A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (16 page)

"Keep up what ye're doing, lass. Between the two of us, it just
might be working."

As if in confirmation, a low groan rose from Dar's lips.

A fierce satisfaction filled her. "Och, so now ye try and argue
with me, do ye, after giving me such a fright? But that's always
been yet way, it has. And I say again what I said that night we
were attacked. Ye're a despicable, slime-ridden varlet!"

Dar's lids fluttered open. He blinked, trying to focus.

"A-a varlet ... am l?" he rasped thickly, finally appearing to
see her there. "Wh-what are ye ... a-about? N-need a wee kiss
... or two ... do ye?"

Joy flooded Caitlin. "Aye, that I do." She released his arm and
stroked his cheek tenderly. "That I do."

Leaning down, she gently touched her lips to his. "And it's
past time I take what ye've all along been wanting to give," she
whispered when she drew back at last.

He licked his dry, cracked lips. "Th-that tasted ... sweet, it
did. Might I have ... another?"

Caitlin laughed, then with all the passion she had felt but kept
so tightly contained for the past days, she kissed him yet again. As she did, Dar's hand, so cold and lifeless but a few moments
ago, lifted to cradle the back of her head.

By the next morn, it was evident Dar had taken a turn for the
better. His fever had broken; the color had returned to his face
and body, and his breathing had slowed to its normal pace. Caitlin
returned to her pallet for several more hours of sleep, waking just
after midday. For a time, she lay there thinking, mulling over
what should be her next course of action.

Dar would recover. She felt certain of that now. If the time had
ever come for her to make her escape, before he became strong
enough again to stop her, it was now.

Part of her was decidedly reluctant to leave him. To do so
would be like tearing a piece of her heart from her body. Yet a
larger and far wiser part told her she must.

If she could reach Niall in time, Athe MacNaghten would never
make it back to his clan or ever be chief. And, if Goraidh was right
and Dar's true destiny was to lead his clan, Dar might then be
forced to face and accept that destiny. A destiny that, as Goraidh
had also claimed, was nothing more than the will of God.

It seemed the only thing to do. Besides, Caitlin thought, in
the doing she could prevent the inevitable clash between Dar
and her brother. Perhaps her influence with Niall could also be
brought to bear in discovering some way for them to aid Dar
and save his clan. Once Niall learned the truth about Dar, and
that he really was a brave, honorable man ...

With a pensive but resolute sigh, Caitlin finally rose, performed
her ablutions, then crept over to check on Dar. He slept deeply,
but now it was a healing sleep. She squatted beside him and stared
at him for a long, yearning moment.

"Farewell," Caitlin then silently mouthed the words. "God be
with ye in all yet endeavors."

Rising, she walked over to one of their travel bags. She took
it up, gathered a two-day supply of food, and shoved it into the
bag. Dar's knives lay on the nearby table along with his claymore,
dagg, powder horn, key or "spanner" to wind the spring of the
wheel-lock pistol, and bag of shot. After a moment's hesitation,
Caitlin took one knife and the empty pistol and shoved them
both into the bag.

It was pointless to take the powder, shot, or spanner. She had
never learned how to load, much less use, a dagg. Though, Caitlin
thought with a grim smile, no one had to know that if the need
came to point the pistol at anyone in self-defense. Next, she
grabbed her cloak from where it hung on a peg by the door and
donned it. With one final, agonized glance back at Dar, Caitlin
turned and left the cottage.

Goraidh was working in the garden not far from the little
dwelling, planting seeds in the neatly hoed rows of rich, dark
earth. One by one he would take a seed from a bag slung across
his chest and place it in a hole he had formed with a small, smooth
stick. Then, ever so carefully and lovingly, he would cover the
seed with dirt. After he had planted as many seeds in holes as
he could reach from one position kneeling between the rows, he
would stand, walk a few feet, then kneel again.

A passing impulse to go to him and bid him farewell washed over
her. The sense that he would urge her not to leave, however, kept
her from doing so. Best to make a clean break with both men.

She headed to the small shed on the far side of the cottage,
where Goraidh had informed her he had put up their horse.
There, stabled along with the gelding, Caitlin also found a rather
sway-backed, black and tan mule.

After bridling and saddling the big horse, she tied on the
bag of provisions and led him from the shelter. Once more, she
checked the girth for tightness, found it a bit loose, and cinched
it one notch further.

"Going for a wee ride, are ye?"

At the unexpected sound of Goraidh's voice, Caitlin gasped
and wheeled around. "Aye, I am. Now that Dar will recover, it's
past time I return to Kilchurn as quickly as possible. I need to
stop Niall from delivering Athe to Dundarave."

Hoe in hand, he angled his head and gave her a quizzical look.
"Are ye certain ye're not, instead, running away?"

Her eyes widened, and irritation rippled through her. "Running away? Instead, I'd call it trying to prevent further bloodshed and ruin to Clan MacNaghten. In the bargain, I'm also
attempting to save Dar's life yet a second time. I'd hardly call
that running away!"

"It is if it's not what the Lord wishes of ye," the gray-haired
man replied calmly. "And He wishes ye to stay the course, the
same course He has set Darach upon. He wishes ye to work this
out together."

"And, pray, how do ye know with such certainty what the Lord
wishes of me, or of Dar, for that matter?"

