Four

Caitlin gawked at Darach’s castle. She’d never seen such a grand structure. Built atop a hill, it overlooked a fair-sized village on the southern tip of Loch Maree. The stone walls around the bailey rose about three stories high—a bastion of strength. A portcullis guarded the entrance, and beyond that, the keep reached toward the sky.

“My father and grandfather built it in the Norman style,” Darach said. “The stones are mortared and the walls ten feet thick. Naught will harm you here, lass.”

Pride tinged his voice, and Caitlin smiled.

“God’s truth, ’tis a magnificent sight. My uncle’s fortress was wood.”

“The keep was still wood when I was a bairn. ’Twas not as safe, but much warmer in the winter.”

“Surely you have a hearth?”

“Aye, in every room, two in the great hall, but the stone holds the damp.”

They made their way through the village as people called out to them in greeting. Caitlin garnered much attention sitting on the laird’s stallion, and she smiled and waved as they rode by.

She noticed that the folk welcomed their laird formally, but none gave him a personal greeting. Even Lachlan shared a special smile with a woman. Darach seemed oblivious to the slight, but Caitlin was perplexed by it. Surely his people were happy to see him?

Deciding she must be mistaken, she let it go and soaked up the cheerful hustle and bustle around her. It reminded her of her parents’ farm.

“That’s Caitlin,” she heard Gare tell a lad about his own age. “We saved her from the Frasers. She’d been knocked out and tied over a horse. Our laird is keeping her at the castle.”

A thrill shot through her. ’Twas wonderful to think she would be staying at Darach’s keep—at least until she could figure out how to get to Inverness and then across the sea to France. She did not know how long she’d have till Fraser or her uncle found her. And they would—Fraser’s eyes had gleamed madly every time he’d visited her uncle’s castle to bargain for her. She knew how relentlessly obsessed he was. He’d bring that madness here, hurt all these good people if she didn’t leave soon.

But until then, she would have a room of her own and could go to the stables to feed Cloud whenever she wanted, nurse her kittens in the kitchen, even visit people in the village and make new friends—all without fear of repercussions.

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed to loosen it. She hadn’t had a friend in three years. People in her uncle’s keep were afraid of him and had kept their distance. She’d understood and never blamed them, but it had been a lonely, difficult time.

One best forgotten, for she was not going back.

She was going forward—with the MacKenzies for now, later to her mother’s family, God willing.

At the moment, however, she needed to find the kitchen and tend to the kittens, then for a bath. A real one. In a tub filled with hot, soapy water. She’d done what she could to wash when they’d stopped to camp, but verily, her hair was knotted like mice had burrowed in it. None of the men had thought to bring a hairbrush. ’Twas not the Highland way, Oslow had said.

Leaning back against Darach, a longing rose to throw her arms around him and kiss the fierce scar that slashed through his eyebrow, to bite his strong, stubble-covered chin and lick his soft lips. Aye, she wanted to kiss those lips, have them pressed to her own. She wanted his hands to tunnel into her hair and hold her fast as he kissed her back.

An urge to move her hips overcame her, and she thrust her bottom against the hard mass behind her.

His arms wrapped around her body, holding her still. “By the love of God, lass, doona move. We’re almost there.”

His hoarse voice made her want to move some more, but he held her so tight she couldn’t shift even one inch. Instead, she pressed her cheek to his chest and inhaled his scent—leather, fresh air, horses, and that uniquely musky scent of man.

Of Darach.

He shuddered against her, and an answering shudder racked her body. He stilled. His breath came heavily against her ear, tickling her neck.

“Caitlin, are you all right?”

“Nay, I feel strange. Jittery and odd in my belly, and I canna catch my breath.” She wrapped her arms around his and held tight. “Do you feel sick too?”

His legs pressed against her thighs and heat rushed through her, flooding her groin. Caitlin almost moaned, but she didn’t want to worry him.

“Aye, I’ve felt sick e’er since I sat you on my horse, but you canna give in to it now, sweetling. We’re almost there and you’ll be free of me.”

“I doona want to be free of you.”

“Aye, you do,” he said firmly. “Or you willna be a maid much longer.”

