Glancing at Muriella's troubled face, Alex waved the other Gypsies over. They began to play together, encouraging the ladies to sing with them. Some of the Gypsy girls began to sway, their red, green and blue skirts swinging in the firelight. The guests clapped their hands, laughed, and were not aware that Alex had put down his instrument.
The Gypsy leaned back until his head rested on the stone next to Muriella's. "Ye'll always create yer own nightmares, lass. Ye and no one else are at the heart of all yer terror."
How had he known what she was thinking? she wondered. Could he really believe there was nothing here for her to fear?
She looked away, following the dips and swirls of a Gypsy woman in blue who danced nearby. Once when the woman bowed low, Muriella caught the flicker of a golden flame against her chest. She stared, hypnotized by the dark red ruby.
"Ye aren't so wise as ye might believe. And ye'll always reject that which ye most desire. But at least ye won't be able to lie to yerself."
She looked up, but before she could ask any questions, the Gypsy smiled once, briefly, and was gone.
Just then the squealing of the gate outside announced more visitors. A few minutes later the door swung open and a man and woman came into the hall, bringing the rain with them. By the time the door had been secured, there was a large puddle on the stone floor at their feet. The pair stood uncertainly, as if unsure of their welcome.
"Elizabeth!" the Earl's voice boomed from the top of the stairs. In spite of himself, he could not disguise his pleasure. He had not seen her for many months—not since his last disturbing visit to Duart Castle. Hurrying down the steps, he swept his dripping daughter into his arms to kiss her on both cheeks. Then he backed away, nodding coolly at his son-in-law. "Maclean." Argyll scowled as he guided the couple toward the fire. When he caught sight of Muriella at the hearth, he called, "Come, lass. Ye must meet my daughter."
Muriella came forward, curtsying to the new arrivals. She surveyed with interest the wet and bedraggled woman who gazed longingly at the fire. Elizabeth was not beautiful, nor was she plain. She had Colin's sandy hair and her eyes were an indeterminate gray. Argyll had said his daughter was twenty- two, but just now she looked older. Her eyes were dark with what Muriella guessed was constant suffering. The girl did not have to look far to find the source of Elizabeth's pain.
While she had been watching the other woman, Muriella was aware that Maclean had been looking her up and down appraisingly. She reminded him of someone, but he could not remember who. When he took her hand, he squeezed her fingers and seemed reluctant to let go.
When the Laird of the Clan Maclean bowed and smiled, Muriella's heart turned cold. It was not that his features were unpleasant. His red hair and beard were thick and full and his gray eyes clear, but even as he smiled, she could feel the bitterness beneath that smile.
Withdrawing her hand quickly, Muriella turned to Elizabeth. "Come sit by the fire. Tis much warmer there. Ye can dry out a little and have a cup of wine to chase the chill away."
The Earl looked at Muriella in surprise, then smiled in approval. "Aye, ye take care of my daughter," he said.
Maclean was not listening. "So ye're the heiress," he muttered. Drawing the girl away from his wife, he lifted her chin with one finger. "Ye've no idea how lucky ye are to be marrying into the Campbell family. But then, they've always had an eye for the pretty ones. So long as they're rich as well." Smiling unpleasantly, he brushed her cheek, then let his hand slide over her shoulder and down her arm.
"Maclean!" The Earl stepped in front of his son-in-law, separating him from Muriella. "I think we can leave yer wife in Muriella's care. There are matters we must discuss."
The two men moved away, holding themselves apart with care. As they started up the stairs, the Earl hissed, "Leave her be, Maclean! She has no part in yer grudge against me."
Muriella watched them go, wondering if, once they were married, John would treat her as Maclean treated his wife. She shivered and turned back to Elizabeth, who was stretching her chilled hands toward the fire. It seemed to Muriella that she had not noticed her husband's indiscretion. Taking Elizabeth's arm, she murmured, "Come, we'll go to my room and dry ye out. I see yer servants have brought in yer chest of clothes, so ye can change."
