A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (41 page)

"Hold back here while I approach," Dar said, reining in his
horse within a stand of trees several hundred yards away. "The
gate may have somehow swung closed on its own, but it's best
we have a care. If someone's in Dundarave, it most certainly can't
be Niall Campbell."

"So, ye're thinking it might instead be outlaws or others who
intend us harm?"

Dar shrugged. "It could be anyone intending aught. Nevertheless, there's no sense both of us riding into a trap, if a trap it
really is."

"Suit yerself." Kenneth pulled his horse well back into the
shade of the trees. "But if ye're set upon and need aid, ye've only
to call and I'll come."

"I know ye will." Dar smiled. "If I'm not happy with whoever
is there, ye can be sure I'll hightail it out of there posthaste. So
be ready to join me as I ride by."

At his cousin's affirmative nod, Dar urged his horse forward.
He halted only when he was close enough to be heard but far
enough out of crossbow or pistol range.

"Hallo!" he shouted. "Whoever's in there, show yer face!"

For what seemed several minutes but was probably half that
at best, no one came up on the parapets or replied. Then, just as
Dar was about to give it one last try before riding down to check
the gate, a gray-haired, bearded man poked up his head. Beside
him popped up a lad.

There was something familiar about the both of them. Dar
signaled his horse to slowly move toward the tower house. Then,
as he recognized Goraidh, his heartbeat quickened.

With a cry, the lad disappeared suddenly, soon followed by the
hermit. Dar urged his mount forward at a fast walk. Just as he pulled
up several feet from the gate, it swung slowly open. He awkwardly
dismounted, wincing as his wounded leg touched ground. Then,
just in case Goraidh and the lad weren't alone, and perhaps were
even being held prisoner, he unsheathed his claymore.

The gate was only half open when the lad slipped through and
ran out, heading straight toward him. He was slender, his face
smooth and flushed with a becoming shade of pink. Dar blinked,
not quite believing what his eyes, his heart, told him.

Then she was there, tears in her beautiful blue green eyes, his
name on her lips, her arms reaching up to encircle his neck as
she flung herself into him.

"Dar. Och, Dar!" Caitlin cried, her gaze brimming with joy.
"Ye won. Ye lived. Och, thank the Lord. Thank the Lord!"

He tugged the bonnet from her head. Thick, ebony hair
tumbled down onto her shoulders and back. He couldn't help
himself.

Cradling her face between his hands, Dar leaned down and
kissed her. Kissed her tenderly but with a glad, hungry yearning.
Kissed her until both were so breathless they had to stop.

"What are ye doing here, lass?" he asked at last, his voice husky.
"And how did yer brother get here so quickly?"

"Niall's not here yet." Caitlin smiled up at him. "It's just Goraidh and me. Once Niall and his men rode off to Hell's Glen, Goraidh and I set out. We traveled all night to get here in time."

"Ye came all this way with only Goraidh for protection?" At
the realization of the danger, Dar's anger boiled up. "Are ye daft?
Ye could've been killed-or worse!"

She laughed. "Which is why we dressed so poorly, and I came
as a lad. And we both had swords, in the event we may have
needed them."

He expelled a long, exasperated breath. "Och, but yet brother's
going to be livid when he arrives to find ye here. And for what
reason did ye do this, lass? It makes no sense, even for one as
impulsive and headstrong as ye."

"Aye, ye likely would think it made no sense." Caitlin disengaged her arms and took a step back. "But I did it because I
couldn't bear to stay behind and wait. I didn't know if ye'd survive
yer battle with Athe or not, but in case ye did, I wanted to be
here when ye arrived. Be here to speak with ye."

Dar eyed her guardedly. "Speak with me about what?"

"And is that all ye can do?" She gave her head a toss. "Ask me questions and look at me with suspicion? For a moment there, I
actually thought ye were glad to see me."

"I am glad to see ye. That has naught to do, though, with my
concern and confusion over why ye're here." He took her by both
arms and tugged her back to him. "It makes no sense, Caitlin.
No sense at all."

"Well, it makes sense to me." Fire flashing in her eyes, she
glared up at him. "I've come to convince ye to leave here before
my brother arrives. Staying places the both of ye in an untenable position. A position in which ye'll not come out the winner,
much less live."

