Darach sighed. They would question him like a bunch of old women far into the night now. “My wife.”
As one, their jaws dropped, making Lachlan laugh. Kerr was the first to recover. “I canna believe you waited this long to tell us.”
“And how was I supposed to get a word in? The only one who knows how to hold his tongue around here is Callum.”
“That’s because he’s thick as a bloody brick,” Kerr said. “He doesn’t have an intelligent thought in his head.”
Callum picked up a stone and flicked it at Kerr, hitting him in the middle of his brow. Kerr slapped his hand over the injury and rolled backward. “God damn it, you wee shite. That hurt.”
The other men fell over laughing. Callum turned to Darach with a grin. “The stone shattered upon his head, I’ll wager. The man’s a bloody, great rock. He’ll crush poor Isobel the first time he touches her.”
Gavin sat up abruptly. “Och! I’ll hear no more of that. There’ll be no talk of crushing or touching my sister. She’s an angel.”
They’d all met Isobel, and though she was a beauty, there was no doubt she was more devil than angel. She’d run Kerr a merry chase over the years and would continue to do so as long as he allowed it. The problem was he was trying to woo her. Subtlety was not his strong point. He was a man of action, and it would not surprise Darach to one day hear that Kerr had given up and kidnapped her like the men of old.
Gavin, Darach was fair certain, would be relieved.
“I ne’er thought you’d be the one to marry,” Gavin said. “Callum, aye, if Maggie will still have him after all these years. Or Kerr, if Isobel e’er relents—”
“She’ll relent. I have a plan.”
The men all groaned. Kerr’s plans usually began and ended with him using brute strength. No doubt it would not go over well with his future bride.
“I ne’er expected to marry either,” Darach said. “But Caitlin…” He couldn’t continue, unable to describe what she’d done to him, how she’d somehow found her way into his heart, become as necessary to him as breathing.
He didn’t need to, because Lachlan took over.
“She’s lovely. A sweet, funny lass. Mind you, she doesn’t mean to be funny. I doona know when I’ve laughed so much as watching Darach trying to control her over the past few weeks. Her intentions are good, but she’s trouble. It follows her around like a faithful hound.”
“Why would you marry a troublesome lass?” Gavin asked.
“Because he loves her,” Lachlan replied, startling Darach. “We all do, even when she’s executing some harebrained plan you know will cause more problems than the ones she’s trying to solve.”
Warmth spread in Darach’s chest at Lachlan’s amused tone. Aye, Caitlin was lovable. Darach would adore her till the end of his days. Tuck her next to his heart and keep her there. Not that she needed to know that. She’d most likely take full advantage of his feelings and have him build three chapels in his bailey instead of one.
Gavin snorted. Venom filled his words when he spoke. “I thought Christel was lovable when I married her. We were going to live in wedded bliss with our bairns for the rest of our lives. Women lie.”
Darach’s ire rose. His eyes hardened and met Gavin’s bitter gaze. “If you think to disparage my wife by comparing her to Christel, Brother, have your sword ready. Your wife was vain and selfish, on par with my Moire. They poisoned both our lives, causing death and heartache. I know not the pain of losing a bairn as you do, just the notion of it through Moire’s lies, but I did lose many of my clan, including my father, through her treachery. Caitlin is the antidote to that poison. A lass full of joy and goodwill despite her own hardship and sorrow. You will treat her as a beloved sister when you meet her, or you will leave my land.”
Silence fell. It was as if everyone, including the horses and creatures of the forest, waited with bated breath for Gavin’s answer. His mouth was carved in a straight, hard line while pain and anger ravaged his handsome face. Darach could see his brother wanted to fight, wanted to release his grief in killing blows and bloodshed. Then his expression crumpled with regret.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
The night breathed once again. Darach held out his hand.
Gavin clasped it in a bruising grip. “I’ve let her taint every part of me. I am pleased for you, Brother. Caitlin sounds like a wonderful lass.”
