Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses

by Ceci Giltenan et al.

  When she went outside, like today, the shadows lifted and she breathed in the spirit of the girl she had been before the Campbells took her. Or so Megan imagined.

  As for Andrew Calder, he had been quiet for a month, since the disastrous battle in the glen, and with the number of armed men who had arrived, the castle was well fortified; it was not likely Calder would strike now, when the Campbells were strongest. So the two girls had slipped on dark cloaks and made their way through the courtyard and under the heavy iron portcullis, raised in welcome to arriving guests.

  "Aye, ‘tis sweet as spring," the servant agreed as the warmth of the sun at last began to dissipate the chill in her body.

  Muriella leaned against the boulder at her back, reveling in

  the peace of the moment. Loch Awe spread out before her, its surface woven of shifting shades of blue and gray in the pale February light. The fine-grained earth clung to her hands and the water lapped softly on the shore, swirling pale changing patterns in the sand as it retreated. Smiling at Megan, who sat with her eyes closed in contentment, Muriella said, "I’ve no’ felt this way in a long time. Not since I left Kilravok."

  Megan opened her eyes. Muriella did not talk much about her past. "Was it as lovely there as 'tis here?"

  "In a way, though we didn't have a loch—only a bubbling burn with a little pool. 'Twas no' as beautiful as Loch Awe. And it had no secrets." She leaned her head on her knees and added thoughtfully, "Everything seems bigger at Kilchurn and more impressive somehow." From here the far bank of the loch was obscured by the tree-heavy islands scattered across its surface. "But I loved that wee pool just the same."

  Closing her eyes, she tried to bring her memory of the burn into sharper focus. "The only one who knew of it besides me was my cousin Hugh, and he didn't go there often."

  The servant leaned closer, chin resting on her cupped hands. "But sometimes he did? Ye weren't alone always, surely." "No, I was often with Hugh," Muriella mused. "Most days we played together in the afternoons. We used to chase each other into the woods, then hide among the trees. But Hugh always found me before long, and then we'd start again. When we were too hot and tired to run anymore, we'd go to the burn and cool our feet in the pool."

  She looked out at the loch and saw her memories reflected in the silver green water. The rhythmic lap of the waves was soothing, lulling her into dreamy tranquility. For the moment, she could forget the feeling of dread that had haunted her like an accusation since the day she'd seen those flames glimmering from the center of a chilling mist. It was not over yet.

  It would not be over until she became John's wife. Until she took the Campbell name, and in doing so, proclaimed the Earl's right to Cawdor could no longer be questioned. "Muriella Campbell," she repeated under her breath. The name sounded strange and remote, as if it could never really belong to her.

  "Just think, in four days ye'll be a married woman," Megan whispered, echoing her mistress's thoughts. "Aren't ye excited?"

  That was not the word for the distress that flared in her many times each day as she wondered what her life would be like after the wedding. Because the Earl's wife was dead and Colin's Janet never came to the Highlands, Muriella would be mistress of Kilchurn. The thought only added to her trepidation. She sensed that Argyll would expect a great deal of her. But first would come the ceremony—and then the wedding night. She remembered, suddenly, John's urgent kiss on that long-ago afternoon; she could not quell a shudder—and then a tiny rush of heat—at the thought of his body stretched out beside hers in a huge, fur-strewn bed.

  She suppressed the memory of the heat and concentrated more fiercely on the beauty of the loch. The waves reached for her, retreated, reached out again with clear fingers, then retreated once more. She could hear the wind sighing in the treetops overhead, then dropping down to touch the still water. She felt it was calling her closer, drawing her away from the cold, damp reality of the deep beyond the trees. For the moment, the clouds had scattered and there was no hint of a shadow on the loch. There was nothing but the sound and sense of the wind on the water.

  She rose to make her way toward the rocks tumbled along the shore as a seabird flew past, its image reflected like a streak of silver on the loch. She followed its path with her eyes, kneeling on a large, flat boulder, trying to settle her heavy skirts behind her without dipping them into the chilly water. With her palms pressed against the stone, she looked down at the bottom of the loch. "Megan!" she cried. "Look! I've found a magic castle."

