A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (34 page)

"Well, the fact that he wasn't the son of his mither's husband,
but rather that of the king of Scotland, doesn't seem to have been
much of an obstacle in the Regent's rise to the most powerful
position of the land," she offered dryly. "And it matters not to
me, either. What yet mither and real father chose to do doesn't
make ye less of the man ye've always wished to be. And it also
doesn't lessen ye a whit in my eyes."

Dar couldn't help a tiny twitch of one corner of his mouth.
"Well, then ye've never been as fine a judge of character as I first
imagined ye to be."

"And ye're just as rude as ye've always been, to disparage my
judgment so!" Caitlin pushed back to glare up at him.

"I warned ye, did I not, that I wasn't going to be verra good
company. Or did ye happen to miss that wee caution?"

"Feeble excuses, one and all! Ye always were an ungrateful
lout!"

Compunction filled him. She had come here to offer him
comfort, because she cared, and he was indeed being an ungrateful lout.

"Aye, that I am," Dar said sadly. "Please forgive me. Ye, of all
people, deserve better than that."

With what sounded like a satisfied sigh, Caitlin snuggled once
more against him. "Aye, that I do."

She felt so good, so soft and warm and womanly, Dar thought.
For a time, neither spoke, and he was quite content just to be with
her. Likely, he would never have a time with her like this again.

He must soak up every sensation, every emotion, and every
word that fell from her lips to keep him for whatever lifetime was
left him. To stave away the long loneliness to come. To assuage the
darkness and despair. To fortify him with the memory of what it
had felt like, for even this brief time, again to be loved.

Once more, tears stung his eyes. This time, however, he couldn't
staunch them. What did it matter? He had no pride to speak of
left him. The sooner Caitlin saw him for the man he now was,
the better for her.

Dar couldn't hide the tears for long. Likely some woman's
instinct, he thought ruefully, as she leaned back and touched his
face. Ever so tenderly, she wiped his tears away then, with a sigh,
went back to holding him. He gripped her tightly.

"Do ye know that I love ye, lass?" he asked after a time, his
voice raw, rasping. "For what that'll ever be worth."

"Aye," she breathed, "I believe I do. And, in turn, for what it'll
ever be worth, I love ye too."

It had to be enough, Dar told himself, this wild, soaring joy
he felt. Had to be enough to last a lifetime. Had to be enough
... and it was.

They sat there for a long while, as darkness, save for that lone,
sputtering torch, slowly enveloped them in a peaceful, perfect
little world of their own.

Dar slept well that night, the first good night's sleep he'd had
since coming to Kilchurn. He awoke with a smile on his lips,
immediately thinking of Caitlin as soon as his mind turned from
dreaming of her to full consciousness. Stubbornly, hungrily, he
allowed himself to linger in that soft, warm, pleasant state for
as long as he could. Which didn't end up being nearly long
enough.

First, the current guard of the day stomped in with a bucket
of water to aid Dar in the performance of his morning ablutions.
Soon thereafter, a kitchen maid brought down a tray of bannocks, cheese, and a mug of cider. Dar found he was famished
and finished the tasty offerings in record time.

A few hours later, Dougal's particularly loud and grating voice
could be heard in the guardroom outside. Though Dar couldn't
quite make out his words, he could tell the man was annoyed.
That perception was only further reinforced when a key was
slammed into his cell's lock and the door was shoved open.

In the man's hands were two pairs of shackles connected by a
short span of chain. One set was obviously meant for hands, the
other for ankles. The second guard followed closely behind.

Dar rose to his feet. "Am I going somewhere this morn?" he
asked, eyeing the ironware in Dougal's hands.

"Aye, that ye are." The head guard motioned to the bed. "So
sit yerself back down and, if ye've a shred of sense in that thick
skull of yers, don't make any sudden moves."

"I've no intention of causing trouble," Dar said as he took his
seat once more. "Would ye care to share with me, though, where
I might be going?"

"To the gallows would be my choice, if anyone cared to ask
me," the man snarled as he roughly took one of Dar's hands and
clamped and locked a shackle about his wrist, then did the same
with the other. "But ye've a wee reprieve, it seems. The Campbell
wishes to speak with ye in the library."

