Until John made her remember.
And now she was lost among memories and longing and dread and forgetting. There was magic in the night; she had always known that. She simply had not known it existed at Kilchurn. If, indeed, it did.
As he watched the play of the torchlight over Muriella's face, John wondered at her thoughts. He knew he had struck a chord when he spoke of her dancing; she had been too surprised to hide the realization in her eyes. But he could tell he dared not push her further, though her green eyes drew him when he wanted to turn away. As he struggled to pull himself out of her gaze, he rose abruptly, sauntered toward the musicians and picked up a clareschaw. He began to play softly.
O Lassie, is thy heart more hard
Than mavis from the bough;
Say must the whole creation wed,
And ye remain to woo?
Say has the holy lowe o'love
Ne'er lighten'd in yer eye?
O, if thou canst not feel this pain, Thou art no theme for me!
He was singing to his betrothed, gazing at her mournfully, but his eyes belied the solemn droop of his mouth. Some of the men began to laugh.
Praying the flush on her cheeks was not visible, Muriella rose slowly and stepped out from behind the table. Her shining braids of auburn hair fell from a single braided crown at her temples and down her back, heightening her wide green eyes, soft skin and the sweep of her cream-colored gown. The gold sleeves and skirt of the kirtle shimmered as she swayed slightly with the Gypsies’ tune. Then she met John’s eyes.
It took all the power she had to smile archly. “If my heart is hard, my Lord, mayhap ‘tis because no man has ever wooed me. I’ve been but a child, and the light of love has escaped both my eye and my heart. Thus, though I could surely guess at yer pain,” she paused to tilt her head his way and smile, “especially yer pain—I agree most heartily that ye should seek another.”
All at once, now that all eyes were upon her, she was certain everyone could hear the pounding of her heart as it spelled out the word bastard. Nevertheless, she smiled and curtsied formally toward her husband-to-be.
John pursed his lips, quirked an eyebrow and strummed a discordant string of notes across his clareschaw. “Alas!” He cried to the room at large with a crooked smile. But his eyes were still.
Muriella took a deep breath and turned back to her place at table. Abruptly, the musicians began to play and the sound of the deep Gypsy voices shattered the waiting stillness. Muriella bowed her head, wondering what had possessed her.
~ * ~
Much later, when most of the men had gone up to bed, the Earl found her in the library, curled on the rug with her face toward the fire. He pulled up a chair and sat down, regarding her curiously. "What made ye speak so at table.” He paused. “With some wit,” he added quietly.
“I’d not know what came over me.”
Silent for a long moment, he finally murmured, “’Tis best if ye no’ taunt one another before the men.”
Muriella sat up to face him. "I don't care!"
"Ye must care!" he insisted. "He'll be yer husband. Ye must learn to respect and obey him."
Staring into the golden-red flames, she remained silent. When she did not reply at once, he snapped, "Muriella? Do ye hear? Ye'll do as I say!"
His harsh command struck her like a blow across the face and her control finally snapped. How was it possible to care for him so much, yet feel such helpless rage at the same time? She sat up and faced him, trying to hold back the words rising to her lips, but she had not the strength. "Who gave ye the right to decide what I should do? Ye don't even ask what I want, what I feel. To ye I'm just a game piece to be moved about at yer will."
Though she knew it was the truth, she was shocked at the bitterness she was hurling at the one man who had shown her compassion at Kilchurn. But it was beyond her power to stop. "Tell me," she demanded, "why I should give up everything just to swell the Campbell coffers! It makes no matter to me that the King made ye my guardian. I don't owe ye anything."
"Only yer life," Argyll said, his face flushed with rage that this girl should challenge him so. "But ye're right, yer feelings about this marriage mean nothing to me. Quite simply, ye have no choice."
The cold finality of his tone chilled Muriella, but she would not retreat. "Ye've said ye care for me. Then why won't ye listen to what I say?"
"I've heard enough." He gripped the arms of his chair roughly, but his voice did not waver for an instant. "The good of the clan comes first. 'Tis time ye learned that. All the weeping in the world won't change a fact so fundamental."
