She did not know if he heard her. She closed her eyes, pressing her hands into the warm furs, hoping to still the trembling. Just when she thought it might never end, John reached from out of the unnatural stillness beyond the bed to offer her a goblet of wine. "Drink."
She took the cold pewter in her hands, raised her head, and drank. As the soothing warmth began to move through her veins, the shaking eased until, at last, it stopped altogether. Only then did she find the courage to look up at him.
"Now," her husband said, setting the goblet aside, "tell me."
She could feel his breath on her cheek and it made her want to weep. "I didn't really wish to die," she told him, knowing it was not enough, that nothing she could say would ever be enough.
"Then why, in God's name, did ye do it?"
"'Twas—" She tried to think, but the throbbing in her head defeated her. Then, in the midst of the numbing pain, came the memory of something he had told her once. Grasping a wolf pelt in her cold fingers, she said, "'Twas only a momentary madness. The river hypnotized me and I didn't have the strength to resist."
It was not what he wanted to hear; she knew by the way he retreated, his expression hidden by half-closed lids. All at once, she wanted to draw him close, to smooth the pain from his face with the touch of her hands. "I swear to ye, I didn't mean to do it."
He stared at the rushes at his feet until the power of her gaze was too great to ignore any longer. "If 'tis so, then tell me why ye left the keep in the middle of the night. Why were ye even near the river?"
"I had to get away," she replied without thinking.
John winced as if she had struck him. "From me?"
"No!" she cried. "But mayhap—" Her eyes clouded with confusion. "I don't know."
Massaging his forehead as if it pained him, her husband sank deeper into a chair beside the bed. Muriella wanted to take the hand that rested on his knee, but she sensed he would not welcome her touch. The constriction in her throat nearly choked her and tears burned behind her lids.
John ran his hands over the soft wool of his trews as he tried to find an explanation for his wife's behavior that he could understand. He knew she had wanted him when he held her at the foot of the stairs. He had felt her response when his lips met hers. As they danced, she had been happy; he remembered clearly the radiance in her eyes each time she looked at him. But afterward, something had gone wrong. He looked up to find Muriella watching him in tense silence. Only the thunder of the rising storm outside disturbed the stillness. "Was it because of Cawdor that ye ran away?" John asked. "Or was it Hugh Rose?"
Muriella blinked at him in astonishment. She had forgotten Hugh completely. "No," she told him. "'Twas neither of those things."
"Then why?" John reached out to take her hand. "In God's name, tell me the truth!"
His wife felt his desperation, and though she formed the words of a soothing lie, her lips would not utter it. "I don't think ye really want to hear the truth."
He looked up then, his face drawn and pale. "I can't stand the waiting any longer. Tell me."
Muriella stared at his strong, sunbrowned hand for a long time before her fingers closed around it in a plea for understanding she knew he could not give. "I did it because of ye," she said. "Because ye will destroy me."
His pain was so great he had to look away. She had admitted at last what he had always suspected. He realized, as he released his wife's hand, that she was right; he did not want to know. "So," he said in a tone so still it frightened her, "'tis me ye see in the vision that comes whenever I touch ye."
Muriella bit her lip. The time had come when she could no longer avoid answering his questions. Her mouth was dry and her empty hands trembled as she whispered, "The vision is of my own death."
"Yer death?" he repeated blankly. Then he realized what she was saying. John rose from the chair and kicked it away. "But that can't be," he said, knowing he was fighting a battle he had lost long ago. "I love ye too much."
Muriella gave a strangled moan and turned her head away, but not before he saw the bitter realization on her face.
"Were ye such a fool that ye didn't know that?"
"Aye," she muttered. "Just such a fool."
John began to pace in agitation. He had to think, but his thoughts were clouded by hopelessness and, beneath that, a violent denial. The Sight had never been wrong before, but—
He turned in a sudden determination. "'Tis not true," he declared. "I wouldn't ever want to hurt ye."
She wanted to believe him, but the sinking in her stomach told her she dared not. "Just as ye never wanted to hurt Elizabeth?"
