A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (35 page)

"Ye wish for me to make reparation," he said through gritted
teeth, "and that's fair enough. I've naught to lose-save mayhap
my pride-in swearing fealty to ye or in working for ye for a year.
Indeed, as long as ye give me shelter from foul weather, adequate
food to fill my belly, and in time mayhap a new plaid to use as
clothing and bedding, I'm better off in your employ than wandering the hills without clan or home to call my own. But don't
pretend to dangle the hope of ever having Caitlin as wife before
me. Ye know as well as I that's an impossibility."

"Aye, mayhap ye're right." Niall shrugged again and, glancing down, fingered the edge of the parchment document. "So
many things can happen in the course of a year. Caitlin might
lose interest in ye, or ye in her. Another far more suitable man
might ask leave to court her ...

"Ye're right," Niall said of a sudden, looking back up. "It's
hardly worth discussing."

Dar gave a sharp nod. "Then we're in agreement, are we? I
owe ye my allegiance for the span of a year, and then I'm free to
go my own way?"

"That's what I said. In that year, though, ye're to remain here and go no further than the borders of Kilchurn's lands, unless
otherwise given leave personally by me."

If there were ever to be a better time to negotiate all aspects of
this pact, Dar knew it was now. "The hermit Goraidh."

Niall arched a brow. "Aye, what of him?"

"I want him gone from here. Set him free, send him on his
way, but get him gone from here. I don't want ever to cross paths
with him again."

"That sounds a mite severe. He may have erred greatly in his
past treatment of ye, but he is yet father."

The word grated on Dar like the irksome creaking of a rusty
hinge. "He's no father to me. One way or another, I wish to be
well rid of all my fathers."

The Campbell appeared to consider Dar's request, then shook
his head. "Nay. He stays or goes as he wishes. That cannot be
part of the terms of our agreement. And if he does decide to
stay, and there's a need for him to work with ye, then work with
him ye must."

He slid the parchment that had been spread out before him
across to Dar, then offered him a quill dipped in ink. "So, are ye
of a mind to put yet mark on this agreement or not? It's the best
ye'll get from me, or anyone for that matter. If the truth be told,
it's likely far better than ye deserve."

Dar eyed the document. "So my word that I'll honor this pact
isn't enough?"

"Nay, not in this particular case. If ye fail to keep to our agreement, I want irrefutable proof of all that I offered ye."

Irrefutable proof for whom? Caitlin? Proof that her brother
had done all in his power to treat the man she loved fairly, honorably?

Was this part of some bargain Caitlin had worked out with
her brother? It smacked of her touch, it did. Fury and frustration
filled Dar, and he was of half a mind to toss Niall Campbell's offer back in his face. But that would be the work of a fool. And
he wasn't a fool.

After all but giving up hope even of survival, his heretofore
dismal existence had suddenly taken a turn for the better. Dar
now had a chance at life, at freedom. No one, not even some
sorry excuse for a father, was going to take that away.

Then there was the possible opportunity to see Caitlin from
time to time. A year more of being near the woman he loved, even
if from a distance. If the truth were told, that was the sweetest
inducement of all ...

It didn't matter that her brother expected Caitlin, in time, to
lose interest in him. Dar couldn't blame him for seeking a gentler,
kinder way of denying his sister what she imagined she wanted
but would soon realize she didn't. Time, after all, was the healer
of most wounds-especially wounds of the heart.

Time was also the mirror in which one, if one was permitted
to gaze long enough, would finally see the reality of an ill-fated,
hopeless love.

Dar took the quill, flipped the parchment around, and quickly
read it. Then, satisfied the terms contained nothing they hadn't
already discussed, he signed his name.

For the first two weeks, per both Anne's and Caitlin's suggestions, Niall had Dar assigned to gradually more strenuous work.
Initially, along with Goraidh, he assisted the castle clerk, spending
most of his time copying documents. After just a few days in close
quarters with the hermit, who, from his years on Iona, possessed
breathtaking skills in calligraphy and book illumination, the
increasingly harried clerk begged Niall to separate the two men
before the tension between them drove all of them mad.

By the middle of the first week, Dar was sent to the kitchen.
There, he filled cauldrons with countless buckets of water drawn from the well, carried countless other buckets of kitchen waste
out to the kitchen midden, butchered chickens then scalded and
plucked them, brought up baskets of potatoes and other root vegetables from the cellar, and washed what seemed like mountains
of dishes. The humiliation of doing such work he kept tightly
locked in a back corner of his mind. It was his punishment, and
punishment, Dar repeatedly reminded himself, was supposed
to be unpleasant.

He was nonetheless eager, by the end of his second week, to
leave kitchen duty and move to light work in the stables. Feeding
and grooming horses, then mucking stalls, was far more to his
liking. And the company of other men, though they regarded
him with cool disdain, was preferable to the constant giggles
and whispering, not to mention the shy, hungry looks, of the
kitchen maids.

There was also less opportunity to cross paths with Caitlin in
the stables. That, he quickly realized, was both a blessing and a
curse. She was the bright spot in his day. She also triggered such
intense yearning that even one unexpected encounter left him
aching hours later. Aching to speak with her, to touch her, to
hold and kiss her.

It didn't help that Caitlin's expression, whenever their glances
met, was equally full of longing. She rarely spoke or overtly acknowledged him, though. Dar soon surmised that her restrained
conduct must have been part of the pact she had made with her
brother, in order to win Dar the chance to repay his offenses.

Ayear ...

At first that span of time had seemed of little consequence.
The days passed swiftly enough, filled as they were with almost
constant work until he finally fell, satisfyingly exhausted, into
bed each night. However, when it came to his unrequited need
to have, yet again, the same closeness he had shared with Caitlin on the journey to Dundarave, the minutes turned to hours, and the hours to months. Well, whenever he allowed himself to
dwell on it.