She gasped. Surely he couldn’t… He wouldn’t… “What do you—”

“You know exactly what I mean, so quit squirming and not another word. You’ve almost done me in with your last ones.”

He urged Loki into a trot and they passed under the portcullis. She pushed aside her disturbing thoughts and concentrated on her surroundings. The horses’ hooves echoed loudly as they proceeded through a stone tunnel and into a large bailey. The keep, which she now counted at five stories high, stood at the far end. She could see other buildings as well—the stables, the barracks for his warriors, the kitchens, with a nearby well. Looking around for a chapel, she was surprised by its absence. The bailey was large enough for several of them.

In front of the barracks stood three poles. One had what looked like a leather bag hanging from it. When he noticed her looking at them, he said, “’Tis for training my men. It’s safer than sparring with each other if they’re learning something new.”

“Where’s the chapel?” she asked. “God’s truth, you have room enough for three.”

“There isna one.”

“Why e’er not?”

He shrugged. “A priest wanders in from time to time and gives mass in the hall at the village.”

“But—”

“It works the way it is. A chapel will be built. Eventually.”

She tried to hold her tongue and failed. “The state of your soul and the souls of your people should be your first priority.”

“Nay, their continual safety is my priority. The state of their souls means little when a sword is driven through their bellies. And I know what you will say to that, but ’tis too late. We have arrived.”

They came to a halt outside the keep. A gray-haired woman appeared at the top of the stairs that led down to the courtyard. Not one hair was out of place and every pleat in her arisaid was folded perfectly. She looked dour, and Caitlin bit her lip. Then the woman smiled, and her face creased into laugh lines.

“Greetings, Laird MacKenzie,” she said with a formal curtsy. She eyed Caitlin, then turned to Oslow. “Husband, you look as if a mangy fox sits atop your head. Did you not use the hairbrush I packed in your bag?”

Caitlin gasped. “Nay. And when I asked for one, he said ’twas not the Highland way. These men think ’tis a badge of honor to carry the forest home with them. Verily, I have a clan of mice living in my hair.”

Darach snorted. “To keep as pets, I wonder? Or to feed the kits you carry home from the forest?”

“Och, no. The kittens are too young for mice. I will feed them milk.”

“Then you should go do so.”

He grasped her waist, lifting her from the saddle, and leaned over to gently set her down. When her feet touched the ground, she leaned into the stallion’s side and looked up at him. Without Darach’s strong arms around she felt…bereft. “And you?” she asked.

“To the loch, to wash off the forest I carry with me.”

“’Tis Darach’s ritual,” Lachlan said. “The water cools him down from hot thoughts.”

“Hot thoughts?”

Darach gave Lachlan a dark look, then ignored her question and motioned to the gray-haired woman who’d descended the stairs. “Edina, this is Caitlin. She will be living with us. Put her in Lachlan’s room and shift Lachlan to the top floor. ’Tis colder up there, but the extra steps will warm him, give him time to think before he speaks.”

Lachlan grinned. “If it’s colder, perhaps you should sleep up there, Brother. Less trips to the loch.”

“Are you feverish, Darach?” Caitlin asked. “Maybe you should go straight to bed. I’ll see to your needs.”

Darach closed his eyes as if he were praying, which pleased her. Surely God wouldn’t strike down a pious man.

Lachlan laughed and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “By God, I am glad we found you. ’Tis a fortunate Scot who’ll snare you as wife. Doona you agree, Darach?”

Darach gazed at her a moment, then nodded his head. “Go feed your kits, lass.” As he wheeled Loki around, he said to Edina, “Take care of her.”

Caitlin watched the men go, her heart pounding. “Darach!”

He turned to her. She was at a loss for what to say as she stared at him. Foolish tears would surely fall if she didn’t speak, so she said the first thing that entered her mind. “You need a chapel. There is no more important time to be concerned about your soul than when the sword is in your belly.”

* * *

Edina led Caitlin across the bailey, toward the kitchen. The housekeeper had suggested she might want a bath before she did anything else, but Caitlin was adamant about feeding the kittens first.

“I’m surprised the laird let you keep them,” Edina said. “He doesn’t like cats.”