  The servant came at once to kneel beside her mistress. There was barely room for the two girls on the boulder. Megan would have tumbled into the water if Muriella had not caught her with both hands. Leaving one arm across the servant's shoulders, she pointed through the water at an overgrown rock thick with moss and waving grass. With its fissures and crevices and tall, curved spire, it did resemble a keep, though Megan herself would never have seen a castle in the shaded gray stone.

  "Mayhap 'tis a home for the Kelpies. Ye know how they love the water."

  Muriella tilted her head, considering. "Aye," she murmured at last, "maybe 'tis." She leaned closer, suddenly intent. "Or mayhap 'tis no' the Kelpies at all. 'Tis something different." Smiling, Megan pointed at a reflection on the water. "'Tis yer own face, miss, with the darkness of yer braid over yer shoulder."

  Muriella nodded. Her face was captured on the surface for a moment, and then a breeze touched the loch and the image rippled, blurred and slowly, subtly, began to change. Now the face was that of a stranger—a lovely woman with pale blue eyes. She combed her long blond hair as it twined itself among the rocks, then set a ring of bright flowers on her head. Above the lap and swell of the water, Muriella heard a keening cry that vibrated through her body. She reached out to touch the enchanted face, but it was gone.

  She felt a vague stirring in her heart that she did not understand. Perhaps it was only an echo of the longing she had seen, for an instant, in the woman's eyes, or perhaps it was an answer to the sigh of the wind as it rippled over the water. Was it fear or joy or something beyond either? She did not know, but it fluttered inside her, restless and warm, and she felt suddenly alone, though Megan knelt beside her.

  "Miss," the servant said, shivering at the rising breeze, "'tis colder altogether than I thought." A shadow had fallen upon the water and she looked up to see the clouds gathering across the sky, dark and threatening. "Look! The rain's comin' again! We'd best get back or we'll be wet to the skin."

  "Aye," Muriella murmured. She too noticed the change in the air—the heavy dampness that clung as she moved, the swelling of the clouds that only emphasized the shimmering movement of the loch between the shadows.

  Megan shivered but Muriella welcomed the turbulence filling the air while the storm clouds gathered. The water rose in white-capped waves as the wind blew more and more fiercely, churning the loch to a cauldron of silver-gray that leapt and spat at the darkening shore. Interwoven with the black lacery of winter branches, the wind moaned with a voice as compelling as the beat of an ancient, frenzied song.

  Muriella paused, her face raised to the sky, and felt her heart beating in time to the primitive music of the tempest.

  When the first drops of rain began to fall, she let them run down her cheeks, sharp and clean and stingingly cold. The clouds grew heavier, the loch ever darker, and she shivered with a kind of fearful rapture at the wild beauty of the rising storm.

  Swiftly, the two girls started toward the sheltering trees. The servant drew her hood over her head and stared at the ground, but Muriella did not try to keep out the rain that streamed over her face and hair.

  "'Tis too dark!" Megan cried suddenly, her voice full of fear. "I can't see the way!"

  Muriella stood for a moment getting her bearings. The trees took shape before her—oak and pine and silver birch—until she saw the place where human feet had worn a path through the bracken. She smiled, put her hand on Megan's shoulder, and pointed. "Don't fash yerself," she murmu
red. "We'll find the way." Then she leaned close to add,

  And see ye not that bonnie road

  That winds aboot the fernie brae?

  That is the road to fair Elfland,

  Where thou and I this night must gae.

  Megan gaped at her mistress in astonishment, but Muriella was already drawing her forward into the protection of the trees.

  Chapter 13

  "Come in, Colin, and close the door behind ye," the Earl commanded tersely.

  Colin obliged, pushing the heavy oak door closed with one foot. "Well?"

  In a glance, the Earl took in his eldest son's confident stance: his legs spread in their raw leather boots, the way he hooked his thumbs negligently into the belt that gathered his knee-length saffron shirt at the waist, the knowing smile that curved his lips. Colin breathed arrogance from every pore, and that was as it should be. "Where's Johnnie?" Argyll asked, disguising his approval beneath hooked gray brows.

  "Ye needn't worry he'll disturb us. The men were frustrated, what with all the rain, and they've started a fight to keep themselves occupied."