Elizabeth straightened and when Muriella saw her face, she realized the woman had noticed. Her cheeks were tinged with red, her lips pressed together as if she were willing herself to remain silent. Placing her hand on Muriella's shoulder, she spoke for the first time. "Ye are kind."
Chapter 14
Elizabeth had fallen asleep with a fur tucked in close to her chin. Even after discarding her wet clothes, she found it difficult to stop shivering. Finally, Megan had filled the warming pan with hot coals, insisting Elizabeth get into bed. Then servant and mistress sat watching in silence until she fell asleep.
"She can't have a very pleasant life with that man," Megan murmured.
"No," her mistress agreed. "I only wish there was some way to help her, but 'tis too late for that, I'm afraid." Restless, frustrated by her own helplessness, Muriella rose to wander across the room, searching the empty corners with impatience. "Megan, can ye stay with Elizabeth in case she should wake?"
"Aye, miss, but where're ye goin'?" "I don't know."
Muriella's expression was distant. The servant nodded. "I'll stay by her."
"Thank ye. I just can't stay still, ye ken?" Without waiting for an answer, Muriella left the room.
Outside the door, she stood uncertainly for a moment. Many torches lighted the narrow hall with its curved ceiling. She surveyed the empty passageway from end to end, then turned left, creeping by instinct down what seemed like endless stone corridors. There was something she needed to find, some force that was pulling her away from the safety of her room.
All at once she heard it clearly—the music that had drawn her here. The harp had captured her, as always, in its melody. As she moved toward the end of the hall from which the music spilled, she realized there was more than one harp. Then a voice joined with the instruments.
An thou were my own thing, I would love thee,
I would love thee.
An thou were my own thing, How dearly would I love thee.
Muriella paused. The voice was familiar. She leaned against the stone floor, listening.
To merit I no claim can make, But that I love; and for yer sake,
What man can, more
I'll undertake,
So dearly do I love thee.
The voice was deep and so incredibly sweet that the softly sung words mesmerized her. The girl smiled in the darkness as two more voices joined in for the chorus.
An thou were my own thing, I would love thee...
One of the voices belonged to Alex, that much she knew, but she couldn't identify the other two. Now the first singer began again, alone. Muriella was surprised to hear a harpsichord in the background. She had not known there were so many musical instruments at Kilchurn.
My passion, constant as the sun,
Flames stronger still, will ne'er have done, Till Fate my threads of life have spun,
Which breathing out,
I'll love thee.
The words drew shivers along her neck and arms. Pulling her skirts close about her legs, Muriella slipped down the hall until she could look in the door of the chamber. It was a small music room hung with exquisite tapestries and flooded with candlelight. The harpsichord was in the far corner; Alex sat behind it, running his fingers over the keys as he sang the chorus. The other two voices belonged to Duncan and John, who sat with their backs to the girl, strumming their harps. Muriella caught her breath.
How dearly would I love thee.
As the chorus ended, she twined her fingers together, waiting to see which one had been singing so beautifully a moment before.
While love does at his altar stand, Have thee my heart, give me thy hand, And with yer smile thou shalt command The will of him who loves thee.
/> It was John. He had enticed her with his song, with his rich, poignant voice. She stood unmoving, caught in his spell. Then something made her look up to find Alex watching. She felt the color drain from her cheeks; she did not want him to see her expression. Sliding out of sight beyond the door, she prayed he would not speak. For a long moment the silence closed around her, then at last she heard the men repeating the chorus once more.
Apparently, Alex had decided to keep her secret. John would never know that she had heard him sing and that it had moved her deeply.
~ * ~
Swinging the study door closed, the Earl turned to face Maclean. "Ye're no' a wise man, Son-in-law. Ye push me and push me and presently ye'll learn I'll take only so much for my daughter's sake."
Maclean threw himself into a chair before the fire. Placing his hands together fingertip to fingertip, he smiled. "I don't know what ye mean, my lord. All this talk is beyond me."
