Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

  Muriella's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't remember. Besides, 'twasn't me who had the power. 'Twas the power had me." She stared down at her hands to hide her distress, but Alex seemed to sense what she was feeling. He reached out to cover her fingers with his.

  "I know," he whispered. "Ye wonder sometimes if yer mind and body are yer own anymore, but 'tis the price ye pay for havin' the gift."

  Muriella looked up at him. "How did ye know?"

  "'Twasn't hard to guess. I could see it in yer face." He ran his fingertip lightly over the corner of her mouth. "Here, where yer confusion has changed the curve of yer smile. And here"—he traced the slight shadows under her eyes—"where fear has left its mark on many a sleepless night." He touched her cheeks gently. "Here, where the pain has settled in the wee hollows." At last he rested two fingers on her eyelids. "And most of all, here in yer eyes, where I see the knowledge that tears at yer heart."

  As he spoke, Muriella realized he too bore the signs of suffering from the weight of a burden sometimes too heavy to bear. Then he took her hand to place it against his cheek. Without conscious thought, she followed on his face the path he had traced over her own. She touched the grooves and wrinkles and hollows of his leathery skin, and in that moment felt the strands of their pasts had been woven together because of the grief they'd shared.

  "Ye see, lass, that ye aren't alone."

  She drew away, bewildered by the lump in her throat. "Does it ever get any easier? Does the fear go away?"

  "No," Alex told her sadly. "But in time, ye learn to make the best of a power ye can't fight." He regarded her for a moment in silence, then added, "Ye're to be married within the month, isn't that so?"

  "Aye," she said. "The Earl of Argyll has given his son a gift—me."

  The Gypsy sighed. "Ye're young, lass. Ye must come to accept the bonds ye can't break."

  "I can't do it," she cried. "I'm afraid—"

  "Of what?" he asked gently.

  Muriella shook her head. "I don't know."

  His gaze clouded over and he turned away, listening to a sound she could not hear. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. "Ye'll learn things today that ye’ve no wish to know."

  Muriella touched his hand and felt the trembling of his fingers and the chill that had settled on his skin. "Tell me—," she began, but he interrupted her.

  "Ye've come here to forget, no' to remember. Listen to the sound of the river. 'Tis singin' today and won't stand for any sadness." He did not look at her, but picked up his harp and began to strum a tune she had never heard before. His fingers moved lithely over the strings, weaving a pattern of notes that echoed the soft rumbling sound of the river nearby. The leap and swirl of the water sang through the seasoned harp in Alex's hands. In spite of her unanswered questions, Muriella felt herself being drawn into the pleasing rhythm.

  The tent blocked the river from her sight, but with his music, Alex re-created the jubilant bright cascade of water over stones. Her heartbeat answered the pulse of the song, the song the pulse of the rushing river. She smiled slowly, with delight.

  "I'm thinkin' yer friends are wantin' to dance," Alex said, motioning toward Megan and Duncan and Adam.

  The three had turned their backs on the fire and were swaying with the music. Only then did Muriella realize others were playing their harps and the pure sweet notes of a flute rose now and then above the melody. Suddenly, as if beckoned by a silent hand, the Gypsies began to drift away from their tasks toward the glowing bonfire. They paused just beyond the reach of the flames, eyes closed, while the music possessed them. Men and women alike raised their arms until palm met palm; then they began to turn slowly, drawing Megan and the others into the dance with them.

  Just when Muriella felt she could not resist the lure of the music any longer, a woman knelt and reached for her hand. "Come," she crooned, "leave yer troubles for a time."

  Muriella nodded, staring fascinated at the pendant that hung on a chain around the woman's neck—an intricate golden flame with a ruby at its center. The ruby flashed and glimmered when the Gypsy moved, so the flame itself seemed to flicker.

  Alex followed Muriella's gaze. "Lovely, is it no’?"

  "'Tis beautiful."

  "Come," the woman repeated. "Ye must answer the call of the music before it fades away."

  With a last look at Alex, whose head was bent so she could not see his eyes, Muriella rose and moved toward the circle of laughing dancers.

  * * *

  Crouching low in the saddle, Andrew Calder watched and waited, his hand poised above the hilt of his sword. Through the pattern of leaves hiding him from view, he could see the blue and green Campbell plaid draped over the shoulders of the men coming toward him. Leaves and plaid shifted, blended, became indistinguishable, then separated once again as the five men on horseback rode ploddingly toward Calder's hiding place.

  "Are ye ready?" he hissed to the men who waited with him. "We’d no’ want to miss our chance."

  "Aye, we're ready, sir, but—"

  Calder turned in irritation at the uncertainty in the man's voice. "Davie?" he rasped. "What's worrying ye now? We've twice as many men and they won't be expecting us."

  David Fraser looked unconvinced. "Aye, but 'tis a lot of money, just the same. The Campbells won't soon forget this one, Andrew. Are ye sure ye want to risk it?"

  With a snort, Calder looked away. "I intend to risk everything to get back what they stole from me. If ye're afraid of trying, ye can leave us now, Davie. But ye knew before we started what we meant to do." He leaned forward to get a better view of the approaching riders. They were Campbells all right, and their saddlebags were fat and heavy, just as his informant had promised. This little raid might just be worth the effort.

  Of course, no matter how much gold was hidden in those bags, it could not compensate him for the loss of Cawdor. Calder glowered through the foliage, remembering that, like a fool, he had felt relief when his oldest brother died so young. It had not occurred to Andrew that as the second son, he would not inherit all his brother John had lost. He had been furious when he learned that Isabel Calder had borne a baby girl who became John Calder's heir.

