When Elizabeth was seated, the two girls hovered over her, dividing her hair into sections, weaving the sections together. They giggled as they tangled strand after strand and laughed in triumph when each difficult braid was done. Muriella watched, the blood pounding dully in her ears. Then Mary knelt beside Elizabeth, her hair falling over her shoulders and curling among the rushes at her feet.
Muriella took a deep breath. It had happened before—the chatter, the laughter, the flutter of excited movement that could not touch the shell of the woman in its midst. Behind it all was the memory of her own voice saying, So, it's finally come. There's nothing I can do. Nothing. Then as now, the walls had closed around her, pushing her down into the darkness.
"Elizabeth!" she cried, drawing the woman up from her seat. "Ye must stand by the window where the sunlight can reach ye." At the startled looks from Megan and Mary, she added, "How can ye see if everything is right with the shadows clinging all around?" Turning her back on their astonishment, she noticed a rush had caught in the hem of the gown. Kneeling, she worked the fabric free. Despite her determination to hide her feelings, her hand trembled a little.
Muriella felt the brush of Elizabeth's fingers on her bent head and looked up in surprise.
"Don't grieve for me," Elizabeth said softly. "It doesn't last forever, ye ken. The months pass, the hurt eases, and then, one day, ye begin to accept what ye can't change."
"But until then?"
Elizabeth smiled sadly. "Until then, if ye're lucky, ye learn to hide yer pain so they don't ever guess how deep it goes."
"'Tis time," Megan murmured, approaching hesitantly. "We must go before they send someone to look for us."
Muriella nodded. Those words too she had heard before. She rose, shaking out her gold velvet gown, and put her hand on Elizabeth's arm.
The other woman shook her head. As the servants left the room, she whispered, "I wouldn't have ye by me today."
Muriella regarded her in bewilderment. "But why?"
Frowning, Elizabeth touched her cheek, then looked away. "Because, my friend, ye know too much, and I don't want to see me in yer eyes."
* * *
Once again the huge oak doors of the chapel had been thrown wide to admit the guests in their wedding finery. Muriella stood in the courtyard while the women and men brushed past her, disappearing into the musty gloom. The groom, Archibald Campbell, stood talking to Colin in the doorway. Muriella had seen little of him since his arrival. He'd spent most of the time behind closed doors with Colin. Even when he joined the others for meals, he kept to himself. He seemed pleasant enough, even ordinary. There was nothing in his straight brown hair, heavy beard, and hazel eyes to distinguish him from a hundred other men.
Muriella wondered again what had made him choose Elizabeth. No doubt it was the alliance with the powerful Campbells that had tempted him. She looked away. Elizabeth deserved so much more.
She turned her attention to the pipers, who played somewhere out of sight, blowing their keening song into the misted April air. Muriella listened, eyes closed, drawing from the music the courage to move forward.
She felt a hand at the small of her back and turned to find her husband beside her. It was the first time he had touched her since that day in the library. He had been unfailingly kind, had spoken with her by the hour, read with her from John Barbour and Robert Henryson, but he had not taken her hand or kissed her cheek—not even once.
"Well," John said, so low that only she could hear him, "have ye been thinking?"
She had begun to believe he had forgotten her promise. "I've tried," she murmured. "'Tis all I can do."
John shook his head. '"Tis no' enough, lass. It's been too long."
It was true; she knew it because a growing sense of urgency within would not let her rest. Always, her husband's face was before her, even in her dreams, and always, in his eyes, was the question she could not answer. "Aye," she said when he drew her to him so the warmth of his breath touched her cheek. "I know." She wanted to cup his face in her palms, to feel the stirring of pleasure his kiss had brought her before the fear had washed it away. When she looked into John's eyes, she felt a tightening in her throat and her hands reached out of their own accord to draw him closer. Just then, the pleasure of standing near him was so great that it was almost pain.
"I want ye," he said, his lips hovering above hers. "Ye know that. But I won't see ye turn away from me again. When ye hear my voice instead of yer demons', then I'll come to ye, and not before. 'Tis a promise, lass, to both of us."