Argyll clutched the back of a chair to keep from exploding in the man's face. "Keep yer filthy hands to yerself when ye're in my keep," he said. "Ye may consort with outlaws on Mull, but at Kilchurn ye'll behave like a gentleman, difficult as it may be for ye."
Maclean looked up in mock surprise. "'Consort with outlaws'? Whatever do ye mean by that? I'm sure I can no’ guess at the workings of yer mind."
"Ye're a liar, and not even a very good one. We've seen Andrew Calder cross to Mull twice now. No one stays on that island without yer consent. And how do ye explain the Maclean plaid on the men who attacked my sons last month? Do ye take me for a fool?"
Tapping his fingers against each other, Maclean replied, "No, ye’re no’ that. If ye were, we might have a defense against ye. As ‘tis, we have none."
Argyll turned his back on the man. "We were speaking of Calder."
"Seems to me he's only trying to get back what ye've taken from him," Maclean said.
"Ye know the girl is rightfully mine."
"Aye, we know King Jamie gave her to ye. He's given ye a great deal belonging to others. The question I have is, who did ye betray this time, that he should grant ye such a favor?"
The Earl came to stand before his son-in-law. His fists were clenched and the firelight flickered over his face, deepening the hollows and increasing the glitter in his eyes. "I won't be badgered into killing ye, Maclean. But I'll tell ye this, and ye'd do well to listen. Stay away from Muriella—far away. If I find ye near her again, I promise ye'll regret it. She may no' be a bride yet, but she belongs to the Campbells just the same. Don't forget that. Now get out of my sight, and I suggest ye refrain from exchanging pleasantries with my sons and me until this wedding is over."
Maclean stood, kicking the chair away as he did so. "'Twill give me great pleasure to avoid ye, Argyll. Ye make my stomach turn each time I see ye." He pushed past the Earl, but when he reached the door, he turned. "As for the wedding, well, we’ll see about that."
When the door was closed behind him, Argyll drew his sword and sank it into the chair where Maclean had been sitting. With a muffled curse, he slit the brocade from edge to edge.
Chapter 15
Muriella started back down the hall, but the music followed her along the passageway. In agitation, she turned down a strange corridor. She did not realize for some time that she was lost. The music had long since disappeared into the shadows she left behind. Now she looked about and tried to catch her breath. These must be the rooms where the guests were staying; she could see a trunk sitting just inside a doorway. Here there were no candles, only an occasional torch, and the passage was long and dark. She was trying to decide in what direction her room might lie when she heard someone approaching.
"So, little one, I find ye at last. Were ye coming to see me?" Muriella turned to find Maclean smiling down at her. With a little cry, she backed away. "I have better things to do than spend my time visiting unpleasant guests. Excuse me."
As she moved, he caught her arm. "I won't excuse ye. There are things I wish to say." Leaning down, he examined her face for the second time; there was something about her that drew him but at the same time, made him uneasy. Not that Argyll's warning had frightened him. If anything, it made him more determined. His hand closed tighter around her arm as he dragged her toward the open door through which she had seen the trunk.
"No!" she cried. "I must go!"
He leaned closer, tangling his fingers in her hair. "Ye won't. No’ till I've finished with ye."
"Ye're mad!" Pushing against his chest with all her strength, she tried to duck under his grasping hands. But he was too quick for her.
"No' at all. I've just been thinking 'twould be a shame if John Campbell were to get a damaged bride." He raised her chin with two fingers until his lips were just above hers. "'Twould be most sad, don't ye agree?"
She looked directly into his eyes for the first time. What she saw there made her insides raw with fear. She shivered and her throat closed until she could not breathe. Her hands were cold and shaking, but she struggled to force them upward. When he loosened his hold on her arm and tried to take her by the shoulders, she took a deep breath and dragged her nails across his neck from ear to collarbone.
