Five

Darach handed Loki to a lad in the stable and hurried up the hill toward the keep. He found himself breaking into a run and slowed down. Everything was in order.

About to mount the steps that led to the keep’s heavy wooden door, he paused and wondered if Caitlin was still in the kitchen or in her room bathing. A vision of her naked in a tub of steamy water heated his chilled flesh. He sighed as the familiar ache filled his groin, all the time he’d spent in the icy water suddenly for naught.

Shaking his head, he glanced toward the kitchen and noticed a group of people milling around the building that stood separate from the keep.

The heat of desire turned to anger as he realized what they were doing.

His steward, Henson, a tall, thin, bald man, peeped through a closed shutter, while the stable master, Ronald, short and sturdy, stood behind on his tiptoes, trying to see past him. Others crowded around as well—some of the young women who helped in the keep and a few grooms. Darach’s cook, Ness—a middling woman who had been lovely in her day and now was as round through the hips and breasts as one of the standing kettles in which she cooked her stews, peered through a crack in the door—perhaps as Caitlin soaked in the wooden tub in the kitchen.

He marched toward them, intent on bashing the heads of the men together. One of the lasses saw him coming and squeaked. After bobbing a quick curtsy, she hastened away. Others beat their own retreat, but Henson, Ronald, and Ness were too entranced to notice his arrival. Darach grabbed the men by the scruff of their necks and hauled them away from the window. They howled in surprise.

Ness rushed over. “Laird, ’tis not what you think!”

Darach stopped just short of braining them. Ronald and Henson cowered in his grip, petrified, but also guilt ridden. It was exactly as he’d thought.

“I believed they were spying on the lass as well and did give them a tongue lashing for it, but ’tis not true. She bathes the lad, and he stands there willingly. ’Tis a miracle.”

When he looked over, tears trailed down her cheeks. Ness had five grown children of her own and had spent much time with Fergus in the kitchen, trying to mother him, to no avail.

He grunted and released the men, balling his hands into fists. “I willna abide any man spying on the lass. To do so is an insult to me, and I will act accordingly. She has the protection of the MacKenzies, and you will treat her with honor. Do I make myself clear?”

The men nodded. “Aye, Laird.”

The message would spread like wildfire through the clan. Anyone who dared treat Caitlin with disrespect would be well warned. He walked to the kitchen door and pushed into the darkened room. His gaze found them immediately. Fergus stood naked in a pail of water, eyes wide. He held a squirming kitten in his hands as far away from his body as possible. Darach watched as Aila gave the lad a new kitten to hold and placed the other one on the table with its littermates. Caitlin washed the boy’s body with a rag and soap, while Edina poured a pail of water over his hair, rinsing away the suds.

Darach wouldn’t have said Fergus was willing, but as willing as any lad his age when put in a tub. It was a far cry from the last time Darach had come upon a similar scene—the lad struggling and screaming in fear as the women tried to wash him. Now, Fergus looked anxious and uncomfortable, but not deathly so. Till he saw his laird standing by the door.

At that moment, his face paled and he whimpered pitifully. Darach cursed his own stupidity. The poor lad had been in just such a position when his father had entered their cottage and attacked his mother. Darach had brought the boy’s memories back unwittingly.

Caitlin looked up and met Darach’s gaze. He turned to leave, but she stopped him.

“Nay, Darach, stay, but come forward slowly, so we can see more than just your shadow. Maybe sit on that stool.” She pointed to a stool by the hearth. Darach hesitated, then moved toward it. The lad still whimpered. The sound crushed Darach’s heart. He’d been unable to save the mother, but God willing, Caitlin could save the son.

“Look, Fergus,” she said, “’tis your laird come to visit. You must show him your kitten, for Darach loves cats. He told me so himself when I found them in the forest.”

Cheeky lass.

