Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

  "Do ye need me to help ye cross?" It was not Hugh's voice, but John's.

  To her surprise, she turned to smile at him. His smile answered hers, and she was only vaguely aware that the river was rising higher, so both stood ankle deep in water.

  "Come." He took her hand, leading her out to the stones.

  The boulders were shiny green with moss, and she was afraid of falling, but John coaxed her forward. She took a step, then another, holding his hand tightly all the while. As she picked her way across, the water rose to her knees and the boulders disappeared in the whirlpools the torrent created. When the water reached her shoulders, she turned to look at John for reassurance, but as she did so, she lost her balance and fell headlong into the rising river.

  She was revolving in ever-tinier circles. Her hair was swept around her body, her arms and legs tangled in the strands. She could not move. The circling motion coiled her hair around her hips, her waist, her chest. She gasped, choking, spinning toward the boulders on every side. Then, abruptly, she was lifted from the water. Her hair, which a moment before had coiled like a snake around her shoulders, fell back, dripping and limp behind her. Closing her eyes, she breathed dry air and lay still, blessing the arms that held her high above the river.

  Someone laughed. She opened her eyes to smile into John's face, but he wasn't there. "Maclean!" she screamed. He was laughing at her and his arms fell away and she was falling back toward the black heart of the whirlpool.

  * * *

  Megan had taken a few steps toward her mistress when the door swung open. John did not pause to look at the servant, but went instead to where his wife sat huddled on the bed, her hair falling like a curtain over her face. Taking her in his arms, he held her for a long time in silence.

  Megan stood frozen where she was. He must have heard Muriella call out. But how was that possible? His chamber was not nearby. Then he must have been outside, she thought. But why?

  She remembered her anxiety during the past few nights, how restless Sir John had seemed, how his gaze followed his wife wherever she went of late. Had he been waiting outside the door? Or had he meant to come in all along? Megan shivered. It was too soon. Muriella's fears, once pushed back into darkness, had rushed into the light once more. If John chose to lie with her now, Megan knew it might destroy her mistress.

  The servant stiffened her spine. She would stop him if that were what he intended. Glowering, she moved closer to the bed. John was holding his wife so Megan could not see her mistress's face. He was massaging Muriella's shoulders rhythmically.

  "Muriella," he said, "tell me what ye were dreaming of."

  His wife opened her eyes, compelled by the sound of his voice, but the webs of sleep still clung, woven into the lingering traces of fear. "The water," she gasped. "The rising water." She choked on the words.

  John frowned as his hands moved over her back. Was she thinking of Elizabeth and how she had nearly drowned? Or was there something more? He cupped Muriella's face in his open palms. "'Tis over now," he told her. "Elizabeth is safe."

  Slowly, one word at a time, his meaning penetrated Muriella's fogged mind. She was grateful he could not see inside her nightmare to the real source of her terror. Elizabeth might be safe, but Muriella was not. "I tried to stop it," she cried, "but I couldn't do it."

  "Ye had nothing to do with what happened to my sister. I've told ye before, 'tis a blessing she's free of that man at last."

  Muriella shook her head. "'Tis not a blessing, but a curse." She did not give him the chance to contradict her. "Don't ye understand? I did curse her, not by causing Maclean to put her on the rock, but by keeping her alive—to mourn, to weep, to remember."

  John had no answer for that. He remembered too clearly the chilling indifference in Elizabeth's eyes. "She'll learn to forget. She'll be herself again in time," he said.

  "Mayhap," his wife agreed, but she did not believe it. Gradually, her heart had ceased its frantic beating and her skin had grown warm under John's touch. She looked into his eyes, clouded with his own troubled thoughts. "I wanted to thank ye for what ye did today. I know 'twas not easy to let Maclean go. But for Elizabeth's sake, 'twas kinder."

  "Was it?" John murmured. "I wonder." He saw Muriella was calmer, that the effects of the dream had faded away. "Do ye think ye can sleep now?" he asked.

