A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (2 page)

Gazing up into his mesmerizing eyes, Caitlin felt like a moth
drawn to a flame. A flame that possessed a promise of sanctuary
and warmth, yet at the same time threatened danger.

And well it should, she fiercely reminded herself. She had
known such men before-men undeniably attractive in a dark,
rugged, roguish sort of way. Men who, unfortunately for any lass
who fell prey to their masculine charms, knew well how to use
that power over a woman. There was little honor to be found,
however, in such men. If Caitlin had learned anything in the past
year, she had learned that well painfully well.

"Ye look able enough indeed to provide protection," she said
at last, belatedly coming to the realization that everyone was
waiting for her to reply. "And I suppose there's naught wrong
with permitting ye and yer friend to accompany us. It'd be the
hospitable thing to do, ye being strangers to Campbell lands."

The dark man exchanged a glance with his friend then, turning
back to Caitlin, nodded. "Aye, that we are. Strangers to Campbell
lands."

He extended his hand. "My friend's name is Kenneth Buchanan, and mine's Darach MacFarlane. Friends call me Dar. And
the rest either grant me a wide berth or don't live long enough
to call me aught."

Of a sudden, he grinned, and the change was devastating. It
was as if the sun, which heretofore had been muted, had burst
into brilliant radiance. Caitlin's pulse gave a great lurch, then
quickened. It took all the willpower she possessed to grasp his
hand for a quick shake.

"Well, Darach MacFarlane, my name's Caitlin Campbell, and
Janet and Jamie Campbell are my friends," she forced herself to
say before releasing his hand.

Turning, she made her way to the front seat of the pony cart.
"Still, since I've just barely met ye, I can hardly call us friends.
I'm hoping, though," she said as she settled herself on the seat,
then shot a quick glance over her shoulder, "one way or another,
we'll never be enemies."

"That'd be my desire as well, lass." His firm, well-molded lips
quirked up at one corner. "Indeed, my most fervent desire."

She was a bonny lass, and no mistake, Darach thought as they
walked along on one side of the pony cart. A lass who would drive
most men to distraction, sending their thoughts careening off in
wild, illogically hopeful directions. Directions that, ultimately,
were doomed to humbling rejection and disappointment. Most
men ... but not him.

Indeed, a passionate tumble with the ebony-haired beauty with
the blue-green eyes was the furthest thing from Darach's mind.
He wasn't on his way to Kilchurn to seduce the local lasses or provide Niall Campbell and his ilk a pleasant interlude of story
and song, even though, of necessity, such was the guise under
which he must travel in order to infiltrate the stony fortress's
defenses. Infiltrate and rescue his older brother from the depths
of the Campbell's dungeons.

It didn't matter if Athe was innocent or guilty of the charges
brought against him. It never had. Even now, Dar, who at the
time hadn't been anywhere in the vicinity of the incident that
had been the MacNaghtens' final undoing, wasn't certain who
had truly instigated the brutal slaughter. All he knew was his
father, brother, and other clansmen had managed to kill a much
larger force of MacNabs in their own Hall during a feast. Killed
them and now, almost a year and a half later, were still paying a
horrible price.

Thanks to the act of proscription placed on them because
of that fateful night, all MacNaghtens, be they man, woman,
or child, were now hunted criminals. On pain of death, MacNaghtens were forbidden to wear their distinctive clan tartan or
use their clan name, and must assume the name of another clan.
Their lands had been seized, their weapons confiscated, and no
other clan could take them in or associate with them.

Blessedly, there were a few clans still willing to offer them food
and shelter, and to permit them to use their own clan name. The
Buchanans and MacFarlanes were two of them.

Nonetheless, it stuck in Dar's craw every time he was forced
to claim to be what he wasn't. Stuck in his craw to shame himself
and the MacNaghtens by cowardly hiding behind the guise of
another clan and its name. Stuck in his craw and burrowed deep in
his soul, fueling a bitter rage against any and every man remotely
responsible for the persecution that, in due course, was intended
to wipe Clan MacNaghten from the face of the earth.

Niall Campbell was part and parcel of the travesty. It had been
his men, after all, who had hunted down Athe in Hell's Glen, a rocky, narrow stretch of valley deep in Campbell lands between
the towering peaks of Stob an Eas and Cruach nam Mult. It had
been Campbell men who had brought him back to molder in
Kilchurn's dungeon while awaiting sentencing and execution.

It mattered not that Niall Campbell was of the Breadalbane
Campbells, a separate house of Clan Campbell, and that it had
been the Argyll Campbells who had actively sought the act of
proscription from the Scottish Crown. He had willingly enough
joined forces when the proscription had been signed. He had
willingly enough turned his back on Clan MacNaghten.

Still, Athe's rescue would be very difficult. Niall Campbell was
no fool. Athe was most certainly heavily guarded, and Kilchurn
was a well-fortified castle.

A frontal and far more honorable attack was impossible. Clan
MacNaghten, like most of the neighboring clans, was no match
for the might of even the Breadalbane Campbells. And any who
dared attack Breadalbane would soon have Argyll to deal with
as well.

Subterfuge and deceit were the only true weapons Dar possessed. But then, it was all any of his clan had left. There was no
honor left them-the proscription had stripped that away just as
surely as it had robbed them of their name, lands, and even their
lives. There were no rules anymore save to win at all costs.