Muriella leaned backward, shocked by the grim implacability of the Earl's expression.
Argyll saw her retreat and regretted briefly the dread he saw reflected in her eyes, but he would not withdraw a word. She had to learn to accept the truth just as Elizabeth had once done; the sooner she did so, the easier it would be for her. He released the chair arms, surprised at the ache that spread through his hands. He hadn't been aware of how tightly he was gripping the polished wood.
Muriella did not move. She looked pale suddenly, and fragile. The Earl sighed and spoke more quietly. "Johnnie's a good man, though a bit young. Ye'll marry him in less than a month, and ye'll obey him, do ye hear? Ye won't be a girl any longer."
Ye have become a woman now, her mother had whispered. But that was before Muriella knew that Isabel had betrayed her unforgivably. The girl spoke from the protection of the shadows. "A bastard needn't follow yer rules. Mayhap yer son won't want to wed me."
The Earl slumped forward, burying his head in his hands. The last of his anger faded when he heard the pain in her voice.
"Dear God, what have they told ye?" When she did not respond, he murmured, "Lass, come here."
She went to him slowly, trying to suppress her bitterness. Taking her hands, he examined them in the firelight. He noted the little finger, healed now but shorter than it should be by half. For some reason, he did not wish to look at her face. "Ye must no' listen to servants' gossip. Ye’re no’ a bastard. 'Tis just that yer grandfather Calder wants Cawdor back. He'd say anything to make certain he gets it."
"They swore."
"They lied."
"Will ye look at me and say so?" She knew he could not lie to her if he once looked in her eyes.
His head came up and his grip on her fingers tightened. "I swear."
Brow furrowed, Muriella started to reply, but before she could do so, the door swung open. Richard Campbell crossed the threshold and stood gasping just out of the reach of the firelight.
The Earl looked at him sharply. "What is it?"
"Andrew Calder struck the men coming from Stirling." Richard tried to steady his harsh breathing, then added, "Seems he escaped to Mull."
Argyll rose. "Is Maclean sheltering him at Duart?"
"'Tis what we suspect, though we can't be sure. But there's something else." In his agitation, Richard did not see Muriella, who had slipped back into the shadows.
"Well, man? Out with it!"
"He murdered four of our men and he swore—" Argyll took a step forward. "He swore what?"
"That he'll kill every Campbell he meets till ye give up the girl."
Chapter 11
As she had every night since she'd come to Kilchurn, Muriella slept uneasily. The Earl had been gone for a week now, and she had heard nothing from him. If John and Colin had received word, they did not tell her so; but then, they spoke to her as little as possible. John was away most of the time, and when he was there, he quarreled with anyone who had the misfortune to come upon him. Muriella stayed out of his way; she remembered all too clearly how he had stopped the Earl as he left the keep, heading for Cawdor.
"Let me go after Andrew Calder. He's in our territory and his kinsmen are far away. I could take him with little trouble."
Argyll had answered in exasperation, "I see ye haven't learned a thing. If Maclean is protecting the man, ye can be sure 'twill no' be easy to take him
. And we can't risk antagonizing yer brother-in-law just now. Suppose he isn't aiding Calder? If ye attack Mull with a force, ye'll make him an enemy. And don't forget, he has yer sister. Ye must wait till Calder comes into the open."
"If I meet him, I'll kill him!"
The Earl had swung himself onto his horse. As he joined the dozen men who waited at the gate, he had called, "So long as ye see him away from Mull. But I warn ye, don't go to find him!"
Tonight Muriella could not escape the memory. The scene played itself over in her mind, like a distant threat—or a warning. Eventually, when the darkness became so deep it blinded her, she fell asleep. In her dreams she heard her mother's voice: Will ye never leave us in peace, old man? And her grandfather's reply: I will have Cawdor back! I won't stand by and watch a child—and what's worse, a daughter of Rose—take it from me. I'll have it back no matter how I have to get it.
