Nineteen

Caitlin sat in her chair in front of the small hearth in the great hall. She didn’t remember walking there after Darach had left, but the glow of his kiss had faded, and now she felt drained.

Wallace MacInnes wasn’t her real father.

Tucking her feet beneath her, she wrapped her arms around her legs and dropped her head to her knees. It was all too much. Everything that had happened in the last three days—the last three years—came crashing down and threatened to smother her.

Her mother had been pregnant when she’d met Caitlin’s father—nay, not father. When she’d met Wallace. Did Caitlin’s real father die? Had her mother loved him?

Who was he?

She choked back a sob and closed her eyes. A piece of her had been torn away today. The piece that knew she was the beloved daughter of Claire and Wallace MacInnes, part French, part Scot, orphaned by an accidental fire. Now none of it was true. Not only was Wallace not her father, but also, his brother had killed him and her mother for reasons Caitlin couldn’t fathom. Didn’t want to fathom.

The evil of it appalled her, and she shuddered.

Something cold and wet touched her brow. She raised her head to see Fergus standing in front of her between Hati and Skoll, whose snout had roused her.

The lad looked at her gravely, then leaned forward and wrapped his skinny arms around her neck. “When I feel sad, Edina and Nell, even our laird, tell me ’tis all right to cry.”

She bit her lip, trying to contain herself, then lowered her feet to the floor and pulled him closer. “I know.”

“I doona always want to, but when I do, I feel better, aye?”

Nodding, she kissed his hair. He sounded just like Darach, and a lump formed in her throat. Most likely her husband had said those exact words to the lad. Pressure built in her chest and a tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

“You can cry too, Caitlin. I’ll comfort you.” He climbed onto her lap and tucked himself beneath her chin. She curled around him, resting her cheek on his head.

When Hati lowered his jaw to her knee and looked at her with his soulful, brown gaze, her heart squeezed. She tried to muffle the sobs, but they kept coming, one after the other. Her father had been so dear to her. She’d been his little lass, his piglet.

No longer.

A fresh wave of sorrow hit her and she covered her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldnae be carrying on like this.”

“Nay, you should.” Fergus pried her hands away so he could wipe her cheeks. “Our laird told me to take care of you since he canna be here. ’Tis what family does for each other, aye?”

“Aye.”

“Then ’tis all right. I’m not your son, and I doona think I can be your husband since you already have one, but I’ll be your brother. I always wanted a sister.”

Caitlin half sobbed, half laughed. “And I always wanted a brother.” She kissed his brow. “But you must know I’ll also love you as a son.”

The lad smiled and laid his head on her chest. “’Tis all right if it makes you feel better. I’m glad to have a mother again, even though I miss my ma. She made the best oatcakes and would let me take my frogs to bed.”

A memory rose of Caitlin wanting to take her pet mouse to bed when she was just a wee thing. Her mother had demanded her father get rid of it when she’d discovered Mousey in Caitlin’s pocket. Caitlin had cried her eyes out when he did, but in the morning, she’d awakened with one of the kittens from the barn sleeping in her arms. Her father—aye, her father—had winked at her from his spot at the table before heading out to do his chores.

She smiled at the memory and felt the warmth of his love fill her. He’d often told her stories of watching her mother’s belly get big as Caitlin grew inside before popping out like a little piglet. She’d laugh as he described how he almost dropped her because she was slick as a fish from the loch.

Aye, he’d loved her. And she’d loved him. If anyone were to tell her she couldn’t love Fergus because he wasn’t really her son, she’d laugh. If Fergus were to say it, she’d be devastated. To believe her father incapable of such love did naught but dishonor him and her.

Kissing the lad’s head once again, she wiped her tears and rose, dislodging him from her lap. The dogs danced around her, pleased her mood had lightened.

Then she spotted the horrid bed linen displayed on the rail above the hall. Growling with displeasure, she marched up the stairs and snatched it down. When Edina appeared, Caitlin stalked toward her, the bloody sheet balled up in her hands.

“’Tis what I would have done for my own daughter, so quit frowning and burn the bloody thing if you wish,” Edina said.

“I will. I’ll throw it in the fire!”

