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

"Have a care with that one, Dar, or yet propensity for a comely
lass will again get ye into serious trouble," Kenneth pleaded once
Jamie had taken them to a spare chamber in the dark labyrinth below ground and departed. "The task before us is difficult
enough without ye complicating it by coupling with one of the
Campbell's servants."

As he closed the thick oak door and latched it shut, Dar gave a
disparaging snort. "And do ye think me so lust-driven that I'd let
a bonny lass-and truth be told, that blue-eyed beauty is one of
the bonniest I've ever laid eyes on-endanger our mission to free
Athe? Hardly." He turned and strode over to the simple, strawstuffed mattress he and Jamie had deposited Kenneth upon. "If
the opportunity arises for a quick tryst in some private corner
or leaf-shaded bower, then I'll be the first to seize it. But aside
from such a fortuitous occurrence, her only value is to provide
us with whatever information might help us gain access to the
dungeon and the keys to Athe's cell."

Kenneth settled back on his bed and sighed. "I'd hoped ye'd
see it that way. Ye've always been a generally sensible sort, but
the way ye were looking at her ... well, I haven't seen ye look at
a lass like that in a verra long time."

"I can admire an especially comely female, can't I?" Dar
grinned. "Tell me true. Can ye claim ye didn't find Caitlin the
bonniest lass ye've ever seen?"

"She's verra bonny. I just don't see how it's the time or place
to be paying any lass much attention, that's all."

Kenneth leaned down and pulled his clarsach from its leather
bag. With a gentle, loving touch, he stroked the tautly strung
wire strings.

"Now, this harp ... I confess I can hardly keep my hands or
eyes off it for verra long. But then, it'll never betray me, or toss
me aside for another, or break my heart."

"Fine. Fine," Dar muttered in disgust. "Ye're right. It's past
time we drop the matter entirely. Once ye begin spouting honeyed words about yet harp, trying to discuss women with ye is
already a lost cause."

As clear, ringing notes began to rise from the bronze strings,
Dar strode over to his own bed, dropped his traveling bag beside
it, and lay down. Beneath the woolen blanket, the mattress gave
a little atop its rope supports, but the wooden frame was sturdy
and easily supported his weight. Pillowing his arms behind his
head, the big Highlander settled back and closed his eyes.

There wouldn't be much time for rest, he wagered, before
Caitlin arrived to treat Kenneth's foot. Still, after a journey that
had begun before dawn, with a day that was now fast fading
to sunset, even a brief respite was welcome. He needed time to
sort through the myriad options that now presented themselves,
ensconced as they finally were in Kilchurn Castle.

In the end, all the decisions that mattered were up to him. Kenneth was as brave and loyal as they came, but he lacked the head
for complex strategies. His value in this adventure was to serve as
a plausible reason to get into Kilchurn, and then as a distraction
while Dar freed Athe from his prison cell. Each man, however,
was vital to this plan, and Dar gave his cousin his due.

He wondered if Caitlin might be of any use in this undertaking. She claimed to be a healer. As such, she surely moved about
the castle freely and had the trust of all. He'd have to tread carefully with her, though, in attempting to extract information and
access to places he would never easily be able to visit himself.
She was clever and quick. He had ascertained that pretty much
from the start.

There was just something in those striking, turquoise blue eyes
that bespoke a keen intelligence overlaid with a natural wariness.
Caitlin wasn't a woman easily misled, and it was already apparent
she didn't suffer fools easily. It was also quite evident she didn't
trust him.

Not that her suspicion disturbed Dar in the least. He had
charmed women far more worldly and jaded. And Caitlin Campbell, for all her bold words and apparent confidence, was still a maiden in every sense of the word. No man of any experience
could've missed the truth in her eyes whenever their gazes met.

Still, on further consideration, her lack of experience could
well play to his advantage. Dar also knew when a woman was
attracted to him, and Caitlin didn't hide that attraction as successfully as she might have imagined. All he had to do was woo
her a bit, and she would be his. With Kenneth sure to be laid
up with his infected foot for at least several days, Dar now had
sufficient excuse and opportunity to remain at Kilchurn.

