“Darach, nay!” she cried.
“Calm yourself, Brother,” Lachlan said softly. “He’ll get his in the end. Remember our plan.”
Darach struggled for a moment, then stopped. He shook off Lachlan and caught his breath. She rushed forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Anger trembled through him.
Behind them, a flapping noise filled the room, drawing everyone’s attention. She turned to see Edina on the balcony above the great hall, shaking out the unlaundered bed linen. Caitlin gasped in horror as the housekeeper hung the bloodstained sheet from Caitlin’s bed over the railing for everyone to see before glaring at MacInnes.
Closing her eyes, Caitlin prayed she’d been imagining things. Surely Edina wouldn’t humiliate her in such a way. She peeped upward and moaned at the mortifying sight. Darach’s arm held her tight as her knees sagged. His anger had abated, and he was back in control. Kissing the top of her head, he whispered, “’Tis a sign of your virtue, lass. None can question you now.”
He spun them back to face her uncle, who also stared at the sheet, shaking with fury. Darach held her in front of him, arms looped around her waist. “My wife was a maid, MacInnes. If you’d spent any time with her, you’d have known she was innocent, forced to lie in a desperate attempt to free herself from your tyranny. You made her life a living hell—one you’ll become acquainted with before I’m through. You will be held accountable for your crimes.”
MacInnes paled and stepped backward. “We shall see what the King says. I will return to my clan to await the verdict.” He nodded sharply, then turned and left the hall. Oslow and the other warriors, as well as Lachlan and Anderson, followed behind him.
Caitlin let out a sigh of relief, suddenly exhausted, her battered mind and heart reeling. “I ne’er thought my uncle would give in so easily.”
Darach traced his fingers over her cheeks. “He hasn’t. I’ll see him to the border of MacKenzie land, and he’ll pretend to go home.”
“Pretend?”
“He’ll ride to Fraser instead, aye? Then Fraser will either kill him or join with him against us. Either way, it works in our favor to have the two scoundrels together.”
“Why?”
“’Tis easier to keep track of them. Your uncle isna a clever man. He’ll do as Fraser says. I have spies in Fraser’s keep, so we’ll be informed.”
She closed her eyes and rested her head against her husband’s chest. She wanted to keep asking questions—about Fraser, her father, the fire—but at the same time, she knew if she did, she’d break down, so she pushed them away. For now, she’d live in blissful ignorance and let Darach take care of her, just as she’d take care of him.
Starting today, she’d create as peaceful a life for him as possible. It helped calm her to focus on other things, and she began making a list in her head of tasks to accomplish: a cleaner keep, his favorite foods, organize his solar, spend time with his men and show them how much she cared. They could teach her about weaponry. Darach would be pleased to know she’d learned to swing a sword.
“I’ll work on the chapel while you’re gone. When will you be back?” she asked.
“Soon…wait for me to return, and we’ll start it together, aye?”
“If it pleases you. But what else can I do? The dogs are trained, and I canna work with Cloud. Has anyone seen him today?”
“I doona know, but I promise to look for him while I’m gone. And you can kiss me to start.” He nuzzled behind her ear and down her neck playfully, but his hands were gentle on her back.
She giggled, sounding half-mad.
His arms wrapped tightly around her.
“I can do better than a kiss.”
“I doona have time to love you properly, lass, and I can only imagine you must be sore.” His voice thickened. “I willna cause you more pain.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She knelt down in front of him, the rushes cushioning her knees, and placed her hands on his legs. His eyes widened as a flush crept up his cheeks. She watched, fascinated, never having seen him so perturbed. He glanced around the now empty room before looking back at her, swallowing hard. His hand brushed her hair away from her face.
“Caitlin, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I doona—”
“’Tis your turn to hush. My uncle was right about one thing…I should give thanks. If not for you, I would be dead—or certainly praying for death. I couldnae have been given a better savior. Or husband. Thank you, Darach MacKenzie. With all my heart.”
