A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (14 page)

"Ye're a fool to set out right now," Caitlin said at last. "Better
ye rest, leastwise until dawn, and give yerself time for yer wound
to clot over a bit. But if ye're of a mind to head out now, I'll be
happy to ride along. After all, once ye finally tumble from the
horse, I'll need it to get me back home."

He made an impatient motion for her to mount. "Then get
on the blasted animal, will ye? We'll make Dundarave this verra
day, I tell ye, or we'll never make it at all."

Dar hadn't wanted to treat Caitlin so callously, or tie her hands
again, but he'd had no choice. He was weakening rapidly. With her
healer's knowledge, she would've discerned that soon enough and
known the time had come to seize the advantage and escape him.

He was likely a fool to imagine he could hold on long enough
to reach Dundarave. Indeed, the chances were high he would
meet up with Niall Campbell and his men who, by now, were
probably heading in the shortest direction for the MacNaghtens'
ancestral home. It was a risk he had to take, though.

No matter what became of him, either way Caitlin would be
safe. Safe with his uncle at Dundarave, or safe back in the care
of her brother. Far safer than if she managed to escape him and
set off on her own.

It might not be much, or not nearly the success he had originally envisioned when he had first abducted her, but it seemed
his options were fast evaporating. Draining away as inexorably
as the blood seeping from his body.

After a time, Dar found he couldn't quite keep himself upright
anymore, and began to lean a bit against Caitlin for support. She
didn't comment or complain. Instead, as if to shore him up, she
even leaned back against him. And, after a time more, he began
to rest his head on her shoulder.

Just before dawn, Dar reined in the horse. "Forgive me," he
whispered. "I don't wish to seem forward, but I need to hold ye
tightly with one arm to brace myself while I untie yet hands."

"Do what ye must. It's past time ye did so. If I'm to support
yer weight much longer, I need my hands to help me."

"Och, I lean on ye a wee bit, and already ye're complaining,"
he weakly said byway of a jest as his one arm gripped her about
her waist. "And here I thought I was but keeping ye warm."

"More like I'm keeping ye warm, MacNaghten," Caitlin
snapped back. "Ye're still losing a lot of blood, aren't ye?"

"A bit. Dinna fash yerself, lass." He began to fumble with the
knot of her rope. "Indeed, I can't fathom why ye're so angry over
me slowly bleeding to death. I'd think, on the contrary, it would
make ye verra happy."

"Aye, ye would think that, wouldn't ye?"

As soon as the ropes around her hands loosened, Caitlin tugged
herself free. Bringing her stiffened arms around to the front, she
took the reins from Dar's hand.

"It fits equally well with yer dunderheaded refusal to let me see
to yer wound. I could've cauterized it, ye know, with a burning
stick from the fire."

"And isn't that a pleasant scene to consider?"

"Pleasant or not, it's the only thing that'll save ye."

He glanced to the eastern hills, where the first faint rays of
light were easing the darkness of the night toward dawn. "We've
only another two or three hours' ride, and we'll make Dundarave.
Time enough to speak of such things then."

"I'll lay odds ye won't last that long."

"Well, then the victory will be yers, won't it?"

She didn't reply and, after a time, Dar realized she was weeping. Softly, to be sure, but even in his increasingly befuddled
state of mind, pressed as closely as he was to her, he couldn't
miss the periodic tremors that shook her or the failed attempts
to hide the sniffles.

Her tears bemused him. Some instinct told him Caitlin wasn't
one who cried easily. Had the rigors of the journey, coupled with
last night's attack, finally broken down her resolutely proud facade? That had to be the answer. Any other consideration would
be more than he could acknowledge, much less accept.

Even the slightest intimation that Caitlin might be weeping
for him sent Dar into a panic. It was hard enough to admit he
had placed her in grave danger, especially now that he would be
of no protection if anyone else who wished them ill came upon them. And if he should fall unconscious, or even die, before he
got her safely to Dundarave ...

He had already failed-and failed dismally-one woman
whom he had cared for. He didn't want to fail yet another.

That nagging little truth had followed him ever since he had
abducted Caitlin. That he might, for all his intentions to the
contrary, endanger yet another woman. And that, as the hours
and days passed, he was becoming more and more taken with
Caitlin Campbell.

Dar knew it wasn't love. It couldn't be. They had shared but
three days together. Three days of such intense emotions, ranging the gamut of outright antagonism to such ardent attraction
that it seemed more like three years. Any way he looked at it,
what he felt for her was powerful. So powerful it terrified him
to contemplate it at all.

He felt certain she considered him far beneath her. Why
wouldn't she? He was outlawed from his clan, suspected of murder, and that without even taking account of the desperate circumstances of the people whose name he still bore.

"Wheesht, lass," he finally murmured, a wave of utter exhaustion swamping him. "It won't be long now, and ye'll be safe back
with yer own. Hold on but a while longer, and it'll be over. I
promise."

"Och," she said, strong sobs overtaking her now, "but ye're such
a fool, ye are, Darach MacNaghten! Such a blind, stupid fool!"

"Aye, a fool I am. But I never-"

Up ahead to the left, cradled in the convergence of two rocky
hills and behind the cover of several tall pines, Dar caught a faint
glow. He squinted, trying to make out the source of the light. At
that instant, a fleeting scent of wood smoke wafted by.

