as if ye'd nothing better to do."
One by one they looked away. Finally John turned back to Muriella. "Ye'd best go to yer chambers and rest," he told her. "Ye don't want my father to find ye unpleasant company at dinner."
Although his voice was little more than a whisper, she heard the warning concealed there. "Aye," she breathed, but she did not know what she was saying. She only knew she had to be alone before the illness in her body betrayed her completely.
Chapter 10
Megan closed the chamber door and leaned upon it, her fingers wrapped tightly around the latch. Her gaze swept over the hangings that now covered the gray stone walls, the new curtains gracing the huge oak bed. Her mistress had chosen to remain in Elizabeth's room, though the Earl had tried to change her mind. "I want to be where I can see the loch," she had explained. "'Tis simple enough to move a tapestry or two and make it more comfortable." In the end, Argyll had relented and the two girls had cleaned the room from top to bottom, brought in fresh sheets and furs, and draped the walls with vivid color. But just now, in the hushed stillness, the chamber felt chill and unwelcoming.
Muriella was kneeling by the window, as she so often did, trying to lose herself in the ebb and flow of the distant loch. She was aware of little besides the roughness of the stone beneath her palms. When she heard Megan sigh, she turned.
The servant did not like the expression in her mistress's eyes. Not long ago the girls had been intimate friends, but now Muriella was far away. "What ails ye?" she asked in concern.
The other girl reached out as if groping for words, then whispered hoarsely, "I 'saw' something just now. 'Twas—" She broke off, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "'Twas my own death."
"Mayhap ye weren't seein' clearly. Have ye never had a vision that didn't come true?"
Muriella looked away. "Never," she said. "The Sight never lies. This will come to pass, just as the others have. I can no’ stop it and I can no’ change it. All I can do is wait. Tis the waiting that's the worst. Ye don't know when or where or why..." Her voice grew ragged as she spoke, until her words were indistinguishable.
Megan groaned. She could find no other words to speak. "Now that ye know, do ye see I can no’ marry John?"
The servant was so surprised by the change of subject it was a moment before she found her voice. "Ye can't? Why, miss?"
Without realizing what she was saying, Muriella breathed, "He touched me, and he wanted—more."
Megan heard the panic in those simple words and all at once thought she understood. She grasped this new problem eagerly; she did not want to think about the other. "Of course he did. He's to be yer husband." When she saw the blood had drained from Muriella's face, Megan went to stand beside her. "Didn't ye know about that? Ye're nearly fourteen. Didn't yer mother tell ye what a marriage means?"
"No." Muriella saw she had been blind and foolish; she had assumed that as her husband, the only things John would take from her were her fortune and her name. Now she realized she would lose more than that when she wed—much more. They called her a woman, but she was not yet ready for all that meant.
"But, miss, I don't understand. Ye told me ye were betrothed before."
Muriella stared down at her hands. "I never thought of Hugh that way. We grew up together, ye see. We were companions, friends, that's all."
"He didn't ever touch ye?"
Closing her eyes, Muriella tried to remember. "He held my hand sometimes, but 'twasn't the same. He never looked at me the way John did."
Megan put her hand on her mistress's shoulder. "Marriage would have changed that, ye ken."
"I suppose so, but I didn't realize—"
"'Tis time ye did then, with yer weddin' no more than a month away."
Muriella shook her head. Against her will, she felt again the pressure of John's body against hers, the heat of his lips and the momentary desire she had seen in his eyes. She was bewildered when she remembered the warmth that had touched her own skin. Dear God, some night he would reach out to her with his rough, careless hands—"He was filthy with blood," she gasped.
"I heard them say he's killed a deer. There'll be venison this night instead of mutton. Ye can't hunt without gettin' a mite dirty. Besides, I don't see why it matters."
"Don't ye?" Muriella murmured. She herself had seen it clearly. Only for an instant, it was true, but that had been enough. She felt she was no longer fighting for her freedom alone; she was fighting for her life. "I can't marry him!"
"The Campbells want ye. They'll have ye, miss." Megan turned to the carved oak clothes chest in an effort to escape the gleam of her mistress's eyes. "Ye should change before supper," she said as calmly as she could. "Yer gown is muddy."
The simple practicality of her request brought Muriella back to earth. Megan was right; there was nothing she could do. She had decided that the first day they brought her here. Numbly she undressed to slip into the gold kirtle and pale cream gown with fur-lined sleeves that Megan shook out for her. She stood unprotesting while the servant fixed her hair, twining gold ribbons among the long auburn braids. When she was ready, she followed Megan from the room. What other choice did she have?
As they reached the top of the stairs, the two girls stopped. They could hear giggling from the end of the hallway, but it ended abruptly when a low voice interrupted. Megan chewed her lip in indecision. Maybe what her mistress needed was a distraction from her own thoughts. After looking to Muriella for approval, she turned toward the sound of the voice.
Her mistress followed close behind. In Muriella's three months at Kilchurn she had discovered Megan was right: one could learn a great deal listening to servants' gossip.
"And they said..." The speaker, who Muriella recognized as Jenny, paused for effect, then continued, "they said her mother lay with another man. They swore it, and—"
After the first few words, Megan attempted to pull her mistress away, but Muriella refused to move.
