A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (15 page)

Thankfully, though, Caitlin found no freshened sites of bleeding when she began to cleanse his wound. Dar remained unconscious, so with their host's help she removed his shirt, belt, and
kilt, and covered him with a threadbare blanket.

"Do ye have any more blankets?" she asked, looking up at her
new assistant. "He'll need to be kept verra warm."

"Aye, that I do." The man hurried to a rough-hewn kist, lifted
the lid of the chest, and pulled out two more, equally threadbare,
blankets.

Caitlin wondered how the man managed to keep warm in
winter, if those were all he had. Still, they were gratefully accepted
and quickly used to cover Dar. She then turned back to cleaning
him as best she could before applying an ointment she noted was
made from marigolds. Finally, she pressed a thick wad of clean
cloths over Dar's wound.

With the older man's assistance, they were able to wrap several
long strips of cloth around Dar's torso to anchor the bandage
securely. Caitlin finished bathing him, then covered him with
the extra blankets and treated the cut on his face and his split lip.
Finally, she leaned back on her haunches, where she had knelt
the entire time, and sighed.

"I've done all I can. The rest is in the Lord's hands."

"Aye, so it is," the man said. "As it has always been. Vocatus
atque non vocatus Deus aderit."

Caitlin looked up at him. "And what does that mean?"

"Bidden or not bidden, God is present."

"That's Latin, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"I haven't heard that spoken for many years now. Not since
Clan Campbell drove out the papist priests and accepted the
Reform preachers."

"Yet it's still spoken in many areas of the Highlands, by clans
who refuse to turn from the old religion."

She was tempted to ask him if he followed the old religion but
knew it didn't matter. He had offered them the hospitality of his
home and may well have saved Dar's life in the doing.

"My name's Caitlin Campbell, and this is Darach," she said,
extending her hand to him.

"I know of the lad and his true clan, so ye needn't worry about
using his full name with me." He smiled and took her hand for
a brief shake before releasing it. "I'm called Goraidh. And I'm
also of Clan MacNaghten."

Goraidh. It meant "God's peace" in the old language. God's
peace ... something she-and likely Dar as well-desperately
needed. Caitlin prayed that it would be so, leastwise for the time
they must spend here.

That he was a MacNaghten shouldn't surprise her either. They
were probably in MacNaghten lands by now. And, on closer
consideration, Goraidh did have a familiar look about him. He
reminded her of both Kenneth and Dar. At the very least, she
guessed him to be some distant relation.

"Thank ye for taking us in," she said. "Dar may yet die from
his wound and blood loss, but at least now he has a chance. A
chance ye gave him."

"I but follow the call of the Lord." Goraidh grinned, and the
act lit his weathered face with an almost luminous beauty. "He
sent ye and the lad here, and that's enough for me."

"As it will be for me," Caitlin murmured, not quite certain
what to think of the man's pronouncement.

She suddenly recalled the horse she had left when she had
helped bring in Dar. She climbed to her feet.

"If ye'd be so kind as to stay near him, I must see to my horse's
needs. Is there some spot I could tether him, where he might find
a bit of grass and mayhap some water to drink?"

Goraidh lifted a hand. "Dinna fash yerself, lass. Stay with
the lad. I'll see to yer mount's needs, unsaddle him, and bring
in all yer belongings. But first, let me make ye a cup of herb tea
sweetened with clover honey. It'll warm ye and give ye a bit of
strength. From the looks of ye, ye're on the verge of exhaustion
yerself."

He pulled the now empty chair close to Dar. "Sit, while I get
yer tea.

Gratefully, Caitlin sank onto the chair and watched as her host
prepared her mug with tea leaves, then added hot water. After
allowing the leaves to steep for a time, he laid a tarnished old
tea strainer over another mug and poured the pale golden fluid
through it. A generous dollop of honey was next stirred into the
mug before he carried the steaming brew over to her.