"Over there," he croaked, lifting an arm that felt as if it weighed
a hundred pounds. "I think ... I think I see a cottage."

Caitlin reined in the horse and looked in the direction he was pointing. "I don't see aught ... wait, that could be a light from
a window."

She turned the gelding to the left, leaving the road to head
toward the source of the light. Dar opened his mouth to order
her back onto the road that led to Dundarave, then realized he
hadn't the strength to force her to do anything. He had been a
fool even to point the little dwelling out to her.

He only hoped whoever lived there would treat her kindly
and help her make it safely home again. It was the least he owed
her, and even that aid was rapidly dissipating with each passing
second.

For Caitlin's sake, Dar even raised a despairing prayer heavenward. It wasn't much, especially coming from the likes of him,
but it was all he had left to offer her. And, if there were indeed a
God, perhaps even the prayer of a godless man might be heard.

Especially if the prayer was for someone else's welfare.

Heart hammering in her chest, Caitlin reined in before the
little stone cottage. Please, dear Lord, she prayed, let whoever
lives here be kind enough to help us. If we have to ride on, Dar will
surely die.

She knew that with the surety of having attended countless
deathbeds. Not only had his blood long ago soaked through the
back of her cloak and into the cloth of her gown, but she had
felt him grow steadily weaker. His breathing was shallow. The
skin of his hands clasped around her middle was pale and, even
with her support, he could now barely manage to keep himself
astride the horse.

They were fortunate Dar hadn't fallen from the gelding on the
uphill trek to the cottage. A less well-conditioned man would've
succumbed hours ago. And perhaps, she thought with a wistful
little smile, a less stubborn one as well.

The door suddenly opened. Bright light spilled from inside,
outlining the form of a tall, bald-headed man with a scraggly
mustache and beard. He wore simple trousers, a long-sleeved,
hooded tunic, and soft, ankle-high shoes.

"I was expecting ye," he said as he stepped out and walked
toward her, "ever since I saw ye down on the road. All is in
readiness."

The man paused at Caitlin's side and smiled. In the light of
the early morning sun, she saw a gap between his two top middle
teeth. His beard and mustache were dark brown and heavily
threaded with gray, his blue eyes crinkled up at the corners, and
he had a kind look to him. She guessed he was past four score
and ten years old.

"Y-ye were expecting us?" she stammered out, taken aback by
the man's friendly manner. "And what's in readiness?"

"Why, the preparations to treat yet friend's wounds, of
course." He lifted his hands to take Dar down from the horse.
"Ye'll be needing the cautery iron, and healing salve, and
water and bandages, ye will, if ye're to have any hope of saving him."

How this man knew so much about them, Caitlin couldn't
fathom. But none of that mattered just now. What mattered was
getting Dar cared for as quickly as possible.

"Have a care with him," she said as she pried Dar's tight clasp
from her waist. "He's verra weak and might not be able to keep
his footing once ye get him down."

"Fear not, lass," the man said with a chuckle. "I'm stronger
than I look from all the chopping of firewood and working the
garden that I do. One way or another, I can hold him until ye
can dismount and help me get him into my wee house."

"Then have at it."

Caitlin turned slightly in the saddle to assist in helping Dar off
the gelding. And, as she feared, as soon as the big Highlander's feet touched ground, he sagged in the man's arms. She swung her
leg over the horse's withers and jumped down.

Even together, it was an arduous task getting Dar into the
cottage and over to the simple wooden bed in the single-roomed
dwelling. He seemed to be on the verge of unconsciousness,
and his entire right side was saturated with blood all the way
down his kilt to his leg. Caitlin helped lay him on the bed, then
glanced around.

"The cautery's in the fire, already heating," the man said. "And
here's the bowl of water and bandages, plus the salve." He indicated the small, rough-hewn chair drawn up at the head of the
bed, whereupon laid the supplies he had mentioned.

She nodded. "I'll fetch the cautery. In the meanwhile, could
ye pull up his shirt and wipe away as much blood as ye can, so I
can better view the wound?"

He nodded. "I'll see to it."

Turning on her heel, she strode to the hearth at the far end of
the cottage, picked up the thick pad lying there, and used it to pull
the red-hot iron from the fire. Her host was just then beginning
to wipe away the blood from Dar's wound. Fresh blood welled
up, though, as fast as he could dab it away.

"Step aside, if ye please," Caitlin briskly ordered him. "Only
fire will quench that bleeding."

The man moved back.

"Dar," she said as she stepped close. "If ye can hear me, I want
ye to know I'm going to burn ye now. It must be done, though,
or ye'11 surely die."

His eyes fluttered open. "Do what y-ye must," he whispered.

She inhaled a deep, steadying breath. "Hold tight then. Hold
tight."

In the next instant, Caitlin laid the cautery to the length of his
wound. Dar went rigid and hissed in pain but didn't pull away. Heated iron against raw flesh sizzled and popped, and the scent of
burning meat filled the air. And still Caitlin held the cautery to him,
turning it about to make certain all the bleeding was stopped.

Finally, Dar went limp, blacking out. She was glad for that.
There would only be more pain as she next cleansed and dressed
the wound. At long last, she pulled the iron away, carried it back
to the hearth, and shoved it into the flames. Until she had a
chance to examine his wound, she couldn't be certain she might
not need the cautery another time or two.