  "Look at those bags," one man whispered reverently. "There must be a fortune on the backs of those nags."

  "Money for the big wedding, I'll wager," another sneered. "They tell me the Earl can't spend enough on the girl. But then"—he elbowed Calder roughly—"he's thinkin' to get it back, no doubt, after the ceremony."

  "There won't be a wedding if I have aught to do with it," Andrew snapped. "Mayhap this time Argyll will see I'm no’ boasting when I say so." His fingers closed on the cool metal of his broadsword. Andrew had been all for seeing the girl never lived to enjoy her inheritance, but William Calder had advised against it. He claimed the clan could not afford the full-scale war with the Roses the girl's murder would have caused. The old man had even hinted he had other ways of seeing that Cawdor remained in Calder hands.

  He had been wrong. The Campbells had seen to that.

  "If ye mean to stop the ceremony, why do ye wait?" Davie demanded. "Why haven't ye tried for the girl yet?"

  "Because I may no’ have to. My father has plans of his own. And I must confess, 'twould amuse me no end to see John Campbell of Lorne married to a penniless bastard." In the meantime, he intended to get what he could from the Campbells. He knew it would be impossible to break the clan, but he could certainly make them uncomfortable while his own pockets grew fat with their wealth. Then, if his father's plan failed—

  Andrew Calder was no fool. He knew what would happen if Muriella became a Campbell. He and his father and brothers would be left in poverty while their inheritance passed to the coffers of their greatest enemy—Archibald Campbell. Argyll was second only to the King in wealth and power, but King James was busy with his squabbles at court. Here in the Highlands, it was the Earl who ruled. Calder had sworn he would not let Argyll have his way this time. He had had no difficulty finding men
willing to join him in this enterprise; his brothers fought for the sake of Cawdor, the others for their hatred and fear of the Earl. They were outlaws now, every last one of them, and desperate enough to do whatever Calder asked of them.

  "'Tis time!" someone hissed. "Be sure yer aim is true!"

  Calder drew his sword, grinning in anticipation of the fight. The riders would be easy prey, but that did not dim his pleasure.

  "Now!" he cried as he kicked his horse into action. In an instant, the narrow path was crowded by outlaws, who screamed their war cry as they hemmed in the five couriers. The Campbells were hardly able to pull up their horses before the attack, let alone draw their weapons. They gave up the gold, and four of their lives, without a fight.

  As Davie started to finish off the last of them, Calder stayed his hand. "Leave him. We want the news back at Kilchurn as soon as can be. By the telling of this deed, I'll make certain that from today, the Campbells will never forget the name of Andrew Calder!"

  Chapter 9

  Colin sprawled across the uneven bench, clasping a servant girl with one hand and a tankard of ale with the other. The Earl and John sat nearby. All three looked expectantly toward the man who had just ridden in from Cawdor.

  "Well, Richard, what have ye found?" The Earl demanded.

  Richard wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve before answering. "M'lord, the Calders have two witnesses who swear Isabel Calder lay with a man besides her husband."

  "That doesn't prove the girl is illegitimate!" John exploded.

  "They also swear Isabel and her husband kept apart and that he never lay with her at all."

  Rising from the bench, John began to pace behind his father's chair. It seemed he had done little but pace the floor in frustration since they had taken Muriella from Cawdor.

  "Be calm, Johnnie," Argyll demanded. "The witnesses have been paid, that's all. We'll simply have to force them to admit it. Tell me, Richard, do the officials believe these lies?"

  "Aye, m'lord. But they've no more desire to see the Campbells at Cawdor than the Calders do."

  "Thank ye," the Earl murmured absently. "Ye can go." Sighing in relief, Richard shambled off to the kitchen to find himself something to drink.

  For the first time, Argyll became aware of the girl who sat beside Colin. "Can't ye send her away? We'll no’ want the servants knowing our business."

  His oldest son smiled, tightening his hold on the girl. "Jenny here won't speak a word, will ye, hinny? She's quiet, is this one, the way I like 'em."

  "Forget the girl," John interrupted. "What are ye going to do about this?" He bent down to look into his father's face. "And what if the witnesses aren't being paid? What if they aren't lying?"

  "If they aren't, they'll nevertheless swear they are. I'll see to it. But I tell ye, they're false witnesses. Had they been legitimate, William Calder would have brought them forward a long time since." He paused, considering his son thoughtfully. "I'll go to Cawdor myself tomorrow. They all know I speak for the King. They'll listen to me."

  Colin chuckled. "They know ye speak for Argyll and they’ll no’ listen. Maclean didn't hear ye, and the Calders have far more to gain than he did." He pinched Jenny, sliding his hand along her arm. "But if ye should be successful, I'm sure Johnnie's bastard will be grateful."

  John stopped his pacing, clenched his fists, and moved toward his brother.

  "Johnnie," Argyll interjected, "the men are in the courtyard preparing for the hunt. Go with them. Don't worry about this. I'll see it comes out all right. We've gone to too much trouble to give up now."

  John glared at Colin for a moment longer, then spun on his heel and stalked out of the hall.

  The Earl turned to Colin. "As for ye, I suggest ye take yer woman and get out of my sight."

  His son shrugged. "The boy's a fool. Too sensitive by far. He won't ever make a good fighter; he's all hot blood and no common sense."

  "Get out!" Argyll bellowed.

  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.