Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

Colin rose from his chair and moved toward the fire. "Johnnie, I've told ye, it wouldn't be wise to go after the Calders now. Wait till the Earl gets back from the Isles. We can strike then if we want. But not now."

  As he paced back and forth, John cursed under his breath. "I can't stay still. They've killed Uncle Rob and twenty-six others, and who knows what else they have planned for us?" His grief and exhaustion had combined with uneasy dreams of the slaughter, leaving him frantic with his own frustration.

  "Haven't ye been responsible for enough death, little brother? Or do ye wish to see the entire clan ruined before the week is out?"

  John fought down an angry reply, sickened by the nightmarish memory of David Campbell's ghastly tale and gaunt, gray face. He could not quite conquer the thought that it should have been he who sat there, broken and bleeding. He noticed with disgust that his brother appeared to be well rested. The events of the previous night obviously had not disturbed his sleep. "I might be able to make up for yesterday with a surprise attack on the Calders," he said.

  "And who would ye take with ye? Tell me that. Would ye gather the men who have not slept for more than three hours and who rode all day and half the night? Or do ye intend to wait till Richard comes back, then drag his men out again? I'll tell ye, Johnnie, Kilchurn wouldn't be safe if ye did that. We've lost too many men as it is. Don't be a fool."

  With an effort, John kept his fists at his sides. "Then what do ye intend to do?"

  Aware of the suppressed fury in his brother's voice, Colin smiled to himself. "I intend to wait, as I told ye, till our father returns."

  "What if the Calders strike again? Or the Roses? There's nothing to stop the Roses from riding south to attack us."

  Colin pressed closer to the fire, stretching his hands toward the flames. "I think I'd best speak to the girl about that. Mayhap she'll know of their plans."

  John smiled at Colin's simplicity. "She won't be eager to tell ye anything, even if she knows, which I doubt. Ye'd be wiser to leave her alone for a time."

  "She'll tell me," Colin muttered, "whether she wishes to or no'."

  "More likely she'll bury a dagger in yer chest, nor would I blame her." John remembered her chilling anger the night before, the power he had felt in her gaze. It weakened him somehow, that memory, and his fury grew hotter, more volatile.

  With a snort, Colin turned away. "Where would she be getting a dagger, do ye think? And how would she raise it if she had one, with her hands tied behind her back? I'm no' a fool like ye, Johnnie. I won't give her a chance to thwart me." Colin moved past his brother and started toward the door. "I'll speak with her now, and we'll see what she has to say."

  John shifted uneasily. Did the girl deserve Colin's tactless questions? John shook his head. And yet—if she had once shown a moment of weakness, if she had wept or shivered or turned to him for comfort, he could have borne anything for her sake. But Muriella had made it clear she did not need him—not nearly as much as he needed her. For a moment he was tempted to let Colin barge into her chamber all unsuspecting, but he decided against it. "Wait," he said, "there's something ye should know."

  "What could ye possibly tell me that I wouldn't already know three times over, little brother?"

  "I might tell ye," John spat, "that I gave Megan a dagger last night to cut the bandages with."

  "Damn ye! Are ye determined to wipe out the Campbells in a single day? Why didn't ye simply give the girl a satchel of poison to kill us with and an escort back to Cawdor?"

  For a flicker of an instant, John wondered if he'd done it on purpose—left her a weapon and the chance to slip away. He brushed the thought aside. It was madness, after all she'd cost them in less than a single day. John thought his brother might strike him, but Colin only glared furiously, then turned to leave the room. John followed at a distance. He had a feeling he'd better be nearby when his brother confronted the girl face-to-face.

  "M'lord?"

  John paused, squinting into the shadows where a man stood waiting, while Colin went on ahead. "Richard?"

  "Aye." Richard Campbell moved forward into the dim light. His clothing was caked with earth and blood, his arms black to the elbow. "We were too late. They were already dead. All of them."

  "I know. David made it back. He told us."

  "I'm sorry, m'lord. There have no' been many like Rob Campbell."

  John was silent for a moment, fighting off the blackness that took his sight and left him shaking. He clenched his fists until the pain brought him sharply awake. "No," he managed to choke out. "There was no’ even one like him."

