A Fire Within (These Highland Hills, Book 3) (31 page)

She put the jar away and turned back to him with a folded
bandage. "Aye, verra happy. He's a good man, and a fair one.
Give him a chance. Ye'll see."

Dar's mouth quirked. "He has all the chance he desires. I'm
not going anywhere anytime soon."

"I suppose ye're not." Anne handed him the bandage. "If ye
will, hold that over yer wound while I wind the strip of cloth
around ye."

He did as requested and she was soon finished.

"All done." The auburn-haired woman paused to put the
supplies back in her box. "Now that we've pretty much settled my past, I've a few questions for ye. If ye don't mind, of
course.

Dar shrugged. "I can't say until I hear what ye wish to know.
But ask away. The company of a fair lady is far more pleasant
than staring at these four walls."

"My, how swiftly yer mood changes," she said with a chuckle.
"And only a few minutes ago, ye were bidding me leave."

He smiled. "As long as we stay off the subject of Caitlin, I can't
think of much that I won't discuss."

"That particular subject has been addressed and my questions
well answered." Anne grinned. "So ye needn't worry I'll return
to that-leastwise not today." She paused. "I'm curious, though,
about the older man who came with ye. Goraidh's his name, I
believe."

Dar nodded. "Aye. He's a hermit now, but once was a monk
on the Isle of Iona. I know verra little else about him, save that
he took me in when I was sorely wounded. Between Caitlin's
fine healing skills and likely his prayers, I survived what would've
otherwise surely been the end of me."

"And what is he to ye in all of this? Caitlin claims he wasn't
involved in the abduction in any way."

"She speaks true, Lady. There's no reason for yer husband to
continue to hold him. Goraidh's no threat to anyone."

"So Niall was convinced to believe. Still"-Anne angled her
head to study him closely-"when the offer was made to the
man to be set free, he refused. He informed Niall, and very passionately, that he, even more than ye, deserved this punishment.
And that he wouldn't leave until ye were also able to do so."

Dar's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "But how is that possible?
That he deserves this even more than me? It makes no sense!"
"Would ye like to see him, speak with him for a time?" she

asked. "Mayhap ye could tease out the answers. One way or
another, ye're the one all this seems to revolve about."

"Aye, so it seems," he replied, an uneasy presentiment beginning to coil within him.

As the silence between them lengthened, Dar realized Anne
was still awaiting his response. He met her questioning gaze.

"If it's permissible, I'd verra much like to speak with him."

She rose and took up the box of healing supplies. "Niall's
already given his permission. I'll have him brought to ye now."

He lifted his hands, and the chain clanked. "Is it necessary I
be chained in Goraidh's presence? He's hardly in any danger of
attack or abduction from me, ye know."

"I'll have the guards remove yer shackles. I wouldn't have had
them on ye even for my visit, but Niall wouldn't let me see ye
any other way."

"Considering my reputation and recent actions, if ye'd been
my wife I would've done the same."

"Well," Anne said with a laugh, "and mayhap that's because ye
men aren't always as good a judge of character as we women."

"Mayhap, Lady. Mayhap."

Ten minutes later, the guards led Goraidh into Dar's cell. The
hermit looked no worse for his own incarceration, but a troubled
expression, nonetheless, gleamed in his eyes. Dar waited until
the cell door was shut and locked behind them, then rose and
walked over to the other man.

"Come, sit with me on my bed," he said, turning to gesture
back the way he had come. "There are things we need to speak
of. And the farther from prying ears, the better, I say."

"Aye." The hermit nodded solemnly. "There are indeed things,
long unspoken, that must at last be shared."

Dar walked back to his bed and sat. For a moment, Goraidh
seemed to hesitate then, with a squaring of his shoulders, followed.

Once he was seated, Dar lost no time in striking to the heart
of the matter. "The night at the campfire. Ye said a strange thing.
When I suggested ye return to Clachan Hill, ye insisted that ye
were staying with me. That it's where ye should've been long
ago. And then the Lady Anne just told me ye were offered yer freedom and refused it. That ye deserved to be punished even
more than I."

Dar impaled him with a steely glance. "What did ye mean?
Ye owe me naught. Indeed, until that morn we arrived at yer
cottage, I'd never even met ye."

Goraidh couldn't quite seem to meet his gaze, and instead
lifted it heavenward. Dar had the distinct impression the man
was offering up a quick prayer, but for what, he didn't know.

"What I'm about to tell ye, I beg ye listen to its end," the older
man finally replied. "Hear the entire tale, whether ye like what I
tell ye or not. That's all I ask. Can ye do that for me?"