“She is…when she’s not digging up my bailey or drowning in the river.”
“God’s blood,” Gregor exclaimed, eyes wide. “You will recount everything.”
They did, Lachlan telling most of it while Darach added to or protested Lachlan’s debatable remembrances. His brothers laughed themselves hoarse over Darach’s numerous trips to the loch, Lachlan losing all his coin, and Caitlin branding herself a besom, then claiming Darach was an innocent victim of her lewd advances. They listened with quiet dread as he related saving her from the river and the subsequent ill health that befell them both. They erupted in anger upon the telling of her parents’ murder and Caitlin’s treatment by Fraser and her uncle. Then they sighed like women when Darach finally made her his bride.
“I’m so happy for you, lad,” Gregor said, his voice rough as he wiped a tear from his eye. “I think you’ve found your Kellie.”
Darach’s heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up. Kellie MacLeod, Gregor’s beloved wife, who’d died years before during childbirth, taking her triplet babes with her. Kellie, whom he’d never stopped grieving, never thought to replace. The woman who’d inspired him to create peace in the Highlands by bringing the brothers together.
She’d been Gregor’s life. His love. His happiness.
Fear settled in Darach’s heart at the thought of losing Caitlin in such a way. He caught the eye of Kerr and Callum and knew they were thinking of Isobel and Maggie. Not their wives yet, but surely meant to be. And maybe meant to die bringing their bairns into the world.
It was a heartrending thought and Darach pushed it from his mind, determined more than ever to protect Caitlin and see to her happiness.
He raised his cup, a slight tremor in his voice as he spoke. “To Gregor and Kellie MacLeod—a great man and an even better woman. May we all be destined for a love just as true.”
Twenty
“Laird MacKenzie.”
Darach rolled over with a groan and tried to block out Gare’s annoying voice. Aye, the sun was up, but Darach had only gone to sleep a few hours ago—after Gregor had brought out the uisge-beatha.
“Laird MacKenzie, there’s someone here to see you. A woman.”
That got his attention, and he cracked open an eye to look into Gare’s worried face. His brothers and Gregor slept scattered around him on the dewy ground.
“She says she knows you well.”
Darach frowned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Who on earth could it be? The nearest farm was at least an hour’s ride away.
He sighed, head pounding, and squinted toward the woman. Too far away to see clearly, he pushed back his plaid, stood, and walked gingerly toward her. For sure, his hair stuck out in all directions, but he was too tired to care.
His warriors backed away as he neared, and his eyes widened. Wynda MacIntyre.
What in hell is she doing here?
The aging, buxom redhead lived in the neighboring clan to the west and Darach had…visited her upon occasion. Four times to be exact, which had been three times too many. She’d been happy to have him in her bed, but Darach was ashamed to say, after he’d tupped her, he couldn’t leave fast enough. There was something about her he didn’t trust, and he should never have returned—not the second time, the third, or the fourth time.
“Good morning to you, Wynda,” he said, stopping several feet away. “Is there trouble that brings you so far from home? Your clan and Laird MacIntyre are well?”
Sh
e moved closer, and Darach had to stop himself from backing up. “They’re all right, Laird MacKenzie. I only thought to share your company if you are returning home. I shall be visiting my cousin, Firth MacKenzie, at your village for the summer. ’Twill be good to see more of you.” She laid her hand on Darach’s arm and stroked her fingers through the rough, springy hair that covered it.
He quickly stepped back. Her blue eyes hardened as her arm dropped back down.
“I am recently married, Wynda. ’Tis not a personal offense, I assure you.” He gentled his voice in order to spare her feelings. “You are welcome to ride with us, of course, and I wish you a happy visit with your cousin, but…I willna seek you out. You understand.”
After a moment, she looked up. “Aye, Laird, I understand. I understand that men stray, and when you do, you’ll know where to find me.”