Darach sat and smiled at the lad. The squirming kitten distracted Fergus. He lost his pallor and turned to Aila, who handed him a third kitten, placing the second one on the table. Darach hid a grin. The poor kits, being used in such a fashion. He knew it was Caitlin’s doing, none other would have had such imagination. She would win a place in the heart of every MacKenzie for this.

“Fergus, may Darach come closer to see the kitten?” she asked. “’Tis Justice you now hold, and he loves to crawl up your laird’s chest to play with his hair. The kit may even suckle on his chin. ’Tis verra sweet.”

She continued to wash the lad with soothing strokes, but she avoided staring at him, as if he were a dog she didn’t want to aggravate. She’d mentioned her mother had been good with animals and had taught Caitlin how to tend them. Whatever she’d done had worked with Fergus too.

When the lad nodded, Darach moved the stool closer and sat on it. His knees were a hand’s width away from Fergus, who eyed Darach for a moment, then sat Justice on his lap. Sure enough, the kitten ran straight up Darach’s chest, making him wince as tiny claws found purchase in his clothes and skin. Justice batted the wet strands of hair hanging past Darach’s ears.

The women laughed, and Fergus did something Darach hadn’t seen him do in a long time. He smiled.

Thank you, Caitlin.

Ness had followed Darach into the kitchen and now held out a large linen to dry the boy. “Och, would you look at that? There’s a wee lad behind all that dirt. Come and dry off, Fergus.”

Fergus looked at Caitlin, and she nodded. “Once you’re dry, you can have all four kittens at once.”

Eyes round, the boy stepped gingerly from the pail and let himself be wrapped up by Ness. “I canna thank you enough, lass,” she said, tears running down her face even though she smiled.

Caitlin smiled back, also teary. Lovely, too, with her flushed cheeks, damp hair, and wet clothes clinging to her curves. No wonder the men had been spying.

But underneath, Darach saw the exhaustion, her skin pale beneath red cheeks, eyes too bright. She needed a bath of her own, some food, and a bed.

He handed Justice to Aila, then stepped around the pail and took Caitlin’s hand. “You look ready to drop. ’Tis time someone took care of you. Say good night to the lad.”

“But I must tend the kittens, and Fergus needs my help.”

“Nay, you’ve done enough. Fergus can tend the kittens now. Edina, Ness, and Aila will show him what needs to be done.” He eyed the boy. “Isna that right, lad?”

Fergus nodded, looking lost in the folds of cloth.

“Are you sure, Fergus?” Caitlin asked. “The kits will need more milk and a pan of sand to use as a privy.”

“Doona worry. I’ll see to it,” Edina said.

“But what about the dogs? I have yet to train them.”

“They’re out hunting with my men.” Darach tugged her toward the door. “Say good night, Caitlin.”

“But—”

“Say good night, Caitlin.”

She huffed, then looked back at Fergus and stuck out her tongue. “Good night, Caitlin.”

Fergus smiled again.

* * *

The sun was setting as Darach led her through the bailey. It was later than she’d thought, and other than a few men down by the stables, the big yard was empty. Maybe everyone had gone inside for the evening meal. When he reached the keep and mounted the steps to the second floor, she was suddenly self-conscious. What would his clan think of her? Especially knowing she’d been drugged and handed over to Laird Fraser like cattle.

They would speculate about her situation, of course—’twas only natural—but would they guess the truth? And if they did, would they consider her their enemy?

The hall was dark compared to outside, but her eyes soon adjusted, and she looked around the large, empty room. A grand hearth with a roaring fire took up the wall to her left. A smaller fire burned in a hearth in the opposite wall. Sweet-smelling rushes covered the floor.

She sighed in relief. Her uncle’s keep had been dirty and the stink had made her gag.

Opposite them, stairs led to a balcony on the third floor that overlooked the room.

“Please stop. I want to see your home.”

He changed direction and walked with her to the smaller hearth, which was flanked by several chairs with embroidered cushions and footstools. Heat from the flames poured over her.

