the strongest men. His arms moved in large, seemingly effortless arcs as he deftly parried the blows of his companions. A grim smile touched his lips and a fierce light gleamed in his eyes, the love of battle settling about him in some fearful, heated aura.
Only when his men began to falter, then cease their swordplay, did Niall at last pause to look about him. His searching glance found Anne's. A wrinkle of puzzlement formed between his brows.
Laying aside his claymore, Niall strode to a nearby water trough. After immersing his head, he straightened, the fluid sluicing down his chest and shoulders. He flung back his sodden mane of hair, scattering water everywhere, then, with a wry grin, approached her.
Sunlight glinted in the droplets that clung to him, reflecting across the water-slick planes of his muscled upper body. For an instant, Anne could only stare at the dark, wet hair that swirled across his chest and abdomen.
"II wish a word with you, m'lord," she murmured finally, forcing the words past the strange, hot ache in her throat. Distractedly, she motioned to the walled garden. "Away from the others, if you please."
Niall shrugged. "As you wish."
They walked in silence until the garden's wooden gate was shut behind them. Then Anne turned, gathering all the tact she possessed. " 'Tis a fine garden," she began, gesturing about her. "The soil rich, the sun shining full upon it for most o' the day. By your leave, I would plant my herbs here."
"And what purpose would that serve?"
Anne glanced up in surprise. At the set look to Niall's face, a sense of unease stirred. "Why, to use for my healing potions, o' course. Did you think I'd refuse to help your people because they were Campbells? Didn't I make my position clear last eve?"
" 'Twas quite evident what your feelings were, lass. Nonetheless, it cannot be." He reluctantly shook his head. "You will not plant, nor harvest, nor treat anyone with your herbs at Kilchurn. Do you understand?"
"But why" Her voice broke off as she struggled with the surging frustration that roiled within. Holy Mother, to ask him for anything and then have it refused! And this, her precious herbs, her beloved healing, above all else!
Anne stared up at him, confused. "Why? Why would you refuse me such a simple request?"
"I've no heart to refuse you anything, lass," Niall replied, his voice rough with regret. "But in this matter I can do no less. You're well aware how strong the witch panic burns since the law passed. Have your already forgotten your admission that even some o' your own clan think you a witch? What do you think my clan will think if you resume your healing?"
"II don't care! I am good at what I do. There's no taint of evil in it. In time they'll see that, accept me."
Niall hesitated. He wanted to grant her this one request but knew it was unwise. Since the law enacted just a year ago making witchcraft punishable by death, the Reformed Kirk had been zealous in their persecution. When a hapless person, and it was almost always a woman, was accused, she'd be deprived of rest, food and water, and finally tortured to extract a confession. And, though confession meant certain death by burning or drowning, most eventually confessed. The instruments of torture were that effective.
He shuddered, harking back to the one victim he'd seen burnt at the stake. It had been Dora, his cousin Hugh's one and only love. Malcolm Campbell was responsible for that, one of his first acts upon resuming control of the village kirk. Poor, unstable Hugh had been easily swayed to the preacher's side, especially after finding Dora in the arms of another man.
She was dead before Niall could reach her, though the flames had yet to consume her body. That day he'd made a vow never to allow another burning on Campbell lands. Up until now, he'd been successful in keeping that promise.
"Nay, lass." Niall sighed, steeling himself for the task at hand. I fear that will never be. My people are too
Only when his men began to falter, then cease their swordplay, did Niall at last pause to look about him. His searching glance found Anne's. A wrinkle of puzzlement formed between his brows.
Laying aside his claymore, Niall strode to a nearby water trough. After immersing his head, he straightened, the fluid sluicing down his chest and shoulders. He flung back his sodden mane of hair, scattering water everywhere, then, with a wry grin, approached her.
Sunlight glinted in the droplets that clung to him, reflecting across the water-slick planes of his muscled upper body. For an instant, Anne could only stare at the dark, wet hair that swirled across his chest and abdomen.
"II wish a word with you, m'lord," she murmured finally, forcing the words past the strange, hot ache in her throat. Distractedly, she motioned to the walled garden. "Away from the others, if you please."
Niall shrugged. "As you wish."
They walked in silence until the garden's wooden gate was shut behind them. Then Anne turned, gathering all the tact she possessed. " 'Tis a fine garden," she began, gesturing about her. "The soil rich, the sun shining full upon it for most o' the day. By your leave, I would plant my herbs here."
"And what purpose would that serve?"
Anne glanced up in surprise. At the set look to Niall's face, a sense of unease stirred. "Why, to use for my healing potions, o' course. Did you think I'd refuse to help your people because they were Campbells? Didn't I make my position clear last eve?"
" 'Twas quite evident what your feelings were, lass. Nonetheless, it cannot be." He reluctantly shook his head. "You will not plant, nor harvest, nor treat anyone with your herbs at Kilchurn. Do you understand?"
"But why" Her voice broke off as she struggled with the surging frustration that roiled within. Holy Mother, to ask him for anything and then have it refused! And this, her precious herbs, her beloved healing, above all else!
Anne stared up at him, confused. "Why? Why would you refuse me such a simple request?"
"I've no heart to refuse you anything, lass," Niall replied, his voice rough with regret. "But in this matter I can do no less. You're well aware how strong the witch panic burns since the law passed. Have your already forgotten your admission that even some o' your own clan think you a witch? What do you think my clan will think if you resume your healing?"
"II don't care! I am good at what I do. There's no taint of evil in it. In time they'll see that, accept me."
Niall hesitated. He wanted to grant her this one request but knew it was unwise. Since the law enacted just a year ago making witchcraft punishable by death, the Reformed Kirk had been zealous in their persecution. When a hapless person, and it was almost always a woman, was accused, she'd be deprived of rest, food and water, and finally tortured to extract a confession. And, though confession meant certain death by burning or drowning, most eventually confessed. The instruments of torture were that effective.
He shuddered, harking back to the one victim he'd seen burnt at the stake. It had been Dora, his cousin Hugh's one and only love. Malcolm Campbell was responsible for that, one of his first acts upon resuming control of the village kirk. Poor, unstable Hugh had been easily swayed to the preacher's side, especially after finding Dora in the arms of another man.
She was dead before Niall could reach her, though the flames had yet to consume her body. That day he'd made a vow never to allow another burning on Campbell lands. Up until now, he'd been successful in keeping that promise.
"Nay, lass." Niall sighed, steeling himself for the task at hand. I fear that will never be. My people are too
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