Sufficient excuse and opportunity, as well, to lay siege to a
black-haired beauty's heart. Once he had scaled that wall, he
would use her to gain access to the information he needed to
free his brother. It might not be honest or honorable, but such
fine aspirations had died with the act of proscription against the
MacNaghtens.

Dar's mouth quirked in black humor. If the truth were told,
for him at least, such fine aspirations had died long before the
act of proscription. Died when his father had refused to believe
his claims of innocence and banished him from the clan, cast
him out to roam the Highlands as a broken man.

It was the greatest of all ironies. An outlaw, a broken man, was
now the last hope of Clan MacNaghten. Indeed, if his father had
lived, he most likely would've refused Dar's aid. But his obstinate,
unyielding sire hadn't survived the brutal night that had brought
their clan at last to its inevitable downfall. And, like it or not,
there wasn't anyone left who possessed even the remotest chance
of saving his father's favorite son.

No one, save the other son. The one who had been a neverending source of disappointment and despair.

No one, save Dar.

Her head buried in the depths of a wooden barrel as she scraped
out the last handfuls of dried marigold flowers, Caitlin at first
didn't hear Anne's greeting. After a quick tap on her shoulder
finally alerted her to another's presence, she levered herself up
out of the barrel. Her fists full of the pungent petals, she wheeled
about. Niall's russet-haired wife stood there, with Brendan, her
chubby, fifteen-month-old son, perched on her hip.

"Janet said I might find ye here." Anne's glance strayed to
Caitlin's hands. "Are we already out of marigold ointment? If I'd
known, I would've made up a fresh batch."

Caitlin could feel the heat steal into her cheeks. "The fault's
mine. I used the last of it on Maudie's hand after she burnt it
grabbing that poker someone had left overlong in the fire. I meant
to make more ointment, but I forgot."

The chief's wife smiled. "Well, no harm done, I suppose. But
a good healer is also a prepared healer."

"Aye, so she is. That's one lesson I still need some work on,
I'm afraid." Caitlin held out her fisted hands. "Not that there's
much left to work with. Fortunately, springtide is well upon us,
and the flowers are finally beginning to bloom."

"We have gone through a lot of marigold ointment this year, haven't we? Mayhap we should see about growing a larger bed
to harvest this summer."

"Either that, or encourage the castle folk to take greater care
not to injure themselves quite so often." Caitlin grinned. "As if
that would ever happen."

"That's verra unlikely, ye can be sure. Especially with our
men. A more clumsy, careless bunch of lads never existed. Still,
if we run out of marigold ointment, we've always other herbal
remedies at hand."

Caitlin nodded, her gaze lifting to the rafters of the modestsized, stone chamber a few feet down the hall from the kitchen.
The room had once served as an additional kitchen storage closet.
Soon after Anne and Niall were wed, though, Anne had appropriated it for a healer's storeroom.

Myriad bundles of dried plants hung from the wooden beams.
Two tall, sturdy cabinets, on the far wall on either side of a slit of
a window, were filled with bowls, several small cast-iron pots, and
all sizes of stoppered jars, each carefully labeled. On the narrow
wooden table sitting in the middle of the room, a stone mortar
and pestle took center stage. Several sharp little knives in a jar, a
stack of thin, smooth boards, and ten glass decanters stood neatly
lined up alongside the mortar and pestle.

"Fortunately," she continued, meeting Anne's glance, "we've
got a good supply left of nettles to make nettle tea for burns,
and St. John's Wort for festering wounds. Still, I am partial to
marigold ointment."

"As am I." Anne paused to heft her black-haired son a bit
higher on her hip. "Janet also mentioned we've two new visitors-some bard and his personal guard. And that this bard has
an injured foot."

"His name's Kenneth, and I think his foot may be infected
from a thorn he stepped on. Mayhap, though, he left a bit of
the thorn tip in when he tried to pull it out, and that's what's paining him. I won't know until I examine his foot. Once, that
is," Caitlin added as she walked to the table and dumped the
marigold petals into the mortar's rounded stone bowl, "I get
some fresh ointment made."