A colorful tapestry depicting a hunt hung on the wall above the hearth. Darach followed her gaze. “My mother made it. And the one above the other hearth as well.”

The detail in the design amazed Caitlin. She couldn’t imagine the time and patience it must have taken to complete. “She was fair talented with a needle. ’Tis a skill I lack.”

“You have other talents.”

“Like what?”

“Like what you did for Fergus. We’ve been trying to soothe him for months. None thought to do what you did.”

Caitlin shrugged, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. “’Twas not difficult. I just told him cats are verra clean creatures and doona like to be touched by dirty fingers. So he washed his hands. Then he wanted to kiss the kits, so he agreed to have his face washed.”

“And the bath?” Darach asked.

“Well, he wanted to hold and cuddle the kits, now didn’t he? So he agreed to a bath. Edina and Aila helped me. As did the kittens.”

He gazed at her, dark eyes intent on her face. A blush rose in her cheeks and she looked away, overheated despite her damp clothes. The rest of the hall came into focus. Lit sconces and an array of finely crafted weapons covered the remaining walls.

High above, narrow, shuttered windows were built into the outside wall. For defense as well as light.

Toward the main hearth was a table on a dais, with wooden chairs on one side. Additional tables and benches were pushed back and stacked neatly in a corner. They would be set out when Darach’s household and his men gathered for dinner.

“Isn’t it time for your men to sup?”

“Most of them are on patrol. You will meet everyone soon enough. Maybe in the morning we’ll go down to the village.”

“I’d like that.”

She shivered as a draft blew the heat from the fire away, and concern crossed Darach’s face. “You’ll catch your death of cold down here in those wet clothes, and you look weary enough to sleep where you stand.” He reached down and scooped her up into his arms. She squeaked in surprise.

“Darach, put me down.”

“Nay. You’re exhausted.”

She squirmed to get loose. “What if someone comes in? I doona want them to think me feeble. Put me down.”

He snorted and his arms tightened around her as he carried her across the great hall. “If they do, I’m sure you’ll disabuse them of the notion.”

Caitlin didn’t know whether to be pleased or miffed by his comment. For certain, she didn’t want to seem weak, but it was the way he’d said it, like she was a harridan or something. She poked him in the chest for good measure. He smiled.

The door squeaked open and Lachlan entered. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Darach carrying her. They slowed to speak to him.

Caitlin flushed. “He willna put me down.”

“Are you chilled?” he asked.

She thought about it. The surge of heat from earlier had faded. “Aye.”

“Then he should not. He should have you in a hot bath or a warm bed.” His lips twitched. “Which would you prefer, Darach?”

Darach spun on his heel and marched up the stairs that led to the balcony and the third floor. “Both,” he replied over his shoulder.

Caitlin frowned when Lachlan laughed. He did find much to laugh at. Too often she didn’t know what had amused him. She couldn’t imagine him leading his clan the way Darach did—with such power and control.

They were halfway up the stairs when she realized he’d misspoke. “You canna have me in both, Darach. In the tub, I’d be wet and naked. In the bed, I’d be warm and dry. They’re opposite.”

He stumbled and almost dropped her. When he spoke, his voice sounded strangled. “Aye, lass. Maybe we should speak on something else.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and he walked down a shadowy corridor lit by sconces. He stopped in front of a door and pushed through. Caitlin cast an eager glance around the chamber, lit by a roaring fire in a grand hearth. A large, soft-looking bed with a canopy, a carved chest, and a stand with a washbasin and ewer filled the room. Beside the pitcher, sat a hairbrush.

She gasped and struggled to free herself from Darach’s arms. For a moment, he held her tight. After he released her, she ran for the hairbrush and held it against her chest, then tried to look everywhere at once.

The soft quilts and pillows on the bed tempted her, but she couldn’t fathom having a sleep just yet. In front of the hearth sat a chair with an embroidered cushion and a footstool. She hurried over and sat as close to the fire as possible, soaking up the warmth.

