Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

  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 si
ckness 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.

  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 t
he 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.