Child of the Mist (12 page)

Anne paused to scan his face thoughtfully. He, too, looked weary. The past days had been just as hard for him, with his capture and wounding. She suddenly remembered she hadn't tended to his wounds since yesterday.

"Your leg, m'lord," Anne began hesitantly. "How does its healing go? I should cleanse it and apply more o' my marigold ointment."

Niall stiffened. Though, in truth, he preferred her skills to the castle physician's, he knew he couldn't allow her to care for him, then forbid her doing so with everyone else.

He shook his head. "My leg fares well, lass. Our physician saw to it when I bathed. You needn't concern yourself."

There was a momentary prick of hurt, then Anne quashed it. Niall Campbell had no reason to trust her abilities to that of some physician, even if most were little more than purveyors of purgatives and bloodletting as treatment for every illness. It would take time to win his confidence, that was all.

Anne smiled, a soft, sweet movement of her lips. "Then 'tis good night, m'lord."

"Aye. Good night, lass."

For an instant longer Niall stared down at her, the firelight sending glinting shards of gold to dance in his eyes. Then, turning on his heel, he crossed the bedchamber and entered his own room through the connecting door.

Late the next morning as they were unpacking the rest of Anne's possessions, the maidservant discovered the box of herb plants.

"What would ye have me do with these, lassie?" Agnes held up the container.

Anne turned from the lace-trimmed nightgown she was folding to glance at the old woman. Her face brightened when she recognized the box. Her herbs! How could she have forgotten them?

She lay aside the nightgown and hurried to Agnes. Tenderly, her fingers caressed the delicate leaves, examining one, then the other. They all looked well, if a bit wilted, but needed replanting soon.

Taking possession of the box, Anne carried it to the sunlit window. She watered the herbs carefully. Only when her ministrations were complete did Anne turn back to the servant.

"Is there some patch in the castle garden where I might plant these?"

"Aye, lassie," the older woman replied, a distinctly uncomfortable look spreading across her face. "But 'tisn't my place to grant ye leave. Sir Niall instructed me to send ye to him with any requests."

So,
Anne thought in exasperation,
and must I also ask him permission to breathe?
She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt and tucked an errant strand of hair in place.

"Then so be it. Where might I find him?"

"Mayhap in the inner bailey, near the walled garden. He and his warriors always meet in swordplay at this time o' day. Shall I take ye there?"

Anne nodded. "Aye. 'Twill be awhile before I've fathomed the intricacies o'this castle."

As soon as they'd left the imposing bulk of the keep and stepped outside, the sound of clanging swords reached their ears. They passed quickly around the buildings's corner buttress to find eight men engaged in energetic sword practice. Anne easily singled out Niall's broad-shouldered form from the rest.

All were stripped to the waist, the excess of their belted plaids wrapped around and tucked into their belts. Their upper torsos and arms glistened with sweat. Anne swallowed hard and moved closer, Agnes following.

Niall's hands gripped the wooden handle of a claymore, the giant sword as long as its owner was tall and a weapon only of the strongest men. His arms moved in large, seemingly effortless arcs as he deftly parried the blows of his companions. A grim smile touched his lips and a fierce light gleamed in his eyes, the love of battle settling about him in some fearful, heated aura.

Only when his men began to falter, then cease their swordplay, did Niall at last pause to look about him. His searching glance found Anne's. A wrinkle of puzzlement formed between his brows.

Laying aside his claymore, Niall strode to a nearby water trough. After immersing his head, he straightened, the fluid sluicing down his chest and shoulders. He flung back his sodden mane of hair, scattering water everywhere, then, with a wry grin, approached her.

Sunlight glinted in the droplets that clung to him, reflecting across the water-slick planes of his muscled upper body. For an instant, Anne could only stare at the dark, wet hair that swirled across his chest and abdomen.

"II wish a word with you, m'lord," she murmured finally, forcing the words past the strange, hot ache in her throat. Distractedly, she motioned to the walled garden. "Away from the others, if you please."

Niall shrugged. "As you wish."

They walked in silence until the garden's wooden gate was shut behind them. Then Anne turned, gathering all the tact she possessed. " 'Tis a fine garden," she began, gesturing about her. "The soil rich, the sun shining full upon it for most o' the day. By your leave, I would plant my herbs here."