  Shaking his hair back from his face, Richard sighed wearily. "We buried most of them in the glen. Rob and his sons we brought back."

  "Thank ye, Richard. Ye did what ye could. Ye must rest now. The others will see to the bodies."

  "Aye, I sent most of the men off already. I swear Andrew was asleep in the saddle all the way back."

  "Johnnie! Where the devil are ye?" Colin's bellow echoed through the halls long before he appeared. When he spotted his brother, he stopped still. His breathing was ragged, his jaw set in a dangerous line. "She's gone, do ye hear me? The girl is gone!"

  * * *

  Muriella and Megan rounded the corner, coming upon the front gate just as a shout rose in the courtyard.

  "The girl must be found and soon! Every damned one of ye drop what ye're doing to look for her. And when ye find her, bring her to me." It was Colin's voice. Already Muriella recognized it.

  "Miss." Megan put her hand on her mistress's shoulder. "Won't ye come inside before Colin comes out?"

  Muriella shook Megan's hand away as she peered at the narrow arm of land that reached inward across the loch to hold the castle bound to the shore. A string of horses wound away into the trees still touched with mist. Half the animals carried no riders, but the remaining saddles were filled with long awkward bundles wrapped in rough lengths of plaid.

  One of those bundles was Rob Campbell; she was sure of it.

  As she stood unmoving, the noise from the courtyard seemed to increase tenfold until it shattered the peace of the still morning. Feet clattered across the cobbles, men swore, and swords rattled in their sheaths.

  "Miss, they're lookin' for ye, and mighty angry by the sound of it."

  Still Muriella did not move, not even when the gate screamed up, setting free the men inside. They swarmed through the wild gardens, circling the castle and heading toward the shore, stopping only briefly to gape at the somber line of horses. Soon the landscape was dotted with the blue and green Campbell plaid. Muriella thought they would never turn to look at the spot where she stood just below the gate, but her thoughts were interrupted by Colin's triumphant cry.

  "Here she is, by God!" His face was flushed, his eyes ice blue. As he came toward her, he clenched and unclenched his fists threateningly.

  Attempting to pull Muriella with her, Megan shrank away.

  Colin reached them before they had taken more than a few steps. Pushing Muriella aside for the moment, he twisted his hand in Megan's hair and dragged her forward. "What have ye done? Are ye such a blithering fool that ye can't see the danger out here? The Calders will come to take her away and no doubt kill her. Then all this"—he motioned toward the waiting horses—"will have been for naught."

  As he drew back his hand to strike Megan, Muriella flung herself at him, knocking him off balance. "Ye won't!" she demanded. "Leave her be!"

  Colin turned, startled by her attack. "I'll do as I please. Ye have naught to say about it. Don't forget I can beat ye too." He leaned forward menacingly. "And I intend to. But not just now." Nodding to a man behind him, he called, "Take her inside!"

  "No! I won't go till Megan comes with me."

  For a long moment, Colin glared at her while the pulse in his throat throbbed. The girl thought to defy him, but she would learn. He took a step forward.

  "Ye won't hurt me," she declared, facing him squarely.

  "And why, praytell, won't I?"
>
  "Because I am Cawdor. Ye know ye'll lose it if ye lose me. And if ye hurt Megan or me, I swear I'll find a way to go. Till Cawdor's safe, we’re safe."

  Colin paused with his hands in midair. The girl was right, damn her. He was powerless for the moment. He could not take the chance she would carry out her threat. But his arms trembled and he longed to crush her between his palms.

  Suddenly John appeared at his brother's side. Taking Muriella's arm in one hand, he motioned Megan forward with the other. He wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Suddenly he was appalled by the violence, the rage that simmered always beneath Colin's arrogance. He did not want to be his brother's mirror. "Leave them, Colin. I'll see to them. Ye must take care of Uncle Rob and his sons."

  "We must not let this pass, little brother," Colin hissed. "Do ye hear?"

  "Don't worry. I'll talk to them." John spoke calmly, adamantly.

  Colin, still too angry to breathe evenly, gasped, "Get them away, then. Out of my sight!"

  Propelling the two girls before him, John leaned down to mutter in Muriella's ear, "Ye would be wise to leave Colin alone. I wouldn't be surprised if he killed ye."