John stopped still, thumbs hooked in the wide leather of his sword belt. He could not deny it. He remembered the overwhelming rage he had felt as his sister lay ill, calling Maclean's name. And Muriella did not even know how near he'd come to hurting Duncan the night before.
Muriella waited for him to speak, to tell her she was wrong, to repeat his assurance that he would never hurt her, but John simply stood there, staring before him, appalled. His wife quailed.
John saw her shiver and he looked away. "I assume," he said carefully, in a voice without inflection, "that ye want me to go away so ye'll be safe."
Terror of a new kind shook her. "No! I don't want to be safe."
Finally, inevitably, his control snapped. He leaned down, pressing his hands into the mattress, trapping her head between his two arms. "Then what, in the name of all that's holy, do ye want?"
It was there in his eyes again—the rage that made him into a stranger. She wanted to push him away, to free herself from that glittering stare. Elizabeth's warning pounded in her ears: Remember, they can only hurt ye if ye give them the power to do so. "I don't know," Muriella said.
John's shoulders sagged in defeat. He straightened slowly, releasing her from the prison of his hands. She sensed he was going to leave her and knew she had to stop him. Muriella reached up to grasp her husband's hand before he could slip away. "Please!" she cried.
She had made that plea before, but now, as then, he did not understand what she was asking for. Her fingers were warm and beguiling on his. Against his will, he met her gaze. She held him immobile with her eyes; he could not look away. It had always been so. She tortured him, tempted him, enchanted and denied him. Her eyes were wild and green and fathomless, and he knew, in that instant, that he had to break free—before she dragged him into the sea of her terror and they both drowned in the waves. "I've done what I can," he said, withdrawing his hand from her grasp. "I don't know what else to do." He turned away.
"Johnnie!" Muriella cried, but he did not pause. He crossed the chamber in three long strides, and the sound of the door slamming behind him echoed from the damp gray walls. Muriella closed her eyes. She should feel relief, she told herself. He was gone and she was safe. But she knew as she lay there, struggling with the darkness, that she could not bear his absence.
Chapter 43
Colin awoke with a painful grunt. Gingerly, he touched his swollen jaw, wincing when he opened his mouth. He moved his lower teeth back and forth, hoping the motion would loosen his sore muscles and relieve the pain somewhat. John had done a thorough job, he thought, glowering. Now that it was too late, he remembered the warning his brother had given a week ago: Ye'd best remember that when they're drunk, men sometimes lose all fear and sanity. Likely to do anything, they are.
But John had not been drunk. The thought disturbed Colin. If necessary, he could deal with an intoxicated fool, but he did not know how to deal with a man who had been neither wild with drink nor weak with fear. Fear was the only thing the Earl really understood, the only method he knew to control the men under his command. But he had lost that control over his brother. John did not fear him anymore. And Argyll did not like it.
"M'lord? Are ye awake?" Sim poked his head inside the door warily.
Colin leaned back behind the bed curtains so the servant would not see his bruised face. "Aye!" he snapped. "What is it?
"
"I wouldn't disturb ye, but a man came with a message from court. He said ye're to see it right away."
"Well, don't stand there dithering in the corner. Bring it here, man!"
Reluctantly, the servant came forward, keeping his eyes lowered.
"Can't ye move any faster?" Argyll snarled. "Would ye have me wait all day?"
"Forgive me, m'lord," Sim muttered as he handed over the sealed parchment with shaking fingers. "I didn't mean to keep ye waitin'."
Colin noted with satisfaction that Sim did not look up. Now here was a man who knew how to approach the Earl of Argyll—a man who could not even meet his master's gaze out of fear of what he would find there. Grasping the note, fixed with the royal seal, Colin cuffed the servant on the ear for good measure. "Be gone!" he said.
Certain he would be obeyed, the Earl opened the parchment to find a request from the Queen Mother that he return to Edinburgh at once. There was trouble at court. He frowned. As if he did not already have trouble enough. On the other hand, he would not really mind leaving the damp walls of this keep for the luxuries at court. Only when he heard Sim shuffling from one foot to the other did he realize the servant still stood at the bedside. Brows drawn together in anger, he said, "I told ye to go."
