Child of the Mist (46 page)

Iain's lids fluttered open. Eyes, as blue as Loch Awe on a summer's day, gazed up at her. "You shouldn't see me like this," he whispered.

"And what do I see," she countered softly, "but a very brave man? 'Twas wonderful what you did for Niall, putting yourself between him and the crossbow."

He smiled wanly. "I couldn't betray your trust. You never failed to champion me, even in the darkest moments." Iain's mouth twisted in self-disgust. "Even when I unwittingly failed
you
and sent you into a greater danger than Niall ever did."

She put a gentle finger to his lips. "Hush, Iain. Save your strength. 'Tis o' no import, whatever you may have done. Let us tend your wound."

"Nay, a moment more, lass." Iain caught her hand. "Let me confess what I did. Only then will it be truly over.

"Then tell me."

He dragged in a steadying breath. "I told my father o'my plans to help you escape Kilchurn. I needed his assistance in procuring men who could be trusted. Knowing his animosity toward you, I felt certain he'd be more than happy to help send you back to your people. Little did I realize he'd betray you instead to Hugh." Iain shook his head in disbelief. "Lord, what a fool I was! Never once did I suspect the depth o' his treachery."

"Don't blame yourself, my friend. He fooled us all. He'd had years to plot and plan, from the beginning o' the feud until now. And he was such a clever man. He knew how to turn the weaknesses o' others to his own gain." Anne stroked Iain's cheek. "But he had no power over strength. Our friendship saw us through."

"Aye," Iain agreed gruffly. "Our friendship, and the love between you and Niall. I only hope to find such a love someday." He grinned wryly. "One that's equally returned, o' course."

Anne laughed. "And are you trying to tell me, Iain Campbell, that no lass has ever fallen in love with you? Why, you're one o' the handsomest Highlanders I've ever set eyes on!"

His grin faded to a sad wistfulness. "There's never been a lass like you, Anne MacGregor."

"But there will, Iain," Anne whispered fervently, moved by the ineffable tenderness of his gaze. "One who's my match, and more. One who's truly worthy o' a man as brave and good as you.

"Now, not another word," she said, rising to her feet. "'Tis time to see to your injury. I can't tarry here all day. Niall's wounds need tending, too."

A'dark blond brow quirked in surprise. "He let you come to me first?"

"He
sent
me to you."

"I hope we can someday be friends again." Iain sighed. "We were once, you know. The best o' friends."

"And you will again. But I think the course o' your friendship will depend more upon you than Niall."

"Och, and how so?"

"Niall's a proud man. He'll feel awkward around you for a time, imagine he's not worthy o' your acceptance or forgiveness."

Iain's expression darkened. "As well he should. He was unreasonable and arrogant."

"Aye." Anne nodded. "But he knew from the day my clan captured him that a traitor was involved. Right or wrong, he suspected 'twas you. So, he couldn't very well confide in you and your attentions to me were so easily misinterpreted in light o' those suspicions. Niall thought you were using me in some way to further your plotting."

Iain frowned in thought. "It explains many things." Blue eyes rose to hers. "I'll talk with him. In time, we'll work out the problems between us."

"Good." A teasing light flickered briefly in her eyes. "'Tis past time. I grow weary o' being the peacemaker between you two."

Anne motioned to Murdoch. "Let us see to Iain's wound."

The old physician nodded and shuffled over.

It was a glorious late July day. Sparrow hawks and golden eagles soared overhead, their hoarse screams rending the deep, summer silence. The purple-pink heather was just beginning to bloom on the hills.

Fragrant lavender, growing along the side of the road, perfumed the air with its delicate scent.

Anne's gaze swept the familiar landscape as their party rode along. The scene stirred a memory of that day, now nearly three months past, when she'd been riding the opposite way, toward Campbell lands. Then she'd been handfasted to a man she despised, her life in a shambles.

Now she was going home, to MacGregor land, if home could ever again be anywhere Niall wasn't. She glanced at him. His attention was momentarily diverted, speaking with Iain who rode beside him. Anne's eyes softened with love.

He'd been so busy in the past month since Hugh and Duncan's deaths. The queen had accepted the royal envoy's findings. All charges against Niall had been dropped.

