"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 oversure 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.
For some time, John crouched, listening, until he heard the splattering of pebbles overhead, which indicated the direction Calder had taken. Readjusting his bow so it would not swing out and betray him, he placed his sword on the rocks at his feet. It was too bulky and he did not intend to use it anyway: he had other plans for Calder. He could hear by an occasional scraping noise that the outlaw had not rid himself of his own weapon.
John began his climb slowly and patiently. For once, he knew he had the advantage, and he did not mean to lose it by acting in haste. As he moved along behind Calder, the sun began to set. Already the shadows were long and the light dusky. So much the better, he thought.
For a long time the outlaw stayed well ahead of him, but John was unconcerned. He could see where the man was heading. In his ignorance, Calder would back himself into a corner; then he'd be right where John wanted him. It was quite dark by the time the outlaw pulled himself over a final ridge and dropped down under an outcropping of rock that sheltered him from the back.
Above him, John smiled as he watched Calder gazing around, his inspection only gradually assuring him of what he had done. At his back, the face of the rock jutted out, curving over his head to form a solid wall. The wall was joined on two sides by slabs that stood so close there was no room for a man to squeeze through. Before him stood a huge, flat rock that both protected him from the front and blocked his escape. The only way out was the way he had come, and he was sure John Campbell was waiting there.
Crouching in the darkness, John waited for over an hour, until the moon should rise above the trees, giving him the light he needed to finish off Calder. For the time being, the outlaw huddled behind the flat rock so John could not see him. Minute by minute, the moon filled the rocks with bleak shadows, but still Calder did not move. When he did, however, John would be ready. Taking his bow from his shoulder, he drew an arrow from the quiver and stretched the bowstring taut.
Calder, having heard no sound, no breath of life, for over an hour, decided he could wait no longer. He had to see what was happening out there. Moving as quietly as possible, he pulled himself up so he could peer over the rock face and try to discern, in the added light of the moon, what his enemy's position might be.
As the outlaw's forehead appeared above the boulder, John drew back the arrow until the bowstring reached its full length. Then, screaming the Campbell war cry, "Cruachan!" he let the arrow fly.
* * *
Muriella sat up in bed as the familiar coldness swept through her body. She had been dreaming of Hugh again, running from him in the woods and laughing, when the trembling awakened her. She clutched frantically at the warm, tangled furs in an effort to assure herself of the firm reality of the bed, but the spinning had already begun in her head and she could not stop it. She felt the shadows closing around her and shivered violently. The air was still and heavy until a triumphant voice pierced the silence. "Cruachan!" An arrow sped through the night, then blood spouted up and out, spilling over the face of a huge, flat rock.
The smell of blood was everywhere; Muriella was choking on it. The world tilted and swayed around her before the spinning ceased at last. But the coldness lingered. It simply would not go. Covering her mouth with her hands, she bit her palm to keep from crying out.
Across the room, Megan sat up sleepily and called, "What is it, miss?"
Muriella had to struggle to force her vision into words. When she finally answered, her voice was hollow. "Andrew Calder is dead."
Chapter 17
Megan woke Muriella before the sun had risen. "Come, we must begin early or we won't be ready in time. Och! Miss, there's so much to be done!"
Her mistress sat up, making an effort to calm her breath. For an instant, when her feet touched the floor, she thought her legs would not support her.
"So it's come," she whispered in a voice so strained it did not sound like her own.
"Aye, miss," Megan said. "Come, we must bathe ye while the water is warm. Miss Elizabeth brought ye some of her speci
al scent. She makes it herself." She knelt at the edge of the rough wooden tub and sniffed. "'Tis heavenly."
Muriella stood beside the tub, watching the steam rise in clouds that drifted through the cold morning air. Her night rail lay in a heap at her feet, and the light from the torches danced over her naked body, painting it with an orange glow.
Megan contemplated her mistress in surprise. She had changed in the past few months; her breasts were fuller, her waist more slender. She looked, just now, more like a woman than a girl. And tonight that transformation would be complete. In order to hide the concern in her eyes, Megan bent her head, concentrating on the task of running the sponge over Muriella's shoulders.
* * *
Washed, dried, scented, and creamed, Muriella stood before Megan, Mary and Elizabeth. The three women surveyed with alarm the bruises that discolored the bride's face.
"Is there no’ anythin' we can do?" Megan asked, biting her fingernail in distress.
Elizabeth came forward. "Aye, there's a way." She looked at Muriella's face, and her eyes darkened with shame at her husband's cruelty to such a young girl. "I went to the Gypsies and they gave me a cream to cover the bruises and a powder to smooth over the cream. The old woman swore they would hide the marks."
"I've never heard of such a thing," Megan whispered, gazing in wonder at the heavy white cream in Elizabeth's palm. Tentatively, she touched it, circling her fingertip through the thick, cool mixture that clung to her hand when she drew it away. "Do ye really think 'twill work?" she asked.
"The Gypsies can do a great many strange and wonderful things," Mary said. "They have the magic touch."
"I only hope it hasn't left them today when we need it most." Turning to Elizabeth, Megan added, "Can ye do her face while I work on her hair?"
Highland Charm: First Fantasies Page 18