  "Wouldn't ye? Does he care so little for Cawdor?"

  John stopped, swinging her to face him. "I'm warning ye. Ye’d do well to listen."

  His last words were lost beneath the deep, labored tolling of a bell. Muriella looked up, caught by the unexpected volume of sound, and just for a moment her eyes met John's. This must be the ringing of the soul bell for the men killed the night before: the mournful clang, clang, clang for each year a man had lived. Judging by the number of horses trailing away from the gate, the tolling would not cease for a long, long time. Muriella felt a strange tightness in her throat. Without thinking, she started toward the burdened animals, but John stopped her.

  "Ye'll go inside now. Ye've been enough trouble for one morning."

  Looking up at him sadly, Muriella said, "I want to see Rob Campbell before they bury him. If I don't, he'll surely haunt me."

  John too had meant to see and touch his uncle before his burial, so the dead man would leave him in peace. But he intended to say his farewells later, in a more private place. "'Tis no' the time—"

  "I need to say good-bye now," Muriella interrupted. Her jaw was rigid, her gaze unwavering.

  Her determination, as well as his own gnawing grief, silenced the objections that rose to his lips. John let her go without further protest.

  Muriella did not wait to see what he would do, but turned at once toward the horses. She went by instinct to the first animal and, with her hand on the muddy blanket, took a deep, steadying breath. Then she lifted the dark wool to look for the last time at Rob Campbell's gray, lifeless face. Without hesitation, she reached out to touch the sunken cheek, her eyes moist at the memory of the sound of his voice.

  John stood where Muriella had left him, watching her in bewildered surprise. She was so clearly grieving; her expression was full of tenderness. She had known his uncle for only a few hours, yet she seemed to recognize what kind of man he had been. How was it she had come to understand so much in so little time?

  He saw the blanket slide from her fingers, saw her turn back to where he waited. Before his common sense could stop him, he went to meet her. Grasping her arms, he looked down into her grief-darkened face and asked, "If I’d stayed with him last night, could I have stopped it?" He nodded toward the horses with their grim burdens.

  Muriella blinked up at him in astonishment. She wanted to tell him yes. She wanted to tell him the blame was all his, but she could not lie. Besides, there was something in his face—a kind of desperation that had not been there the night before. "I don't know," she said at last.

  John turned away for an instant, trying to hide his disappointment. "So be it," he murmured in a barely audible voice. "We'd best go in now."

  As he led her toward the open gate, Muriella realized she had been wrong after all. John might not have said good-bye nor turned his head to see his uncle one last time before he left that glen, but he had looked back—and was looking back still.

  Chapter 5

  Archibald, Second Earl of Argyll, sat on his horse, watching with impatience as a string of cattle crossed the winding dirt road. A farmer ambled after the noisy beasts, hands buried in his flea-bitten fur pelt. He seemed unconcerned that the Earl—dressed, as befit his station, in velvet doublet and trews, a fine fur cloak and a plaid held in place by the well-known Campbell brooch—had been waiting for some time. The groom shifted uneasily in his saddle. He could feel Argyll's displeasure heavy and dark in the air.

  However, Argyll was occupied with his own thoughts and cursed with only half his usual vehemence when the farmer finally trailed the last cow into the trees.

  The Earl urged his restive mount forward. Although his gaze swept over the woody islands and glittering stillness of Loch Awe, he was unimpressed by the calm, unchanging beauty. His thoughts were at Duart Castle, where he had left his daughter, Elizabeth, and Lachlan Maclean. Argyll shook his head, remembering with foreboding that Maclean was too clever by half. The Earl had thought at one time if the man could ever bring himself to side with the King rather than against him, Maclean would be a good soldier to fight beside.

  But Argyll had never fully trusted him since the rebellion in 1504 that had threatened to restore the Lordship of the Isles to Donald Dubh. Maclean had been declared a traitor, and although he had since sworn allegiance to the crown, the Earl was aware that the man still cast his gaze hungrily over the lands of others. He remembered all too clearly Maclean's flushed face and clenched fist when he asserted, "I’ll no’ rest so long as the Camerons hold the lands of Lochiel. They took them from me, and they shall no' sit peacefully there while I live!"