Darach crossed the room and unlatched the shutters over the window. “Come and look.”

He pushed them open just as she rushed to his side. The gloaming was upon them, coloring the sky in soft purples and pinks. The view spread out over the castle wall, to the village and loch below.

“Oh, Darach. It’s beautiful! What a gift. I shall treasure it always. If e’er I am uncertain or afraid, I shall close my eyes and picture myself here with you.”

“What do you mean? Picture yourself here with me?”

“Well, I must go soon, mustn’t I? If I leave it too late, the snow will be upon me before I reach France’s shores.”

He stilled, other than a tiny twitch below his eye. “To France? You seek your mother’s family?”

She sighed with relief at his understanding. “Aye, ’tis what I must do. I’m glad you see the right of it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Nay, Caitlin. I doona see the right of it. I see only the wrong. We are in the Highlands. ’Tis a difficult trek to the coast, even in summer, and crossing the North Sea can be treacherous at any time of year. Who will show you the way? I canna leave to take you. We broke the peace—attacked the Fraser laird and stole from him. My clan is on the verge of war.”

“But if I leave, Fraser and my uncle willna come. I canna bear to see anyone hurt because of me.”

He grasped her arms. “’Tis not your burden. The Frasers are our enemy and a threat to all good people in the Highlands. We are prepared to fight.”

“But maybe if I leave—”

“Nay! We will still fight. Laird Fraser is a rabid dog and needs to be put down. His clan culled of rot. What are you thinking, lass? Have you met your mother’s family? Do you know where they live? What sort of people they are?”

“They live in Lyon, and they are the sort of people who raised my mother.”

“They did live in Lyon. By now they may have moved or died. And even if you made it as far as the French coast, ’tis still a long trip inland. Do you think a lass like you with a horse like Cloud will even make it to Inverness without being accosted? You have no coin, no sword, no one to show you the way. ’Tis a fool’s journey. For the love of God, stay here.”

“I canna!”

“Why e’er not?”

The familiar panic that she tried so hard to tamp down pushed up from her belly and threatened to close her throat. “My uncle and Fraser—they’ll find me. I willna go back! I’ll be free of them in France.”

“Nay, Caitlin, you’ll be abused or raped or dead in France—if you even get there. You’ll only be safe if you stay with the MacKenzies. ’Tis all right to be afraid, lass. You survived a horrendous ordeal. But you must think clearly. You canna go to France.”

“Am I your prisoner, then?”

He reared back from her. “Nay, of course not.”

“So if I wanted to ride Cloud through the gates tonight, I could?”

“You would die.”

“But would you let me pass, if ’twas what I truly wanted?”

His eye twitched steadily, along with a muscle in his jaw. Finally he said, “I took an oath to keep you safe, lass, but aye, you could leave. You can leave. But not alone. I will send men with you who know the way and will keep the brigands at bay.”

So he wouldnae control her, lock her away as her uncle had done.

The pressure inside her eased, and on a half sob, half laugh, she threw her arms around his shoulders, impulsively pressing her lips to his. They were as soft as she’d imagined. He stiffened for an instant, then wrapped her in his embrace, one hand sinking into her hair, the other sliding downward to anchor their hips together. A rumble sounded in his chest, and he angled his head, licking the seam of her lips. When she gasped in surprise, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to rub against hers. Heat scorched her skin at the contact, and her breasts tightened—hard and aching. If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed to the floor like a rag doll.

The brush fell from her fingers and crashed to the floor. He yanked his head back, lids heavy, breath harsh and quick. Her own breath rasped in her throat.

“You shouldnae have done that, Caitlin.” His voice grated like he’d swallowed a handful of gravel.

A wave of remorse washed over her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just so happy. It willna happen again, I promise. Please, doona send me back.”