The breath exhaled from his lungs, and he reached down to pull her back into his arms, looking pleased, relieved, and disappointed all at the same time. He laughed shakily into her hair. “’Tis I who should be giving thanks, and you will ne’er kneel before me again. Well, only if you want to during…um, certain times—and not to give thanks.”
“What do you mean?”
“I canna talk about it now. ’Tis hard enough to leave you as it is.”
When she crinkled her brow in confusion, he kissed her palm, then pressed it to his groin. His erection pulsed beneath her hand. “Oh,” she said, fingers curling around his wool-covered shaft.
“Aye, oh,” he said roughly. “My innocent temptress.” Then he kissed her, deeply, one hand cupping her behind, the other holding her head.
Sweet oblivion.
She melted into him, wanting more, but he pulled back. His thumb caressed her lips. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
Nineteen
Caitlin sat in her chair in front of the small hearth in the great hall. She didn’t remember walking there after Darach had left, but the glow of his kiss had faded, and now she felt drained.
Wallace MacInnes wasn’t her real father.
Tucking her feet beneath her, she wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her head to her knees. It was all too much. Everything that had happened in the last three days—the last three years—came crashing down and threatened to smother her.
Her mother had been pregnant when she’d met Caitlin’s father—nay, not father. When she’d met Wallace. Did Caitlin’s real father die? Had her mother loved him?
Who was he?
She choked back a sob and closed her eyes. A piece of her had been torn away today. The piece that knew she was the beloved daughter of Claire and Wallace MacInnes, part French, part Scot, orphaned by an accidental fire. Now none of it was true. Not only was Wallace not her father, but also, his brother had killed him and her mother for reasons Caitlin couldn’t fathom. Didn’t want to fathom.
The evil of it appalled her, and she shuddered.
Something cold and wet touched her brow. She raised her head to see Fergus standing in front of her between Hati and Skoll, whose snout had roused her.
The lad looked at her gravely, then leaned forward and wrapped his skinny arms around her neck. “When I feel sad, Edina and Nell, even our laird, tell me ’tis all right to cry.”
She bit her lip, trying to contain herself, then lowered her feet to the floor and pulled him closer. “I know.”
“I doona always want to, but when I do, I feel better, aye?”
Nodding, she kissed his hair. He sounded just like Darach, and a lump formed in her throat. Most likely her husband had said those exact words to the lad. Pressure built in her chest and a tear leaked from the corner of her eye.
“You can cry too, Caitlin. I’ll comfort you.” He climbed onto her lap and tucked himself beneath her chin. She curled around him, resting her cheek on his head.
When Hati lowered his jaw to her knee and looked at her with his soulful, brown gaze, her heart squeezed. She tried to muffle the sobs, but they kept coming, one after the other. Her father had been so dear to her. She’d been his little lass, his piglet.
No longer.
A fresh wave of sorrow hit her and she covered her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldnae be carryin
g on like this.”
“Nay, you should.” Fergus pried her hands away so he could wipe her cheeks. “Our laird told me to take care of you since he canna be here. ’Tis what family does for each other, aye?”
“Aye.”
“Then ’tis all right. I’m not your son, and I doona think I can be your husband since you already have one, but I’ll be your brother. I always wanted a sister.”
Caitlin half sobbed, half laughed. “And I always wanted a brother.” She kissed his brow. “But you must know I’ll also love you as a son.”
The lad smiled and laid his head on her chest. “’Tis all right if it makes you feel better. I’m glad to have a mother again, even though I miss my ma. She made the best oatcakes and would let me take my frogs to bed.”
A memory rose of Caitlin wanting to take her pet mouse to bed when she was just a wee thing. Her mother had demanded her father get rid of it when she’d discovered Mousey in Caitlin’s pocket. Caitlin had cried her eyes out when he did, but in the morning, she’d awakened with one of the kittens from the barn sleeping in her arms. Her father—aye, her father—had winked at her from his spot at the table before heading out to do his chores.
