A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (13 page)

Neither spoke to the other for much of the day. It was almost
as if Kenneth's presence had provided the safety net their two
battling temperaments had needed. In his absence, both feared
that anything they began they might not be able to end.

The midday meal was a brief, short-on-words affair. Then
Darach silently lifted Caitlin back up on the big gelding, and
they set off again.

By evening, Caitlin was so weary of the silence and the rigors
of the long journey, all she wanted to do was find a soft spot upon
which to lie and fall asleep. Dar must have sensed her exhaustion.
He gathered wood for the fire, lit it, filled the little cast-iron pot
with water from the nearby burn, and asked nothing of her.

Supper was more herb tea, bread, a slice of smoked salmon,
and a wedge of tangy, soft, goat's milk cheese. Caitlin barely had the energy to eat but forced herself to do so, knowing she
would need all her strength for the next day's ride. No sooner
than she finished, however, she curled up in her cloak on the
bed of pine boughs Dar had made for her, and promptly went
to sleep.

Sometime much later, for it was dark and the fire had died to
glowing embers, Dar shook her awake. Caitlin jerked to instant
alertness and froze at the sight of him looming over her. Before
she could ask what he wanted-fearing what the answer might
be-he put a finger to her lips.

"Wheesht, lass," Dar whispered. "We're not alone. Three,
mayhap even four, men are out there just beyond that stand of
trees. And they've been watching us for the past hour or so."

Caitlin tried to sit up. His other hand, still on her shoulder,
kept her firmly down.

"Do ye know who they might be?" she whispered back when
he finally moved his finger away. "And why have they been waiting all this time? That makes no sense."

"They're no friends of either ye or me, ye can be sure. And,
on the contrary, it does make sense to wait, when they can bide
their time and better take us by surprise in our sleep."

"Then what do ye want of me? I can't do aught with my hands
tied."

Surreptitiously, Dar slid the hand on her shoulder down to
the knot that bound the rope. "I'll free ye on one condition. Ye
must give me yer word that ye'll not run. Ye'll not find yet way
to safety out in the dark, leastwise not before they overtake ye.
Besides, ye'll only spoil my plan to sneak up on them."

"Ye-ye're going to try and take on three or more men?"

His mouth quirked sardonically. "Have ye any better ideas?"

"And ye'll leave me here alone and defenseless?"

"Give me yer word, and I'll leave ye untied, and with the extra
knife I keep in my cuarans. In the meanwhile, best ye pretend ye're sleeping until that ruse doesn't serve ye anymore. That way,
if any get by me, ye'll at least have the element of surprise."

Caitlin swallowed past her suddenly dry, tight throat. If any
get byme...

Somehow, she knew that wouldn't happen unless Dar died in
the doing. And she didn't want him to die. She wanted to be free
of him, but she didn't want him dead.

"Ye've my word I won't run. Leastwise, not until it appears I'm
left to my own devices."

He smiled grimly. "Fair enough." With deft fingers, Dar untied
the knot but left the bonds loosely around her hands. "Leave them
this way so they'll suspect naught. And pretend to slowly go back
to sleep. I'll sit by ye for a time, then get up and amble off."

She dragged in an unsteady breath. "As ye wish."

His hand moved to his boot, then a knife was slipped beneath
her hip. "Use this well, if ye must."

Caitlin's mouth lifted at one corner. "Fear not. I know how,
and I will."

He stroked her cheek and then, almost before the act could
even register with Caitlin, Dar pulled back and stood. She watched
him move a few feet away and sink to the ground. Legs crossed,
he stared into the dying fire.

The sensation of his fingers on her face didn't fade, however.
With but the merest of touches, it was as if he had branded her
as his own. Her flesh tingled, burned, sending a fire searing
clear through to her heart. Never before had she felt anything
like it. Never felt anything like it ... and didn't want it ever
to end.

Tears flooded her eyes. Caitlin clenched them shut. She
wouldn't cry, indeed almost never did so. But this man, this hardhearted, calculating, desperate man had stirred such confusingly
intense emotions in her. And that in spite of what he had done
and how short a time she had known him.