“Aye, he pretended to leave me when I refused to abandon them, but deep down I knew he’d come back. He’s such a softhearted man. Darach wouldnae leave me in danger after saving me from the Frasers, now would he? Especially o’er helping these wee ones.”

She burrowed her face in the folds of her arsaid and kissed the kittens’ heads.

When she looked up again, Edina’s brow had furrowed. “You speak of Laird MacKenzie?”

“Aye, how many Darachs have you here? Is it a common name?”

“Nay, there’s just the one. But softhearted?”

“Like your Oslow. A dear, sweet man.”

Edina smiled. “That he is, but my Oslow wouldnae want anyone to know it. Nor would your Darach.”

Her Darach. Caitlin liked how that sounded even though it could never be. It warmed her inside, which made her think of his fever. “I hope he’ll be all right.” When Edina looked at her quizzically, she continued. “The fever. Maybe he shouldnae be swimming if he’s coming down sick.”

“Ahh, well now…I doona think you need worry. Surely, Laird MacKay was teasing him.”

“Teasing him?”

“Aye.”

“So he’s not sick?”

“Nay.” Edina raised a brow. “How old are you, lass? You look long past the age of marriage, yet you seem younger. I was seventeen when I married Oslow. Eighteen when I had Angus.”

“I’ll be twenty next month. Not so old.”

“Not so young, either. You should be married and having bairns. Where’s your mother? Your father?”

“They died three years past. I’ve been alone e’er since, but I plan on finding my mother’s family in France. Surely they will take me in.”

“And how will you get there?” Edina asked, brows raised. “’Tis not a journey to make lightly. You doona want to be stuck in the Highlands without shelter o’er the winter.”

“I have Cloud.” At the housekeeper’s confused look, she said, “My horse. And surely if I leave in a few weeks I can make it to the mainland before snowfall. ’Tis not quite summer. Maybe I can ride with a merchant heading east?”

“Ah, lass, I fear you’ve not thought this through. ’Tis a dangerous journey, especially for a woman. Have you e’er met your mother’s kin? Do you know if they’re good people?”

“Well…nay, but my mother was a fine, hardworking woman, and she loved me well. Surely her family would do the same.”

They reached the kitchen door, and Edina waylaid her with a hand on her arm. “You know naught of her circumstances before she met your da. Stay with us a wee while. See if you like it. The MacKenzies will take care of you. You willna be alone any longer.”

Caitlin’s chin wobbled with a sudden onslaught of emotions. “Thank you, Edina. It means much to hear you say so. But…”

“But what, lass?”

“My uncle and Laird Fraser, they’ll find me.” A tremor racked her body and she breathed deeply to quell her panic. “They willna stop. I’ve seen the madness in Fraser’s eyes, the greed in my uncle’s. I willna have that foulness unleashed on clan MacKenzie. Nor will I be taken back by the devils, locked up, and worse. Those men are not men at all. They’re monsters.”

“And the MacKenzies will strike them down. ’Tis what good people do.”

Caitlin’s heart squeezed. She held the kittens with one arm, then wrapped the other arm around Edina’s slim shoulders. “Darach leads an honorable clan.”

The other woman sighed and patted Caitlin’s back. “’Tis not true of everyone. I must tell you there’s a lad inside named Fergus, just seven years old. His father, a MacKenzie, beat his mother to death in front of him.” Caitlin pulled back, horrified, as Edina continued. “It’s been three months, and the boy’s not said a word. He’ll sleep only in the kitchen and refuses to take a bath, for his mother was bathing him when her husband struck her. We take turns at night watching him.”

“Oh no. Poor laddie.”

“You may not want to get too close, for he smells poorly,” Edina continued. “We tried to force him to bathe, but Laird MacKenzie forbade it. He said the lad needed time to heal, and scrubbing him with soap and water was not the way to do it.”

“Aye, he’s right. Fergus must want to change for himself or it willna work, like a dog that’s been abused. My mother taught me how to soothe such animals. Too much attention makes them nervous. They must be enticed into the world again.”

They entered the kitchen and Caitlin’s eyes adjusted to the darkened room. Along one wall hung several pots over a large hearth. The other wall housed two ovens. Wooden shutters opened to the afternoon light, keeping the room cool, and two large tables filled the center.

