by Temple Hogan
The girl hung her head. Rafe’s heart went out to the wretchedness of their existence. “I’ll get you another, Annie,” he said. “Come round to the kitchen and I’ll send word they’re to give you another.”
“Nay,” the old man protested. “I’ll not take your charity.”
“It’s not meant as charity,” Rafe replied. “And it’s not given to you, but to Annie.”
Annie raised her head slightly to look at him, then flinched and hunched down even more.
“Don’t be afraid, lass,” Rafe said. “Remember you stand under my protection now. Do you hear what I say?”
Slowly, she shook her head without looking up at him.
Rafe looked at the old man. “Don’t raise a hand against her,” he admonished sternly. “She’s naught but a simple girl and a cripple. You’re not to beat her.”
He stalked from the hut, loathe to leave Annie to the tender mercies of an ill-tempered, old man. His visit had been frustrating for he’d learned nothing more about the girl in the woods and there was little he could do to change Annie’s plight. He thought again of her unexpected beauty. If she’d not been handicapped, no doubt she would have found a village lad to take her as his wife. She would have had babies and even now would have one clasped to her breast as she bent over the hearth. Regret surged through him as he thought of what the goose girl’s future must be.
Father Cowan turned to look at Annie with accusing eyes.
“Lass, what are you doing? You must take care. You can’t trust a Campbell,” he warned.
“Aye. Well I know, Father, but I can’t turn my back on his kindness. None of us can do that. Our clansmen suffered too much last winter. If he offers a better winter ahead, then I must do nothing to stop him.”
“Have a care, child,” Father said softly. “The devil himself will bring down the MacDougalls given the chance.”
“But what if Rafe Campbell is not the devil?” she asked, rubbing her forearm in agitation. Her heart still pounded at his nearness, at the timbre of his voice, the reflection of light in his gray eyes. She studied the old man who was unrelenting in his lessons of life and felt cornered in this hovel that had been her home for the past ten years. But the masculine presence of Rafe still warmed her and her heart opened to him.
“What if he’s different from all the other Campbells?” she asked, unable to help herself.
“Don’t you believe it,” Father Cowan said hoarsely. “I saw Archibald himself sever your father’s head from his body, and he hung that head on the east gate, so all who passed would know that Ewan MacDougall, the Laird of Dunollie, was dead. They have no soul, these Campbells. It has been warped by greed for lands that don’t belong to them.”
“I know all you say, Father,” she whispered, “but I want to believe there are decent men out there, even among the Campbells.”
“Ye can’t believe a devil, child,” he said roughly.
Chapter Four
Rafe sat astride Bhaltair, gazing across the meadow at the line of racing horsemen. “Your riders are well trained,” he said to his host, Chief Macarill MacIntyre, a giant, barrel-chested man who dwarfed the black stallion he rode.
“As are the Campbell men,” MacIntyre rumbled and scratched his whiskered chin. He had a ready laugh and a quick assessing eye. “What do ye think, lass?” he asked of his daughter. “Will the Campbell lads outrace our own?”
Jean MacIntyre, seated at her own choosing on a sturdy highland pony, stood up in the stirrups as if trying to get a better glimpse of the racing men. “Not if Aindreas has his way,” she cried and ignored her father’s frown.
Rafe liked the woman whose time as a maiden was fast drawing to an end. She was not yet past her best childbearing years, and still she remained unspoken for. Rafe had noted her father’s chagrin the one time the subject had been raised as they sat by the fire and shared a mullet of wine the night before.
“I have a wish for grandchildren,” the gruff laird had said, “but I’ll not have her wed a simple captain of her clan, landless and penniless. A titled landowner would add to our holdings and ensure her continued comfort.”
Rafe had made no answer at first. What could he say? He was also without land, an adventurer who rode to help others more fortunate than him.
“Jean is your only living child?” he’d asked finally to break the expectant silence that had fallen between them.
“Aye,” MacIntyre had rumpled, shifting his weight in the chair. “My poor wife, may she rest in peace, delivered five sons to me over the years, and not a one of them lived. They were stillborn, every one. Only Jean, with her quick wit and determined heart was strong enough to survive and comfort me in my aging years.”