He groaned and pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I willna send you anywhere, sweetling. No matter what you do. ’Tis just…you are such an innocent. I doona think you understand…”

Caitlin waited for him to finish. His hand stroked her hair, and she melted into him. She wanted him to keep caressing down her spine to her bottom. “Understand what?”

He sighed. “My point exactly. Most women wouldnae have to ask. ’Tis troublesome.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, wavering between self-pity and annoyance. “I did not know my gratitude was so unwelcome.”

“That was not gratitude.” Now he sounded annoyed. He tilted her chin up with his finger so she looked at him. “Have you ne’er been kissed before?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She tried to turn away, but he held her tight. “’Tis not your business. I willna tell you.”

“Aye, you will.”

She stepped on his foot, so he’d release her, but instead he wrapped his leg around hers. Trapped and off balance, she clung to him.

“Caitlin,” he prompted.

Her lips pressed together. It was mortifying that, at almost twenty, she’d only been kissed once—by an ogre who’d just told her not to do it again.

The ogre tipped her back farther.

“Hundreds of times,” she said.

“I doona think so. I think your father kept a good eye on you, and then your uncle locked you up. You know naught of kissing or anything else.”

“Fine. I have ne’er been kissed properly, but two did try. The first my father caught before the lad could do more than hold my hand. He was flung from the barn onto his backside. The second I kneed in his privates, a trick my father taught me after the first lad’s failed attempt. In return for my actions, I received this.” Caitlin pointed to her bruised temple.

“Fraser,” Darach ground out, then yanked her into a hug so tight she could scarcely breathe.

For someone who did not want her touch, he held her very close. What was the difference between a hug and a kiss? Surely they were just as intimate. So much so that if her father had seen them, he’d have done much more than throw Darach out onto his backside.

“Did you get him good?” he asked.

“Aye. He fell to his knees, then rolled onto his side and curled up like a bairn. When he could finally stand, he hit my face and then my belly while his men held me. I fainted shortly after. I think maybe he kicked me too, for I have a large bruise on my hip and one on my thigh.”

“I will kill him.” He grasped her waist and gently moved her back to look down at her torso, as if to see the damage.

She moaned again, but this time from fear. “I doona want you hurt. Any of you.”

“He dared lay hands upon you, Caitlin. For that alone, I will gut him. None hurt what is mine to protect.”

* * *

Caitlin sighed as she lay back in the tub. The water felt almost as good as Darach’s kiss—the heat, the melting sensation. Although when she thought about it, as she had endlessly, the kiss had not been nearly as relaxing. His touch had wound her up, created an urgency to… To what? To press closer, for sure. To touch and be touched.

Maybe that’s what it was like to mate, for she knew the female took the male inside her body. She’d seen the animals on the farm in the act, the male mounting the female from behind, but they didn’t look like they felt the way Caitlin had when Darach touched her. Like everything in the world had stopped and her body had gone crazy, melting and boneless yet energized at the same time.

She wondered how it would feel if Darach mounted her in a similar fashion.

The muscles in her belly clenched as she tried to picture it, but she couldn’t grasp how they would come together. He had male parts different from hers, and she knew they fit inside a woman, but she wasn’t sure how. She pictured them kissing again. This time, however, she imagined his hand sliding all the way down her back to squeeze her bottom, like she’d wanted him to earlier. Her center pulsed, and she pressed her knees together, causing the water to lap at her breasts.

The waves felt strange against her hot skin, almost painful, and she bit her lip. Her nipples were stiff, the twin mounds swollen. She ran her thumbs over the pink crests. A moan emitted unexpectedly from her throat as sweet sensations filled the tips and down between her legs. She quickly dropped her hands, but she couldn’t stop picturing Darach’s strong fingers doing what hers had just done. Closing her eyes, she tried to banish the hot thoughts, but they persisted.

Hot thoughts.