On a bench near the fire, an old woman was cleaning and scaling a basket full of fish. Caitlin smiled in greeting. The woman smiled back toothlessly.

“Caitlin, this is Aila,” Edina said. “Aila helps our cook, Ness, who’s at the village right now. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. Word of your arrival will have reached her ears.”

Caitlin was about to go over and make the old woman’s acquaintance when she saw a bedraggled lad crouched on a pallet in the corner. She gasped softly. “God have mercy. The poor dear.”

“Aye,” Edina said, nodding.

His plaid and lèine were torn and soiled, his hair matted, his face, hands, and bare legs dirty. Maybe not so different from other lads his age, but this boy was filthy from lack of bathing, not from chasing pigs through sties or catching frogs in swampy waters—childhood pastimes Caitlin remembered fondly.

She hesitated a moment before heading toward the table nearest the lad. “Hello, Fergus,” she said, then proceeded to ignore him. She opened her arisaid and laid the four kittens on the table so he could see them. They mewed for milk as they tumbled over one another and tried to climb up her dress. She laughed as she pulled sharp claws from the material.

“They’re hungry. We must feed them before they tear up my arisaid. ’Tis the only one I have.”

Edina lifted a wooden pail that sat in a hole in the ground near the wall and poured cold milk from it into two saucers. “Our laird will find you some more. His mother died ten years ago, and he still has her clothes. I’ll help you alter them, if you like.”

“Thanks, Edina, but I doona wish to be a problem.”

“Och, ’tis no problem. It would be a joy to see our lady’s arisaids put to good use.”

She smiled as the housekeeper brought the milk over and laid down the saucers for the kittens. Their incessant mewing stopped as they gathered around and lapped up their meal.

Caitlin pet their silky heads. Their coats were brown, black, and gray, with dark, distinct stripes on their faces and bodies, and rings around their thick, blunt-ended tails. Fergus stood up and craned his neck to see them. She knew he wanted to come over and thought on how to involve him.

“Maybe they would like a place to sleep when their bellies are full. Would you mind sharing one of your blankets with them, Fergus? Their mother has died and canna share her warmth. When they’re old enough, they can find a warm place to curl up in the castle.”

She turned back to the kittens and continued stroking them. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fergus pick up a blanket. He came over slowly, eyes darting back and forth between the women and the kittens. When he was close enough, Caitlin smiled and held out her hand.

He gave her the blanket and stepped back.

After placing it on the table, she moved the kits and milk onto it. “Thank you, Fergus. The kittens appreciate your help. Edina, might I have a pail of hot water and a rag to wash my face and hands? Cats are verra clean creatures and doona like to be touched by dirty fingers.”

“Oh, aye. ’Tis true. One must be clean to play with kittens. I’ll wash my hands as well.” Edina picked up a wooden pail.

“Maybe the larger one.” Caitlin pointed to a pail big enough for the lad to stand in. Edina filled it with temperate water and set it in front of Caitlin with some clean linen rags and a bar of sweet-smelling soap. She almost moaned over the soap pressed with rose petals. She hadn’t seen such items since her mother had died. Cleanliness was not valued by her uncle or his clan.

“Thank you.”

Dipping her hands into the water, she scrubbed off the dirt, then soaked the rag and wiped it over her face, neck, and upper chest. Glorious.

Edina washed as well, then Caitlin cuddled the kittens who had finished their milk and now purred contentedly. Fergus took another step closer and reached for the little female. Voice low and calm, Caitlin said, “You must wash your hands first, Fergus. With soap.” She continued to play with the kits, as did Edina, neither of them paying the lad much attention. Fergus hesitated, then dipped his hands, lathered them with soap, and dipped them again. It was not a very thorough job, but Caitlin didn’t care. She could see by the tears in Edina’s and Aila’s eyes it was a breakthrough for the boy.

Caitlin held out a dry linen. “May I dry them for you, laddie?”

He caught her eye and this time held her gaze.

She smiled at him. “Truly, cats doona like water. They prefer a dry hand.” He nodded slowly and held out his hands. Caitlin dried them, then lifted them to her mouth and kissed each one. She released him and turned to the cats.