Then her mother was floating down the aisle of the church near Cawdor. The room was alight with hundreds of candles, and wild roses decked the walls and benches. Near the altar stood a man Muriella recognized as John Calder. He gave his hand to Isabel and the two repeated their vows while the candles cast flickering shadows over their bent heads.
When the couple rose from their knees, Isabel dropped her husband's hand to turn toward the gloom at the left of the altar. A man stepped from the shadows, taking her in his arms. She offered her lips to him while the congregation gasped. When she stepped back, everyone saw the man lift his hand in salute. It was too dark and his figure too indistinct for anyone to recognize him, but they saw quite clearly that half his little finger was missing on one hand.
Isabel turned, kneeling again at the altar. The church was filled with shadows that danced over her face before melting into leaves overhead. The altar became the moss on the riverbank, and Isabel became Lorna, kneeling in the water with blood on her lips. Her mouth was moving, forming the words
We must always be certain we know who ye are.
Muriella stared down at her hand, covered with blood. She could still see the blurred shape of the man in the church with his half-finger outstretched. When she looked at Lorna, she was Isabel, and she was weeping. "Forgive me! Forgive me!" Muriella sat bolt upright in bed. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she rocked in silence. She dug her fingernails into her legs through the soft wool of her nightrail, hoping the pain would bring her back into the present, away from the influence of the dream.
In a moment, Megan appeared at the bedside, her brown hair loose around her shoulders. "Have ye been dreamin' again?"
Muriella nodded, fumbling for the servant's hand. Megan locked her warm fingers with her mistress's cold ones, trying to force the heat from her body into Muriella's.
The servant asked no more questions and Muriella clung tightly to her hand until she fell asleep again. Even then, she did not loosen her grip.
Megan stayed where she was, brow furrowed, until she sensed that dawn had broken.
~ * ~
Muriella awoke with a feverish glow in her eyes. "Megan, I must go to the Gypsies. There are things I must know."
"But miss, 'tis just past dawn. 'Twill no' be safe to leave the keep yet. Wait till we've broken our fast. Then Duncan and Adam can come with us."
Throwing off her nightrail, Muriella bent to pick up her gray kirtle where it lay near the dying embers of the fire. "I must go now. I can't stay still." As she spoke, she pulled her cloak from the peg beside the door and tossed it over her shoulders. "And I must go alone."
Megan had her gown half over her head in an instant. "No. 'Tis too risky. At least let me go with ye."
Muriella stopped her in the middle of tying the strings of her gown. "Ye can't. I'll be safe, I know that much. I'm no’ in danger today."
Megan saw the certainty in Muriella's gaze and found it oddly reassuring. "Ye're sure?"
"Aye. Ye must wait for me here. And don't tell them. Please."
Twisting her fingers together, Megan berated herself for her foolishness a moment longer before the determination in Muriella's face dispelled her doubts. "If ye must. But take care."
Nodding once, her mistress turned to disappear through the door.
~ * ~
"Where is she? Christ! Have ye let her go again?" Megan heard the suppressed fury in Colin's voice and clasped her hands behind her nervously, trying to still their trembling. She looked up into his face, distorted by his anger so the lump between his brows swelled and pulsed. "I don't know, m'lord. She was gone when I woke."
"She was, was she?" Colin pounded his fist on the table standing between them. "Isn't it yer duty to care for her, to keep watch over her? Do ye let her wander about on her own?"
"I can't stop her, m'lord."
"Damn ye, girl! Don't ye know Andrew Calder seeks her day and night?"
"Aye."
"Do ye know why he seeks her? Do ye think 'tis to take her home to her mother?"
Megan shook her head.
"Well then, ye know he wants her life. Do ye hear? Her life! And if she were to lose that, we would lose Cawdor. It must not happen."
Megan continued to stare at him but said nothing. She was thinking of her mistress alone in the Gypsy camp. Suddenly, Muriella's belief in her own safety seemed absurd.
