Rob removed his arm from around her waist and began to stroke her hair. The girl heard noises in his throat that she did not recognize as words, yet she understood the comfort he offered. She stared at the ground and conjured the image of his face before her: gray and marvelously wrinkled was all she remembered, but the eyes had been soft. The vision smiled up at her, and against her will, she felt herself responding, yearning toward those eyes, when all at once a dark mask fell across the image, blocking it from her sight. Muriella's heart slowed as she shivered and leaned against Rob's chest for support. She felt a shadow coming to this man and she could not fight it off.
As Rob Campbell looked down, he felt a rush of compassion for the girl. "Do ye know who we are, lass?" he asked.
"No." Her voice was small and distant, weakened by the premonition that would not leave her.
"I'm Rob Campbell of Inverliver, and these"—he motioned toward the rest of the riders—"are mostly my brother's men. My brother is the Earl of Argyll. Have ye heard the name?"
When Muriella shook her head, Rob's eyebrows came together in a frown. The girl had led a more sheltered life than he had supposed. The second Earl of Argyll, Lord High Chancellor and Master of the Royal Household, was a man known from one end of Scotland to the other. But then, no doubt the Roses had their reasons for keeping Muriella ignorant. He was afraid that ignorance would only make things harder for her now. "Then ye truly don't know why we've come for ye?"
"Because ye want Cawdor, like the others."
Rob was silent for a moment. So there were some things she had learned, after all. "Well," he said at last, "'tis partly true. But 'tis no' the only reason. We came because we believed ye were in danger."
Twisting in the saddle, Muriella peered up at him, "I'm not in danger now?"
Rob's gaze met hers as he asserted quietly, "No' from me."
The girl sensed it was true but turned her back to him just the same, remembering that she had trusted Lorna, too. What was it her friend had said? Perhaps ye would be better off away from the Roses and Calders.
Suddenly Muriella felt very cold. The throbbing in her hand was a constant reminder of the terrible thing Lorna had done to her. Maybe her friend had betrayed her to these men as well. Maybe she had told them to come and take her away. How else could they have known to come straight down the river? How could they have guessed that was the only safe approach? Like a far distant memory, the sound of her mother's voice came back to her. I believe 'tis best if we let her go. "Dear God," she whispered.
"Do ye believe ye were in danger?" Rob asked.
"Aye, I believe it."
"Do ye know," he continued, "that we have the right of it?"
"They're my family!"
"'Tis true enough, but when yer father died, King Jamie gave yer wardship to the Earl of Argyll, Johnnie's father." He nodded toward John. "The Earl has been yer guardian since ye were a few months old."
Muriella stiffened. Her mother had never told her. Surely she must have known. And Lorna also had said nothing. She wondered what else they had kept from her.
"We came, lass, because we've heard that the Calders mean ye harm. And no matter how much they wish it otherwise, the Roses simply aren't strong enough to keep ye safe."
That was just what Isabel had told Lorna, and though she had not heard her friend’s response, she had been afraid. Even Hugh had been afraid. But only this stranger had bothered to explain why.
Muriella's thoughts were interrupted when Rob gripped her roughly. He looked up, his hand clenched on the handle of his sword. He heard horses coming at them from out of the forest. As the riders emerged from the bushes, he recognized the Campbell plaid and smiled in relief. "'Tis glad to see ye, I am," he called to his eldest son, who led the horsemen onto the narrow path. "We'll be needing yer help, if I'm not mistaken. Did ye bring the horses?"
His son nodded and Muriella saw that each of the new men held a fresh animal by the reins.
"Ye're just in time, lad. This one can't last much longer." Lifting the girl down after him, Rob changed horses as swiftly as possible, as did the others who had come from Cawdor. In a few moments, the men who were staying behind disappeared back into the trees, taking the exhausted horses with them.
Muriella realized there must be forty Campbells now. And they were ready to fight should any man, Rose or Calder, come to hinder them. All because of Cawdor.
As the men made their way down the sloping path, Rob's son guided his animal up close beside his father's. Leaning forward, he eyed Muriella, frowning when she moved away. The light was murky by now, but he was surprised to see that her hair fell below the horse's neck in a tangled mass of red gold that glimmered, catching what light was left. Her eyes were deep green and, like her hair, they caught the fading light and held it fast.