  "Aye." The concern in his tone made Muriella want to weep. She could rail against his anger and his betrayal and his lust for blood, but his kindness she could not bear. He brushed his fingertips over her cheek, and the simple gesture brought a rush of warmth that frightened her with its power. She made herself breathe slowly, evenly, but could not stop her hand from reaching out to cover his.

  "I'll leave ye then," John said. "Ye need to rest." His fingers tightened around hers for an instant, then he rose to draw the furs up to her neck. When Muriella closed her eyes reluctantly, he stepped back and, motioning for Megan to follow, turned to leave the room.

  The servant stood for a moment longer, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. What could he want from her? With a single glance at her mistress, she shook her head and slipped from the chamber.

  John was waiting in the passage; she could just discern his figure in the dark hallway. She moved forward with care, wishing she had brought a torch.

  "Come!" he spoke impatiently from out of the gloom. Then he was beside her, his hand on her shoulder, guiding her through the corridor. When he touched her, she thought perhaps he intended to take her instead of Muriella. She had seen the hunger in his eyes when he looked at his wife; mayhap this time Mary was not nearby to assuage it. Megan gave no sign of her apprehension. If that was what he desired, what would she do? She had no answer.

  After what seemed like hours of darkness, John kicked open a door, leading the servant into the library. At least there was a fire, she thought inanely. At least it was warm. As she moved toward the light of the flames, she heard him stop near the desk. She stared into the fire, braiding her fingers in agitation.

  "Megan."

  She jumped despite her resolution to remain calm.

  "Look at me."

  She turned to face him. He was perched on the edge of the desk, his brows drawn together, his hands clenched. "Tonight is the third time," he began, "that I've heard my wife cry out in terror at her dreams."

  Megan swallowed with difficulty. So he had been outside the door for three nights.

  "I want ye to tell me, if ye can, why she's so troubled in her sleep, and why she calls Maclean's name."

  So he had not believed Muriella when she said she was dreaming of Elizabeth. Megan opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. "M'lord—"

  "The nightmares began when my sister came, didn't they?" John persisted.

  "Aye."

  "Do ye know what the dreams are?"

  "No," the servant said. "She won't tell me, though I have asked her often enough."

  "And ye can't guess?"

  "No, m'lord."

  "What of Maclean?" John persisted. "Why should she see him in her nightmares?"

  The servant stared at her hands. By the look in Sir John's eyes, she guessed his need for his wife had become an obsession. If she wanted to keep him from returning to Muriella tonight, there was only one thing to do.

  "Megan?"

  She looked up. "Aye?"

  "What of Maclean?" he repeated with ill-concealed impatience.

  She had sworn, she remembered, but she could not think of that now. "She often has nightmares about him."

  John ran his hand over his forehead, leaving a puzzled frown behind. "Does she have reason to fear him?"

  "She…I don't—"

  Suddenly his control shattered. He leapt up to grasp her by the shoulders. "Tell me!"

  "Aye," she muttered. "She has reason enough."

  John released her, stepping back. "What is it?"

  Megan swallowed once more. "Ye remember just before the weddin' when she fell and bruised her face?"

 
; "Aye." The cold fury was already gathering in his face. "Go on."

  "She didn't fall."

  "Maclean." His voice was without inflection, but Megan recognized the threat beneath the single word. "There were scratches on his neck that night. I remember he tried to hide them."

  "I didn't think ye noticed."

  He nodded, took a deep breath, and forced himself to ask, "Did he rape her?"

  Megan hesitated for an instant. "She said he didn't."

  Closing his eyes, John fought to retain control. "But ye don't believe her?"

  "I don't know what to believe." The servant moved away from him. She was not certain what he might do next. When he opened his eyes, they glittered cold and silver in the firelight.

  "Why didn't she tell me?" he asked at last. For a moment he absorbed Megan's startled expression, then looked away. "No," he said, "ye needn't answer." Moving past her, he lowered himself into a chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

  When he spoke, his voice was so low Megan had to step forward to hear him. "Ye can go back to her now. And thank ye."