"I know that," Dar quietly replied. "But I gave my word."

"I'd rather have ye alive and doing what's sensible, than dead
and honoring a futile promise. I'd wager Niall isn't particularly
hoping to find ye here, either. I know him. He lacks the stomach
to see ye imprisoned again or dead."

"It doesn't matter. I-"

"Hish." She put a finger to his lips. "Listen to me. I love ye,
Darach MacNaghten. I want to be yer wife. And Goraidh's a
priest. He can wed us. Then we can leave, go where we must.
But at least we'll be together. Together, as we've always been
meant to be."

Staring down into her eager, hopeful eyes, Dar struggled
to comprehend all she had said. Caitlin wanted to wed, to be
his wife? Even the consideration of such a deed made his pulse
quicken with a giddy joy.

But to break his word, to ride away, even with her at his side,
wouldn't solve anything. He would only be doubly blamed by her
brother. And doubly doomed, if the clan death sentence wasn't
enough as it was.

"It cannot be, lass," Dar softly replied. "I won't take ye to wife. I
cannot be that selfish, or think only of my own desires. Clan chief
though I now may be, I've naught of any value to offer ye."

"Yet love's more than enough for me." Caitlin gazed up at him
imploringly. "I don't care what the hardships will be. I don't care
that I marry into a proscribed clan. I love ye, and ye love me.
Niall will understand. Once we're wed, he'll have no choice but
to understand. He'll have no choice but to release ye from yer
agreement, to allow ye to go free. Ye'll be my husband, after all,
and he loves me. He'll have to let ye go!"

That was indeed a strong possibility, Dar thought. And it
would solve so many things. He'd have Caitlin and be free to
return to his clan, to be the chief it so desperately needed. But it
wouldn't be right. It still wouldn't be honorable. Even love didn't
justify dishonor and deceit.

"Aye, in such circumstances, yer brother likely would feel
compelled to let me go," he said. "But yer brother has treated me
far more generously than I deserve. Indeed, he has even given me
his trust. In return, it's not right for me now to force him-to
manipulate him-into freeing me out of love for ye. Not to
mention, such an act might ultimately be his undoing. Would
ye have me risk that? Risk him, and mayhap even his family, to
satisfy our needs?"

Dar saw the precise moment the defeat hit her. Caitlin's shoulders sagged. Tears welled and trickled down her cheeks.

"But it's not f-fair," she cried, sobbing. "It's just not f-fair!
Aren't we ever to have a chance at happiness?"

"Och, lass, lass," he crooned, pulling her to him to hold her
tightly in his arms. "Wasn't it ye who told me once that ye had
to do what was right no matter the cost to self, or there was no
self worth saving?"

Sniffling, Caitlin looked up at him. "Ye like that, don't ye?
Turning my words against me whenever ye can?"

He chuckled. "Only because I'm rarely able to do so." Dar
touched her cheek. "Och, lass, we've done all we could to make
things right. It's in the Lord's hands-"

The sound of pounding hoofbeats rose in the air. Dar released
Caitlin and turned. There, just cresting the hill, was a large group
of riders.

"Cruachan!" came the Campbell battle cry.

Dar looked to Caitlin. "One way or another, it seems the decision has just been taken from us. There's naught more we can
do. Yet brother's coming, lass. Coming for me. And, whether he
knows it yet, also coming, once again, for ye."

As Dar had feared, the look on Niall Campbell's face, as he rode
toward them and recognized who was standing at Dar's side, was
far more foreboding than encouraging. Two men rode beside him.
One Dar recognized as the Campbell's tanist, lain Campbell. The
other he had never seen before.

"If yet brother's expression is any indication," he muttered, "ye
won't soon hear the end of this ill-advised escapade."

Beside him, Caitlin gave a snort of disdain. "Niall's more bark
than bite. And it isn't as if I haven't been the source of his ire a
time or two before."

"Only a time or two?" Dar chuckled softly. "Somehow, I find
that hard to believe."

"Believe what ye want. Leastwise, he may go easy on ye. Ye,
after all, honored yer word to surrender yerself to him."

Then there was nothing more that could be said. Niall halted
his horse and dismounted. His long strides quickly carried him
to stand before them.

He glared down at his sister. "What are ye doing here? Last I
saw ye, ye were still at Kilchurn."