"Here, David Campbell!" Rob bellowed above Muriella's head. "Leave the lass alone! She's seen enough of our ugly Campbell faces today."
"So she's a beauty as well as an heiress. Johnnie's a lucky man."
Muriella stared at the ground, wondering what made John lucky.
"Did ye have any trouble?" David asked. "Or did Hugh Rose decide to keep his bargain after all?"
"Och, no! The old man's a fool, right enough. He took the girl to Cawdor, thinking he could hold us off from there. He should've known better than that. But there's something been nagging at me, just the same." Running his hand through his hair, Rob glowered at his son. "'Twas a mite too easy, ye ken? There was only a single guard waiting for us, and him quickly overpowered. Then 'twas just the child and one woman. But," he snorted in disgust, "the Roses were always foolish and oversure of themselves. Ye'd think they'd have the brains to see the Calders were more of a threat to the lass than we were."
Muriella felt as if she might be sick again. Her palms were icy with sweat. Maybe it had been easy because Lorna had intended that it should be so.
"Where's the woman who was with her? Did ye take her?"
"No. Left her behind. Didn't want to give the Roses time to gather their men."
"She'll warn them then. We'd best hurry."
"We've been hurrying, man! Can't ye see that? Ye won't find Campbells creeping through the brush when 'tis time to run. Besides, I've a suspicion we've got nothing to fear from the Roses. 'Tis the Calders I'm thinking about."
David nodded, glanced once over his shoulder, and kicked his horse forward.
Muriella swayed, then leaned back, closing her eyes, and gave herself up to the clamor of the horses and Rob's soothing voice above her. She tried to make her thoughts grow still, and at last her fear began to ebb and she almost slept.
* * *
Four hours later, Rob rode up beside his nephew. "There's a glen no more than a mile from here. 'Tis a safe enough spot to camp for a few hours, and easily defended."
John peered at his uncle through half-closed eyes. His face had settled into weary lines and his shoulders drooped with fatigue. "'Tis no' wise to stop, Uncle Rob. We'd be inviting the Calders to catch us. We'd best go on for a bit."
"No," Rob protested. "The girl is weary, and she's losing blood from that finger. We've got to stop the bleeding and give her some rest."
John glanced at Muriella's pale, shuttered face, then back down the forest the way they had come. He shook his head in distraction.
David Campbell, who had been riding close by, called out, "Ye wouldn't want her to die, would ye?"
One of the other men replied before John could open his mouth, "She won't die so long as there's a red-haired lassie on the banks of Loch Awe willing to win the prize of Cawdor."
Rob dismissed the man with an angry glare and turned back to John. "She's weak and frightened, Johnnie. Let her rest. I could use a bit of supper myself."
John considered Muriella's slumping form. Her hand and arm were dark with blood, her head seemed too heavy to hold upright. Exhaustion and cold had tinged her skin slightly blue. He sighed, giving the signal to stop.
A few minut
es later, the horses filtered into a glen with a burn running across one corner. The thick trees offered the men a sense of protection, and Rob nodded in approval. Slipping from his horse, he caught Muriella around the waist, then lifted her to the ground. "David," he ordered, "ye take Jemmie and watch the north. Simon, ye take the east, Archie, the south. They won't be coming from the west, that's certain."
The guard trudged off to take their positions while Rob carried the girl into the shadows, away from the curious eyes of the men. Sitting wearily on a boulder, he seated her on the ground at his feet. Without speaking, she watched as the men laid a fire and placed the cooking kettle above it to heat their dinner. They crouched around the brilliant flames that rose up to warm the chilled, misty air, each man huddling close to the fire, drawing his plaid tight against the cold.
As the sounds of movement began to fade into the low murmur of voices, Muriella found herself staring at John again and again. He stalked around the circle of men, stamping his feet against the ground as if the raw leather boots laced up his calves were not warm enough to keep out the chill. His heavy cloak swung out when he walked, revealing the gray padded doublet and tight-fitting trews beneath before he drew the wool closed with his fist. The glow from the fire altered his rugged face, emphasizing the heavy dark brows and giving his skin a gray translucence as he moved through the wavering shadows. In Muriella's mind it lent him an air of unreality. The only reality she recognized was Rob's legs against her sides and his warm cloak about her shoulders.