Now, in the heady morning sunlight, MacIntyre steadied his mount and gazed at his daughter with pride. Rafe noted how the wind had stained her lean cheeks with color. She was not a buxom lass as most men favored, being rather tall and thin by nature, but her hair was a silky rich brown, like the sables along the river banks, and her eyes could change from the blue of the sky to the gray green shade of the moss growing in the forest, depending on her mood.
“She seems well learned for a woman,” he said awkwardly, not wanting to encourage the laird in case his thoughts ran a certain way.
“Aye, I’ve seen to that. She’s well accomplished so she can run a home with an efficient hand. Though she’s a bit stubborn when she chooses, she is, for the most part, an even-tempered lass, altogether a prize for any man.” MacIntyre glanced at Rafe slyly.
Rafe felt heat rush to his face.
“I like what I see of you, lad,” the laird boomed at Rafe’s silence. “Even more importantly, Jean seems taken by ye as well.”
“Come on, ye blithering milksops. Don’t let the Campbells shame ye,” his daughter cried, then remembered their guests and settled back in her saddle, grinning while her intelligent eyes danced with mischief. “No offense meant, Rafe.”
“None taken, m’lady.” His smile was genuine for he liked MacIntyre’s feisty daughter, but the humor was quickly gone. Though he continued to lounge in his saddle for all the world as if he had no worries, if the truth be told, his patience was fast diminishing.
He’d arrived three days hence at the MacIntyre Castle, bringing gifts of some of Campbells’ best cattle and a long coveted chanter, which had once belonged to the piper, John Fairlay, and had been played on the battlefield with Wallace himself.
Archibald had been loathe to relinquish such a prize, but unable to come in person to make amends for Baen’s stealing of MacIntyre cattle, he knew his gesture of appeasement must be grand. Reluctantly, he’d sacrificed the chanter to the cause of enlisting help. None of this had seemed to have much sway with the MacIntyre chief who was a proud man, quick to temper and to hold a grudge against a wrong done him, or so Rafe had heard.
Without reference to the rustling of his cattle, MacIntyre had graciously accepted the gifts, listened to Rafe’s explanation of the need for MacIntyre men to fight with the Campbells against Baen and made no commitments, whatsoever. Instead, he and his daughter had entertained him and his party with a generous table and good fellowship.
Puzzled, Rafe had held his course, unsure which way the wind blew. The MacIntyres were thought to lend their loyalties to the Campbells; a branch of them were a sept to the Campbells of Craignnish, but they’d also once served as foresters under the MacDougall Lordship and might yet feel loyalty for them. Though ten years had passed, perhaps they still held a lingering resentment toward Archibald Campbell for his brutal attack and the death of Ewan MacDougall. Or perhaps Macarill MacIntyre was simply relishing his position, knowing Archibald of the mighty Campbell clan needed his aid. Either way, Rafe chafed at the delay.
As if reading his thoughts, MacIntyre kneed his mount closer. “I’ve thought on all you’ve told me since your arrival,” he said without preamble. “’Tis true you Campbells need us and I’ll not deny our help.”
“Thank you, Laird MacI
ntyre.” Relief flooded through Rafe. “However, I fear I’ve lingered here far too long. Time is running short, and I’ve a need to return to Dunollie immediately.”
“Aye, I can see your reason for haste. However, Baen and his men, even traveling light and fast as they might, will not make it back to Campbell land for at least a fortnight.” He paused and chuckled from deep in his belly. “Unless he’s sprinkled fairy dust on his horse’s arse.”
Rafe grinned appreciation of his wit. “Can your men be ready to leave on the morrow?”
“Aye, and my daughter, as well.”
“Your daughter?”
“Aye, she’s been a bit peaky lately, and I’m thinking she needs the company of other women. I hear Archibald’s niece has come to visit. She’s of an age as Jean. They’ll be good companions.”
Impatience twisted through Rafe, and he tried to keep it from his voice. “You don’t want to send your daughter into a dangerous situation.”