Och, but she hated him, she did! He had put her in the most
untenable of positions.

When the time came to choose between him and her brother,
though it might break her heart in the doing, she would have
to choose her brother. She would have to. The ties of clan and
family ran that deep.

But that time would come later. First, they must face the present task before them, and it was great enough. First, they must
survive this night.

After a time, as Caitlin pretended to fall back to sleep, she heard
Dar rise and walk away. As the sound of his footsteps faded, she
lifted a prayer. A prayer not for her safety, but for his.

Yet as she prayed, for the first time in her life Caitlin accepted
that the outcome wasn't hers to command. Not for her or for Dar.
The outcome was in the Lord's hands, as it should be.

And in that realization, that submission, she discovered the
most surprising peace she had ever felt in her life.

It seemed an eternity before the pistol shot rang out in the
darkness, followed by an anguished cry. Caitlin startled and
pushed herself to a sitting position. Anxiously, she scanned the
area in the direction of the trees where Dar had claimed the
intruders to be.

There came scuffling sounds. Fists thudded on unprotected
flesh, then the sharp rasp of steel on steel. Another cry. Then the
sound of someone crashing to the ground.

Two, she mentally counted. If her prayers were being answered,
Dar had finished off two of the men. But how many more must
he yet fight? Another one or two assailants?

A sudden thought struck her. What if these men weren't brigands but had come to rescue her? She had only Dar's word that
they meant them harm. What if they, instead, had hoped to
minimize injury to her by trying to take Dar unaware while
they slept?

Muttering in disgust at her gullibility, Caitlin shook free of her
bonds and dug beneath her skirt to grasp the knife. There was no
further reason to pretend she was a helpless captive. Indeed, it
was best to ready herself for what was likely an imminent rescue.
She stood, took up several sticks of firewood, and tossed them on the coals. Within seconds, the wood caught fire. Flames leaped
into the air, and light bathed the little campsite.

A man broke into the clearing, an ill-kempt brute with wild
hair and even wilder eyes. He skidded to a stop and looked
around. As his gaze settled on her, an expression of feral delight
lifted his lips.

Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. These weren't Campbells or
any friends thereof. She clenched the knife, still hidden in the folds
of her skirt, and feigned a terrified mien. As the man advanced on
her, she backed away, luring him ever closer to the fire.

There was no time to dwell on what had happened to Dar, or
if this man who faced her was the last one standing or not. She
would have one and only one chance to surprise him and win the
advantage. She must concentrate on when that exact moment
might arise, and strike fast and hard.

"And aren't ye a bonny one?" the man growled, only feet now
from the fire. "Ye'll be worth all the effort and-"

He slid to a halt. An expression of surprise, pain, and finally
horror passed over his coarse features. Then, like some huge tree
toppled in the forest, he fell forward into the fire. Wood cracked;
ash flew, and sparks exploded in the air. From his back, the handle
of a knife was all that could be seen.

"Dar?" Her voice hoarse, Caitlin strained to see who moved
in the shadowed trees. "Is that ye? Och, say something!"

"A-aye, it's me, 1-lass."

Bruised and bleeding, he staggered into the clearing. What
looked to be a blade cut wound its way down from his left temple
onto his cheekbone. His lower lip was split. A rapidly purpling
bump marked his jaw. But it was the hand clenched to his right
side that gave Caitlin the greatest concern.

Blood drenched his shirt and seeped through his fingers to
dribble by big, agonizingly slow drops onto the ground. She ran
to him.

"Are there anymore left?"

"Nay, the last one ran off when I finished with his companion.
He was but a lad, at any rate." Dar glanced down at the knife
Caitlin clenched in her fist. "Ye could manage him, I'd wager, if
he was fool enough to return."

Before she could even guess his intentions, he reached out and
grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she was finally forced to drop
the knife. Then, after wiping his bloody palm on his plaid, he
grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

"What are ye about?" Caitlin gasped out the question.

"The danger's over, and ye're once again my prisoner." As he
replied, Dar held her two hands in one of his while he leaned
down and picked up the rope Caitlin had dropped earlier.

