When Elizabeth saw the bruises on Muriella's face, she glanced from her husband to the girl and back again. Her eyes grew shadowed and she seemed to retreat inside herself. She had not been fooled.
Argyll would have questioned Muriella further, but his mind was on other things. By now his anger at Maclean had abated somewhat and he'd had time to think. He was as bad as Johnnie, he cursed himself again and again, the way he'd let his fury get the better of him when he faced his son-in-law an hour since. He would have to be certain it did not happen again. "Shall we sit?" he said.
Just then John came up beside his future bride. Tilting her chin upward, he considered her face and frowned. "So, little one, ye'll be damaged for our wedding. Are ye sure ye haven't done it on purpose?"
His touch made Muriella wince. She could not help but remember how Maclean had spoken the same words, called her by the same name—"little one." She tried to move away, but John did not seem to notice. As he directed her toward the table, she saw she was to sit beside him. Although she wanted to refuse, she felt the Earl's gaze upon her and knew it would not be wise.
John settled onto the bench, his thigh touching Muriella's, and wondered why he had spoken as he had a few moments past. He had regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth, but it had already been too late. He did not understand why he wanted to hurt her. "Muriella," he began.
She turned unwillingly, he thought, and waited. Now, with her gaze upon him, expectant and a little cool, his remorse evaporated. "This marriage was no’ my choice," he said. "I don't like it any better than ye do."
"No," Muriella murmured, "I don't suppose ye do."
For a moment, John was too taken aback to respond. Without thinking, he took her hand. "Then since we can't stop it, can't we try to make it easier?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a word, his fingers closed more tightly around hers and the room began to sway. She could hear the water rushing in her ears, but this time she would not succumb. With every last ounce of her strength, she fought the coming of the Sight, clenching her teeth and closing her mind to all thought. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and her breathing became more and more labored, but at last the humming ceased and the room came back into focus. She closed her eyes with a sigh of relief.
John stared at the girl as the color drained from her face and she withdrew her hand abruptly from his grasp. "Ye don't want to make it easier," he said. "Ye still blame me for bringing ye here."
"No, no’ for that—" Muriella stopped, her hand at her throat.
"For what then?" John asked, cupping her chin and forcing her to look at him.
She took a deep breath, struggling against the fear she could not express. "For the men who are dead. For the ones still to die."
He released her, drawing back as if she had struck him. So she had not forgotten Rob. Or was she thinking of the battle with Andrew Calder? He grasped his dagger, speared a piece of eel, and began to chew it with unnecessary violence. He had tried to eradicate the memory of that day, the awareness that, in his eagerness to best the outlaw, he had urged the men forward instead of back. It was he who had led them headlong toward the slaughter in the glen. His dreams had been peopled with the ghosts of the dead ever since.
But Muriella could not know that. Or could she? He met her eyes for an instant: those mysterious eyes dark with the knowledge of death to come. He shuddered and looked away.
Muriella felt him recoil from her, just as Duncan had done, as if she were diseased. It had happened before. All her life people had shunned her, fearing the power of her Two Sights, but the hurt their rejection caused had never eased. Before she could stop to think, she touched John's shoulder. "I didn't mean that," she told him. "Forgive me."
John stared at her, astonished and speechless.
Just then Mary, the serving girl who had slowly made her way around the long table, leaned down next to him with a platter of fish. "Will ye have some salmon?" He nodded, grateful for the interruption. She used a thick knife to push some of the fish onto his pewter plate. "And ye, miss?" she asked Muriella.
The girl allowed Mary to serve her, but shook her head when the eel floating in a clear sauce was offered. John touched arm and nodded but he did not speak to her again, and for a time, she ate in silence.
"There are sweetmeats from France, Lachlan," she heard Elizabeth say. "Won't ye have some?"
Muriella looked up to find the Earl's daughter holding a tray of nuts and dried fruit for her husband's inspection. She saw how Maclean grunted and continued to eat his salted herrings as if his wife had not spoken, and she trembled with anger for the woman's sake.