Her eyes popped open. Lachlan had said that of Darach. The water cools him down from hot thoughts. She’d assumed the words had meant fever, but Edina had implied something else. Had Darach experienced the same thoughts as her after their kiss? Had he envisioned touching her breasts in the way she’d just imagined? Stroking them with his thumbs?

She flushed as her body tingled and tightened. Then it occurred to her that Lachlan had teased Darach about it before he’d kissed her.

Maybe Lachlan referred to someone else? Someone Darach had met before her.

He was a big, braw man. Women would be drawn to him, maybe even love him, but surely he wouldn’t touch a woman in such a way who was not his wife?

She sighed and shook her head. God’s truth, she was simple. The specifics of tupping may have been a mystery to her, but she was fair certain men enjoyed it and tupped as often as possible. The maids had whispered about it at her uncle’s castle. More than likely Darach had kissed many women before her, even had carnal knowledge of them.

Her throat tightened, and the bath no longer soothed her. She stepped from the tub, wrapped herself in a linen cloth, and moved to sit on the stool before the fire.

Something nagged her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. After blotting the water from her hair, she worked the brush through the long, thick strands. The bed tempted her, but she was loath to put her wet head on the beautiful feather pillow.

She leaned close to the fire to dry her tresses, and the elusive thought came to her. On his mount, as they’d ridden into the bailey, Darach had said if she didn’t get free of him, she wouldn’t be a maid much longer. That meant tupping.

A hot thought…about her.

* * *

Darach stood outside Caitlin’s door and listened. All was quiet. Most likely she slept in the big bed, her body warm from the bath, her skin dewy.

He rested his brow against the wood and sighed. She was such an endearing mix of sweet and fiery. ’Twas obvious she knew naught of tupping, but he was fair certain she’d be an eager student.

Unfortunately, he could not be the man to teach her.

Still, he knocked softly on the wood. When she didn’t respond, he tested the handle. It turned.

Foolish lass.

He peeked inside. The bed was empty and a jolt of alarm shot through him. He rushed forward only to see her sitting on the stool in front of the fire, asleep, her head pillowed on the seat of the chair.

He walked slowly toward her, wondering how he would have let her go if she had insisted on leaving tonight…or any other night.

Her hair hung like a swath of silk to the floor—the same rich brown as a young doe. Wrapped in a large bathing cloth, she was completely covered except for one shoulder that peeped out the top. He’d seen her in less, but just knowing she was naked beneath the linen had him exhaling shakily.

A small smile curved her lips as if she were having pleasant dreams, and her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. He wondered if the rest of her was flushed as well. He could find out. His hand reached down of its own accord before he stopped himself. The devil take him, he was a degenerate bastard. She was in his care.

Where was his honor?

Completely lost if he couldn’t move her to the quilts without the linen falling off. The keep turned cold at night, when the wood burned down. He added more logs to the fire, then readied her bed.

With a fortifying breath, he crossed to her, secured the drying cloth, and gently picked her up. She sighed and snuggled into him.

After depositing her between the covers, he pulled the quilts to her chin. She made a small sound of protest, and he thought perhaps she might waken—wanted her to waken—but she settled back to sleep. He walked quickly to the door.

“Darach?”

Turning slowly, he lost his breath. She sat in a mass of quilts, the firelight glinting off her hair as it tumbled around her shoulders. Her hand reached for him, but he dared not take it.

“Aye, Caitlin.”

She sighed, then lay back down, and he realized she wasn’t fully awake.

“Are you all right, lass?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. He thought she had returned to slumber and was about to leave when her voice came to him, soft and drowsy. Most of the words were incoherent, but what he did hear rooted him to the ground.

“…touch me…please…Darach.” Then after a soft moan that made his blood pound, she added, “Show me…”

Darach strode from the room, through the keep, and out into the cold night air. He would sleep in the kitchen with the kittens and Fergus. Aye, he would sleep there every night till Caitlin left his castle.