The wail of the bagpipes faded as the harps took up their song, but still Muriella stood with her hands on her husband's shoulders. "Come," he said, "'Tis time for the ceremony."
John took her arm to guide her inside and she shivered, chilled by the loss of his warmth. They had barely seated themselves on the front bench when Muriella glanced back to see that Elizabeth was coming.
The song of the harps grew hushed as John's sister started down the aisle toward the altar of silver on carved wood. She held her head high, her skirts flowing behind her over the well-worn stone, the sleeves of her gown swaying with the motion of her body. When she reached the place where Archibald Campbell waited, Elizabeth turned to her groom with no trace of bitterness in the face she raised to his, but Muriella wondered if she saw Maclean's image there.
John grasped his wife's hand tightly as the harps fell silent and the priest began the endless ritual of the marriage ceremony. The three voices filled the tiny chapel, chanting, pausing, repeating the Latin phrases until they rang from the gray stone walls. Then, as Elizabeth and her new husband turned away from the altar, the voices fell silent at last. The bride and groom stood for a moment with the light of a hundred candles on their faces, flickering over the hollows and planes, filling their eyes with moving light. Elizabeth stared before her, seeing nothing, while the couple stepped out of the reach of the dancing flames and started back down the aisle.
They had not moved more than a few steps when the chapel doors burst open. "M'lords, there's a great band of armed men nearin' the keep. They must've killed the sentries on the shore and so made it across to the outer gate!" he announced breathlessly. "They're circlin' outside the wall even now."
"How, in God's name?" Colin s thundering rage reverberated through the tiny, crowded chapel. "There's barely room enough for one man to stand without the loch sucking him under, let alone an armed band."
John came up beside his brother. "Did ye not notice the water's been low this past week? There's not much room beyond the wall, but enough."
"Damn!" Colin bellowed, turning back to Richard. "Who are they?"
"Macleans, m'lord."
"God in heaven! But then, those bastards have always chosen their moments for revenge with a little irony mixed in for spice. I suppose their pride wouldn't let them forget their laird's death after all." He glared at Richard as if the man might contradict him. "Somebody get the women inside," the Earl continued. "Johnnie, ye gather the men. Do ye think we have enough within the keep?"
"'Twill have to be enough," John replied, "and we'll need to hurry to get the archers in place before the Macleans lay siege or climb over the wall." He was moving even as he spoke, assessing the skill of each man as he caught sight of him.
In a very few minutes, the men had dispersed to gather their weapons and take up their positions. As the women hurried across the open courtyard, Muriella went to Elizabeth, who stood alone in the center of the narrow stone aisle, and took her arm. "Come inside," the younger woman murmured, "where 'tis safe." Oddly enough, she was not eager to be closed inside the castle walls. Safe the keep might be, but it was also dark and cold and eerily silent.
The doors had barely closed behind the cluster of women when the sound of the battle began. Suppressing her own agitation, Muriella drew Elizabeth out of the crowd and toward the stairway. "Let's wait in the solar," she suggested. "Where 'tis quiet."
Elizabeth had not said a word since th
e vows she had spoken in the chapel. Now she only nodded, her face as unyielding as white marble.
* * *
When the battle had been raging for several hours and neither side appeared to be weakening, John and Colin crouched behind the battlements to discuss the Campbell options.
"They'll not budge from their sandy strip of ground, the daft fools, and they hold the outer gate. They can't get in, 'tis true, but neither can we get out. And it seems more of them are coming all the time." Colin sat on his heels, regarding his brother in indecision.
"We need to cut them off from the gate, then force them back into the water. The others will scatter then."
"And how do ye suppose we're to do that? As I said once, they're holding the gate."
Colin's tone rankled; with an effort of will, John kept his fists at his sides. "That's just the thing, don't ye see? They've gathered near the front gate. They expect to try and break through there. They wouldn't even be knowing about the little side gate. The trees are tall and the bushes thick. We who know the way would easily be hidden from view."