"She isn't in the castle." John and several other men joined Colin in the Great Hall, where he stood over Megan. "Where the devil has she gone? I won't ask ye again."
When the servant remained stubbornly silent, Colin brought his palm down hard across her cheek. "Speak!"
Grasping the tabletop, she was just able to catch her balance when he swung from the other side. This time she fell, hitting her head on the bench. When she looked up, Duncan was standing over her. He offered his hand and she took it; her own was shaking and she could not stop it.
"Leave the girl alone." Duncan's voice was soft compared to Colin's growl, but he caught the men's attention. "I think she might have gone to the Gypsies."
"Why in the name of all that's holy would she do that when 'tis barely light out?" Pushing past Colin, John confronted his squire.
"She seems to find comfort there. She's visited them many times in the past week. I suggest ye search the camp first."
John considered for only a moment before signaling to the other men to follow. "The camp it is, then. Colin? Are ye coming?"
With a last glowering look, Colin left Megan to join the others. "Ye're damned right I'm coming. I want to be there when we find her," he hissed. "Whether she lives or no'."
~ * ~
Muriella moved slowly, feeling her way through the fog. She had come to know this path well in the past week, but the mist-shrouded landscape that shimmered around her was one she had never seen before. It was as if the fairies had touched the morning with their cool, billowing breath and made a new world for their pleasure. Muriella felt isolated, cast adrift in a sea of swirling moisture that clung to her hair and face, pressing closer and closer, leaving her alone with the scent of heather and the memory of her dream. When she stumbled over a root, she paused to peer into the enfolding whiteness. It was so quiet, so achingly still, that even the sound of her breathing seemed to cease. But there was something—some distant music that penetrated the silence. Was it the rumble of the river? All at once, she was afraid of the damp stillness. Desperately, she pressed outward with her palms to break through the mist and reach the distant healing murmur. The movement seemed to free her from the cloud of silence. With a sigh of relief, she started forward again, following her instincts toward the Gypsy camp.
Alex was waiting in the purple tent, as she had known he would be, sitting on the cushions scattered along one wall. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the single room was rich in hangings. Like the cushions, they were worked in deep colors and designs that were strange and fascinating to her.
"What's troublin' ye, lass?"
In the somber light, Muriella could not see his face, so she moved closer. "I've come to ask ye if I'm a bast
ard."
Alex remained silent for a long time. Finally, he motioned to a cushion beside him. Muriella sat down with reluctance, because from there she could not read his expression.
He took her hand, holding it loosely, running his fingers over her palm as if seeking the answer she needed. "Ye're the legal daughter of Isabel Rose and John Calder. Ye’re no’ a bastard."
She thought his voice quavered slightly, but she couldn't be certain. "How do ye know?"
"Ye came to me, didn't ye, because ye trust me more than those at the castle? Because ye know I have knowledge others don't? Then ye must listen to what I tell ye. Ye are legitimate." She leaned forward, seeking reassurance. "They say my mother had a lover."
Alex shook his head. "I don't know everything about yer past. I can't tell ye whether 'tis true or no'."
Muriella was not satisfied. Something was bothering her, some uneasiness she could not quite understand. "Why have ye come here?" she demanded without warning.
He did not seem surprised by the question. "We always camp in this valley in the winter. The Earl makes us welcome when other's don't—mayhap because we bring him news he would no' get else—so we come back year after year."
"But there's something more than that, isn't there?"
Alex sighed in resignation. "Aye, there's another reason. We were in the north last, in Nairnshire."
"Near Kilravok?" All at once Muriella thought she understood.
"Aye. There's trouble brewin' there, as ye've no doubt guessed, especially between the Roses and Calders. People in trouble sometimes seek out the Gypsies, so yer mother came to me."
"She told ye about me?"
"That she did. Ye see, people tell me things they wouldn't or can't—even tell their own families. Ye make them believe in ye and they find relief in speakin' of their problems to a stranger. When she told me of her fears for ye, I promised I'd watch over ye till yer marriage, since 'twas already our plan to come to Kilchurn."
Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses Page 75