Rob felt her drawing closer, as if by doing so she could escape the threatening darkness. He saw that she was watching his nephew—and wondering. "Johnnie's to be yer husband, lass," he explained. "Argyll has decided. That's why my brother sent him to fetch ye. I thought he might run into trouble on the way, so I came along."
Muriella heard nothing beyond Johnnie's to be yer husband. "But that can't be. I'm betrothed to my cousin Hugh. I must marry him. They always told me—"
Rob shook his head. "They had no right to tell ye that. Yer guardian must be the one to pick yer husband. Surely ye know that." But then he remembered how little this girl's family had seen fit to tell her.
She stared at him in disbelief. "But Hugh—"
"Hugh was in the past," Rob said. "Things have changed and ye must learn to accept that. The Campbells will see that ye're happy now."
Her heart sank at his decisive tone. "I was happy at home."
"Were ye indeed?" Rob sounded doubtful, but before Muriella could say more, he added, "Ye were a child at Kilravok, protected mayhap, and secure, but we left that child behind when we took ye from Cawdor. Ye're thirteen—a woman. And that means ye must marry the man the Earl has chosen."
Ye have to understand that women never get to choose their own fate, her mother had told her. I'm afraid ye'll learn that for yerself sooner than ye care to. Only now, as her own stomach knotted in despair, did Muriella understand the resentment with which Isabel had spoken. Unable to force words past her stiff, cold lips, she pulled her feet in tight against her body, wrapping Rob's cloak about her neck as she attempted to steady her uneven breathing.
Rob slipped down beside her to put his arm around her shoulders. "He's a good man, is Johnnie. Ye'll see. 'Tis no' such a terrible thing to be wed to him. And he'll be good to ye, I promise that, or by God, he'll be hearing from me!"
Unaware of his uncle's conversation with the girl, John Campbell paced the boundary of the glen several times, flinging his cloak restlessly over his shoulders. Despite the cold, sweat stood on his forehead. Finally, he strode toward the fire and, glowering into the shadows, called, "Uncle Rob, do ye have her?"
Rob stood up to draw Muriella to her feet. He waited a moment to be certain she could stand alone, then pushed her gently into the circle.
The men gasped as the firelight struck the girl mercilessly. The light from the torch someone had thrust into Rob's hand encircled her with an unnatural glow. Her matted and windblown hair fell in disorder to her knees; the flickering light crawled down the auburn curls, giving them a deep radiance. Her eyes were distant and leaden, but as the firelight moved, they changed to flashing green.
Even more disturbing was the stain that had seeped into her gown from just below the neck. The blood covered her in a swanlike pattern; when she moved, the pattern shifted and lived in the fingers of light and shadow that played over the heavy folds of her gown. As one, the men crossed themselves. Their apprehension hung in the air, holding Muriella apart from them. She would have laughed at their superstition but she was too tired. The last hours had drained her of the spark that made her whole.
Keeping his hand on her shoulder, Rob nodded at his nephew. John hesitated, then came forward, but he paused as his gaze met the girl's. Green, then gray, then black, her eyes glistened in the firelight. Somehow they seemed to weaken his will; he found he could not look away. Her luminous, unsettling stare held him prisoner. He could feel the disquiet all around him and thought of the men who watched in silence, waiting for him to move. Abruptly, he came closer.
When he took Muriella's hand, she wanted to pull away, but she would not let the men see her retreat, not even when she could barely stand. Instead, she allowed him to draw her nearer the warmth of the fire.
"'Tis only her finger that's been hurt. The blood is from her finger," John announced. His voice was strong and deep, but even so, it could not quite break the spell Muriella had cast over the waiting men. They shifted uncomfortably, watching her with narrowed eyes. "Archie, will ye cauterize and bind this for her? I wouldn't know how myself and it looks none too good."