"And what purpose would that serve?"

Anne glanced up in surprise. At the set look to Niall's face, a sense of unease stirred. "Why, to use for my healing potions, o' course. Did you think I'd refuse to help your people because they were Campbells? Didn't I make my position clear last eve?"

" 'Twas quite evident what your feelings were, lass. Nonetheless, it cannot be." He reluctantly shook his head. "You will not plant, nor harvest, nor treat anyone with your herbs at Kilchurn. Do you understand?"

"But why" Her voice broke off as she struggled with the surging frustration that roiled within. Holy Mother, to ask him for anything and then have it refused! And this, her precious herbs, her beloved healing, above all else!

Anne stared up at him, confused. "Why? Why would you refuse me such a simple request?"

"I've no heart to refuse you anything, lass," Niall replied, his voice rough with regret. "But in this matter I can do no less. You're well aware how strong the witch panic burns since the law passed. Have your already forgotten your admission that even some o' your own clan think you a witch? What do you think
my
clan will think if you resume your healing?"

"II don't care! I am good at what I do. There's no taint of evil in it. In time they'll see that, accept me."

Niall hesitated. He wanted to grant her this one request but knew it was unwise. Since the law enacted just a year ago making witchcraft punishable by death, the Reformed Kirk had been zealous in their persecution. When a hapless person, and it was almost always a woman, was accused, she'd be deprived of rest, food and water, and finally tortured to extract a confession. And, though confession meant certain death by burning or drowning, most eventually confessed. The instruments of torture were that effective.

He shuddered, harking back to the one victim he'd seen burnt at the stake. It had been Dora, his cousin Hugh's one and only love. Malcolm Campbell was responsible for that, one of his first acts upon resuming control of the village kirk. Poor, unstable Hugh had been easily swayed to the preacher's side, especially after finding Dora in the arms of another man.

She was dead before Niall could reach her, though the flames had yet to consume her body. That day he'd made a vow never to allow another burning on Campbell lands. Up until now, he'd been successful in keeping that promise.

"Nay, lass." Niall sighed, steeling himself for the task at hand. I fear that will never be. My people are too superstitious, too easily led when it comes to matters o' religion, for good or bad. A priest o' the Reformed Kirk, my father's bastard brother, lives among us. His hatred o' witches runs deep. As deep as Hugh's, I fear. He may well stir them against you."

"And what o' you?" Anne demanded, her voice taut with rising anger. "Are you not clan tanist, soon to be chief? Can't you control your own people? Why, oh why, do you persist in being so . . . so pigheaded?"

Niall struggled to keep the irritation out of his voice. "A wise chief knows when and where to interfere in the lives o' his clan. Matters o' religion are not one o' them. I won't allow witch burnings on Campbell lands, but that doesn't lessen the danger to you all the same."

Anne made a move to protest.

Niall held up a silencing hand. "I've enough problems to deal with at present. As hardhearted as it may seem, I don't need you adding to them."

Two spots of red flamed Anne's cheeks as she fought to contain herself, to find some small thread of hope to cling to. As harsh as his refusal was, she also heard the sincere regret in his voice. And she knew he had many problems and responsibilities. But not to plant her herbs. . . .

Well, he could not worry about the existence of something he knew nothing about, Anne consoled herself. She exhaled an acquiescent breath. "I don't wish to become a hindrance or an embarrassment to you."

His stern, finely chiseled mouth relaxed a bit. "Then you'll obey me in this?"

"Aye, m'lord. I won't plant my herbs in Kilchurn." Anne tilted her head in feigned consideration, eager to change the subject before he prodded her further. "But if I cannot heal, what can I do? I have little talent at sewing or most o' the other womanly arts."

A relieved grin spread across Niall's face. He'd feared a much more emotional, more protracted battle over the issue of her healing. Not that she didn't bear watching, for a time longer at least.

"Why not go riding? You've free access to the stables and Kilchurn and its lands. I ask only if you ride from sight o' the castle you take one o' my men with you. As powerful as we are, the Campbells are as prime a target for reivers as any other clan. I wouldn't wish you to fall into unfriendly hands."

