Six
Caitlin stood in the middle of the village square surrounded by Darach’s clan. Pleased to make her acquaintance was the blacksmith with his four brawny sons, the miller’s wife with her three well-fed sons, and Oslow’s handsome son, Angus, whom she’d spoken to for quite a while. The tanner and his family were there, the baker, the tinker, the weaver. Plus all the folks who farmed the land and fished the loch, as well as many of Darach’s men.
Her cheeks ached from smiling. Everyone was so friendly, so thankful for what she’d done for Fergus and outraged at her treatment by Laird Fraser.
She’d been hugged, kissed, and pinched more times in the last two hours than she had her entire life. Everyone had opened their hearts to her like she was their daughter.
But how would they feel if they knew the truth about her and the evil laird? Would they still want her to stay? Would Darach? He had pledged to protect her, but it was a promise based on half-truths, and she couldn’t consider it binding.
Her smile slipped. Maybe she should take Cloud and just go, even though Darach had been so adamantly against it last night. She didn’t deserve the love and protection the MacKenzies offered.
Glancing over her shoulder, she found Darach standing behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. He’d barely said a word since locating her in the stables earlier.
She hadn’t noticed his reticence at first; she’d been too excited to be back on Loki and in his arms as they headed toward the village. But when they’d come across a group of his warriors training with Oslow, his bad temper had shown itself. Not that he’d yelled or even raised his voice. Nay, his heavy silence was enough to make the men quake in their boots.
He made the villagers nervous as well, for they bowed or curtsied formally, then avoided his gaze.
She moved closer to him and murmured, “If you’d looked like that when you’d found me, I’d have thought you a devil rather than an angel. Verily, Darach, if I have displeased you, tell me, and I’ll leave.”
His frown deepened. “You willna be going anywhere but back to the castle, where I can keep the scoundrels away from you.”
Caitlin stared at him, uncertain of his meaning. Surely he didn’t mean his clan—they were lovely people. He must be worried for her safety, lest the Frasers attack. “Och, there’s no need for such vigilance. Look how many braw young men surround me. The MacKenzies would ne’er let a Fraser through.”
Darach snorted and rolled his eyes heavenward, mouthing a silent prayer. At least, that’s what it looked like to Caitlin. Another of his warriors approached with Gare, and she smiled, the pain in her cheeks forgotten as she greeted them.
“Caitlin, this is Nab,” Gare said. “He’s one of our best fighters and will help keep you safe from the Frasers.”
She nodded. “’Tis an honor, Nab. God’s truth, I appreciate your vigilance. I canna imagine anyone getting past you and the other strong MacKenzies.”
Nab’s chest swelled. “For sure, we’d fight to the death for you, lass.”
She heard Darach snort again.
* * *
Darach wanted to kill Gare for spending the last two hours introducing every young man he knew to Caitlin. One glance and they were as besotted as every other lad in the village, young or old. The women too, who couldn’t get over Caitlin’s success with Fergus.
Brodie was also there, but he was more interested in advancing his relationship with the lasses by introducing them to Caitlin. It was nearly three hours since they’d been surrounded by Darach’s clan. What more could the MacKenzies have to say?
Christ almighty, there was work to be done, crops and livestock to be tended, cottages to be cleaned. He was laird; he should send them home to see to their chores. They would thank him for it at the end of the day.
“It seems to me your clan is either extremely brave or extraordinarily stupid not to be scared away by your frowning face,” Lachlan said.
Darach glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who mimicked Darach’s stance and forbidding countenance.
With a dismissive sound that every Scot learned at birth, he turned back to keep an eye on Caitlin. “You exaggerate.”
Another young man came forward to meet her. Darach’s frown darkened. The lad glanced up and blanched when he found himself the object of his laird’s scrutiny. He gave Darach a nervous bow but did not retreat from Caitlin, as Darach desired.
“Like I said, extraordinarily stupid or extremely brave.”