The thought repulsed him, and he squared his shoulders. “Some men behave so, as I’m sure you know, but I would ne’er disrespect my wife or my vows in such a manner. Doona expect to see me after today.” He inclined his head, then turned back toward camp.
Her voice drifted over his shoulder. “We’ll see.”
* * *
Caitlin was not responsible for the mess in the kitchen. She’d been in there trying to re-create some of her mother’s favorite dishes for Darach, dealing with not only her own faulty memory—for it had been over three years since she’d helped her mother cook—but also the grunts of disapproval coming from Nell every time Caitlin did something different. And apparently there was a big difference between Scottish and French cuisine, at which her mother had excelled.
Her father had always praised Claire’s cooking, and now Caitlin knew why. When she’d arrived at her uncle’s keep three years ago and finally come out of her depression, the tasteless food she’d been given had been a shock. She’d thought it would be better at the MacKenzies, and it was, but still nothing compared to her mother’s cooking. She could re-create it if only she could remember what her mother had done.
Unfortunately, Nell had blamed Caitlin for the fire in the bread ovens. She’d had naught to do with it, but had still been chased out of the kitchen along with her “daft foreign ideas” before her dishes were done. ’Twas most unfair.
She sat, disgruntled, on the steps in the bailey leading up to the keep. What else could she do? She’d wanted something to show for herself when Darach came home. Her mother had always kept busy making special dishes for Caitlin’s father, helping with the farming, and keeping their cottage spotless. She’d also cared for the animals, of course, a skill she’d taught Caitlin.
But until Cloud was found, the creatures at Clan MacKenzie were not in need of her services, so she wandered into the keep and through the great hall, looking for something to clean. Unfortunately, Edina had everything dust free and smelling fresh. Maybe Caitlin could find something to do in their private rooms. After taking the stairs two at a time, she wandered down the corridor, peering into each bedchamber and looking for disorder.
It wasn’t till she came to Darach’s solar that her heart picked up. It was a cluttered mess. Parchment lay in jumbled piles on his desk, books littered the floor, and hardened wax was dribbled everywhere. The only thing that seemed clean was the beautiful wool rug on the floor. She’d seen Edina beating it in the bailey to shake off the dust numerous times, along with the tapestry on the wall. Why would she have left Darach’s desk in disarray?
Striding toward it, Caitlin sat in his well-worn pine chair. Fortunately, her father had taught her to read, so she would have no trouble organizing Darach’s correspondence and putting his books in order by topic and author. To start, she swept the excess sand that he used to dry the ink into her hand and tossed it out the window, then she placed all the writing implements in one, easily accessible spot. Next, she gathered up the books and placed them on a chair to be sorted later.
She’d just begun on the mounds of parchment when Edina came into the room and shrieked, making Caitlin knock one of the piles to the floor.
“Lord in Heaven, lass. What are you doing?”
Gathering together the scattered letters, Caitlin placed them back on the desk. Edina hovered nearby, a horrified look on her face.
“I’m helping my husband. I doona know how he finds anything; his desk is a mess.”
Edina groaned and caught the back of the other chair for support. “You will get out from behind there now, and ne’er touch anything in here again.”
“’Tis all right, Edina. I can read. I willna throw away important letters.”
“You willna throw anything away. Get out now before you cause any more damage and he kills us both!”
She came around the desk with a shooing motion and Caitlin hurried to the door. “You doona understand. Darach will be happy for my help.”
Edina did naught but glare at her and slam the door shut behind them. Caitlin was sure if Edina had carried a key, she would have locked it.
Tears of frustration burned her eyes. She blinked them back and strode down the corridor, hoping her stiff spine and angry gait would express her full displeasure. She was lady here; there had to be something she could do that would please her husband.
In the bailey, the clashing of swords rang out in the fresh, warm air. If her mother could help her father with the farming, maybe Caitlin could help Darach to defend the castle.