“This sweetling is called Temperance. She is so named because she’s the only lassie and needs to be patient with her brothers. This one is named Justice, after your laird, because he’s such a good, just man. This one is named Fortitude because…”

* * *

Darach waded out of the loch naked. He’d stayed in longer than Lachlan, needing time to cleanse Caitlin’s warmth from his skin and her words from his heart and mind.

“I feel strange. Jittery and odd in my belly, and I canna catch my breath.”

To know she was drawn to him, wanted to be touched by him, was almost more than he could bear. How would he keep his distance with her living in his keep? Sleeping so close to him?

He must find her a husband. One who’d treat her well…or answer to him.

“I doona want to be free of you.”

He shook his head. There was no room for a woman in his life. Certainly not one like Caitlin.

He’d desired a family once. Duty to his clan was his only priority now. Women made a man soft.

Pulling on his plaid, he secured it with his belt, then fastened his shoes and pushed back his wet hair. Lachlan had already dressed, and Darach saw Oslow, still looking travel-worn and waiting for them by the horses—impatient to give his final report, no doubt.

Upon reaching him, Darach took the reins in his hand and continued on foot toward the castle. The two men fell into step beside him.

“How much longer can you stay with us, Lachlan?” he asked.

“I would see this through. I’ll not have you or the lass harmed because I left too early. You’ll want all of us by your side when Fraser attacks. ’Twould be a waste of time to return home only to come right back again.”

By “all of us,” Darach knew Lachlan spoke of their foster brothers, Callum, Gavin, and Kerr, and their foster father, Gregor. They’d made a blood oath years ago to protect one another, and his brothers and Gregor would be much aggrieved if Darach did not call upon them in his hour of need.

He clasped Lachlan’s shoulder. “It heartens me to have you by my side.”

Lachlan returned the gesture. “Aye, Darach, as it does me, knowing you will stand by mine.”

Lachlan was not meant to be laird of Clan MacKay, but when his older brother was murdered five years ago, he’d taken the helm, swearing to find his brother’s killer—whom he was closer than ever to identifying. Darach looked forward to the day he could help Lachlan achieve justice for his clan.

They walked in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Darach turned to Oslow. “Have our spies discover what they can about Caitlin from the Frasers. We must know what she’s hiding—God willing, it’s not as bad as she thinks—and the name of her clan. If they align with Fraser, I need to know their strength and their allies. Ask our people first. Her father, Wallace, was the brother of a laird, and he married a Frenchwoman named Claire. A love match, I suspect, that may have caused a breach between the brothers. Surely that is fodder for the gossip mill, and someone will remember.”

“Willna she tell you herself?” Oslow asked.

“Nay, she’s frightened and doesn’t trust me. I erred when I pretended to leave her at the glen with those blasted cats.”

Oslow harrumphed. “If you were to marry the lass—”

“Nay,” Darach cut him off.

It did not help that everyone wanted him to marry Caitlin. God forbid she got the same idea. He’d seen how stubborn she was. It would make life most difficult, and right now, he needed a clear head more than ever.

“Have you increased the guard?” he asked.

“Aye, ’tis doubled within the castle, and the border patrol is tripled. Everyone is on alert, including the villagers. They know what was done to Caitlin and by whom. Gare and Brodie have told the story many times o’er.”

Darach sighed. “Do you think the clan will leave it at that? Or will my keep be overrun by visitors tomorrow?”

Oslow smiled. “You’ll be overrun. Everyone will want to meet her for themselves, express their outrage at her mistreatment. Maybe you should take her to the village in the morning and save them the trouble.”

“I am laird, not a social convener. I have my people and my land to protect. I doona have time to squire her around.”

“Doona worry,” Lachlan said. “I’ll take her, introduce her to all the brawny warriors and eligible young bachelors. You shouldnae be bothered with such trivial things as matchmaking.”

Heat crawled up Darach’s neck. One fist clenched around the reins, the other by his side. Damnation. There was naught he could say now. He’d look a fool.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Lachlan burst into laughter as Oslow coughed into his hand.

Darach marched toward the keep, refusing to look at them. After a moment, he stopped and sighed. “The Frasers will come. We must protect her.”

Then he mounted Loki and raced toward the castle.

To Caitlin.