"I heard ye, m'lord. But there's somethin' else I think ye should know."
"Out with it!" the Earl demanded.
The servant swallowed nervously. "I thought ye should know that Sir John left Kilchurn an hour since."
"Left? To go where?"
"No one knows. When Duncan asked where he was goin' and when he would return, Sir John said 'twas no' anyone's business but his own."
"Did he now?" The Earl rose at last, throwing a robe over his shoulders as he moved toward the fire. "He was angry then?"
"No' exactly. He was—" The servant fumbled for words. "Still, ye ken, and silent, with cold, cold eyes. But he frightened me more this mornin' than he does when he's in one of his rages, I can tell ye that."
With his back to Sim, Colin touched his battered chin as he gazed thoughtfully into the flames. "Do ye have any idea what happened to make him that way?"
Sim coughed, hoping the Earl had not seen him staring at the dark, ugly bruise on the side of his face. "I did hear 'em sayin' in the kitchen that Sir John's wife threw herself in the river last night."
"She did what?" Colin turned so he could see the servant's face.
"Jenny says she heard Duncan tell Sir John that his wife threw herself in the river."
"She isn't dead, is she? Someone would've informed me, surely."
"Och, no! She hurt her head, I'm told, but 'twas only after she awoke and Sir John spoke with her that he went away."
Colin's eyes narrowed. "So," he murmured. "Where is she now?"
"In her chamber. Jenny said she isn't likely to leave her bed today."
Running his fingers over his jaw, the Earl murmured, "Leave me now."
"As ye say, m'lord."
When the servant had gone, Colin stood pressing his hands against the stone above the fireplace. He had meant to punish John for his behavior last night, but his brother had already slipped out of his grasp. And Argyll did not have time to track him down just now. The Earl smiled crookedly when he thought of Muriella trying to take her life. He did not wonder why; he had given up long ago trying to understand her motives. Besides, this time she had made her husband miserable enough without Colin's intervention, it seemed. Perhaps it was better, for the moment, that she make John pay for his error in judgment.
His brother had said they'd be leaving for Cawdor soon. By the time the Earl returned, they would be gone. He would see to it. Then there would be peace again at Kilchurn.
But with Muriella at Cawdor, there would be no mistress here. Colin frowned, rubbing the good side of his chin with two fingers. Perhaps on his way home, he would collect Janet and the children and bring them to the castle. His wife had asked to come often enough. The voices of his children might even make the keep seem a little less empty.
Argyll clenched his hands into helpless fists. What foolishness. Kilchurn was full of Campbells, all of whom looked up to him with respect—and dread. Except for mad Johnnie and his fey wife. Glowering into the fire, Colin thought he would be happy to see the last of those two.
* * *
Megan drew away from the window as a flash of lightning blazed across the sky, illuminating the distant peaks with a brilliance that made her shiver. Quickly, she closed the shutters against the storm. "I don't like to think of Sir John out there in the rain," she said.
In spite of the storm, Muriella's husband had left Kilchurn. She would have known it even if Megan had not come to tell her an hour since. Already the bleak gray walls had begun to ring with the sound of his absence. "He knows his way over these hills, even in this weather. He'll take care," she said, praying it was true. But she knew in her heart John was in a dangerous frame of mind and not at all likely to take care. She feared the storm inside him was greater than the one without.
Turning away from the window, the servant returned to Muriella's side. For a long moment, she stared down at her hands before asking hesitantly, "Why did he go, m'lady?"
Muriella could not meet Megan's troubled brown eyes. "Because I didn't give him any choice."
"But Sir John isn't the kind of man to let his wife make choices for him."
"No," Muriella murmured, "but even he isn't strong enough to fight the power of the Sight and win."
Megan retreated a step. She did not want to think about that. "Do ye think—" She looked down at her hands again. "Do ye think he'll come back?"