She smiled at the memory and felt the warmth of his love fill her. He’d often told her stories of watching her mother’s belly get big as Caitlin grew inside before popping out like a little piglet. She’d laugh as he described how he almost dropped her because she was slick as a fish from the loch.
Aye, he’d loved her. And she’d loved him. If anyone were to tell her she couldn’t love Fergus because he wasn’t really her son, she’d laugh. If Fergus were to say it, she’d be devastated. To believe her father incapable of such love did naught but dishonor him and her.
Kissing the lad’s head once again, she wiped her tears and rose, dislodging him from her lap. The dogs danced around her, pleased her mood had lightened.
Then she spotted the horrid bed linen displayed on the rail above the hall. Growling with displeasure, she marched up the stairs and snatched it down. When Edina appeared, Caitlin stalked toward her, the bloody sheet balled up in her hands.
“’Tis what I would have done for my own daughter, so quit frowning and burn the bloody thing if you wish,” Edina said.
“I will. I’ll throw it in the fire!”
“You’re lady of this castle. You can do as you like.”
Caitlin hesitated. It would be wasteful to destroy a good linen.
Edina held out her hand.
Caitlin passed it over meekly. “Please, doona show it to anyone else.”
“There’s no need, Lady MacKenzie. All know what a fine woman you are.”
* * *
Darach sat atop Loki, surrounded by his warriors and Lachlan, watching MacInnes and his men disappear into the forest. It burned Darach to let the devil go after what he’d done to Caitlin and her parents, but it was also a relief. Never again would the filth be close enough to his wife to upset her in any way. From now on, her life would be full of love and laughter.
Tears were henceforth forbidden. He’d damn well make sure of it.
“He’ll turn north at the second ridge and ride to Fraser,” Lachlan said.
They’d brought MacInnes to this spot on the edge of MacKenzie land so it would be simple for him to make the detour to Fraser’s home. Best to keep the rabid dogs in the same den for an easy kill—unless they turned on each other first. Either way worked for Darach, though it would please him to dispense justice personally.
The sun was setting behind the trees when he turned, and he let out a frustrated sigh. He’d wanted to sleep with Caitlin tonight, hold her and ease her distress over her father, but even at his fastest, the castle was still a five-hour ride away. It wasn’t worth the injury to the horses or his men to push on through a moonless night for his own selfish desire.
“She’ll be all right,” Lachlan said, guessing Darach’s thoughts. “She’s a strong lass and will see the right of it soon enough. She’ll not wallow in heartache for long.”
Darach agreed, but his guts twisted thinking of her alone at such a time.
They were approaching the clearing where they would make camp, when Lachlan came to an abrupt halt. Darach, lost in thoughts of Caitlin, kept going. Then an arrow whistled past his head and landed in the tree next to him with a resounding thud. He drew his sword as Loki reared, realizing he’d led his men into an ambush.
“God’s blood,” a familiar voice rang out with disapproval. “You ne’er even looked up. Didn’t I always teach you to scan ahead?”
Darach settled Loki, heart still pounding from the sudden attack. He was now sharp-eyed and clear-witted—seconds too late. That’s what came from having a woman at home.
Sighing, he sheathed his sword, which calmed the other MacKenzies. The huge, redheaded Scot with gray streaks, who glowered at him from atop a black horse was a welcome sight.
Darach glowered back. “You’re on my land, you old bugger. I trust my men to keep my borders safe.”
“Your men are like wee lasses, concerned with getting their beauty sleep and not messing up their plaids. I could have marched a herd of elefaunts through your borders and your lads would still be snoring in their quilts.”
Darach heard his men mutter beneath their breath. He hid a smile. “Hah! You are the elefaunt—thick-skinned, fat, and wrinkled. And so loud you make my ears ache.”
Gregor MacLeod sat up straight on his horse and patted his firm belly. “I’m as fit as I was when I first laid eyes on you—a wee, snot-nosed lad, crying for his mother.”
“I cried, all right. I’d ne’er seen an elefaunt before.”