“You’re lady of this castle. You can do as you like.”

Caitlin hesitated. It would be wasteful to destroy a good linen.

Edina held out her hand.

Caitlin passed it over meekly. “Please, doona show it to anyone else.”

“There’s no need, Lady MacKenzie. All know what a fine woman you are.”

* * *

Darach sat atop Loki, surrounded by his warriors and Lachlan, watching MacInnes and his men disappear into the forest. It burned Darach to let the devil go after what he’d done to Caitlin and her parents, but it was also a relief. Never again would the filth be close enough to his wife to upset her in any way. From now on, her life would be full of love and laughter.

Tears were henceforth forbidden. He’d damn well make sure of it.

“He’ll turn north at the second ridge and ride to Fraser,” Lachlan said.

They’d brought MacInnes to this spot on the edge of MacKenzie land so it would be simple for him to make the detour to Fraser’s home. Best to keep the rabid dogs in the same den for an easy kill—unless they turned on each other first. Either way worked for Darach, though it would please him to dispense justice personally.

The sun was setting behind the trees when he turned, and he let out a frustrated sigh. He’d wanted to sleep with Caitlin tonight, hold her and ease her distress over her father, but even at his fastest, the castle was still a five-hour ride away. It wasn’t worth the injury to the horses or his men to push on through a moonless night for his own selfish desire.

“She’ll be all right,” Lachlan said, guessing Darach’s thoughts. “She’s a strong lass and will see the right of it soon enough. She’ll not wallow in heartache for long.”

Darach agreed, but his guts twisted thinking of her alone at such a time.

They were approaching the clearing where they would make camp, when Lachlan came to an abrupt halt. Darach, lost in thoughts of Caitlin, kept going. Then an arrow whistled past his head and landed in the tree next to him with a resounding thud. He drew his sword as Loki reared, realizing he’d led his men into an ambush.

“God’s blood,” a familiar voice rang out with disapproval. “You ne’er even looked up. Didn’t I always teach you to scan ahead?”

Darach settled Loki, heart still pounding from the sudden attack. He was now sharp-eyed and clear-witted—seconds too late. That’s what came from having a woman at home.

Sighing, he sheathed his sword, which calmed the other MacKenzies. The huge, redheaded Scot with gray streaks, who glowered at him from atop a black horse was a welcome sight.

Darach glowered back. “You’re on my land, you old bugger. I trust my men to keep my borders safe.”

“Your men are like wee lasses, concerned with getting their beauty sleep and not messing up their plaids. I could have marched a herd of elefaunts through your borders and your lads would still be snoring in their quilts.”

Darach heard his men mutter beneath their breath. He hid a smile. “Hah! You are the elefaunt—thick-skinned, fat, and wrinkled. And so loud you make my ears ache.”

Gregor MacLeod sat up straight on his horse and patted his firm belly. “I’m as fit as I was when I first laid eyes on you—a wee, snot-nosed lad, crying for his mother.”

“I cried, all right. I’d ne’er seen an elefaunt before.”

Gregor threw back his head and laughed, then rode forward to greet Darach.

“Where’s Lachlan?” he asked, crushing Darach in his arms after they dismounted.

“Right behind you, with my sword at your back. Did no one teach you to cover your arse?” Lachlan asked, having circled behind Gregor.

He spun around, grinning, and knocked Lachlan’s sword away. “Aye. What makes you think I’m not protected?”

Darach smiled as he saw his foster brothers Callum, Gavin, and Kerr appear from the trees—all big, strong men, with answering smiles on their faces.

Callum, laird of Clan MacLean, reached Darach first. He was the leanest of the brothers, with sculpted muscles and hawk-like, green eyes. His hair was short and straight, and as dark a brown as it could be without being black. Additional lines marred his face from the last time Darach had seen him, etched there since Callum had taken control of his clan after his father’s suicide. A suicide Callum believed to be murder. If anyone had the shrewdness to unravel the sinister plot, it was him.

“’Tis good to see you, Brother,” Darach said. They embraced, pounding each other on the back.

“And you, Darach. Your lovely lass face, as Kerr would say, has been sorely missed.”