  He did not look up to see her leave the room. His thoughts were circling around a distant memory. He was staring at the bruises that discolored Muriella's face. Taking her chin in his hand, he had said, So, little one, ye'll be damaged for our wedding. Are ye sure ye haven't done it on purpose? Then, on their wedding night—he did not like to remember how cruelly he had taken his wife that first time. No wonder she shrank away from his touch.

  He looked up, his jaw muscles tightening convulsively. The image of Muriella's face dissolved, and in its place he saw Maclean laughing as the gate opened before him. John sat up, staring unseeing at the fire. "I let him go," he hissed. "I set the bastard free!"

  In one swift movement, he reached the door. He wrenched it open and hurried down the corridor to his chamber.

  Chapter 34

  Muriella paused at the top of the stairs, looking out over the crowded trestle tables strung across the Great Hall. The noise this morning was unusually subdued. Men and servants sat staring before them with no laughter and very little chatter. Muriella was surprised to see Duncan and Elizabeth already seated at the high table; her sister-in-law had not joined them for a meal since her arrival. John, she noticed, had not yet come down. She felt a flash of disappointment that made her hand tremble on the balustrade. She tightened her hold on the worn, smooth wood until the feeling passed. With a steadying breath, she went to join the others.

  She sat next to Elizabeth, who smiled wanly. Muriella felt a flicker of hope at the gesture. Touching her sister-in-law's hand, she murmured, "'Tis good to see ye here."

  "I couldn't stare at the four walls of that chamber any longer," Elizabeth explained. "'Twas too much like a prison there, ye ken?"

  "Aye," Muriella agreed. "I knew ye'd have to come seeking the light soon. 'Tis fortunate the sun has burned the mist away this morning."

  Her sister-in-law looked up at the high slitted windows where the light spilled into the room, softening the mottled gray stone walls. "'Tis late," she observed, brow furrowed. "Why hasn't Johnnie come down yet?"

  "I didn't wish to disturb him," Duncan told her. "He hasn't slept well the past few nights. I'm beginning to wonder what ails him."

  Muriella concentrated on the platter of cold meat Jenny handed her, grateful for the excuse to hide her thoughts. She too had begun to wonder. Why, she asked herself again and again, had her husband come to her last night? Had he been passing through the hall when he heard her cry out? Or had he intended to enter her chamber all along? Her pulse pounded at the thought, and she remembered with mingled pleasure and unease the warmth his touch had brought her.

  Just then, Andrew Campbell came to the head of the table. "I went to wake Sir John, as ye bid me," Andrew explained to Duncan, "but I found him gone."

  "Gone? Gone where? Do ye mean he went hunting?"

  "Aye, so I thought at first. But I asked the men, and it seems no one saw him go and he took no one with him. Then I asked Sim. He was watchin' the gate, ye ken." Andrew leaned forward, full of the importance of his news. "Sim said he opened the gate for Sir John when 'twas still dark night. He was alone and"—he paused in order to hold his audience in suspense a moment longer—"he wore full armor and carried his father's sword. What do ye think of that?"

  Duncan blinked at the man, perplexed. "Are ye certain?"

  "Aye, so Sim says."

  "But where would he be going in full armor in the middle of the night?"

  "I'll tell ye, Duncan Campbell. I'll tell ye where he's gone." Elizabeth half rose from her chair, her eyes darting from face to face. "He's gone after my husband. I know it. 'Tis just what he's done."

  Taking her hand, Duncan tried to calm her. "Why would he do that? He gave ye his word, didn't he? Ye must be mistaken."

  Elizabeth shook her head, sinking back onto the bench when her legs would no longer support her. "Ye won't be convincing me of that."

  Muriella closed her eyes and tried to remember what John had said last night when she told him it had been kinder to let Maclean go. Was it? he'd murmured. I wonder. She stared at the pitted tabletop, her mouth dry with apprehension. She wanted to tell Elizabeth she was wrong, but could not bring herself to put the lie into words.

  * * *

  John sat in a plush velvet chair, staring at the huge door that led to the living quarters at Edinburgh Castle. He was waiting for his brother. Wearily, he adjusted his doublet. He was not looking forward to this interview with Colin. No doubt the Earl would be livid when he learned Maclean had left Kilchurn Castle alive. But John needed his help. He would just have to keep his own temper under control.