She spotted Oslow instructing the young warriors at the far end of the bailey and ran toward him. He saw her coming at the last minute and pulled her aside just as a practice arrow whizzed past her head. Caitlin looked at the archer, who’d fallen to his knees and become a ghastly shade of white.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to get in your way.”
The lad nodded weakly and croaked an incomprehensible answer.
She turned back to Oslow, who scowled at her, fingers biting into her arm. “Would you have your husband come home and find you dead, then?”
“Nay, doona be silly. I just wanted to speak with you. I’ve decided to learn how to wield a sword. Darach would be happy if I knew how to defend myself, maybe fight alongside him one day.”
Eyes wide, Oslow stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. Then laughed some more. When it looked as if he would never stop, Caitlin marched back to the keep. She’d find her own sword and teach herself how to fight.
On the walls of the great hall hung a multitude of magnificent weapons. She eyed the biggest, a great battle-ax, and yanked on the handle. It didn’t budge. Grasping it with both hands, she pulled again with all her might. Suddenly it came free of its moorings and the heavy, sharp blade swung downward. A tanned arm shot out just in time and grabbed the ax, stopping its fall inches above Caitlin’s foot.
Her heart stopped at the mishap, then started to pound as she looked up into Darach’s furious face. She’d never seen him so angry, even when she’d dug up the bailey. The ax must have been very important to him.
“Christ Almighty!” he bellowed, placing the weapon back with one hand and wrapping the other around her waist. His body shook, his eyes black with fury. Caitlin promptly burst into tears—great, gulping, shoulder-heaving tears.
It had been a difficult day.
She planted her face on his chest, which rose and fell with deep, agitated breaths. His heart beat so fast, so hard, she could feel it against her cheek. His other arm came around her, squeezing to the point of pain. “Shh. Doona cry.”
Nodding her head, she cried even harder. He lifted her into his arms and headed for their bedchamber. He shut the door and sat with her in one of the big chairs before the hearth. She tucked up beneath his chin and let the tears run their course.
When her sobs had been reduced to the odd hiccup, she sighed and clasped his hand. He was still tense and the occasional shudder racked his body. Caitlin stroked his palm soothingly.
“What in God’s name were you doing?” he asked, voice cracking.
Her mind wandered back through the events of her day, every one of them ending in disaster. All she’d wanted was to please her husband, but she’d just been a bother. To Nell, to Edina, to Oslow—and to Darach. She thought about telling him everything, but it occurred to her he might not be sympathetic.
“Nothing,” she said, for lack of a better response. She prayed he would accept her answer and move on.
He didn’t. Grasping her chin, he forced her head up, so she looked at him. Narrowed eyes clashed with hers.
“Caitlin,” he prompted.
“Aye?” She tried a halfhearted smile.
A frustrated sound burst from his lips and he frowned. “What did I tell you on our wedding night?”
Their wedding night? Surely he didn’t want to talk about that now. Heat rushed up her cheeks as images of their bodies entwined on the bed, the same bed that was behind them, played across her mind. She shrugged, heart pounding, and tried to look away.
“I will hear you say the words, wife.”
She gasped. God in Heaven. How could he ask such a thing? She’d endured enough over the last few days without this additional embarrassment. She tried to get off his lap, but he held her in place. Everything inside her quickened—her breathing, her temperature, the ache between her legs.
She searched for something decent to say. “You said you were glad I was your wife.” Maybe if she reminded him of those words, he’d cease this torment.
His arms tightened around her. “Aye, and I meant it. But after that, what did I say?”
She closed her eyes, only to be bombarded with more lusty images. The heat on her skin was so hot she wanted to strip off her clothes. “You told me to spread my legs.”
It came out a whisper, and he stilled. His hand gripped her waist.
“What—what did you say?”
“Spread. Your. Legs. Those were your words.”
Her voice was thick and heavy, same as her body, and when she opened her eyes, his face had been transformed. That intent, feral expression that gave her such a thrill had replaced anger and frustration. His hand stroked up her stomach and stopped just below her breast.
Highland Promise Page 25