Elizabeth was not aware of Muriella's sympathetic gaze. She looked pleadingly at her husband, touching him often, to assure herself he was still beside her. Once or twice she opened her mouth to speak to him, then seemed to think better of it.
Through the rest of the meal, her gaze never left his face nor her hand his arm.
Muriella choked down a piece of bread that was suddenly dry, though it was covered with thick, sweet butter. It was evident Elizabeth loved Maclean. So much so, that when she recognized the marks of his hand on another, she sought not to berate him, but to win him back.
"Have ye heard?" Colin said from the end of the table. "Old
William Calder is dead. Brokenhearted by his recent failures, no doubt."
Frowning, Muriella tried to conjure an image of her grandfather, the man who had caused her so much sorrow. All she could remember was the bitterness and rage she had heard once in his voice, the way he had made her mother cry. She had never known him and he had never wanted to know her. He was her grandfather, yet she could not grieve for him. She swallowed hard.
Argyll grinned, clapping his hand on Muriella's shoulder.
"Aye, our troubles are over. Ye'll be safe enough now, lass." Raising his tankard, he beamed at his guests. "A toast to the bride-to-be!" As everyone raised their cups and saluted, the Earl noted Maclean's complacent smile. The man believed it, then. That was just as it should be. None of the guests seemed to recognize the hard gleam buried just beneath the laughter in Argyll's eyes.
"And since 'tis safe now, we must carry on in the Campbell tradition and make our journey to the southwestern shore of Loch Awe before the wedding." He leaned over to explain to Muriella, "The entire party, guests and all, rides to a sacred place in the loch, where the stones stand upright, shaped and placed there by the ancient Celtic gods. ‘Tis a fitting spot to bless the bride and groom." He took another swig from his tankard, then announced, "We shall go to the Standing Stones the day after tomorrow, the day before the ceremony. Ye're all invited. But for now, let’s eat!" Argyll smiled at Muriella and carefully avoided glancing at Maclean.
When the meal was over and the women had retreated toward the warmth of the fire, Muriella took the Earl's arm to draw him aside.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice low-pitched. "We mustn't go to Loch Awe."
He looked at her more closely, noting the blank expression in her eyes. "What do ye mean? Of course we'll go." "We mustn't. There'll be trouble there."
He took her hands and was shocked at the clamminess of her skin. He had not reckoned with this. Perhaps the girl could sense danger as easily as he did. But she must not be allowed to ruin his plans. "Lass, I'm well aware ye don't desire this marriage. Nevertheless it will take place. Don't try to stop it with yer foolishness and talk of trouble. The men may think ye a witch and tremble in fear of meeting yer eyes, but I don't. Ye're my ward still and must do as I say. We will ride to Loch Awe."
"No."
When he felt her hands tremble, his resolution wavered. Staring down at her bruised face, he realized it would mean a great deal to him if he were to lose her. "Lass," he said gently, "ye must learn to trust me. I'll keep ye safe."
She shook her head in mute denial.
"I'll listen to no more," he declared. "'Tis settled." He stalked away, leaving Muriella to stand
alone, her eyes gray with foreboding.
~ * ~
The hall had been long empty and the castle long silent when Lachlan Maclean crept down the stairs and into the courtyard. The man who awaited him stepped from the shadows, directing Maclean toward a niche in the wall where they could talk without being seen.
"Well? Have ye any news?"
"Aye," Maclean muttered, "they've done half yer work for ye. They ride to the Standing Stones day after tomorrow. The guests will be along and 'twill be difficult to keep order."
"The girl will be there?"
"Riding at the front of the pack with her bridegroom. They couldn't have given ye a better target if they tried."
The other man laughed, but Maclean warned him to silence. "Don't be overuse of yerself. Ye weren't so successful last time."
"I would have been if ye hadn't called me away at the last moment. The Campbells were at my mercy, man!"
"'Tis lucky for us both that one of my men recognized ye held both Argyll's sons in that glen. Had ye killed them, ye wouldn't have lived out the week, nor would I. I hate the Earl, but I'm no' a complete fool. Ye must tread carefully with that man."