Darach stepped toward the lad, but Lachlan stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Oslow’s found someone with information on Caitlin’s clan. I’m sure you’ll want to talk to the man yourself.”
Lachlan pointed to the edge of the village square, where Oslow stood beneath a leafy tree with a gnarled, old Scot named Sim MacDuff. His daughter had married a MacKenzie, and Sim had moved in with her three years ago, when his wife had died. Darach stepped toward him, then hesitated. He looked back at Caitlin.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Lachlan said. “I’ll watch o’er the lass. I promise to glower at any man who dares approach her.”
“’Tis for her own protection. Some of them are right rogues. And doona let her hear you curse or you’ll be in for another lecture.”
Lachlan made the same dismissive sound Darach had made earlier, then positioned himself behind Caitlin. After watching for a moment to make sure Lachlan kept the men in line, Darach headed through the crowd toward Oslow and Sim.
“Laird, this is Sim MacDuff,” Oslow said when Darach reached them.
“Aye, I remember. How are you, Sim?”
“Me old bones do ache now and again, but I can still keep up with the latest bairn. A rough-and-tumble lad me granddaughter birthed last year.”
Darach smiled, his first in what seemed like ages. “I’ve met the lad. Iver Keith MacKenzie. He’ll do you proud.”
“To be sure.”
Darach braced his hand against the tree. “You have information for me about a husband and wife named Wallace and Claire, parents of the lass we rescued?” He looked toward Caitlin as he spoke. To his dismay, he saw Lachlan weaving his way through the crowd toward them. Brodie now stood guard behind Caitlin with a forbidding scowl on his face. Darach was surprised to see the man looked fiercer than Darach and Lachlan combined.
When Lachlan reached them, he raised a hand to gainsay Darach. “He’ll do perfectly well. I promised to put a good word in with Murdoc MacKenzie. Brodie is sweet on Murdoc’s daughter.”
“He’s sweet on all the daughters. He’ll forget his task the moment one of them smiles at him.”
“Nay, I’ve seen him with Laren. He behaves like an idiot around her. Forgets how to speak and trips o’er his own feet.” Lachlan grinned slyly. “Glares at any man who looks her way. True love, I reckon.”
Darach caught his meaning and shook his head. He was not in love with Caitlin. “I promised to keep her safe. That’s all.” His fool of a foster brother kept grinning and unease shivered up his spine. He was not falling in love with the lass.
He turned back to Sim. “What can you tell us?”
Sim straightened, so he no longer leaned on his walking stick, proud to be the center of the lairds’ and Oslow’s attention. “I remember the tale because it happened the same summer me daughter married your kin. Una met Fletcher at the summer fair and I wouldnae abide the match until I’d met the lad’s clan, seen where he lived.”
The men nodded in agreement.
“On the journey west, we passed through MacInnes land. ’Tis Wallace MacInnes of whom you speak.”
MacInnes.
The name made his stomach sour, and he realized he’d begun to think of Caitlin as a MacKenzie, the woman she’d become if she married one of the besotted, young men around her—became a wife, a lover, a mother.
Which would b
e better than her ill-thought-out plan to go to France. On the road. Alone. And for what? A family she’d never met?
Nay. She’d have to stay here and marry—and not into his clan. That would be torture. He glanced at Lachlan. A MacKay, perhaps. Caitlin MacKay. That name bothered him even more, and he glowered at his brother who caught the look and raised his brow.
“Wallace MacInnes was the eldest son of the laird,” Sim continued. “He was betrothed to the daughter of a wealthy, lowland laird. I doona remember the clan.”
“The eldest? Doona you mean the second son?” he asked.
“Nay, he was the eldest and would have been laird when the old laird died, but he met a French lass when he was on a mission for our king. Wallace brought her home intending to marry her. ’Twas said her beauty rivaled the sun and the moon put together.”
Darach glanced at Caitlin. Aye, that he believed.