Once Hugh and Duncan's funerals were over and the two men properly buried, Niall had lost no time in banishing Malcolm from Campbell lands. He couldn't find it in his heart to forgive a man who countenanced, if not actively supported, Duncan's treachery. Malcolm had been escorted away, unrepentant to the end, raving about witchcraft and Anne's guilt.

In the long days Niall and Iain both spent recuperating from their wounds, Anne had begun Caitlin's lessons in the healing art. The ebony-haired girl was an apt pupil, showing a real talent for the craft. Slowly, as she gained confidence and enthusiasm for her new skill, her lovestruck preoccupation with Rory MacArthur eased.

The time not spent with Anne in learning to mix the various concoctions and potions, Caitlin used to talk with her brother. Anne couldn't help but laugh at Niall's surprise at the depth of his sister's maturity. She had chided him, telling him he'd have known Caitlin better if he'd cared to take the time.

He'd laughed and pulled her into his arms, admitting that, once again, she was right.

There was much, indeed, to be thankful for in the past days, including Niall's surprising offer to take her to Castle Gregor for a short visit. Anne knew it had been a great sacrifice on his part to spare the time for what was essentially a frivolous journey. She was grateful and loved him even more because of it. But there remained one small doubt to nibble away at what would have been her complete happiness.

Since the night he'd rescued her from Hugh's evil clutches and asked her to be his wife, Niall had never again mentioned marrying her. Anne wondered about that. After much thought, she could only find one reason for his reticence on the subject. Niall regretted the offer.

Not that he treated her any differently. Far from it. As soon as his wounds were sufficiently healed to permit more vigorous activity, he'd ardently taken her back to his bed.

Nay, Anne mused, with a woman's secret satisfaction, there was naught lacking in their coupling.

She knew she should be patient, trust that Niall would broach the subject when the time was right. She was not one to nag and would never force him to wed because of a prior offer mayhap made in haste. Niall would come to her willingly or not at all.

But therein lay the problem. Niall wanted a child. Anne now carried that child. She'd had to laugh at her own naivete, her a healer, in missing the signs for so long. It must have been the strain of the past several weeks, the preoccupation with the danger they'd all been in, but it had taken Agnes sitting her down and pointing it out for Anne finally to admit the truth.

The realization filled her with a fierce joy, but that same joy was muted by the knowledge that Niall would wed her now, if only for the child. And Anne wanted him to want her for her own sake. So she swore Agnes to secrecy, knowing well the old servant would respect a woman's right to reveal the news in her own time.

She was foolish, Anne knew, to doubt Niall's devotion to her. He gave himself to her in every way with the heartfelt abandon of a man in love. In every way, Anne sighed, as she redirected her attention to the road ahead. In every waysave one. And that was the final commitment of marriage vows.

As they neared the village of Glenstrae, a large crowd of peasants began to line the road. Anne turned a questioning gaze to Niall.

He grinned back. "Your people, m'lady. Turned out to welcome you home."

A suspicious half-smile curled the corner of her mouth. "Another o' your surprises, m'lord? I wonder what else that devious mind has in store for me this day?"

"You'll have to wait and see, won't you?" he drawled in reply.

Niall glanced at Iain. "What say you, tanist? Will she like what I have in store for her?"

Iain chuckled. I don't know. She was none too pleased the last time we were here. You may find, cousin, you've more trouble on your hands than you bargained for."

"Whatever are you two men talking about?" Anne demanded in exasperation. I don't like being left out o' this conversation, much less your plans."

Niall smiled. "Have patience, my love. In due time, all will be revealed."

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his suggestion when a woman with a child in her arms ran forward from the crowd. It was Fiona.

"Her name is Annie," the young peasant said, lifting a fat, healthy infant up to Anne.

Tears filled Anne's eyes as she took the baby in her arms and cuddled it to her. "Isn't she beautiful?" she murmured to Niall.

A tenderly possessive light flared in his eyes. "Aye, lass, that she is. And someday well have bairns o' our own, just like her."

Anne flushed and quickly handed the baby back to its mother. Had he guessed her secret, or had Agnes broken down and told him? She forced herself to smile at Fiona.

"Come to the castle soon and well spend more time with the bairn. I've a wish to know my namesake better."