"Thank ye ever so much." Caitlin smiled up at him. "For
everything."

"Dinna fash yerself. To love the invisible God, we must first
love our visible neighbor." His glance strayed to Dar, and his
expression softened. "Some, though, from the start, are just easier
to love than others."

He turned then and walked from his cottage, leaving Caitlin,
mouth agape, to watch him depart. She had learned her lessons
well at her mother's feet, and knew of Christ's admonition to love
one's neighbors if one wished to truly follow Him. And she tried
to be kind and considerate of others. Well, most times, anyways,
she thought as she glanced at the unconscious man lying in the bed. But, if the truth were told, so many times she failed to do
so with Christ in mind.

She cupped her hands around the warm, thick pottery mug
and took a tentative sip of the steaming brew. It tasted so good.
It reminded her of home and comfort and love.

Her eyes filled with tears. Och, how she missed her home!
Missed Niall, Anne, and little Brendan. And missed the life she
had once taken for granted. A life, Caitlin realized as her gaze
strayed once again to the dark Highlander lying there, as weak
and pale as death, that would now never be the same.

To love the invisible God, we must first love our visible neighbor...

As much as she was loathe to admit it, Darach MacNaghten
was as much her neighbor as were any of her family. Leastwise,
in God's eyes. Yet Dar, of necessity, because of what he had done
to her and the insult he had heaped on Clan Campbell's honor
in the doing, was also her enemy.

It seemed an impossible task to reconcile one with the other.

To add insult to injury, Dar developed a fever by early afternoon.
From time to time, he had brief moments of lucidity just long
enough for Caitlin to get a few swallows of water down him,
before drifting off into a rambling delirium. Atop the severe
weakness the loss of blood had caused, she greatly feared the
additional drain of the fever might well be enough to kill him.

"N-Nara, Nara. . ." Dar mumbled the name over and over.
"I'm sorry ... so verra, verra sorry ...

"It's the name of his lost love, ye know," Goraidh said
as he ambled over the first time Dar mentioned her. "Nara
Colquhoun."

Caitlin glanced up at him. "I didn't know her full name, only
that she was a Colquhoun lass." She looked back to Dar. "I
wonder why he's saying he's sorry."

The gray-bearded man shrugged. "Likely because he failed
her."

"Do ye think he caused her death?"

"It doesn't really matter what I think, does it? What matters
is what ye think."

Irritation, exacerbated no doubt by weariness, surged through
her. "Ye're just like his friend Kenneth! He also told me to figure
it out myself. And he claimed Dar was no murderer, though some of his kin would have him thought as such to divert the
blame from them."

"Kenneth isn't just Darach's friend, ye know. He's also his
cousin." Goraidh sighed. "But, be that as it may, there has been
much unhappiness and unrest in Clan MacNaghten for a long
while now. Long, long before Dar fell in love with his brother's
betrothed."

She looked back up at him. "But naught ye'd care to share
with me."

"Nay, naught, leastwise, I'd care to share just now." Her host
smiled regretfully. "Best ye get the truth of most of it straight
from the lad here." He gestured toward Dar. "Ask him when he
finally comes around and is feeling better."

"If he ever does come around."

Caitlin reached over and took Dar's hand in hers. His hand
was so big, his fingers long and strong. As strong as he had once
been in mind and body.

"I'm so afraid for him, Goraidh," she said at last, her voice
as tear-clogged as her eyes. "Not only that he won't survive this
injury, but for what may happen to him if he does. If my brother
doesn't kill him, someone else with a grudge against his clan surely
will. Or even one of his own clan."

"Like mayhap his own brother?"

Tears coursed down her cheeks. "Aye, like his own brother.
Not that Dar's people seem to care what he's risking in trying to
get Athe back, either. For all practical purposes, Dar embarked
on this grand scheme of his alone. Kenneth, as loyal and goodintentioned as he may be, served naught of any real benefit save
as a decoy to get them into Kilchurn."