  He knew his face had begun to show signs of the strain he had been under recently. His skin was burnt from exposure to the sun and there were dark circles under his eyes. It had taken him two weeks to trace Maclean to Edinburgh—two weeks of riding unescorted to the gates of his enemies' castles and inquiring after the Laird's whereabouts. He had been surprised time and again that not a single man had raised a single sword against him. Of course, officially the Campbells and Macleans were at peace, but surely his brother-in-law's relatives knew what their laird had done to Elizabeth, and why John Campbell sought him now. They must have realized the Campbells would soon regret their impulse to set the man free.

  He had asked a multitude of questions at every keep, and each time, although he discovered nothing, he'd had the feeling they would have told him if they'd known. It made him uneasy. When he finally came upon Evan Maclean on the Isle of Tiree, John had been unable to disguise his impatience any longer. "'Tis only yer laird we seek now," he'd told the young man, "but if ye shelter him, our vengeance will extend to the whole Clan Maclean."

  Evan regarded his adversary with piercing eyes. "Ye want Lachlan Maclean's life, then."

  When John nodded, the other man leaned forward, fists clenched. "Well, my friend, take it, and welcome."

  John gaped at him. "Ye can't mean that."

  Evan's eyes smoldered as he replied, "I do mean it. The man is a fool. He's done nothing but harm to the Macleans for a long time now. The rebellion was his idea, ye ken. We knew it was lost before we began, but no' our laird. He must needs know better than us. And now—" He paused, steadying his voice. "Now that we're finally at peace, he does something that will insure the Campbells are always our enemies." He put his hand on John's arm. "I believe he's mad, and if he lives, he'll eventually destroy us. He thought ye might change yer mind, so he's run to Edinburgh to hide. Kill him this time. He's my enemy as much as he is yers."

  John shook his head, remembering the vehemence of Evan's declaration. He still could not believe the Macleans had abandoned their laird so completely. He wondered, sometimes, what the Campbells would do if Colin—

  "What in God's name are ye doing in Edinburgh?" the third Earl of Argyll roared from across the room. "They told me ye were waiting, but I wouldn't believe them. '
Tis insane to leave Kilchurn unprotected with the Macleans ready to slit our throats."

  John eyed his brother through half-closed lids. Colin was dressed magnificently in velvet doublet and satin trews. Jewels glittered on his fingers, and the Campbell brooch fastened his cloak to his shoulder. His face, John noted, was purple with fury. Swallowing the bitter response that rose to his lips, John said, "Kilchurn is safe enough. I brought no men with me, and Duncan and Richard are there if trouble comes. As for the Macleans, from what I've seen, they won't be attacking us at all."

  The Earl snorted. "Aye, Johnnie, ye were always so wise. Tell me then, how do ye know they won't attack? And why have ye come?"

  "I came to find Maclean, and they won't strike because they want him dead."

  "What!" Colin demanded. "To find Maclean? They want him dead? He is dead, isn't he? My orders were clear enough." He loomed threateningly over his brother. "What've ye done this time, Johnnie?"

  "I let him go," John replied with forced calm. He watched as the lump begin to pulse between his brother's brows.

  "Say that again," Colin hissed. "I wouldn't want to kill ye because I didn't hear aright. Say it again."

  "I let him go free." With difficulty, John fought the impulse to push his brother away from him.

  "Why, in the name of all that's holy, did ye do such a thing?"

  Because ye had a cruel and unworthy idea, he wanted to shout. Because Maclean is the deceiver, not the Campbells. But he did not say those things. "I did it for Elizabeth."

  "For Elizabeth!" Colin spluttered. "For Eliz—Are ye daft? Ye let an enemy go for the sake of a woman?"

  "Elizabeth begged me."

  "I don't give a bloody damn what she said or what she felt. 'Twas business, ye imbecile. Business! 'Tis time ye learned there are a great many things more important than yer sister's feelings."