The Earl's eyes lit up. "By God, Johnnie, for once ye've had a sensible thought. But who will lead the men that way? It'll take mighty careful going if we don't want to alert the Macleans too soon."
"I'll go." John's blood was beginning to speed through his veins as it always did at the thought of battle. "We can lead the horses through the tunnel easily enough without a light. They won't be expecting us at all."
"Aye, well..." Colin rocked on his heels, considering whether or not his brother could handle the task.
John leaned forward. "If we wait till dark, they won't be able to see us coming. 'Tis two hours away. What do ye think?"
Colin nodded thoughtfully. "Tis a good enough plan," he said at last, "so long as ye don't lose yer head as ye tend to do. Mayhap I should find some other man to lead."
John laughed. The thought of the pending contest had ruined his brother's ability to wound him. Besides, he knew as well as Colin that the first few men out the gate would be vulnerable in the extreme. Smiling, he leapt down from the stone ledge, "Let me know when ye find one willing," he shouted.
The Earl frowned after his brother's retreating back. Johnnie was right. There was no other.
Head bent over the clacking loom, Muriella concentrated on sliding the shuttle between the taut warp threads. She heard Megan enter the room but did not look up from her task.
"I talked to Duncan," the servant announced. "He says the men are plannin' to creep out from the hidden gate at dusk to surprise the Macleans." Approaching her mistress, she added, "He says Sir John will lead them."
Muriella bent forward, gasping. She had known John was out there, facing the Macleans' assault, but until now he’d had the high castle walls to hide behind. Once he left the keep, there would be no ancient stone battlements to protect him. He would be alone with his sword and his brother's men. Fear rose in her throat, cold and leaden, and her hands grew clammy.
Elizabeth saw Muriella turn pale, grasping her stomach as if in pain. For an instant, Elizabeth's features lost their waxen appearance. "Megan," she said sharply, speaking for the first time in many hours, "yer mistress isn't well. Bring her some wine."
"Aye, m'lady." Shocked by Muriella's pallor, the servant hurried from the room to do as she'd been bid.
When Elizabeth slid onto the bench behind the loom, Muriella whispered, "Do ye think—I mean—'tis very dangerous, isn't it?"
"'Tis always dangerous in battle," Elizabeth answered carefully, "but John's a good warrior. He won't give the Macleans the victory if he can help it."
"But what if this time he can't help it? What if their anger makes them stronger?" The words were hoarse and indistinct, and she had to struggle to speak them at all.
Elizabeth took Muriella's hand. "If 'tis so, then so 'twill be. Ye can't change that. Ye can only pray that he'll come back unharmed."
Muriella shook her head. "I don't think I remember how."
"'Twill come to ye," Elizabeth said softly. "I've told ye before, it doesn't last forever. Even the fear goes, in time." Frowning, she contemplated Muriella's averted face. Until now, Elizabeth had believed her sister-in-law to be indifferent to John, if not entirely hostile. She had even felt vague stirrings of pity when she saw how her brother's gaze followed his wife whenever she was near. Yet here Muriella sat, her eyes shadowed, her skin sickly pale, asking about her husband's danger. Could Elizabeth have been mistaken?
When Megan returned with the wine, her mistress drank it slowly, willing its warmth into her chilled veins, but it could not touch the cold fear around her heart. She peered at the weave of the nearly completed Loch Awe tapestry, hoping to lose herself in the color and patterns she had created. She plied the shuttle to and fro, to and fro, lacing the strands together, building a meshwork of vivid blue and pale peach, but this time the colors changing beneath her skilled hands were not enough to make her forget. The hours stretched out, hushed and endless, with only the rhythmic sound of the loom to break the uneasy silence.
Then, as darkness settled beyond the windows and the torches flared to life, the sound of cheering rose from the courtyard.
Muriella's hands ceased their movement. She met Elizabeth's gaze in apprehension. No doubt the Campbells had won their battle at last. But at what cost? Now, when she needed it most, when she craved the knowledge the Sight could give her, the power had left her.
