Child of the Mist by Kathleen Morgan Page B

superstitious, too easily led when it comes to matters o' religion, for good or bad. A priest o' the Reformed Kirk, my father's bastard brother, lives among us. His hatred o' witches runs deep. As deep as Hugh's, I fear. He may well stir them against you."
    "And what o' you?" Anne demanded, her voice taut with rising anger. "Are you not clan tanist, soon to be chief? Can't you control your own people? Why, oh why, do you persist in being so . . . so pigheaded?"
    Niall struggled to keep the irritation out of his voice. "A wise chief knows when and where to interfere in the lives o' his clan. Matters o' religion are not one o' them. I won't allow witch burnings on Campbell lands, but that doesn't lessen the danger to you all the same."
    Anne made a move to protest.
    Niall held up a silencing hand. "I've enough problems to deal with at present. As hardhearted as it may seem, I don't need you adding to them."
    Two spots of red flamed Anne's cheeks as she fought to contain herself, to find some small thread of hope to cling to. As harsh as his refusal was, she also heard the sincere regret in his voice. And she knew he had many problems and responsibilities. But not to plant her herbs. . . .
    Well, he could not worry about the existence of something he knew nothing about, Anne consoled herself. She exhaled an acquiescent breath. "I don't wish to become a hindrance or an embarrassment to you."
    His stern, finely chiseled mouth relaxed a bit. "Then you'll obey me in this?"
    "Aye, m'lord. I won't plant my herbs in Kilchurn." Anne tilted her head in feigned consideration, eager to change the subject before he prodded her further. "But if I cannot heal, what can I do? I have little talent at sewing or most o' the other womanly arts."
    A relieved grin spread across Niall's face. He'd feared a much more emotional, more protracted battle over the issue of her healing. Not that she didn't bear watching, for a time longer at least.
    "Why not go riding? You've free access to the stables and Kilchurn and its lands. I ask only if you ride from sight o' the castle you take one o' my men with you. As powerful as we are, the Campbells are as prime a target for reivers as any other clan. I wouldn't wish you to fall into unfriendly hands."
    Aye, Anne thought, her rebellion growing anew as she left the garden and walked back to rejoin Agnes. Twould surely add to the difficulties if you were forced to ransom me. But then, why should I careone way or another? I warned, you before I'd not be constrained by the rules o' others. And that, my arrogant rogue, includes you, no matter how beset with difficulties, no matter how tormented you may be .
    At the memory of those moments with him in her room last night a small, regretful smile touched Anne's lips. Though perhaps I should, I cannot wish you ill, Niall Campbell . She inwardly sighed. Truly I can't, for you've been more than gentle with me. But my life's work will not be denied, not for you or any man. It cannot be deniedeven to the sacrifice o' my life. Perhaps someday you will see thatand understand .
    Anne found a sunny clearing in the midst of a forest of fir, oak, and alder that covered the hills a short walk from Kilchurn Castle. There she planted her herbs.
    The man be damned! she silently cursed as a pang of guilt swept through her. I do this for the good o' all and someday he'll see this, but, truly, how can one reason with such a pigheaded man? I must be daft to care what he thinks, or how he would feel if he knew, but I do .
    She paused in her thoughts to pound the earth around a fragile feverfew plant. Well, I will not let it matter, she began again defensively. I warned him, that I did, that no one . . . .
    "Och, ye will surely kill those wee plants if ye force them into the ground so cruelly."
    Eyes wide, Anne quickly looked over her shoulder and saw an old, shabbily dressed lady. On her arm. the woman carried a large basket filled with plants. Wispy, snow-white hair peeked from