"There are some, though, I've heard told, who'd rally behind
Darach if he asked. But the same ones who tell me that, also tell
me he won't."

"Won't?" Caitlin swiped her tears away. "But whyever not?"

"Because he refuses to recognize, much less accept, his true
destiny. A destiny that is naught more than the will of God."

"And what destiny might that be?"

Goraidh's gaze was sad but knowing. "What else? To lead Clan
MacNaghten, of course."

She nodded warily. Though she wasn't so certain God's will
really was involved, there was one thing they most definitely
agreed upon.

"Aye, his father did indeed choose poorly, in naming Athe his
tanist," Caitlin said. "Eldest or not, he never deserved to be the
chosen successor."

Even as exhaustion began to take its toll on her, Caitlin stubbornly sat by Dar's bedside, repeatedly dampening cloths with
cool water to place across his hot brow and wipe down his chest
and arms. Thankfully, his thrashings weren't severe enough to
cause his wound to break open, and his bandages remained free
of blood. As midday passed, Caitlin remained so firmly fixed on
Dar that only Goraidh's persistence finally induced her to eat
some bread and cheese and drink a mug of cider.

Caitlin managed to stay awake until just past sunset. When
she began dozing off in her chair, wet cloth in hand, Goraidh at
last laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Enough of this, lass," he said, a firmness in his voice she had
never heard before from the kindly man. "I've made a pallet over
there in that corner near the hearth. Go, take yet rest, before I've
two rather than just one patient to care for."

She opened her mouth to protest that she could hold on
for several more hours. However, when she initially couldn't
even get the words to come, Caitlin was forced to admit he
was right.

"Promise ye'll wake me if he takes a turn for the worse, or if ye need my help for aught," she said as she rose and made her
way to the pallet.

"Ye know I will. Now, sleep, lass. Rest and fortify yerself for
the morrow."

Barely had her head hit the pillow than Caitlin was sound
asleep. Sometime much later, she awoke to blackness outside
the window and a soft murmuring coming from the direction
of Dar's bed. It took all her strength to push aside the heavy lure
of slumber and open her eyes.

Head bowed, hands clasped before him, Goraidh knelt beside
Dar in the dim firelight. Though Caitlin couldn't quite make
out the words, she knew the older man was praying intently.
Storming heaven, she realized as she levered to one elbow and
fixed her gaze on Dar's face.

He was breathing rapidly, his countenance slack, his skin
deathly pale. He was dying.

Caitlin rolled from the pallet, climbed to her feet, and hurried to Goraidh's side. She sank to her knees to his right, closest
to Dar's head.

"Wh-what happened?" she croaked out, her heart pounding
in her chest.

"He took a turn for the worse. Only God can save him now."
With that, Goraidh returned to his prayers. Caitlin watched
him for a few seconds, then looked back to Dar. What she
had dreaded had finally come to pass. She was going to lose
him.

Anger welled in her. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. He deserved
better than this!

She picked up Dar's hand, a hand that had gone cool, the
fingertips blue. Clasping it to her, Caitlin vigorously rubbed his
hand between hers, trying to warm it.

"Ye're not going to die, Darach MacNaghten," she cried. "Do
ye hear me? Don't give up. Don't ye dare die! Ye've still got too much left undone, and too many folk need ye." Her voice wobbled. "I need ye!"

His hand felt a bit warmer now. Caitlin used one hand to rub
up and down his arm.

"What of all yer fine plans?" she demanded. "Are ye such a
coward that ye'd turn from a fight, no matter how hard it might
seem? For shame! And after all yer fine words, yer boasting and
cocksure attitude. But I suppose they were only meant to impress
me and never held a shred of truth in them!"

Dar's breathing rate increased, and he moved slightly. Caitlin
began to use both hands to rub his arms and chest, all the while
continuing to alternately berate and cajole him. After a time,
Goraidh paused in his praying to nudge her.