"And do ye know what a despicable, slime-ridden varlet ye
are?" she cried as she fought to break free. "And to think I was
passing afraid they'd killed ye!"

"Were ye, lass?" He deftly looped the rope around her wrists
and pulled it tight, then tied it off. "It does my heart good to hear
of such tender concern. The next thing I know, ye'll be begging
me for a wee kiss or two, ye will."

Her hurt fueling her rage, Caitlin broke free and, hands bound
behind her, faced him. "I'd rather die than kiss the likes of ye!
And I hope ye bleed to death from yet wound, I do! Because ye
will, unless ye let me care for it!"

"It's but a wee scratch, but thank ye for yet concern." He
shook his head. "Twice in one night. I'm beside myself with
gratitude."

Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes. Was she speaking to the
same man who, just after he had untied her and left her with his
knife, had tenderly stroked her cheek? It didn't seem possible.

"Why are ye acting like this? I don't deserve this sarcasm or
mockery."

"Nay, I suppose ye don't," Dar said, clutching his side once more. "But there's no help for it. We're still on opposite sides,
and I'm no fool to imagine yet loyalty will ever be with me. So
best we not delude ourselves that it can go any differently than
it must. Aye, neither ye nor I."

Dar turned then, walked to where the bag of his belongings
lay beside his blanket, stooped, and proceeded to dig through the
contents until he pulled out a clean linen shirt. Unfastening the
brooch that fastened the excess of his plaid on his left shoulder,
he knelt, tugged his torn and bloody shirt free, then pulled it
over his head.

From her nearby vantage, Caitlin watched him rip his old shirt
into a continuous strip of fabric, sufficient, she knew, to wrap
around his middle and bind the remaining fabric in place as a
pressure bandage. Studying his bare chest, she saw that the knife
wound ran for about six inches, from high on his right ribcage to
the middle of his upper torso. It was likely a half inch deep at its
worst, slicing through tautly muscled, smooth-skinned flesh.

She had known he was a well-built man, but with his upper
torso exposed, Caitlin saw Dar was in superb physical condition.
His chest was broad and solid, his abdominal muscles cleanly
defined, his arms bulging with sinewy power. Firelight danced
over his satiny skin, caressing it in illumination then shadow.
Caressing it as hungrily as her gaze caressed him.

Then, with a furious shake of her head, Caitlin turned away.
He was nothing to her. He had made that clear over and over.
She must accept that reality once and for all. She hated him. She
had to, or he would surely break her heart.

After a time, Dar rose, bandaged and fully dressed once more.
He stuffed his blanket into his bag, grabbed up the other bag
that held their foodstuffs, and dropped them beside the saddle.
Then, walking far more slowly than usual, he untied the gelding,
led it back to where the saddle and bags lay, and began preparing the horse.

Caitlin saw him grimace as he lifted the saddle onto the horse's
back, then stiffly bend to fasten the girth. His movements were
equally slow and stiff as he tied the bags to the back of the saddle.
She knew he was in pain, and wondered how he thought he could
mount the horse, much less get her atop the animal.

After how he had just treated her, she had no intention of
helping him in any way. As he had said, it could go no differently
than it ever had, for two with such divided loyalties.

Dar led the gelding to a boulder about two feet high, then glanced
back at her. "Ye've got a choice," he said, his voice thick with pain.
"Either come here and mount the horse on yer own, or I'll toss ye
over its withers and ye'll ride that way from here on out."

"And what if I refuse both options?"

The gaze he riveted on her was weary but resolute. "Then ye'll
walk all the way to Dundarave, with me herding ye on horseback
like some recalcitrant piece of livestock. And don't doubt that I
can do it. Ye're not nearly as fast as a horse, nor do ye possess the
stamina to play an evasion and dodging game for long."

Fresh blood was already beginning to stain through his makeshift bandage onto his shirt. Unless the bleeding stopped soon,
Dar would eventually weaken enough that he wouldn't be able
to remain on his horse. Even someone who wasn't a healer could
see it was but a matter of time. And even if blood loss didn't
finally bring him down, the very real likelihood of infection
surely would.