Goraidh shrugged. "How else? I've prayed for the answers and
they were given me. And I don't make light of this, when I tell
ye the Lord has spoken to me."

Caitlin's heart skipped a beat. She could feel the blood drain
from her face.

"And why ... why would God tell ye what He wished for me
to do, rather than me?"

"I'd imagine," he said with a smile, "because He knew I'd listen
to Him, and ye wouldn't."

She took a moment to digest that pronouncement, then shook
her head. "I mean ye no disrespect, but this makes no sense. I
can do naught-"

"Darach needs ye, as much as ye need him. He still has much
to learn ... about himself and the real reasons he was banished.
There's also the matter of him embracing his true destiny. Ye're the only one who can help him do this, help him weather the
pain. Help him find the courage and acceptance he'll need to
grow and become all that the Lord wishes him to be."

"Why? Why am I the only one?" Frustration, tinged with
anger, roiled within her.

"Because ye're the only one brave enough to stand up to Darach, to give as good as ye get from him. Ye're his light, his inspiration. And he respects ye, cares for ye, and, aye, even loves ye."

"L-loves me?"

It was overwhelming enough to hear such assertions from a
man who, by all rights, should hardly know either of them. But
to learn she was not only Dar's inspiration, but that he respected
and loved her, was more than she could deal with. Panic swallowed her, and she found she could hardly breathe.

It wasn't possible that Dar loved her. It just wasn't!

He but wanted to use her to further his own ends ... like David
Graham had thought to do in making an illustrious alliance with
Clan Campbell. David had even imagined he might eventually
become clan chief through marriage to her. That was, until Niall
had made it abundantly clear his cousin lain, clan tanist, would be
the next chief and, after him, Niall's son Brendan. Shortly thereafter, David had found himself yet another illustrious alliance.

It had to be the same with Dar, if for different reasons. He
needed her to obtain his brother's freedom. It didn't matter that
he was making a grave mistake in attempting to free Athe. Indeed,
his plan might well have a lot to do with his unwillingness-or
inability-to envision himself as clan chief.

Goraidh was mistaken. Dar wouldn't listen to her. She couldn't
convince him to pursue the chieftainship on his own. And he
most certainly didn't love her.

Problem was, she did love him. It was perhaps the reason, above
all other reasons, she must leave and leave now. If she stayed, he
would eventually crush her, heart and soul.

"Nay." Vehemently, Caitlin shook her head. "He doesn't love
me. And I don't owe him or his clan aught. All I want is to go
home. Go back to the life I used to live."

"Aye, go. Return home then. Return to the life ye used to live."
Goraidh leaned on the hoe. "Turn yer back, once and for all, on
the love of yer life and yer life's true passion. Turn yer back on
the gifts the good Lord has given ye, and don't share them or
bring them to their true fulfillment. Run away, and never, ever
fully understand the mystery of the Cross."

She frowned. "And pray, what does all this have to do with
God?"

"Ye find the Lord in stability, lass. In commitment to the life
and persons He has called ye to. As our Lord God has always been
faithful to us, so must we be to Him. No matter how hard, how
frightening, or sometimes even how mundane it may seem, ye are
called to persevere. Ye are called to find Him here and now"-he
pointed to his heart-"and not in some other place or at some
other time. Here and now ..."

Goraidh smiled, and the look was filled with such anguished
sadness that Caitlin almost went to him and took him into her
arms.

"Ye cannot know this, lass," he said, "but it's why I finally came
home as well. I was gone for a verra long while. But the Lord, in
His own good time, brought me back here. Where He had always
intended for me to be, to persevere, no matter how hard and
frightening it seemed. Like we all must do. Like ye must do."

It was too much to comprehend, much less make sense of.
Caitlin's head spun, and she felt a weight pressing on her chest.
It was as if the walls were closing in, trapping her, cutting off her
freedom. She couldn't bear it. She had to get away!

"Ye've been kind to both Dar and me," she said hoarsely. "For
that I thank ye. But I cannot stay. I just cannot."

Caitlin quickly mounted the gelding. She slipped her feet into the stirrups, gathered up the reins, then looked down at
Goraidh. His image wavered and blurred. Savagely, she blinked
away her tears.

"Take good care of Dar, I beg ye. And tell him-"

Suddenly, Caitlin couldn't go on. She nudged the horse in its
side, turned his head, and sent the animal galloping back down
the hill they had first come.

Dar awoke in the late afternoon. Weakly, he shoved to one
elbow and looked around the one-room cottage. In the fading
daylight, he noted the little house was simply furnished, with a
small hearth at the far end, complete with a "sway" mounted at
one of the back corners of the hearth. A cast-iron pot hung from
the metal bar that had been swung out to hover over the banked
fire of coals. Savory smells emanated from the vessel. Dar found
his mouth watering.

Several pottery plates, bowls, mugs, and containers sat on the
mantel above the hearth. A series of shelves on the perpendicular
wall held a bag of what looked to be oatmeal, a small jar of honey,
if the dried amber crystals on one side were any indication, plus
several other large, lidded containers of unknown contents. Beneath the window, which through its open shutters Dar noted
some sort of flowering fruit tree, were a rough-hewn table and
a rickety chair. Upon the table, he recognized his weapons and
supplies for his pistol.

Well, almost all of the weapons. One knife and the dagg were
missing. Unease filling him, he tried to swing his legs out of bed.
A sharp pain in his right side caught him up short.