Aye,
Anne thought, her rebellion growing anew as she left the garden and walked back to rejoin Agnes.
Twould surely add to the difficulties if you
were forced to ransom me. But then, why should I careone way or another? I warned, you before I'd not be constrained by the rules o' others. And that, my arrogant rogue, includes you, no matter how beset with difficulties, no matter how tormented you may be
.

At the memory of those moments with him in her room last night a small, regretful smile touched Anne's lips.
Though perhaps I should, I cannot wish you ill, Niall Campbell
. She inwardly sighed.
Truly I can't, for you've been more than gentle with me. But my life's work will not be denied, not for you or any man. It cannot be deniedeven to the sacrifice o' my life. Perhaps someday you will see thatand understand
.

Anne found a sunny clearing in the midst of a forest of fir, oak, and alder that covered the hills a short walk from Kilchurn Castle. There she planted her herbs.

The man be damned!
she silently cursed as a pang of guilt swept through her.
I do this for the good o' all and someday he'll see this, but, truly, how
can
one reason with such a pigheaded man? I must be daft to care what he thinks, or how he would feel if he knew, but I do
.

She paused in her thoughts to pound the earth around a fragile feverfew plant.
Well, I will not let it matter,
she began again defensively.
I warned him, that I did, that no one
. . . .

"Och, ye will surely kill those wee plants if ye force them into the ground so cruelly."

Eyes wide, Anne quickly looked over her shoulder and saw an old, shabbily dressed lady. On her arm. the woman carried a large basket filled with plants. Wispy, snow-white hair peeked from under a red linen kerchief, and the small face was weathered and lined. The eyes that studied her, though, were bright and alive, belying the age that bowed the old woman's shoulders.

"I . . . I . . . Who are you?" Anne rose to her feet.

The old woman chuckled. "I'm known as Ena. I live in the village over the hill from Kilchurn. I've birthed the babes and tended the hurts and ills o' clan Campbell all my life."

Her gaze narrowed as she examined the neat rows of herbs Anne had already planted. "Do ye know the healing art, then?"

Joy flooded Anne. Here was a kindred spirit, someone to understand and be understood by.

"Aye." A happy smile lifted her mouth. "Before I left home, I was healer to Clan MacGregor."

"Och, so ye're the one our young lord took in handfasting." Ena moved closer. "And what are ye called, lassie?"

"Anne." She motioned toward her plantings. "Would you see what I have, tell me what else grows well here and where I might find it? I'd be grateful for anything you'd share with me."

Ena squatted to examine the plants. "Hmmm, I see ye've the St. John's Wort, agrimony, colt's foot, as well as the soothing chamomile, and yarrow, and meadowsweet. All fine herbs for healing."

She cocked her head. "Do you know o' the leaf o' the fairy fingers? 'Tis a powerful remedy for the dropsy, but must be used with caution or it can kill."

Anne shook her head. "I've heard o' it, but never grown the plant."

The old woman smiled. " 'Tis also called bloody fingers, or gloves, or foxglove, but I prefer its ancient name. Ye dry the leaves and grind them into a powder. Tis bitter and sickening to the taste, so 'tis best to cover it with a strong drink. Too much, even a single leaf chewed and swallowed, can cause seizing o' the limbs and the heart to stop. Yet for those curs-

ed with the swollen limbs o' the dropsy, 'tis truly a wondrous plant. Come to my hut in the village and visit me someday. I'll teach ye o' it and more.''

"I'd like that very much." Anne helped Ena to her feet. "How will I find you?"

" 'Twillna be hard, lassie. Folk for miles know where Ena lives."

She began to walk away, then glanced over her shoulder. "Ye're a bonnie lass, and no mistake. Dinna be afraid o' the young lord. He's a brave and good man."

With a wave, Ena disappeared into the forest. Anne stared after her. A friend . . . another friend. It seemed for every obstacle Niall Campbell put in her way, someone came forward to lead her around it.

The realization heartened her as she bent to finish the transplanting of her herbs. Gradually, a feeling of coldness, of eerie presentiment, wafted over her. Anne shrugged the unpleasant feeling aside. It was nothing, she assured herself,' but a chill wind blowing through the trees.