Though Dar was well aware Caitlin's visit last eve had to be
sanctioned by her brother, it was nonetheless surprising that
Niall Campbell now wished to see and speak with him. Foreboding filled him. Surely no good would come from this meeting.
Leastwise, no good for him and Caitlin.

There was nothing to be done for it, though, but face the
inevitable, as unpleasant as that might be. It was, after all, part
and parcel of his life of late. Last eve had never been anything
more than a brief, stolen moment in a forbidden love.

The shackles about his ankles severely limited his movement
to an awkward, humiliating shuffle. That pleased Dougal greatly,
if the wide grin that split his face at Dar's first few steps were any
indication. Refusing to give the man further satisfaction, Dar
schooled his face into an expressionless mask.

"Lead on," he said calmly. "I'll try my best not to walk off and
leave ye in my eagerness to meet with the Campbell."

Dougal gave a shout of laughter, then motioned for Dar to
head out the door. "And I'll try my best not to `accidentally' trip
ye on the stairs. Not that I'm making any promises, mind ye."

Though there were more than a few times when the head
guard, accompanied by two others, almost jerked Dar off his
feet when it came time to turn down a certain corridor or climb up a particular flight of stairs, they made it to the library door
without mishap. A muffled "enter" came in response to Dougal's
ham-fisted knock on the thick oak door. A few minutes later, after
a stumbling shuffle across a large library lined with books, Dar
was pulled to a halt before an enormous, inlaid oak table.

Niall Campbell sat at its head, a quill pen in an inkwell, several
rolled scrolls, and one open one laid before him. At sight of the
shackles, he frowned.

"I gave no order for him to be brought to me in chains." He
shoved back his chair and stood, riveting a hard gaze on the head
guard. "Was this yet doing, Dougal?"

The man went a few shades paler than he already was. "He's a
hardened criminal, m'lord. I didn't feel it wise to risk endangering
anyone just to spare the knave's pride."

"Well, there's no danger now. Pray, remove his shackles. Then
leave us."

"But m'lord," the other man protested, "is it wise to-"

"Are ye implying I'm incapable of protecting myself?" Niall
snapped. "Or do I just appear to ye to have gone soft since I
became chief?"

"Och, nay, m'lord." Dougal immediately slipped the key ring
off his belt. "Ye're still the match-and more-of any man in
Kilchurn, ye are. I just don't trust this one. He's sly and conniving, he is."

"Well, post two guards outside then," Niall said, amusement
now glinting in his eyes, "to appease yet concerns. And if this
man chooses to attack me, I'll be sure to scream loudly enough
for them to hear and come to my aid."

"A-aye, m'lord," the guard said as he knelt and swiftly unlocked
and removed Dar's ankle irons, then stood and did the same for
those about his wrists.

"Ye can go now, Dougal," Niall said when the head guard continued to stand there. "And take the irons with ye, if ye please."

Dar had never seen the burly man move so quickly in crossing
the room and exiting through a door. Once the wooden portal
shut soundly behind him, Dar turned back to Niall Campbell.

They were of similar height. Dar found himself staring into
tawny brown eyes that, in turn, steadily regarded him. For a
long moment, both men took each other's measure. Then Niall
motioned to the chair at his right.

"Sit, if ye will." He took his own seat. "We've much to discuss.

"I'd prefer to stand."

"Well, I'd prefer ye didn't." Once more, the Campbell's gaze
hardened. "And I'm sure ye can understand my lack of favor with
another man towering over me. So, sit, please."

Dar didn't see the point in sitting down to table as if the two of
them were equals. At the very least, it was a farce of the grandest
order. But he also supposed it was better than standing or-even
worse-being forced to kneel before one of his direst enemies
while in shackles. And Niall Campbell was making an effort of
sorts to treat him respectfully.

"Suit yerself," he muttered and, pulling out the chair, took
his seat.

They remained there for a time, Dar silent and sullen, Niall
silent and considering, the only sound in the room the ticking of
the clock hanging over the mantel. Finally, though, the Campbell
released a long, slow breath.

"My sister appears to hold ye in verra high regard," he said,
making a steeple of his fingers beneath his chin. "She claims
ye're innocent of the murder charges laid against ye over two
and a half years ago. And, since ye were never implicated in the
MacNab slaughter ..."