"I don't know." Muriella found it difficult to speak. All at once, she knew she must be moving. Throwing the furs aside, she slipped from the bed.
"M'lady, please. Ye aren't strong enough to be up yet."
Muriella shook her head. "I can't stay still." At Megan's frown, she added, "But thank ye for caring, my friend."
"Am I yer friend, truly?"
Stopping to meet the servant's searching gaze, her mistress smiled sadly. "Aye, from the first day they brought me here, I think. I'm grateful for that, Megan. For everything." Before Megan could respond, Muriella turned and started slowly over the rushes, shivering when the cold from the stone beneath penetrated through to her bare feet. While the servant hovered anxiously nearby, she slipped into a gray kirtle and gown—to match her mood, she thought. As she dressed, she bit her lip to keep her teeth from chattering. She had not yet shaken the chill that had settled in her blood from the icy water the night before.
"What are ye goin' to do?" Megan asked.
"Go to the library, I suppose. I only know I can't stay here." Where the sound of his voice still lingers, she added silently. Where the memory of his face hovers always before me. Don't grieve for me, Elizabeth had said. It doesn't last forever, ye ken. The months pass, the hurt eases, and then, one day, ye begin to accept what ye can't change. Muriella could not make herself believe it, not while the vision of the endless, empty days stretched out before her, making a lie of every word of comfort she had ever heard.
"Come," she said abruptly. "Let's be gone."
With Megan behind her, she stepped into the passageway. To her surprise, she found the hush there even harder to bear. She realized too late that the icy water had taken more from her than she'd supposed. For a long moment, she stood with her arms wrapped around her body, unable to move forward, shivering uncontrollably. When she tried to take a step, she lost her balance and started to fall.
A callused hand reached out to steady her. "M'lady? Are ye ill?"
She looked up into Richard Campbell's troubled face and noticed that, where it touched her arm, his hand trembled. He was afraid of her. "No," she said, "but I thank ye for being here to catch me. I don't seem to have any strength today."
Richard frowned. "Ye look mighty pale. And yer head must pain ye. Don't ye think—" He stopped, realizing he had no right to question her.
; Muriella shook her head. Though he could not disguise his unease in her presence, he also would not shirk his duty. And that duty was to protect her, no matter what his feelings were. "I can't stay still," she told him.
When she started to move again, her knees wobbled. Once again Richard took her arm. "Will ye at least let me help ye, then?"
"The only way ye could help would be to bring my husband back." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Her problems with John were no concern of Richard's.
Richard blinked at her in surprise. "If ye didn't want him to go, why didn't ye cast a spell to keep him here?"
She sighed wearily. "Because I don't have that kind of power."
Something about the raw pain in her voice made him believe her. He looked at her more closely, noticing how her hands trembled, how pale her cheeks were and how deep the shadows under her eyes. Just now, it seemed she was no longer a woman to be feared, but rather a girl to be pitied.
After a moment's hesitation, he whispered hoarsely, "M'lady, I'm sorry."
She stared at him in astonishment. "I don't understand."
He shifted from one foot to the other, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I’ve had unkind thoughts of ye," he explained haltingly. "But mayhap I was wrong."
"I told ye so time and again," Megan interjected, "but ye wouldn't listen to me."
"Mayhap some things a man has to see for himself." He turned back to Muriella. "Do ye think ye can forgive me?"
A lump formed in her throat. "Ye had reason enough to believe what ye did, and I didn't try to tell ye different. But now ye see"—Muriella spread her hands to indicate her own slender body— "I have no power beyond the power of the Two Sights, and that I would forsake today if 'twere my choice."
Richard listened, brow furrowed.
"I want ye to know that no matter what I said, I never meant the men any harm. Can ye believe that?"
"I can try." Then, before she could stop him, he leaned down to kiss her hand. It was the first time in over four years that one of the men had touched her of his own free will. The simple gesture made the tears ache in her throat. "Thank ye," she murmured.
Highland Charm: First Fantasies Page 40