For the second time, Megan flung the door open and came into the room, her face flushed with triumph. "The Macleans have fled!" she cried. "Sir John and his men reclaimed the gate and outer wall, forcing them into the loch. The currents were cruel tonight, and the Macleans blind to the danger of the cold black water. Our men have started comin' in, but Duncan says 'twill be a while before the ones from outside will make their way back."
Muriella forced herself to ask calmly, "Ye have no word of Sir John?"
"No, m'lady," Megan told her with regret. "But Duncan says he's better with a sword than any man. No doubt he's safe enough."
"No doubt," her mistress repeated, but she did not believe it. She stared at her nearly finished tapestry. As it undulated in the yellow glare of the torches, she leaned forward, holding her breath. The red-haired woman knelt on the shore, gazing into the water, but the face below her was not pale and lovely, with the blond, flowing hair of the woman of the loch. The face reflected in the gently shifting water was darkly handsome, bearded and sunbrowned, with eyes as blue as the winter sky. Muriella cried out once, then buried her face in the bright, colored fabric.
Chapter 37
When the men began to return to the hall, Elizabeth stood waiting to greet them one by one. She had explained to her new husband that she must help with the wounded and he had agreed. "Go," Archibald Campbell had told his wife gently. "Mayhap we can begin again tomorrow."
Now, with Duncan beside her, Elizabeth tended those she could help, doled out food to those who could eat, and learned the names of those who were dead. No one could tell her about her brother. Apparently most of the men had lost sight of him just after the Macleans scattered and fled.
The men had been arriving for nearly an hour when David Campbell staggered into the hall, clutching his shoulder where an arrow had pierced it. While Elizabeth tore his shirt away and bathed the wound, he told her what he could.
"After they ran, Sir John thought we'd best follow for a way to see they really meant to return to Mull. He was afraid they'd circle back and surprise the keep. We hadn't gone far when some of the Macleans took it into their heads to turn and fight. That's when I got my wound." He pointed to his shoulder with pride. "'Twas a long skirmish. Seemed more kept coming, despite the number we killed outright. By the time the last Maclean had gone or died, not a single one of us still had a horse. I never saw Sir John, though I looked among the closest corpses. Then my wound started in bleeding, and I thought I'd best come back again."
Elizabeth knew twenty-five men had left Kilchurn
Castle with her brother. It was just past midnight, and she had accounted for twenty-two who were either safe within the keep or dead. Half an hour later, she looked up to see John and another man huddled in the doorway, carrying a third between them. In an instant she was beside them, searching their faces anxiously. Somehow, in the last hours of tending to the wounded, the weight of her self-imposed numbness had left her. For the first time in weeks, she knew she was alive, because the fear was with her again.
"Elizabeth," her brother said, "aren't ye in bed? Or has yer groom been wounded?"
John was covered in blood, but his sister could not tell if it was his own. She recognized the second man as Richard Campbell. Leaning down, she examined the third, who was badly wounded. As they dragged him into the light, she saw Andrew Campbell's flaming red hair. His freckles stood out darkly against his pale skin.
"Elizabeth, come away," John said as he took her arm. "There are others to care for him."
She allowed her brother to draw her toward the fire. "Are ye hurt?" she asked at last.
"Och, no! Though the Macleans did their best to see that I was. I've been so long because Andrew yonder fell right next to me. Richard and I thought he wouldn't make it back, so we tried to tend to him there as best we could. We stopped the bleeding, at least, and removed the shaft, but I wouldn't care to guess about his chances."
As he spoke, the exhilaration she had noticed when he first came in seemed to drain from his face. She could see by his furrowed brow that he was tired.
John felt her questioning gaze and frowned. "Tell me, what do ye here? Ye should be asleep."
"I was waiting for ye."
He drew back so he could see her face more clearly. She had not sought him out since his return from Edinburgh, and he could not understand what had brought her to him now. "Why?"
She glanced around to make certain no one was near. "Johnnie," she murmured, "hew weary are ye?"
Highland Charm: First Fantasies Page 35