Gregor threw back his head and laughed, then rode forward to greet Darach.
“Where’s Lachlan?” he asked, crushing Darach in his arms after they dismounted.
“Right behind you, with my sword at your back. Did no one teach you to cover your arse?” Lachlan asked, having circled behind Gregor.
He spun around, grinning, and knocked Lachlan’s sword away. “Aye. What makes you think I’m not protected?”
Darach smiled as he saw his foster brothers Callum, Gavin, and Kerr appear from the trees—all big, strong men, with answering smiles on their faces.
Callum, laird of Clan MacLean, reached Darach first. He was the leanest of the brothers, with sculpted muscles and hawk-like, green eyes. His hair was short and straight, and as dark a brown as it could be without being black. Additional lines marred his face from the last time Darach had seen him, etched there since Callum had taken control of his clan after his father’s suicide. A suicide Callum believed to be murder. If anyone had the shrewdness to unravel the sinister plot, it was him.
“’Tis good to see you, Brother,” Darach said. They embraced, pounding each other on the back.
“And you, Darach. Your lovely lass face, as Kerr would say, has been sorely missed.”
Kerr, laird of Clan MacAlister, shoved his way between them and wrapped Darach in a bear hug. He was the biggest, the oldest, and without a doubt the loudest of the brothers. The man even topped Gregor in height, muscle, and the unending ability to bellow. Of course, it was when Kerr went quiet that a man needed to worry.
Now was not one of those times.
“I ne’er said lovely lass face, you daft bastard. I said ugly-ass face.” Kerr nodded toward Darach’s last foster brother, Gavin, laird of Clan MacKinnon, who punched Lachlan’s shoulder in greeting. “Our Gavin is the only one who’s bonny as a lass. Spends enough time grooming himself in Isobel’s mirror to make sure of it.”
Gavin scowled. “Blasted thing. If you would just marry my sister and take her home with you, I’d be rid of it. She uses it in the sun to blind unwary folk.” Then he smacked his head as if he’d just made an embarrassing blunder. “I forgot. She doesn’t want a dim-witted donkey like you for a mate.”
&nbs
p; Kerr grunted. “She doesn’t know what she wants. Why in God’s name your mother made you promise to let Isobel choose her own husband is beyond me. She’ll stay a maid her whole life just to spite me.”
Gavin sighed and nodded, obviously in complete agreement.
He was indeed a bonny man who made the lasses swoon. As fair and tall as his Norse ancestors, with blue-green eyes and long, blond hair, he was the complete opposite of Kerr, who was as dark as the devil himself. But there was a shadow in Gavin now. He’d changed after his disastrous marriage, after losing his son. Turned from the laughing young lad Darach remembered to a bitter and sometimes callous man.
The transformation weighed heavily on Darach’s heart—on all their hearts—and he prayed for a miracle every day. Maybe this time together could lighten Gavin’s spirit and bring back the fun-loving boy of Darach’s youth. God willing, Caitlin could work her magic on him too.
They made their way into the clearing and set up camp. With the fire roaring, they settled down on their plaids for fried oatcakes, roasted rabbit, and much ale. Darach knew the night would be long and looked forward to it, even though he missed having Caitlin by his side.
“I canna believe you let Gregor get so close,” Gavin said as he gnawed on a haunch of meat. “You used to be able to sniff out an ambush a mile away.”
Darach frowned, feeling the heat rise up his neck. No one could see it in the dark, but it irked him all the same. He never should have been so careless, and before he met Caitlin, he wouldn’t have been. Which didn’t make sense, because now that she was in his life, he needed to be even more vigilant.
“It’s to be expected,” Lachlan said. “His mind’s elsewhere nowadays. ’Tis surprising he can even feed himself or mount a horse. All he can think about is Caitlin.”
Four curious sets of eyes turned toward him. Gregor’s stare sharpened, his fresh-off-the-griddle oatcake forgotten. “Who is Caitlin?”
Highland Promise Page 24