It was likely but another aspect of his punishment, Dar thought
wryly one afternoon, a month after he had returned to Kilchurn,
as he used a wooden pitchfork to distribute clean straw into the
freshly mucked-out stalls. Niall Campbell was a clever one. He
surely knew many ways to break a proud man down.

Menial tasks, women's work, submission to a master one not
only hated but feared for what he could do to a far weaker, beleaguered people were but a few of the methods. Unrequited longing
for a woman Dar knew he could never have, but who was constantly dangled in his face, also ate away at his pride and sense of
manhood. It made him feel frustrated, impotent, and a fool.

"Once ye're quite done contemplating the consistency of the
straw," a familiar feminine voice rose just then from behind him,
"and ye're finished with yer stable chores, Anne would like yer assistance in the herb garden. Preferably before sunset, if ye will."

Dar wheeled around. Caitlin stood in the doorway to the stall,
a smile tugging at the corners of a mouth that she struggled to
keep stern. He swallowed hard. For the first time in his life, Dar
found himself without words.

Not that words were precisely the first thing on his mind. He
drank in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. Her ebony
hair flowed like thick silk over her shoulders and down her back.
Her brilliant eyes sparkled like gems. And the emerald green gown
she wore, simple and flowing, save for the lace at the neckline and
trimming the cuffs of her sleeves, enhanced her slender figure
to perfection.

"I ... I've missed ye," Dar finally managed to croak out.
"Missed that shrewish little tongue of yers and that canny wit.
But, most of all, I've missed ye at my side. Though I didn't realize it at the time, those days when ye were my captive were the
sweetest days of my life."

She smiled sadly. "Aye, so they were for me. And I've missed
ye, Darach MacNaghten. Missed ye more than I can say."

They fell into silence then, content just to gaze at each other.
At long last, though, Dar cleared his throat.

"Er, so the Lady Anne sent ye to fetch me, did she? Was that
intentional, or did she merely lack anyone else readily available
to send?"

Caitlin laughed. "And what do ye think? Of course she intended to send me, especially after I begged her to do so. I just
had to have a moment alone to talk with ye."

"Then I'm glad she did." Dar hesitated. "How have ye been,
lass?"

"All but pining away with love for ye, but otherwise, I'm doing
well. And ye? How are ye?"

"My wound's all but healed and my strength's returning with
each passing day. The work's hard, but the food's good, and I've
a warm place to sleep at night. I can't complain." He grinned.
"Well, not much, anyway."

"Have ye had much opportunity to speak with Goraidh or
made yet peace with him? He refuses to leave here until ye do."

At the unwelcome reminder of the hermit, bitter anger filled
Dar. "He'll die and be buried here before I ever speak again with
the likes of him!"

"Dar, ye need to find some way to forgive him. It'll eat ye
alive if ye don't."

He went back to spreading the remainder of the straw around
the stall. "Leave it be, lass. As far as I'm concerned, the man's
already dead to me."

"Goraidh made a mistake. A terrible mistake. But he deserves
a second chance."

Dar's laugh was disparaging. "A second chance? And pray, when
was I ever given a second chance? When, Caitlin?"

"When?" Her eyes flashed with rising anger. "How about right now? Isn't that exactly what my brother's giving ye right
now? But that's different, isn't it? Ye deserve a second chance,
and Goraidh doesn't!"

With that, she grabbed her skirts, turned, and stalked away.

Caught by surprise at her sudden departure, for a moment
Dar just stared after her. Then, in a rush of renewed energy, his
faculties returned.

He threw aside the pitchfork and hurried after her. He only
made it halfway down the aisle, however, before another voicethis time a man's voice-called to him softly from a shadowed
corner of the stables.

"Dar, hold up, will ye? We need to talk, and talk now!"

Dar slid to a halt and turned in the direction from which
the voice had come. Out of the darkness beneath the loft and
from behind stacked bales of hay, a man stepped out. It was his
cousin, Kenneth.

Kenneth's eyes were burning pits in a pale, haggard face. His left
cheekbone was severely bruised, and his lower lip was split and
swollen. He looked exhausted, wrung out, and Dar instinctively
knew something very bad had happened.

He hurried to his cousin, took him by the arm, and pulled
him back into the sheltering overhang of the loft. "Why are
ye here? Do ye know the danger ye risked in coming back to
Kilchurn?"

"Indeed?" The bard's laugh was shaky and tinged with hysteria.
"Well, ye don't look either in danger or a prisoner. And it seems
things are going quite splendidly between ye and Caitlin."

If Dar had had his way, he would've preferred not to have to
explain the provisions of his and Niall Campbell's agreement
with his cousin. Though he was gradually coming to terms with
the conditions of his servitude, there was still a part of him that
felt guilty, as if, in the doing, he had betrayed his clan. It didn't
matter that his clan had turned its back on him and no longer
cared if he lived or died. He still had his pride.

"What's between me and Caitlin, or why I'm no longer confined to the dungeon," he ground out instead, "isn't the issue just
now. Ye wouldn't be here unless ye had a reason. And I'm willing
to wager that reason isn't to bring me happy news." Dar's grasp on Kenneth's arm tightened. "So, go ahead. Spit it out and be
done with it."

Shoulders slumping, his cousin looked away. "Father's dead."

"Dead?"

Feandan, the only brother of all the three brothers who had
truly been like a father to him? Pain stabbed through Dar, gouging
clear to his heart. His breath caught in his throat. He fought to
breathe, and it took a time before he could continue.

"How?" he demanded hoarsely at last, dreading the answer
even before he heard the reply. "How did he die?"