"Well, then, I won't detain ye." The other woman turned to
go, then paused. "The bard's companion ... What did Janet say
his name was? Darach, I believe?"

"Aye, that's his name."

"What do ye make of him?"

Caitlin tensed. Just as she feared when first Anne had made
mention of Janet, her cousin had gone and blabbered her concern
about the dark Highlander. And likely, as well, made mention of
what she viewed as Caitlin's improper interest in the man.

Needing a moment to gather her wits about her, Caitlin dusted
off the petals still clinging to her hands over the mortar. Moving
to the nearest cabinet, she took down two jars, one containing
beeswax and the other imported olive oil. She next found a small
cast-iron pot, added a cupful of beeswax and a spoonful of olive
oil to the pot, and stirred the two together. Then, because she
knew she couldn't delay the inevitable discussion without stirring
her sister-in-law's suspicions all the more, Caitlin looked up.

"He's big, braw, and holds most things closely to himself. Yet,
for all his threadbare clothes, he carries a finely made claymore.
And his speech isn't that of a common peasant."

"So, ye think he bears watching, do ye?"

"Aye. Kenneth is likely what he claims to be-a traveling
bard-and Darach could just as likely be his guard, but no harm's
done keeping a close eye on them. Time will tell the truth of
their claims."

"Janet made mention of this Darach's interest in ye." Anne
cocked her head. "And, more to the point, of yet apparent interest in him."

So, here it comes.

Caitlin expelled a long, exasperated breath. "I already said he
was braw. Indeed, I'd wager he'd catch even yer eye, if ye weren't
so besotted with my brother. But the act of admiring a man's
looks is hardly the same thing as swearing undying love and
devotion to him."

"I just don't want to see ye hurt again, like yer were over Lord
Graham. And neither does Niall."

"So, Janet's gone to Niall as well, has she?" Anger swelled in
Caitlin. This time, her well-meaning but loose-tongued cousin
had gone too far. She would soon hear a few choice words on
that topic, and no mistake.

"Nay, as a matter of fact, Janet hasn't," Anne replied calmly.
"It was difficult enough for her even to come to me. As for Niall,
he isn't even here. Shortly after ye all left for Dalmally, he was
called away to Inveraray for some pressing business. I expect he'll
be gone at least two or three days."

Inveraray Castle-the seat of the Argyll Campbells. Caitlin
could only wonder what plot the wily old earl was concocting
this time. Another attempt at a land grab from some smaller,
unsuspecting clan, no doubt. But since Niall had so far managed
to avoid involving his branch of the clan in such underhanded
dealings, Caitlin had to surmise this trip involved some other
issue altogether.

"Well, it's for the best then," she said as she took up the mortar
and pestle and proceeded to grind the dried marigold petals into
a fine powder. "The main reason I invited Kenneth and Darach
to stay here was so we-and especially Niall-could enjoy some
harping and song. But now I'll have a chance to see to the bard's
foot and get it on its way to healing before Niall's return."

"Aye, Niall does like his music. And ever since little Brendan
came along"-Anne cast her son a loving glance-"I've had little
time even to take down my clarsach, much less play it. Not
that," she added with a laugh, "I was ever as proficient as dear old Arthur. Why, the sounds he could coax from his harp surely
gave the angels pause."

"I suppose we can't expect such expertise from Kenneth, considering his age and all, but hopefully he can at least earn his keep.
Darach claims the bard owns a very finely wrought clarsach. That
would lead one to believe the man himself is worthy of it."

"One would think so." Anne transferred Brendan up into her
arms. "I'd love to see the harp and meet both men, but just now
I have a soggy bairn to attend to."

"Well, depending on the condition of Kenneth's foot, mayhap
they can join us for the supper meal. Two hours' time should be
more than enough to see to his foot. Once I get this ointment
cooked over the kitchen fire and cooled, that is."

"Then I'll be going and not keep ye from yer task."

Caitlin sniffed the air delicately and grinned. "Nor will I keep
ye from yers, for I'd lay odds that wee Brendan has more than a
wet diaper to change."