Archie came forward reluctantly and knelt to examine the finger. "She's bled a great deal," he said. "She'll be needin' some rest before she rides again. I wouldn't be knowin' how well 'twill mend."
Shaking his head, Archie began to work, bathing the half-finger in the warm water John brought, before taking a smoldering branch and holding it to the open wound to stop the bleeding. Muriella remembered the pain of leaving her mother, her confusion, and fear—and made no sound when the heat burnt her finger. That kind of pain was nothing compared to every other kind she had learned this day. She opened her eyes only after Archie had wrapped it with the wild grasses and herbs he carried in a leather pouch at his belt.
As he covered the stump with a piece of clean cloth, Muriella looked up at him in gratitude. She did not wish to see what Lorna had done to her. When someone offered her a bowl, she took it without a word and stepped back out of the circle, seeking a tree or boulder to lean against. She felt her strength disintegrating and knew she had to be alone for a few moments. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she sank down beside a bent oak, cradling the bowl of food in her chilled hands.
As she ate, she tried to shut out the sight of the men gathered around the campfire—these strangers who watched her warily and murmured in discontent beneath their breath. She felt completely isolated, utterly alone amidst the hostility all around her. In that instant, her longing for Lorna, her mother, and especially Hugh was so intense she ached with it. Fighting back tears, she chewed fiercely on a piece of dried venison.
John had watched the girl slip away but did not try to stop her. He could see she was too weak to flee just now. Besides, her presence and the strange glow of her eyes reminded him too forcefully of the restless mood of his men. He shook his head in impatience when he realized he shared their feelings. There was something disturbing about the intensity of that girl's gaze.
He looked up to find his uncle watching. Rob's forehead was furrowed in concern, and he glanced often toward the tree where Muriella sat. "She's yer responsibility now," Rob's gray eyes seemed to say. John took a bite of his bread, chewing it with unnecessary vigor. Uncle Rob was right, but that did not mean his nephew had to like it.
He resented Muriella, he admitted to himself, because without her his future held little. As a second son, he could look forward to next to nothing from his father's vast holdings. Everything would go
to his older brother, Colin. But then King Jamie had given this girl to Argyll as a ward. Because of her, John would be wealthy and powerful; without her he would be impotent—no man at all—and that made him furious. He owed his entire future to a girl he didn't even want. And yet he had to have her. His only other choice was to take his brother's charity, and that would be even more galling.
Abruptly, he tossed his bowl aside and made his way to Muriella where she crouched stiff and silent beneath the oak. He could not see her face but could hear her shallow breathing. He knelt beside her, his cloak brushing the damp grass at his feet.
She did not look up. After a long silence that began to thunder in John's ears, he said, "I'm sorry it had to be this way. But there’s naught else we could do."
Muriella raised her head. "Ye could have left me with my family, where I belong."
Her voice vibrated with bitterness and John drew back a little, struggling to suppress his own anger. "'Twas no' safe," he said stiffly.
"They all tell me that." She looked up at the blur of his face in the darkness. "And mayhap they're right. But the danger was mine to face, no’ yers. Besides, I know it wasn't really for my sake ye came."
John blinked at her in astonishment. He had not expected this kind of response from the girl who had seemed so weak a few moments before.
When he did not answer at once, Muriella plunged on.
"But then I forgot, ye were in danger of losing Cawdor. And ye couldn't let that happen, could ye?" She was startled by her own bitterness, by how easily it became confused with sorrow.
Without thinking, John took her hand roughly, as if the pressure of his fingers could make her understand. "We would have been foolish to risk a loss like that, don't ye agree?"
Muriella felt his frustration in the careless touch of his hand when she met his eyes fully for the first time—blue eyes chilly as the night. She caught her breath and her hands grew clammy. She closed her eyes to shut out the image forming in her mind, but in the darkness behind her lids a torrent of water rose, swirling furiously about her waist. She tried to fight against the white, rushing foam, but it was sucking her under; she could not breathe. Muriella opened her eyes, gasping, and turned away as the image disintegrated and the roar of the water stopped pounding in her ears. She was not even aware that John had risen and returned to the circle of firelight.
Highland Charm: First Fantasies Page 4