Kerr, laird of Clan MacAlister, shoved his way between them and wrapped Darach in a bear hug. He was the biggest, the oldest, and without a doubt the loudest of the brothers. The man even topped Gregor in height, muscle, and the unending ability to bellow. Of course, it was when Kerr went quiet that a man needed to worry.

Now was not one of those times.

“I ne’er said lovely lass face, you daft bastard. I said ugly-ass face.” Kerr nodded toward Darach’s last foster brother, Gavin, laird of Clan MacKinnon, who punched Lachlan’s shoulder in greeting. “Our Gavin is the only one who’s bonny as a lass. Spends enough time grooming himself in Isobel’s mirror to make sure of it.”

Gavin scowled. “Blasted thing. If you would just marry my sister and take her home with you, I’d be rid of it. She uses it in the sun to blind unwary folk.” Then he smacked his head as if he’d just made an embarrassing blunder. “I forgot. She doesn’t want a dim-witted donkey like you for a mate.”

Kerr grunted. “She doesn’t know what she wants. Why in God’s name your mother made you promise to let Isobel choose her own husband is beyond me. She’ll stay a maid her whole life just to spite me.”

Gavin sighed and nodded, obviously in complete agreement.

He was indeed a bonny man who made the lasses swoon. As fair and tall as his Norse ancestors, with blue-green eyes and long, blond hair, he was the complete opposite of Kerr, who was as dark as the devil himself. But there was a shadow in Gavin now. He’d changed after his disastrous marriage, after losing his son. Turned from the laughing young lad Darach remembered to a bitter and sometimes callous man.

The transformation weighed heavily on Darach’s heart—on all their hearts—and he prayed for a miracle every day. Maybe this time together could lighten Gavin’s spirit and bring back the fun-loving boy of Darach’s youth. God willing, Caitlin could work her magic on him too.

They made their way into the clearing and set up camp. With the fire roaring, they settled down on their plaids for fried oatcakes, roasted rabbit, and much ale. Darach knew the night would be long and looked forward to it, even though he missed having Caitlin by his side.

“I canna believe you let Gregor get so close,” Gavin said as he gnawed on a haunch of meat. “You used to be able to sniff out an ambush a mile away.”

Darach frowned, feeling the heat rise up his neck. No one could see it in the dark, but it irked him all the same. He never should have been so careless, and before he met Caitlin, he wouldn’t have been. Which didn’t make sense, because now that she was in his life, he needed to be even more vigilant.

“It’s to be expected,” Lachlan said. “His mind’s elsewhere nowadays. ’Tis surprising he can even feed himself or mount a horse. All he can think about is Caitlin.”

Four curious sets of eyes turned toward him. Gregor’s stare sharpened, his fresh-off-the-griddle oatcake forgotten. “Who is Caitlin?”

Darach sighed. They would question him like a bunch of old women far into the night now. “My wife.”

As one, their jaws dropped, making Lachlan laugh. Kerr was the first to recover. “I canna believe you waited this long to tell us.”

“And how was I supposed to get a word in? The only one who knows how to hold his tongue around here is Callum.”

“That’s because he’s thick as a bloody brick,” Kerr said. “He doesn’t have an intelligent thought in his head.”

Callum picked up a stone and flicked it at Kerr, hitting him in the middle of his brow. Kerr slapped his hand over the injury and rolled backward. “God damn it, you wee shite. That hurt.”

The other men fell over laughing. Callum turned to Darach with a grin. “The stone shattered upon his head, I’ll wager. The man’s a bloody, great rock. He’ll crush poor Isobel the first time he touches her.”

Gavin sat up abruptly. “Och! I’ll hear no more of that. There’ll be no talk of crushing or touching my sister. She’s an angel.”

They’d all met Isobel, and though she was a beauty, there was no doubt she was more devil than angel. She’d run Kerr a merry chase over the years and would continue to do so as long as he allowed it. The problem was he was trying to woo her. Subtlety was not his strong point. He was a man of action, and it would not surprise Darach to one day hear that Kerr had given up and kidnapped her like the men of old.

Gavin, Darach was fair certain, would be relieved.

“I ne’er thought you’d be the one to marry,” Gavin said. “Callum, aye, if Maggie will still have him after all these years. Or Kerr, if Isobel e’er relents—”

“She’ll relent. I have a plan.”