Andrew Calder smiled in the darkness. "I'll tread so carefully that he won't even know I'm near, except that the girl will fall dead in his son's arms."
Chapter 16
Muriella kept Megan close to her as much as possible on the ride from the castle to the sacred stones of Loch Awe. She had come to know the twists and turns of this shoreline well since her arrival at Kilchurn, but today it was somehow different. The water looked dull and lifeless, despite the tiny whitecaps that stirred in the rising breeze. The loch was like a stranger whose unfathomable depths were beyond her reach or knowledge. She had heard often of the treachery of currents and caverns beneath the placid surface, but not until today did she believe it.
As the horses crowded on the hilltop that looked down over the dramatically tilted slate gray stones on their small green island, the Earl rode up between his sons and Muriella. He glanced back at the winding string of guests. He was uneasy.
Maclean had chosen to stay behind, and Argyll did not know what to make of that. Perhaps, he thought, his son-in-law believed he would not be implicated if he waited at Kilchurn. Perhaps Maclean thought the Earl blind to his intentions. Argyll smiled sourly. He'd have to be blind, and an idiot besides, not to see what Maclean desired. The man might as well have proclaimed it aloud.
Turning to the girl at his side, the Earl considered what he could see of Muriella's face beneath her hood. She was pale, and held her lip between her teeth as if trying to keep herself from crying out. "Ye see," he murmured, "there's no danger here."
"What do ye mean, no danger?" John looked past his father at Muriella.
"Yer betrothed tried to tell me we shouldn't come today. She said 'twould be dangerous."
"Ye didn't believe her?"
"Of course I didn't! She's a nervous lass, that's all."
John grasped his father's arm. "Ye should have listened. She knows."
"Johnnie," Argyll snapped, "don't be a fool."
"I tell ye, she knows! She warned me about Uncle Rob. And she told Duncan that men would die in that glen."
The Earl shook his head as he urged his horse forward.
"Enough of this nonsense. I must see to my guests."
John knew it was not nonsense. Cursing under his breath, he took hold of Muriella's bridle. "Stay close to me."
As the horses picked their way down the hillside, Muriella pulled her cloak tighter around her neck. When the animals stopped at the edge of the water, she sat rigid and wary beside her groom. Something was amiss; she could feel it like a weight bearing down on her slight shoulders. She stared out at the water, seeking the source of her unease, following the shape of the island of stones until her gaze fell on the sacred slabs set in this place by the hands of some ancient Celtic gods. Men feared them, it was said, as much as they worshipped them. No sane man would dare defile those Standing Stones.
Muriella's voice pierced the wary silence. "Megan!" she screamed.
The servant leaned forward. As she did so an arrow hissed through the air where she had been a moment before.
In a heartbeat, John had dragged Muriella from her horse.
He looked about frantically until Duncan approached. John lifted his future wife across the saddle, depositing her in Duncan's arms. Nodding toward the narrow trail they had followed from Kilchurn, he commanded, "Take her home!" Then he dug his heels into his horse's sides and the animal hurtled down the bank and into the water.
Duncan watched his cousin disappear into the group of men who were crossing the narrow arm of the loch, then turned his horse back in the direction they had come. He pulled up short when Muriella's fingers closed around his in a punishing grip.
"Megan!" she gasped.
The boy squinted into the sun, trying to locate the servant. As he wheeled his horse, he saw complete confusion reigned on the shore of the loch. Many of the guests were not certain what had happened, but they sensed fear in the air and seemed to be possessed of an urgent desire to flee. One of the animals had stumbled in the mud and his rider scrambled from his back to cling to the stirrup of another horse and rider, begging to be carried back to Kilchurn. Only Megan sat absolutely still in the center of the melee. She had not moved since Muriella screamed. Her face pale and bloodless, the servant leaned forward, hearing the hiss of the arrow as it passed her, feeling the rush of air against her cheek, staring at the cold gray stones, imagining the vengeful spirits who dwelt there. Duncan called but Megan herself had been turned to stone.