It was a dirty, despicable mess, to say the least, but whenever
had condemned men had any options? And if innocents must
suffer in the doing, Dar thought, his gaze turning to ice as the
white stone towers of Kilchurn Castle finally came into view, it
was no better or worse than what Clan MacNaghten had already
and would continue to suffer.

It wasn't long into their trek home when Caitlin noticed the
bard beginning to limp slightly. By the time they topped the final hill separating them from the first view of Kilchurn, the man's
steps were heavy, and he had moved close to the cart to grip its
edge for support. She finally turned to Jamie, who sat between
her and Janet.

"Pull up on the pony. Stop the cart."

Jamie did so immediately. "Aye? And what are ye needing?"

Caitlin glanced back at Kenneth. "Climb in. Whatever's wrong
with ye, I cannot bear to watch yer pain a moment longer."

The bard shook his head. "It's naught, lass. I but stepped on
a thorn last eve, and it festers a bit."

"Then more the reason to spare yer foot and not aggravate
it further." She indicated the bed of the cart. "When we reach
Kilchurn, I'll see to yer wound. I'm a healer, ye know."

"Nay, I didn't know that." Kenneth managed a wan smile,
then looked to his companion.

The dark Highlander hesitated, then nodded. "Best ye do as
she asks, lad. We'll need ye fit and hearty before we must next
resume our journey."

He's the leader of the two, Caitlin thought as she watched Kenneth climb gingerly into the cart and settle himself. Not that the
realization was especially surprising. Beneath Darach MacFarlane's
affable if taciturn demeanor, there ran a vein of cold, hard resolve.
She only wondered what he was so grimly resolute about.

Some instinct warned her that MacFarlane was a man on a
mission. Problem was, the fulfillment of that mission might have
unpleasant consequences for any who dared stand in his way. Yet
he seemed to bear them no enmity. She supposed she should be
grateful for that.

Several farm carts loaded with firewood clogged the road
leading to Kilchurn's gate. The oxen pulling the wagons were
notoriously slow as they traversed the slender spit of land now
connecting the shore to the former island whereon the castle
stood. At long last, though, they entered the outer courtyard and drew up in the south corner near the kitchen. Even as Jamie
drove the pony cart into the yard, several clansmen had arrived
to help unload and stack the wood near the kitchen door.

"Pull up as close to the main entrance of the keep as ye can,"
Caitlin instructed Jamie. "There are several empty rooms available below stairs in the servants' quarters. Janet and I can put the
pony and cart away while ye and Darach carry Kenneth to one
of them. I'll find ye there, just as soon as we finish and I fetch
my bag of herbs and salves."

"That won't be necessary, lass," Dar was quick to say. "We
needn't be imposing on ye and yer time. I can see to Kenneth's
foot well enough, I'd wager."

"It's no imposition, just simple hospitality," Caitlin replied as
Jamie halted the cart before the main entrance and she climbed
out. "Besides, the Campbell might well be interested in having
Kenneth do some harping this verra eve. The sooner we've a bard
whose foot is beginning to heal, the better."

"As ye wish, lass," the big Highlander said with a shrug of his
broad shoulders. "I yield to yer far better plan."

Jamie choked back a laugh. "Ye're a fast learner, laddie. She'll
have her way sooner or later, at any rate."

Dar smirked. "A masterful woman, is she?"

"And why not?" Janet chose that moment to interject. "She
is, after all, the Campbell's-"

"Enough, Janet." Some instinct warned Caitlin not to reveal
just yet who she really was. Perhaps she was being overly wary,
but something about the two strangers urged her to caution.

She took her cousin by the arm and began tugging her along.
"We've chores aplenty to see to, and no time to waste on further
yammering. We'll leave that, instead, to these men."

"He's verra full of himself," Janet muttered once they were
out of earshot and headed into the keep. "I can't say as I care
much for him."

"Aye, and ye've made that most apparent from the first moment ye saw him."

"And ye do care for him?" Her eyes wide with disbelief, Caitlin's
compatriot halted and turned to face her. "After what David
Graham did to ye, I'd have thought yet tastes had taken a turn
for the better. But if ye now find that vagabond appealing-"

"He's verra brave" With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Caitlin
cut her cousin off. "But just because I can admire a fine piece of
man flesh doesn't mean it goes any further. I'm well aware that
pretty faces and forms oft hide empty heads and hard, scheming
hearts.

"Besides," she added as she took Janet's hand and again tugged
her forward, "whatever does it matter what either of us thinks,
one way or another? I'd wager Darach MacFarlane and his friend
will be gone within the week."

"Then ye'd better see to young Kenneth's foot posthaste,"
Janet said, beginning to climb the stairs leading to the second
floor bedchambers. "The sooner he's healed, the sooner we're
well rid of them."

Aye, that we are, Caitlin thought as her cousin entered her own
bedchamber and she continued down the long stone corridor.
Well rid of them, indeed.

For already, in spite of common sense and painful experience,
every time she looked at Darach MacFarlane, Caitlin's thoughts
turned to what it would be like to melt into the powerful circle
of his arms and kiss those full, firm, and most sensual of lips.
Thoughts she had resolved never, ever to contemplate-much
less allow to become reality-again.