“The laird forbid the match, but Wallace was in love with the lass and married her anyway. He gave up the lairdship to his younger brother, a miscreant of a man by all accounts, and settled on some land that had passed to him from his mother. Me daughter did think it a grand story, but when I heard the old laird died a few months later, I thought the lad a fool. He could have been laird and married his French lass if he’d only waited a while longer.”
A week ago, Darach would have agreed. Now he wasn’t so sure. If he’d been Wallace and Claire had been anything like her daughter, would he have disobeyed his father and married her? Maybe Wallace had thought his father would come around and set things straight before he died.
He gazed toward Caitlin again to find her staring back at him. She smiled, and just like that, he was caught. His heart faltered for an instant, then started up with a fierce pounding. It was as if the world had ground to a halt.
“Laird?”
The village slowly came back into focus, and Darach found himself the object of the men’s attention. Lachlan looked amused.
“What is it?” he asked, his raspy voice belying his calm demeanor.
Sim’s brow puckered in confusion. “I asked if I may take my leave? ’Tis long past the noon meal, and I did promise me granddaughter I’d watch the bairn for her.”
Darach nodded, still trying to collect himself. “Aye. You’ve been verra helpful. If you remember anything else, please tell me immediately.”
Sim nodded and headed toward the village, leaning heavily on his cane.
Darach, Oslow, and Lachlan turned back toward Caitlin, falling silent as they watched the crowd, especially the young men who vied for her attention.
“Caitlin MacInnes,” Lachlan said.
Darach bristled again at the name. He wanted to shout out, Caitlin MacKenzie.
“Bah, she’s not a MacInnes,” Oslow said, expressing Darach’s outrage. “The MacKenzies have claimed her. One of our young men will snatch her up. If not our laird, then maybe my Angus. She did speak to him a long while.”
“She does not plan to stay. She thinks to find her mother’s family in France,” Darach said.
Oslow and Lachlan whipped their heads toward him. “Has she even met them?” Oslow asked, appalled.
“Nay. She doesn’t even know if they still reside in Lyon.”
“That does not bode well,” said Lachlan.
“Are you letting her go?” asked Oslow.
“She’s not my prisoner. I canna stop her from leaving.”
“Then delay her long enough that the snow is upon us. By then she will have been wooed by some young MacKenzie.”
Darach’s fists clenched. Angus would rot in hell before he married Caitlin. They all would.
“Do you know Clan MacInnes?” he asked Oslow.
“Nay. But I’ve heard their laird is cruel. The people are in a bad way.”
“Find out what was done to Caitlin after her parents died and if her uncle had anything to do with the fire that killed them. And if Clan MacInnes joins forces with the Frasers, I need to know their strength.”
“Aye, Laird.” Oslow retreated toward his horse.
“And, Oslow,” Darach said, stopping him.
“Aye?”
“Tell Angus not to get his hopes up.” He turned back to watch Caitlin as Oslow left, ignoring Lachlan, who had raised his brow.
“So, you’ll marry her, then?” his brother asked.
“Nay, I’ll send her away with you to find a decent husband.”
Lachlan’s jaw dropped. “She’ll not go, Darach. She wants to be with you, even if she says she wants to go to France. Besides, she’s the granddaughter of a laird, daughter of the man who should have been laird. We doona even know to whom she lawfully belongs, and you haven’t said it, but that man may be Fraser.”
Darach grunted, not wanting to acknowledge that fact. It made things more difficult, but in the end, it didn’t matter. She was not going back to the Frasers or Clan MacInnes. Or to some unknown entity in France.
He’d promised to keep her safe.
* * *
Caitlin leaned back contentedly against Darach’s chest as they rode along the path that led to the keep. The morning had been pleasant but exhausting, and she’d been relieved when Darach had swept her away on Loki. The strain of the last five days had caught up with her, and all she wanted to do was curl up on her bed for a long nap.
After that, she would consider all Darach had said last night. He was right: her plan was ill-conceived. She needed to make the decision to find her mother’s family after she was rested and not so frightened Laird Fraser would find her. If she decided to go, she would need weeks to prepare. Now was not the time to be running anywhere.