“Nay, I will not do that, but am I not sending you some of my best fighting men? If the Campbells can’t defend their property, the MacIntyres can. My daughter will be safe with you.”
“I’ve a need to travel swiftly,” Rafe tried again. “Can’t we postpone her visit to Dunollie until I’ve taken care of this problem?”
“You hammer yourself too much, lad,” MacIntyre remarked, unperturbed. “You’ll drive out Baen and his outlaws. You’ve the look about you of a man who succeeds at what he sets out to do. I’ve no qualms about leaving my daughter in your care. Besides, Jean won’t hold you back. She can ride with the best man I’ve got or you, for that matter.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Rafe said, although in truth, he had plenty. He clamped his teeth together in frustration.
“Aindreas,” MacIntyre bellowed and kicked his stallion into a full gallop across the field toward his assembled men.
“You took that very well,” Jean said brightly.
Rafe had forgotten she was there. His lips tightened, and he said nothing, afraid that in his irritation, whatever came out might give offense.
Jean laughed. “Don’t worry yourself, Rafe. My father spoke the truth when he said I’d not hold you up. You know what he’s about, I suppose.”
Rafe turned in his saddle to meet her amused gaze.
She laughed again. “The old fool’s trying his hand at matchmaking.” Her tone was filled with affection for her father. “He’s not happy with the choice I’ve made for my husband and he hopes my head will be turned by your handsome face.”
Rafe flushed. “I don’t know what to say, m’lady.”
“Och, you’re not to say anything, Rafe Campbell. I’m not longing for you, nor am I likely to. I’ve a need to have sons round about me, but they’ll not be your sons, brave and handsome as you be.” She turned her head and gazed toward the men who’d gathered around their chief. “Nay, ‘tis Aindreas’ sons I’ll bear or no other. My father will have to accept that.” She glanced back at Rafe. “Besides, I’ve seen your face at times when you thought none watched. You’ve the look of a man distraught with an illness.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Rafe began stiffly, still unused to her teasing.
“If you don’t, then you’re not as smart as I’d counted you, Rafe. Of course, love can do that to a man.”
“There’s nothing for me to love,” Rafe said. “A wisp, a goddess bathing in a pool, a mermaid drying on a rock, while her voice is that of Lorelei willing the ships to the rocks.”
“Do you know her name?” Jean looked at him expectantly.
“Nay, I’ve but seen her once, but I can’t forget her.” He shifted in his saddle, his expression rueful. “You’re an uncanny lady, Jean MacIntyre. I had no wish to tell anyone of my feelings.”
“Your secret is safe with me, but you must do me a favor in return.” She leaned forward in the saddle.
“I’ll do as you ask,” he pledged, smiling slightly at this forthright woman. He had no fear that she’d ask him something that went against his nature.
“Persuade my father you’ve a need for Aindreas to accompany you to Dunollie. You’ll not be sorry. He’s a fierce fighter, and he’s loyal to a friend.”
“Aye, I can see that. He and Gare have hit it off, and they’ve much in common.”
“Aindreas is no common man,” she said, her voice gone all soft and womanly.
“Nor is Gare,” he replied. “You’re a woman of strong convictions and determination, m’lady. I admire that in a woman.”
She glanced at him. “You give a pretty speech, Rafe Campbell, but I know the truth behind your words. You’re just grateful I have my heart set on another.”
“I see I’ve missed a truly fine prospect for a wife. Aindreas is a lucky man.”
“Then you’ll do what you can with my father? This is one time when I can’t beseech him on my own behalf. He mustn’t guess I’m behind this request for Aindreas to accompany us.”
“I’ll be the soul of discretion,” Rafe replied. He nudged Bhaltair forward and eased him into a gallop across the field. He was surprised when he glanced over his shoulder to see that she rode nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him, her sturdy pony making up in heart what it lacked in size.
“Ah, you’ve decided to join us,” MacIntyre called. He looked pleased that Rafe had lingered to talk with his daughter. Rafe took advantage of his good humor and requested that Aindreas be allowed to lead his battalion of fighting men to Dunollie, to which MacIntyre agreed.