For a moment he was too surprised to respond, but then, swinging her against the wall, he attempted to pin her hands behind her. "Damn ye. Ye'll be sorry for that." With one hand he ripped open her gown and kirtle, leaving her breasts uncovered. With a guttural curse, he kissed her brutally, grinding his mouth against hers until she tasted blood. She shuddered and retched with dry, heaving sobs, but he did not notice. Her body felt soiled, like an alien thing she could not—did not wish to—call her own. Just when she thought the sickness would choke her, he backed away. Sharply, he hit her across the face, knocking her off balance.
She grabbed a chair to right herself just as he swung again.
This time she hit the wall with a crash and her head began to throb.
But as Maclean moved toward her where she huddled against the stone, the sneer on his face changed to a frown and his hard, cold gaze softened. The girl's hair was auburn, he thought, the color of Anne's. And the eyes were the same green. His heart wrenched in sudden pain. "Anne," he whispered, "I won't hurt ye. Only don't leave me again."
Muriella gaped at him in disbelief. All at once, his face was very young and vulnerable. He reached for her, drawing her toward him gently. Though she turned her head, he kissed her face again and again until he found her lips with his. His fingers ran over her bare shoulders, and she shuddered at the cool, damp touch of his hands on her skin. When he released her for a moment to run his forefinger down her cheek, she drew herself upright and sank her teeth into his hand. He leapt back, roaring, as she slipped under his arm and ran. Though she looked back several times, ready to scream if he should pursue her, she realized at last that he was not going to follow.
She did not know how she reached her own room, for she was running blindly. When she came to her chamber, she could not make her clumsy fingers open the latch. It took three tries before the cold metal moved in her hand. She shuddered as she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, gasping. Megan was beside her in a moment, staring in horror at the torn gown and deep red marks on her mistress's face. "Dear God, miss, what's happened? Ye must come and sit down. Who did this to ye? Was it Colin?"
Muriella began shaking her head and found she could not stop. She stared before her, unseeing, as Megan pulled off her gown and guided her to a chair.
Kneeling at her mistress's feet, Megan whispered, "Ye must tell me, miss. Who did it?"
At last Muriella found her voice. "I'll tell ye, but ye must swear ye won't repeat it. Above all, ye must not tell the Earl, do ye understand?" She was not certain why this was so important; she only knew she could not discuss the attack, not even with Argyll. To say the words aloud would somehow make the whole thing real, and she did not think she was strong enough, yet, to face the full horror of what Maclean had tried to do.
The servant sat back on her
heels, regarding Muriella doubtfully. Then her expression hardened. "'Twas Maclean, was it no’? I saw how he looked at ye in the Great Hall."
Muriella closed her eyes. "Swear ye won't tell."
"But miss, he's a dangerous man. He must be watched." "The Earl is watching him already, don't worry." Suddenly she remembered Elizabeth and looked up, appalled.
Catching her thought, Megan assured her, "She's gone. 'Tis nearly time for dinner."
Muriella exhaled in relief. "Megan, ye must swear to me, please!"
Reluctantly, the servant agreed. "If 'tis what ye really wish, I swear."
"Then come, we must ready ourselves for the meal."
~ * ~
By the time the two girls made their way down to the Great Hall, half of Muriella's face was swollen and purple. Together, the two had concocted a story to explain the marks away.
As the Earl took Muriella's hands in his, he asked, "What have ye done, lass? Yer face!" He leaned down to examine the bruises more closely.
"My gown wasn't even," she explained. "I stood on a stool so Megan might straighten it, but one of the legs broke and I fell. The rushes were gone, ye see, for they meant to change them today." Over the Earl's shoulder, she saw Maclean, his red curls combed carefully down to cover the scratches on his neck. He was staring at her, trying to pretend he had nothing to hide, but Muriella could see the cold fear in his eyes. For a moment, she wanted to tell Argyll the truth, but Elizabeth was beside her husband, her hand resting on his arm, and Muriella knew that, for the other woman's sake, she would not say a word. She would not add to Elizabeth's humiliation.
Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses Page 78