  "Yer brother's in the thick of it, I suppose?"

  Colin nodded and his father sighed. "'Tis just as well. He doesn't need to hear this. 'Twas ye I wanted to talk to." The Earl indicated a chair, where his son seated himself. "What's bothering ye?"

  The Earl spread his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "As ye know, Maclean will soon be here. When he comes, we must be ready."

  Frowning, Colin shook his head. "Why did ye ask him to the wedding? Ye know he's our enemy. Ye should be plotting how to take Duart, not welcoming him to Kilchurn as yer guest."

  "Doesn't it occur to ye that I want the man close by, where I can see him? I feel safer with him under my roof than out there where he can do as he likes."

  Colin narrowed his eyes in doubt. "Have ye forgotten his connection with Andrew Calder? Just because he's been quiet for so long doesn't mean he's given up."

  "No, I haven't forgotten," Argyll snarled with sudden fury. "And I'm sure he hasn't given up." The color crept into his cheeks as he spoke. "He made fools of the Campbells last time. I don't intend to let that happen again." He leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists. "Not ever. He's left a stain on the name of our clan that I'll wash clean if it's the last thing I do. That's why I want Maclean here."

  His son did not like to be reminded of the massacre in the glen by the sea, and his father's tone told him the Earl liked it even less. He too was eager to even the score with the men who had trapped him so easily. "What do ye mean to do?"

  "Bring my son-in-law here, trailing Calder behind him in the shadows, no doubt, and force him to make a mistake." When Colin spoke, it was with more violence than he had intended. "Why don't ye just send someone out to kill him?

  'Twould be simple enough to arrange and not nearly so dangerous."

  "Because"—here the Earl smiled grimly—"'twould be too easy. I don't want him to die in a dark passageway with no one to see him suffer. No, I want to humiliate him in front of everyone, as he humiliated us. I want people to watch his disgrace and see for themselves how unwise it is to challenge the Campbells. We'll bring Andrew Calder crashing down, I promise ye that, and when we do, Maclean will go down with him."

  Colin considered Argyll thoughtfully, wondering if for once Johnnie didn't have the right idea: kill their enemies and get it over with. Besides, he doubted that even Maclean would be foolish enough to risk betraying the Earl in his own castle. "Ye'll need a kind of bait he can't resist."

  "We have what he wants. Use yer head, Colin."

  His son looked up in surprise. "Ye mean to use the girl?" Everyone at the keep knew how close Muriella had grown to the Earl in the past month.

  "She's the prize we all seek, is she no’?" The Earl paused and his blue eyes gleamed. "Don't misunderstand; I don't intend to let him hurt her. If the Campbells aren't strong enough to protect their own, then woe to us, my son." His voice trembled ominously and he raised a hand as if to ward off a horror too unthinkable to consider. "But she's the only one likely to lure our enemies into the open. We’ve no choice."

  Nodding, Colin admitted his father was thinking clearly after all. "Well then, when he does get here, I'll see that Maclean is watched."

  "Not too closely," Argyll warned. "He'll be wary enough as it is. Ye must give him room to dig his own grave."

  "Aye," Colin said, smiling with anticipation. "A spectacle I long to see fulfilled. I do believe I'll enjoy this wedding after all."

  ~ * ~

  It was late afternoon. Though the rain lashed against the walls of the keep with fury, inside the cavernous Great Hall the guests huddled by the fire, feeling safe and protected from the storm. The brawl had ended earlier with some bruised faces and fists and a great many roars of good-natured laughter. The men had slapped each other on shoulders and backs to show no ill will lingered, then settled happily over their tankards of ale.

  Muriella sat near the hearth, her hair braided to hide any remaining dampness, her mauve kirtle and gown fresh and unwrinkled. No one would guess now that she had been away. She looked around at the flushed faces, most of which belonged to strangers, and noticed how the huge fire gave a golden glow to their skin and a glitter to their eyes. Everywhere she turned there was noise and laughter; at last the chill in this room had been destroyed.

  Bending forward, she drew her thread taut and pushed the needle through the linen shirt she was embroidering for John's groom gift. Despite her mistress's reluctance, Megan had insisted that she do this small thing for her husband-to-be. It was not long before Muriella's delight in the pattern she created with her needle made her forget the one for whom it was intended.