"They swore her mother and father never lay together at all. The Calders'll get back her fortune if 'tis so. Then Colin laughed and called her a bastard, and Sir John said, 'What if 'tis true—?'"
Muriella whirled away into the darkness with Megan at her heels. She was not aware of the direction she took; she only knew she must escape from that voice. She was shocked, therefore, to find herself at the head of the stairs and to hear the Earl's voice calling up to her.
"There she is. Come down and join us, lass. The Gypsies are coming to sing for us, we have venison, and tomorrow I must go away. So tonight we must enjoy ourselves. Come, let's eat!"
As the stairs swayed under Muriella's feet, the flames from the torches leapt across the walls, throwing ghostly shadows over the room below. Laughter, mingled with the din of pewter on wood, assaulted her ears. John stood at the foot of the stairs, his face clean and his torn garments discarded for whole ones. In the alternating light and shadows, his face was that of a stranger.
The men glowered up at Muriella, their mouths open and their expressions hostile. Then the girl caught a glimpse of the Earl's face.
"What is it, lass? Are ye ill?"
The steps ceased their movement; the flames crept back into their sconces, leaving the men no more than men. John's face settled into its usual lines. When she felt Megan taking her arm from behind, Muriella forced her body into motion and started down the stairs.
~ * ~
Throughout dinner, the Earl did not allow her to leave his side. He put his arm across her shoulders and examined her face as she seated herself on the bench beside his ornately carved chair. Her skin was pale, he noticed, and her eyes seemed overlarge. "Are ye certain ye aren't ill? Would ye like another cushion to sit on?"
She shook her head, focusing her attention on the salted herring and venison heaped on her platter. She had no real appetite and only chewed absently on a bit of bread covered with sweet butter. She looked up once to find Colin watching her across the table. And Colin laughed and called her a bastard… He looked away when she continued to stare at him. She refused to let him see her weakness.
Concerned by her silence, the Earl offered her a tray of sweetmeats and dried figs. "Ye must eat something or ye'll be ill indeed, and we can't have that."
To please him, she took a fig and put it in her mouth, surprised to find she liked the sweetness on her tongue. Somehow she had thought every morsel would taste of dust tonight.
"Tell me, little one," Argyll murmured, choosing an iced cake and placing it in her hand, "did ye like the green velvet for yer gown?"
She looked up at him, remembering when they had brought the gift to her. She had sat gazing at it for a long time before she ran her fingers over the deep, soft fabric.
Green, like her eyes. The kind of velvet she had often wished for at Kilravok, but known she could never have. Argyll's thoughtfulness had brought tears to her eyes. She had realized, in that moment, that the Earl would give her anything she asked for—anything but her freedom. "'Twas a lovely gift," she told him. "I was surprised ye went to so much trouble.
Then the Gypsies began to file into the hall. She watched anxiously as the minstrels crossed to the fireplace. Alex was the last.
The Gypsy's gaze met hers at once. Ye'll learn things today that ye don't wish to know. He smiled and nodded and Muriella tightened her grip on the Earl's arm. Perhaps, she thought, the music would erase the memory and the word that now echoed inside her head: Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
As the minstrels played reed and harp and lute, the men began to stamp their feet
beneath the tables. Alex's voice rang out above the others, deep and sure.
Cauld winter is awa', my luve, And spring is in her prime,
The breath o' God stirs all to life, The grasshoppers to chime.
The buds canna contain themsel's
Upon the sproutin' tree,
But loudlie, loudlie sing o' luve, A theme which pleaseth me.
With their bellies full and their tankards thrice emptied, the men laughed and joined in the singing. Then one or two rose, grasping passing servant girls, and began to dance. The Earl turned to Muriella with a smile. "Ye should dance too, lass. 'Tis a celebration."
Muriella shook her head. "I'm a little weary."
"Surely not so weary that ye can't dance with the man who's to be yer husband?" Colin asked with mock chagrin.
Muriella wondered if he had heard about her earlier encounter with John; by the challenging gleam in Colin's eye, she guessed he had. But she would not play his game. "Perhaps tomorrow." She looked up to find John watching her. What was he thinking, she wondered, with his cool blue eyes and unsmiling mouth?
"Can't ye learn to enjoy yerself?" he asked. "Or don't ye dare?"
She opened her mouth but no words came. She used to enjoy herself with Hugh at Kilravok, before she began to carry her mother’s fear. But now—John was right; she felt as if she did not dare. How was it he knew so much when she herself had just recognized her trepidation?
John leaned close and spoke so quietly that only she could hear. “I saw how ye danced earlier, with abandon—I’d even call it joy. Ye forgot to hide behind yer anger and yer fear. Surely if ye can forget once, ye can forget again. Can ye no’?”
Moving her head to the right and the left just once, she hoped he would understand her silent ‘no.’ He was right again and the perception in his gaze made her shiver. She loved to dance, to get caught up in the music so the rhythm carried her outside her own small world to the infinite beauty of the world beyond and above. The same rhythm that came to her through the rush of the river and the whisper of waves on the shore of the loch. Before today she had forgotten that she loved those things, that they freed her spirit and allowed her to soar. And once she remembered, she had forgotten all the worries that had beset her since her arrival at Kilchurn.
Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses Page 74