The men all groaned. Kerr’s plans usually began and ended with him using brute strength. No doubt it would not go over well with his future bride.

“I ne’er expected to marry either,” Darach said. “But Caitlin…” He couldn’t continue, unable to describe what she’d done to him, how she’d somehow found her way into his heart, become as necessary to him as breathing.

He didn’t need to, because Lachlan took over.

“She’s lovely. A sweet, funny lass. Mind you, she doesn’t mean to be funny. I doona know when I’ve laughed so much as watching Darach trying to control her over the past few weeks. Her intentions are good, but she’s trouble. It follows her around like a faithful hound.”

“Why would you marry a troublesome lass?” Gavin asked.

“Because he loves her,” Lachlan replied, startling Darach. “We all do, even when she’s executing some harebrained plan you know will cause more problems than the ones she’s trying to solve.”

Warmth spread in Darach’s chest at Lachlan’s amused tone. Aye, Caitlin was lovable. Darach would adore her till the end of his days. Tuck her next to his heart and keep her there. Not that she needed to know that. She’d most likely take full advantage of his feelings and have him build three chapels in his bailey instead of one.

Gavin snorted. Venom filled his words when he spoke. “I thought Christel was lovable when I married her. We were going to live in wedded bliss with our bairns for the rest of our lives. Women lie.”

Darach’s ire rose. His eyes hardened and met Gavin’s bitter gaze. “If you think to disparage my wife by comparing her to Christel, Brother, have your sword ready. Your wife was vain and selfish, on par with my Moire. They poisoned both our lives, causing death and heartache. I know not the pain of losing a bairn as you do, just the notion of it through Moire’s lies, but I did lose many of my clan, including my father, through her treachery. Caitlin is the antidote to that poison. A lass full of joy and goodwill despite her own hardship and sorrow. You will treat her as a beloved sister when you meet her, or you will leave my land.”

Silence fell. It was as if everyone, including the horses and creatures of the forest, waited with bated breath for Gavin’s answer. His mouth was carved in a straight, hard line while pain and anger ravaged his handsome face. Darach could see his brother wanted to fight, wanted to release his grief in killing blows and bloodshed. Then his expression crumpled with regret.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

The night breathed once again. Darach held out his hand.

Gavin clasped it in a bruising grip. “I’ve let her taint every part of me. I am pleased for you, Brother. Caitlin sounds like a wonderful lass.”

“She is…when she’s not digging up my bailey or drowning in the river.”

“God’s blood,” Gregor exclaimed, eyes wide. “You will recount everything.”

They did, Lachlan telling most of it while Darach added to or protested Lachlan’s debatable remembrances. His brothers laughed themselves hoarse over Darach’s numerous trips to the loch, Lachlan losing all his coin, and Caitlin branding herself a besom, then claiming Darach was an innocent victim of her lewd advances. They listened with quiet dread as he related saving her from the river and the subsequent ill health that befell them both. They erupted in anger upon the telling of her parents’ murder and Caitlin’s treatment by Fraser and her uncle. Then they sighed like women when Darach finally made her his bride.

“I’m so happy for you, lad,” Gregor said, his voice rough as he wiped a tear from his eye. “I think you’ve found your Kellie.”

Darach’s heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up. Kellie MacLeod, Gregor’s beloved wife, who’d died years before during childbirth, taking her triplet babes with her. Kellie, whom he’d never stopped grieving, never thought to replace. The woman who’d inspired him to create peace in the Highlands by bringing the brothers together.

She’d been Gregor’s life. His love. His happiness.

Fear settled in Darach’s heart at the thought of losing Caitlin in such a way. He caught the eye of Kerr and Callum and knew they were thinking of Isobel and Maggie. Not their wives yet, but surely meant to be. And maybe meant to die bringing their bairns into the world.

It was a heartrending thought and Darach pushed it from his mind, determined more than ever to protect Caitlin and see to her happiness.

He raised his cup, a slight tremor in his voice as he spoke. “To Gregor and Kellie MacLeod—a great man and an even better woman. May we all be destined for a love just as true.”