  Argyll had grimaced as he put his hands on his son-in-law's shoulders. "Ye must try to forget. Ye must let the King settle yer quarrels without bloodshed."

  "Ha!" Maclean had just restrained himself from spitting in the Earl's face. He pulled free of Argyll's grip, laughing bitterly. "Ye're just the man to speak of peace and to claim yer rights without bloodshed—ye who have betrayed us more than once! We’re no' so foolish as ye might think, my lord."

  The Earl reached instinctively for his sword but did not draw it. Instead he stared into Maclean's mocking gaze and tried to conquer his anger.

  "Ye play with human lives to achieve yer own ends," his son-in-law continued. "We're aware that Donald Dubh was yer prisoner and ye set him free, knowing we would follow him into a revolt. Then ye turned yer energy to smashing the rebellion ye had created. Ye're a devious man, Father-in-law, but we’re no’ blind. My only comfort is that ye follow a king who will destroy ye, just as ye have destroyed us."

  Argyll was suddenly aware of Elizabeth, who hovered in the background, watching. She looked up, gasping at her husband's audacity, and her glance went to her father's sword. Her expression was full of pleading.

  The Earl loosened his grip on the handle of his broadsword. Maclean was, after all, his daughter's husband. What was worse, he had chosen the man himself. The marriage had been meant to solidify the new bond between King James and his rebellious Highland chiefs. Argyll, as the King's representative, had given up his only daughter. At the time, he had believed it to be an unfortunate necessity, but it had won him the King's favor. Partly because of the peace he had preserved in the Highlands, James IV had appointed the Earl Lord High Chancellor of Scotland as well as Master of the Royal Household. Surely his one small sacrifice had been worth the result.

  Elizabeth moved toward Maclean protectively. "Leave him be, Father. Ye know he only speaks the truth."

  The Earl stood quite still for a moment, frozen with shock. His daughter's loyalty obviously belonged to Maclean now. His hands trembled with outrage, but he clasped them roughly behind his back. As Elizabeth took her husband's arm, the Earl controlled his voice with an effort. "We won't discuss my business with the King further. If it weren't for my daughter, ye
know I'd kill ye."

  Shaking away his wife's hand, Maclean stepped forward. "Ye could try, my lord. But ye're an old man and I’m no’. I beg ye, don't think of Elizabeth. Come, try yer hand against me."

  It was too much to bear, even for Elizabeth's sake. The Earl went once more for his sword. The metal gleamed as he brought it up and faced Maclean. "As ye wish," he said.

  "Father!" Elizabeth threw herself between the two men. Maclean lunged forward to push her away, but she stood firm. "Lachlan," she gasped, "how long do ye think ye’d live if 'twas known ye'd killed the Earl of Argyll? The Campbells would hunt ye for the rest of yer days, and there would no' be many. Ye must wait."

  Elizabeth looked beseechingly at her father. At the expression in her eyes, he took a deep breath, then shoved his sword back into its sheath. He was not conscious that he did so. Ye must wait, his daughter had said. Did she actually wish for his death, then? He looked at the pale oval of her face and for an instant forgot to hide his pain.

  "Father, don't make me choose," Elizabeth cried, reaching out to take his hand. "I have loved ye dearly, but Lachlan is my husband. It was ye who bid me marry him. Leave us in peace, please."

  Argyll gently withdrew his hand from hers. By now he had reconstructed the mask that covered his weakness and he managed a stiff smile. "I will leave ye in peace," he said. "Take care, Elizabeth."

  As he turned to go, the Earl saw Maclean drop his sword to the floor in disgust. Argyll looked back once when he reached the doorway, then, sickened by the scene before him, quickly left the room. Elizabeth knelt at her husband's feet, her hands outstretched toward him. Maclean turned his back on her.

  The Earl felt ill, remembering. His fingers closed convulsively on the handle of his sword.

  The silent groom who had met the Laird of the Clan Campbell at Oban, watched Argyll secretly, wondering what was troubling the Earl. Although his expression was calm, the man could see his agitation in his whitened knuckles. The young groom was careful to avoid the Earl's gaze. Everyone knew his anger was terrible.