"Aye, m'lady," Fiona agreed happily. "Why, this very eve I'll be there for you. The whole village is coming."

"Come along, Anne," Niall urged her on, taking hold of her horse's reins. "Time enough to visit later. Your father awaits."

Anne glanced from Fiona to Niall in momentary confusion, then nudged her mount to catch up with Niall's. "What was she talking about? What is the whole village coming for?"

He shrugged. "Mayhap your father has something special planned. We'll find out soon enough."

"Aye, I suppose we will," Anne muttered, still bewildered.

Their arrival in Castle Gregor was a joyous affair. After the usual greetings, Anne found herself bustled upstairs to her old bedchamber by Agnes and Anne's two married sisters. While all happily gossiped, her clothes were unpacked and belongings put away. Then Megan, Anne's youngest sister, brought out a gown of shimmering ivory silk. Its neckline was a simple, rounded scoop edged with the finest lace, the sleeves long and snug, the dress fitted in bosom and waist before flaring gently to the floor.

"'Twas Mother's," Megan offered, her voice tear-choked with memories. "We'd like you to wear it today, in honor o' the joining o' our clans and an end to the feud."

"'Tis too beautiful for a simple feast," Anne protested.

"But ye'll wear it, nonetheless." Agnes stepped forward and began unfastening Anne's traveling gown. "Ye willna begin yer visit here by hurting feelings. Yer sisters wish for ye to wear it, and wear it ye shall."

Anne protested no more. She allowed herself to be undressed and bathed before donning the beautiful gown. The MacGregor tartan was then draped over her shoulder and fastened with the clan brooch. Her hair was brushed until it gleamed and fastened away from her face in a simple, feminine fashion, allowing the thick mass of russet curls to tumble about her shoulders and down her back.

Finally, as the sun slid behind the mountains, Agnes stepped back to admire their handiwork. "Ye're so beautiful, m'lady," she whispered.

Anne smiled at her loyal maidservant. "Only because you have made me look so."

A firm knock sounded at the door. Anne's sisters were suddenly in a flutter. She cocked a quizzical brow and hurried to open the door.

Niall stood there, grinning back at her. He was dressed in his belted plaid, a snowy-white shirt beneath, a blue bonnet bearing the three eagle feathers denoting his rank as clan chief perched rakishly atop his ebony hair. He looked the picture of a Highland warrior, full of barely restrained power and masculine vitality.
A fine, brave Highland warrior,
Anne thought with a surge of pride.
And mine
.

Niall offered his arm. "Come, m'lady."

A questioning light glimmered in her eyes. "What are you about? 'Tis a half-hour before the feasting begins."

"We go to see your father. We have a few things unfinished to discuss."

She placed her hand on his arm. "As you wish, m'lord."

Alastair MacGregor, dressed as well in full Highland regalia, was awaiting them in his chambers. His eyes softened when he saw Anne. He walked to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You look so like your sainted mother in that dress," he said with a husky catch in his voice. "I'm proud o'you, lassie." His glance momentarily strayed to Niall. "Have you found happiness with the Campbell?" Alastair's piercing gaze returned to her. "Did I do well in giving you to him?"

Anne's eyes moved to Niall's. A soft, loving smile curved her lips. In spite of it all, in spite of the lingering doubts she had about the depth of Niall's commitment, she was content. She loved him with all her heart, would stay with him as long as he would have her. And mayhap, someday, even that last, little misgiving would finally be eased.

She turned back to her father. "Aye, I am happy with him. You did well, Father."

"Good. Then I grant him his request."

He faced Niall. "You may take my Annie as wife."

"W-wife?" Anne's grip tightened on Niall's arm. "You want me as wife?"

"And why not?" he demanded. "Didn't I already ask you before? Why would I have changed my mind?"

She flushed, not quite able to meet his fierce-burning gaze. "I . . . You never spoke o' it since. I wasn't sure."

"There were preparations to be made and I wanted to surprise you." Niall took her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. "I thought you'd like being wed here, where it all began with our hand-fasting."

"Here? When?"

"Today, my love. In but a few moments more."

"Och, Niall!" Anne breathed, the aching tenderness in her voice mirrored in her eyes.