  She heard a commotion nearby and looked up to find Alex weaving his way across the room. The Earl was in a generous mood these days, so he had invited the Gypsies in out of the rain. The ones who chose to accept showed their gratitude by diverting the Campbells' guests from their boredom and frustration at the weather that made them prisoners.

  Alex found a spot on the hearth next to Muriella and began to strum his harp. She leaned her head against the rough stone, blackened by years of roaring fires, and closed her eyes.

  Megan, who sat beside her mistress, smiled at the Gypsy. "Will ye tell us a story?" she asked.

  "Aye, if ye like." His fingers continued their dance on the strings as he spoke. "Have ye heard the tale of the makin' of Loch Awe?"

  Megan knew the local legend, as did many of the guests, but the fire was warm, the sound of the Highland harp pleasant, and Alex's voice melodic, so they did not object to hearing it again. As he began his story, many of the women crept closer to listen.

  Alex cleared his throat. "'Twas a time when Loch Awe was a wide, lovely valley ruled by a bonnie lass with pale golden hair and eyes as blue as a summer's sky. Each day, she hunted with her friends, and rare was the time when they weren't blessed with game enough to feed them and sport enough to please them. But the Kelpies in the valley were sore jealous of the lassie's beauty and her pleasant life, which they determined to end.

  "One day, as she knelt beside a burn to take a drink, the vengeful Kelpies cast their spell over the lady like a net. The while she was under their power, they made her promise to place a stone over the mouth of the spring each evenin' at twilight. If she didn't do so, they warned, they would swell the burn to a torrent that would flood the valley to its very top.

  "So 'twas that every evenin' the lady knelt by the burn, callin' the Kelpies to watch as she placed the stone. Each evenin' they watched her in the twilight, golden hair glimmerin' and blue eyes bright, and wished that someday she'd forget her promise." By now Muriella had dropped her needle. The harp held her spellbound, and she was strongly aware of the warmth of the fire at her back.

  "It happened that one day," Alex continued, "the lassie and her friends had hunted for long hours and were sore weary. Her companions begged her no' to stop at the spring as she usually did, but t
o return with them to the castle to eat and drink the night away. She told them sadly that she must stop, if only for a moment. They rode on without her.

  "She was thirsty, and the lady stopped to drink at the mouth of the burn. As she splashed the water over her face, swallowin' the cool liquid gratefully, she was drawn to her own reflection in a puddle nearby. Smilin' to herself, she drew her fingers through her hair and watched it fall in soft curls along her cheeks. She saw her head was bare, and noticin' some flowers growing along the way, she began to weave a wreath.

  "As soon as she placed the flowers on her head, she began to feel drowsy. So drowsy that she didn't notice the sun was slippin' behind the rim of the valley. Layin' her head on a soft bed of moss, she fell fast asleep.

  "When she awoke, 'twas dark and the tiny burn had swollen into a river. She stood watchin' helplessly, the wreath askew on her golden hair, as the water gushed from the ground and swept through the valley. Fallin' to her knees, she pleaded with the Kelpies to free her from her promise. But they only laughed.

  "She died there when the river filled the valley to the top in a single night. At last the Kelpies had gotten their wish. But in the end, they couldn't rid themselves of the memory of the lady, for she gave her beauty to the loch she left behind. On many a night, ye can see the fall of her golden hair in the path of the moonlight over the heart of Loch Awe."

  Although the story was common in the Highlands, Alex had given it a kind of magic. Perhaps it was the song of his clareschaw, which gurgled like a tiny burn, then swept through the room like a torrent; or perhaps it was his musical voice.

  Whatever the reason, his audience was pleased. They applauded him with fervor and a few threw him coins.

  Muriella could not move; she was lost in the valley Alex had just described. She remembered the wavering image of the woman with the flowers around her head, the woman whose hair had spread through the water, twining itself among the rocks. She remembered too the strange, keening lament she had heard, and knew Alex had put her vision into words. She shivered at the thought. In her memory, the caressing waters of Loch Awe became cold and unfriendly and they seemed to close around her, swirling before her eyes until she was blind.