To her credit, Caitlin didn't shrink from her brother's blistering gaze. "I came in the hopes of convincing Dar to wed me and then run away with me," she replied. "Stubborn man that he is,
though, he refused, claiming a prior commitment to ye."

"Then he showed more sense than the likes of ye. But we'll
speak more of that later."

She smiled ever so sweetly. "I'm sure we will, Brother."

"So, MacNaghten," Niall then said, turning to Dar, "ye're
clan chief at last."

"Aye," Dar replied with a nod. "For what it's worth. I still
owe ye eleven more months of service, if ye're even of a mind to
permit me to live."

"That power ultimately doesn't lie with me." The Campbell
half turned and motioned his two companions forward.

Dar watched as lain Campbell lithely leaped from his horse
and hurried over to assist the other man. The stranger looked to
be in his late thirties, tall, dark-haired, with a long, narrow nose
with a bulbous tip, thin lips, and a wispy mustache and beard. He
wore a black, embroidered doublet with braid-decorated sleeves,
padded trunks with full-length silk stockings, and fine leather
shoes. A short, black, well-made cape was on his shoulders, and
a small, flat, velvet hat with a luxuriant feather trim topped his
head at a jaunty angle.

This was some man of wealth and position, Dar thought.
He was also not of the Highlands. Niall Campbell's respectful
demeanor and half bow when the man drew up only confirmed
it.

"M'lord," the Campbell said to the stranger who, even before
they were introduced, Dar had already surmised was Scotland's
Regent for the infant King James, "this is the man responsible
for averting today's possible disaster."

Niall then turned back to Caitlin-who had likewise finally
recognized the nobleman and made a hurried curtsey-and Dar.
"Darach, this is the first Earl of Moray, James Stewart, Regent
of Scotland."

Nothing was served in rudeness, Dar well knew, even if the
man had been the one to sign the proscription and set the horrible
retribution against his clan into effect. Besides, he told himself,
he was paying respect to the office even more than to the man.
He bowed.

"M'lord," he said as he straightened.

"It seems I'm indebted to ye, lad," the Earl replied. "Truth be
told, I'd never have expected such mercy from a MacNaghten.
Not these days, leastwise."

"There are still some men of honor alive and well in the clan,
m'lord. And we could prove it to ye-I could prove it to ye-if
ye were ever willing to consider lifting the proscription."

Beside him, Caitlin sucked in a soft gasp and clutched his
hand. Dar knew he bordered on the brink of presumption, if
not outright audacity, in so boldly confronting the Regent about
the punishment he had set upon Clan MacNaghten. There was
nothing left for them to lose, though.

Humor glinted in the Regent's eyes. "And are ye duly designated to speak for yet clan, lad?"

"Aye." Dar met the other man's piercing gaze, well aware of
his vaunted cleverness and political acumen, and that he might
be talking himself straight down the road to certain doom. "I
am. As of last eve, I'm now the MacNaghten."

The Earl arched a dark brow. "Are ye, indeed? Yet clan's gone
through a few chiefs of late, hasn't it? But a burning question
remains. Is one any better than the next? Is one more honorable
than the other?"

"I can vouch for Darach's honor and trustworthiness, m'lord,"
Niall Campbell spoke up just then. "Indeed, he wouldn't be here
awaiting me if he lacked either. And that, not knowing what the
consequences would be, or if he'd even live to see another day."

The Regent angled his head to briefly regard Niall. "Yet endorsement surprises me. I thought Clan Campbell was dead set on eliminating Clan MacNaghten. Besides a wee holiday, that
is part of the reason for my visit to the Earl of Argyll, ye know.
To discuss the distribution of MacNaghten lands. Lands Argyll
apparently believes should be granted to him."

"I can't speak to the Argyll Campbells' desires, m'lord," Caitlin's
brother replied tautly. "The Breadalbanes, however, have no need
to seize the land of other clans."

"Yet ye spared no effort in capturing and imprisoning the last
MacNaghten chief. Why is that?"

"Athe MacNaghten was intimately involved in the MacNab
affair. Likely even more so than his sire, if the tales are accurate.
He, leastwise in my mind, represented the true reason for the
proscription. And the reason I felt it best to separate posthaste
such a dangerous, unprincipled madman from his clan, as much
as from all other Highlanders."