“How did you sleep last night?” he asked after she stifled a yawn.
“Good. I doona even remember falling asleep. One moment I was drying my hair by the fire, the next I awakened on my bed. ’Tis a wonderful chamber, Darach. I canna thank you enough. And for the clothes as well. They’re lovely.” She smoothed her hands over the fine material of her skirt.
“There’s no need for thanks. I’m glad they’re to your liking.” He maneuvered his steed around a rock in the trail, then wrapped his arm about her waist. “And your dreams? How were they?” His voiced had lowered, and the husky timbre caused a flutter in her belly.
“I doona recall. When I first awoke, I’m sure I remembered something, but they slipped away like water. ’Tis a shame. I think they were significant.”
“How so?”
“I doona know. They just felt…different.”
He exhaled heavily and his breath ruffled her hair. “I understand. More than you know.”
“Why? Are your dreams significant too?”
“Aye, since I met you. And I remember every one of them.”
“I’m sorry to be such trouble. You should have left me with the Frasers. I would have escaped eventually.”
His fingers tightened on her waist. “Nothing in this world could have compelled me to leave you.”
She twisted to look at him. “But MacKenzies may be killed.”
“Aye, and the Frasers will be defeated. We’ve spent years preparing for this conflict. I’ve trained my men, strategized, made provisions for every outcome. We willna fail.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Besides, you had no choice in the matter. You were drugged when I stole you.”
“Saved me,” she said.
“What?”
“You didn’t steal me. You saved me.”
He brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Aye.”
They passed beneath the portcullis and rode across the bailey, to the stables. When Darach helped her down from his mount, she crossed to Cloud, who whickered a greeting from his stall.
“How’s my sweet lad?” she asked as he snuffled her hands for apples.
Darach handed Loki to the groom and joined her. Cloud checked Dara
ch’s hands for apples too. When none were forthcoming, he snorted, making her smile. She looked at Darach to see him grinning as well.
“It looks like I’m not the only one giving him treats. I reckon he’ll get fat as a sow with all you softhearted men spoiling him.”
Darach huffed in a similar fashion to Cloud. “There are no softhearted MacKenzies.”
“Aye, that’s why I saw Brodie giving him carrots earlier, and Edina told me Oslow had nicked some apples from the kitchen. All your hardened warriors are pussycats at heart, led by the biggest pussycat of all.”
Darach stared at her, a strange look in his eye. “I’m no pussycat, Caitlin. Make no mistake.” He leaned down, his breath caressing the sensitive skin of her neck as he whispered into her ear. “I am laird first, then a clansman with simple desires. Bar your door at night, sweetling. It costs a man much to walk away from a willing woman.”
Seven
A thrill of accomplishment burst through Caitlin as she looked at the supplies she’d gathered over the last week and laid out on her bed: neatly folded clothes that had belonged to Darach’s mother, including several arisaids, chemises, a warm cloak, hose, and sturdy shoes; a worn pack to go over Cloud that Ronald the stable master had found and Caitlin had mended; oats, apples, and some cheese Ness had pressed on her for helping Fergus; a cup, knife, and other necessities from Edina; and a map Oslow had dug out of a cupboard before showing her the route she would take through the mountains to Inverness. And Cloud, of course, down in the stables.
She even had a quill, paper, and ink Darach had given her two nights past—his face stony, that muscle jumping wildly in his jaw—after she said she needed to make a list to help her decide on her best course of action and to prepare for her trip, just in case. She’d felt very responsible and mature, and had beamed up at him despite his dour expression.
And for the first time in a long time, she’d felt in control of her own destiny.
Even if she didn’t go to France, it was good to know she was prepared for any outcome.
The only thing she didn’t have was money—a few coins she could use in a pinch. But money was hard to find in the Highlands. People tended to barter goods and services, not pay for them.
Highland Promise Page 8