Child of the Mist Read Online Free PDF Page B

retribution for the death of one o' ours, or in justifiable self-defense."
    "And I say you lie!"
    The words slipped out before Anne could stop them. Niall struggled to his feet, then sank back to the stone bench, his face pale with the sudden exertion.
    "Don't say that!" he growled, his sweat-damp features tight with anger. "Don't ever, ever call me a liar! I've never lied and I'll certainly not begin now just to please you. Think o' me what you will, but don't justify your clan's shortcomings with false accusations!"
    Eyes wide, she stared down at the man before her. She'd been a fool to taunt him. Grudgingly, Anne had to admit Niall Campbell seemed to place great store on his word. His reaction had been too immediate, too violent, not to have sprung from the heart. And if he hadn't been privy to the decisions surrounding the beginning of the feud, he might truly feel justified in accepting the Campbell view of things. Yet how could she believe him, for to do so could perhaps place blame, at least some of it, upon her own people?
    Confused emotions whirled in her head. Blessed Mother, what was she about, that a hated enemy could stand here and make her doubt her own kind? He was clever, that was all.
    Tread lightly with him, Annie, she told herself. Tisn't important what he says. Humor him and then be gone .
    "II beg pardon," she forced herself to say. "My tongue is too sharp at times and forges ahead o' my good sense. My purpose here isn't to upset you, or to relive the feud, but to see to your needs."
    She motioned toward his battered face. "Let me finish tending your wounds. You must be sore weary. I'll bring you some food before you take your rest."
    The anger left Niall with a rush. In its place flowed heavy exhaustion. He leaned back against the stone wall with a deep sigh. "Aye, that I am, lass." He grinned up at her. " 'Tis mayhap why my anger boils so close to the surface."
    Anne picked up a clean cloth and wet it in a bowl of water. She studied him for a moment, then began to wash the gash over his left eyebrow.
    "This cut is deep and won't cease its oozing. I'll apply witch hazel to stop the bleeding, then some o' my marigold ointment. 'Tis excellent in the healing of wounds."
    Niall grunted his assent, well aware she didn't wish to discuss the subject of their families further. Instead, he occupied himself in watching her. For the first time, he took his leisure in closely studying the woman before him.
    Her hair, now pulled into a long, thick braid down her back, was a rich, glowing color. Its dark red hue set off the ivory radiance of her flawless skin to perfection. Her nose was straight, short and charming, her lips full and delightfully pink as she bit into them in her intense concentration.
    His glance slid from her arresting face, moving down her small, slender body. The plain woolen dress wasn't meant to entice, but its simplicity flattered her curving figure better than the stiff, exaggerated outlines of courtly gowns ever could. Her breasts were small but most pleasingly rounded, her waist narrow, her hips provocatively full.
    She was a beautiful woman. When engaged in something she loved, as Niall sensed she loved her healing, she radiated a serenity and strength that made her seem almost ethereal. The lass was different, and no mistake. In his younger days, before he'd wed, Niall knew he'd have found her attractive. Aye, most attractive, but not now, and perhaps never. . . .
    He quickly shook aside that painful memory. There was nothing wrong with him. Perhaps all he needed was a lovely witch's potion.
    She'd certainly been bewitching that eve of the raid. Standing there before his men, her hair wild and tousled, defiantly taunting them, Niall couldn't help but admire her spirit and courage. He'd guessed her ruse, her intention of using the prevailing witch panic to turn them away and protect the village. And it would've worked on a sane man. But Hugh wasn't quite sane, not all the time. She'd