* * * *
Annie was high in the hills, having gone to check on Father Cowan. He grew feebler every day, and she worried about him. He’d been aloof to her ever since Rafe Campbell had come to their cottage, though she’d tried her best to mend the rift between them. Still, she’d learned one thing that day. Father Cowan loved her, and his anger was born from a fear for her safety as well as the clan’s.
So to let him know her heart’s blood as well, she’d climbed the hill to take him a special gift of haggis, a sheep’s stomach stuffed with oatmeal and grain and wild onions. They’d sat and talked with the high wind rattling around them and the herd’s soft bleating in the hillsides.
“You’re a good lass, Annie,” he said as she rose to return to the village.
“Have no fear for me, Father,” she said softly. “I must follow my heart, but it will not lead me from my clan. I swear you that.”
His tired old eyes blazed with light. “Aye, I see that about you. You’re the good Laird’s daughter in every way. I’ll pray for you, lass.”
“Do that, Father, for I’ve always need of guidance.”
Her heart was lighter as she descended. Her thoughts dwelled on the good Father and the conversation, so she did not at first see the riders below. Only when the high call of a hawk caused her to look up did she catch the glint of sunshine on Campbell livery. The outer bailey was filled with horsemen in strange tartans. MacIntyres. Rafe had brought them back as he’d promised he would. No matter what Baen and his men set out to do, they’d not succeed. Pure joy filled her heart as she recklessly raced down the mountainside toward Dunollie. Rafe was back, and she could think only of her first glimpse of him.
She was out of breath when finally she reached the castle and paused to hold her side and regain her senses. Only then did she remember her disguise and proceed with the slow hobble of Annie, the goose girl.
Rafe was nowhere in view, but his men and the visitors filled the bailey, tending their horses, greeting their sweethearts and bragging of their adventures. Disappointment swept through Annie as she moved through the crowd. Only when she was certain that Rafe was not to be found did she turn her footsteps toward the smithy.
“Aye, he’s brought his bride to be back with him,” a man said to a milkmaid. “Did you miss me, lass? Then give us a kiss.”
The girl giggled and ran away with the soldier in full pursuit, so Annie heard no more. Questions burned within her chest and her eyes stung with unshed tears at h
er need to ask about Rafe, but she could not. By the time she reached the smithy, her breath came in hiccupping little sobs.
“What ails you?” Bryce asked, pausing in his work to stare at her.
“I…ran down the mountain and…can’t get my breath.” She gasped.
“’Twas a poor choice to make,” he berated her, but his voice was not ungentle. “Sit on that stool and try to take slow, deep breaths.”
“Aye,” she answered, smiling slightly as she did his biding. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re an ungrateful lass,” he snapped and went back to pumping his bellows. “Did you see him?”
“Who?” she asked, although she knew to whom he referred. When he didn’t answer she shook her head. “Nay, he was nowhere about.”
“I’ve heard rumor he brought his betrothed with him. Mayhap, he’s inside the castle with her, making her comfortable.” Suddenly, he gave a short bark of laughter. “Aye, I’d like to be a fly on the wall this day. From all rumors, Dianne will not like this new arrival. She had her cap set for him herself or so I’ve heard.” He looked around at Annie. “What’s the matter, lass? You’ve gone as pale as a newborn lamb.”
“’Tis naught,” she answered in a low voice.
“Here, you really are sick. Do you need some help to your cottage?”
She shook her head and rose from the stool. “I’m better now.”
Without a further farewell, she left the heat of the smithy, left Bryce’s sharp, questioning gaze and made her way toward her hut. But the thought of closing herself away inside was more than she could bear. She veered toward the land gate. There were men everywhere, and no one seemed to notice her passing. When she reached the safety of the woods, she walked upright and with long strides to the pool. Her sanctuary. Once there, she undressed and slid into the cool, still water then swam to the other side and back. Finally, she floated on her back staring at the mosaic pattern of blue sky flashing beyond the canopy of trees. Her thoughts were tangled and painful, so she was content for a brief moment not to think of Rafe or his newly betrothed. The knowledge lay there in her mind, but she pushed it aside. Mentally prodding at it was too painful.