He paused, his gaze narrowing. "There's still the matter of yet
abduction of my sister, and my unwilling coercion to free that bloodthirsty madman of a brother, though. Or, pardon me, yer
half-brother now, isn't it?"

The reminder of who his true father was pierced clear through
Dar's heart. He couldn't help a grimace.

"Aye, my half-brother. But it changes naught. One way or
another, I'm still a MacNaghten. I'm still, leastwise in yer eyes,
verminous scum."

"Yet my sister loves ye. And ye apparently, leastwise according to Caitlin, love her. Which puts me in the middle of a verra
sticky situation."

Dar felt the blood warm his face. Curse Caitlin for telling her
brother what had been, for him, a deeply personal admission. An
admission not meant for the ears of anyone else, and especially
not for the chief of Clan Campbell.

"There's no sticky situation," he growled, glaring over at the
other man. "Indeed, I never intended for her to know. I just wasn't
myself yestereve, and then she came to me ..."

"Aye, mayhap I erred in allowing her to do so." Niall dropped
his hands to the table and leaned forward. "Mayhap I err now, as
well. But on the strength of her conviction about ye, and the fact
ye never seemed to be involved in all the stupid, poorly considered
acts that led yet clan to its present fortunes, I'm willing to give
ye a chance to redeem yerself."

He smiled wryly. "Well, there's also the fact that my wife reminded me of a thing called forgiveness. And that I've a few failings
of my own that I frequently have to ask the Lord to forgive, and
then make reparations for. As ye must now make reparation for yer
audacity in abducting Caitlin, and yer insult to me in the doing."

Listening to Niall Campbell, Dar felt as if, once again, he was
in some waking dream. Last eve with Caitlin had possessed a
fantastical quality of its own. Now, however, it seemed as though
her brother were offering him not only forgiveness but also an opportunity to make amends. Offering him life instead of death.

"What are ye about, Campbell?" he demanded hoarsely. "Is this
some trick, or but a cruel jest to break my spirit? For what I've
done to ye and Caitlin, I deserve imprisonment, if not certainly
execution. I'm a MacNaghten, after all. By decree of the Regent
himself, ye're expected, nay, bound to put me to the sword if ever
ye happen upon me!"

"True enough, if ye really were a MacNaghten," the other man
said with a nod. "But as a broken man, ye're not truly part of clan
MacNaghten anymore, are ye? That was the intent in outlawing
ye, was it not?"

He supposed he should find some consolation in that, Dar
thought. As a broken man, he was technically outside the Regent's
proscribement. But, in his heart of hearts, he still considered
himself a MacNaghten and always would.

Nonetheless, what was the harm in accepting Niall Campbell's
loophole? Shameful as whatever reparation one's enemy might
additionally demand, it would also give him the chance to live
to fight another day. A chance the man sitting across from him
might well rue.

"Aye, that was my father-my stepfather's-intent," he said.
"I fail to see, though, how that changes aught. What price could
I possibly pay-save that of my life-that would appease yer
anger at what I've done?"

"Swear allegiance to me for the span of a year. Agree to serve
me in whatever manner I ask of ye. And, in the doing, prove to
me ye're truly the man my sister seems to think ye are."

Dar's eyes widened in disbelief. "Serve ye? How? In betraying
my people?"

Niall chuckled softly. "Och, now there's a thought. Since ye
know a secret way in and out of Dundarave, don't ye?"

"Athe may be mad, but he's no fool. With me in yer custody, do
ye seriously imagine he'd risk holing up in Dundarave again?"

The Campbell shrugged. "Mayhap not. It's not an issue at any rate. I'd never ask ye to betray yer own. I want yer loyalty
given honestly. I want ye to prove to me ye're worthy of my
sister."

Dar's mouth dropped. "And why does that matter? Ye'll never
give Caitlin to me as wife. Indeed, if Iwere ye, I'd never give her
to me as wife!"

His arms settling on the armrests, Niall leaned back in his chair.
"And why is that? Would ye beat her or be unfaithful to her?"

"Would I beat-of course not! What kind of man do ye think
I am?"

Dar caught himself up short. This discussion was beyond
pointless. Niall Campbell was toying with him, and that was the
simple truth of the matter.