“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.
Highland Promise Page 7