When the squire's horse was near enough, Muriella placed her hand on Megan's arm. "Megan," she whispered, "'tis all right now. We must get away, back to the castle."
The girl turned to stare blankly at her mistress.
"Come," Duncan urged. "Do ye want to give them another target?"
The threat awakened Megan from her stupor. She shook her head to clear it, glancing at Muriella to make certain she was all right. Then the servant guided her horse up the hill and the three rode after the other guests.
When the Earl saw Duncan and Muriella pass, he nodded. He cupped his hand above his eyes, turning to watch John and Colin lead the men across the lake. Argyll was undecided.
Should he follow his sons or go back to the keep? He sought out Duncan's galloping horse once more among the confused groups spread out along the rise above him. The squire would see that Muriella got back safely, he thought. Then he raised his head, glowering. Duncan was taking the lass to Kilchurn. And Kilchurn was where Maclean waited. Without a backward glance, the Earl fell in behind the ring of guests who sheltered Muriella.
~ * ~
Nearly a dozen men began the chase after the unknown antagonists who had dared the wrath of man and gods alike when they hid themselves among the Standing Stones and tried to murder a young girl. They could see only one man fleeing before them. Although they circled the area again and again, it soon became clear that there had been no others. One man had attacked a group of more than a dozen men and twenty women. It was insane.
John believed he knew why. The man was Andrew Calder and he had come alone because he had only one end in mind: to kill Muriella before she became a Campbell. A single man could easily conceal himself on the sacred island to await his opportunity. No one would expect an attack from such a place. But Calder was already an outlaw and a murderer with a price on his head. Apparently, he feared nothing. He need have only one arrow if his aim were true. Alone, he could elude his pursuers with little trouble, particularly in the confusion caused by a group of frightened guests.
However—and John smiled grimly to himself at the thought—the outlaw had reckoned without the fact that two girls, heavily cloaked, with faces effectively concealed, would be riding with John. Then again, Calder had not known about Muriella's strong sense of her own danger and the strange power that somehow kept her safe.
The chase was a long one. As the men pushed their animals beyond the limits of their endurance, they began to fall back one by one. There was, after all, only a single man to pursue. They had all heard John Campbell declare he would not let Calder escape this time, and both horses and men were exhausted and thirsty. There was little more they could do, so they turned their horses toward home.
But the two brothers did not give in. When their animals seemed ready to collapse beneath them, they stopped at a nearby manor house, exchanging the horses for fresh ones.
The owner was only too glad to give up his horses for the fine-blooded Campbell animals. After two hours of furious riding, Calder had abandoned his mount to lose himself among the craggy rocks scattered along the foot of the mountains.
At that point, John dismounted. Turning to Colin, he said, "Go back. I want to be the one to take him."
Colin shook his head. "Ye're a fool, Johnnie. Two men are always better. Calder's an outlaw, remember. Running is his trade. He'll outfox ye yet."
"He won't," John declared with complete conviction.
"We're only wasting time arguing. I want the man and I intend to get him, do ye hear?"
Running his hand along his horse's damp neck, Colin considered. He was tired, after all. And Johnnie was stubborn. Besides, he had grown up playing among these rocks. It should not be difficult for him to trap a single man here, especially a stranger running scared like Calder. "Aye, well, I'll leave him to ye, then. But remember, tomorrow is to be yer wedding day. Ye'd best be back well before dawn, or there'll be the devil to pay."
John smiled at his small victory as he slung his bow across his shoulder. Without another word to his brother, he adjusted his quiver and walked away.
Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Colin turned toward home.
John crept among the boulders with great care, for he was determined not to let Calder escape him. Although he knew the outlaw would be tired, like himself, John also knew he had the advantage. He had learned long ago the secrets and surprises of these tumbled stones. Calder would find it difficult to make his way through the bizarre outcroppings that protruded at odd angles, blocking clear pathways unexpectedly.
Captured Hearts and Stolen Kisses Page 79