"Aye," Dar said carefully. "I suppose that's not too onerous
a task."

The hermit smiled sadly. "Just remember that, if ye will." He
paused, inhaled a deep breath, then began. "I'm related to ye by
more than simple clan kinship. I'm the eldest of three sons, and
my two younger brothers were Feandan and Brochain. I am uncle
to yer cousin Kenneth."

"And so my uncle, as well." Dar stared at him in surprise. "But
why was I never told I had another uncle? Choosing a life at Iona
is hardly a reason never to speak of ye again."

"My wife died in childbearing." Goraidh looked away once
more. "I mourned her for a long while, a verra long while. But
when the time came to consider that, as clan tanist with an
ailing sire, I must father children of my own, there was only
one lass for me. Unfortunately, she was the wife of my brother,
Brochain."

A sinking feeling forming in his gut, Dar stared at him. "Ye
... ye lusted after yer own brother's wife?"

"I had almost wed her the first time, but my father decided her
dowry was too meager and she was better suited for the second
son. So I instead accepted his choice of a bride. And we were
happy, we were. God blessed our union." He sighed. "But once she died, my heart turned once more to wee Muira. And it didn't
help matters that she was verra unhappily wed to Brochain."

"Pray, continue," Dar prodded, his mouth going dry with
anticipation of what was to come.

"Suffice it to say, I got her with child. And ye were that child."
Goraidh looked back to Dar. "For a time, Muira and I considered
letting Brochain imagine ye were his, but I couldn't add further
lies and deceit atop the cuckolding of my own brother. When I
told Brochain, he was verra angry, as well he should have been.
Even more than the betrayal of his wife and his brother, though,
he was concerned with his reputation-and he likely also soon
saw the affront against him as a chance to gain the chieftainship
he'd always coveted. So Brochain offered to claim and raise ye as
his own, in return for my word to forfeit the tanistry and leave
MacNaghten lands forever."

"And if ye didn't?"

"He'd not only tell our father-which would've likely been the
death of the old man-but also demand I be punished. And he
refused to divorce Muira. So, one way or another, he would've
still had ye."

"That's when ye left for Iona, isn't it? To seek forgiveness for
yet sins by living a life of prayer and penance?"

"Aye." The hermit nodded. "And I stayed there for twenty
years, until the abbey was dissolved. By then, my father and
Muira were long dead. Still, though I was heartsick for home, I
thought at first to keep to my vow. So, I journeyed to Ireland,
where I remained at another monastery for six more years. In
time, though, I could no longer ignore the truth of the matter.
The Lord wanted me to return home, to face the consequences
of my actions. So I came back here, to Clachan Hill, two years
ago this summer."

As Dar listened to the tale unfold, he found his anger beginning
to rise. His true father had returned home six or seven months after Dar was banished. Yet, as difficult as it might have been for
Goraidh to find him, it wouldn't have been impossible.

Things began to fall into place. Feandan's strange expression
when they had arrived at Dundarave. His swift endorsement
of Goraidh when Athe had challenged the hermit's presence.
Goraidh's myriad cryptic comments.

"So, in the two years since," Dar said, "ye never once troubled
yerself to discover how yer own son fared!"

"Och, I troubled myself," the older man said with a bitter
laugh. "From time to time, Feandan came to visit, and I plied
him with questions about ye. But I'd also given my word. As
paltry a thing as it was, after what I'd done, I felt I should at
least abide by it.

"And I felt so guilty, such a sinner, that the rest of my life
would never be enough time to repair what I had done anyway.
Why, indeed, I asked myself, would ye ever want to know me,
much less ever call me father?"

"Ye could've at least given me the chance to decide, when ye
finally did meet me. Yet, even then, ye didn't."

"Aye, I could've. But, once ye began to recover, I didn't know
how ye might take such news. And then the time never seemed
right. Ye had the lass to think of, and then yet brother. . ."

He sighed. "Ye had enough burdens laid on yer shoulders. I didn't
wish to add yet more. So I prayed to God to show me the proper
time and place. And it seems finally to be now, here in Kilchurn."

"He hated me, ye know. Yet brother," Dar ground out. "I
always wondered what was wrong with me, that I could never
seem to please him. I tried so hard to please him, over and over
and over, and it never mattered. I never won his love. And then,
when I met Nara ..."

Goraidh smiled sadly. "Things came full circle then, didn't
they? The sins of the father were laid on the son and, in similar
ways, we both became outlawed from our own clan."

"Aye," Dar said, his fury burning now like acrid fire in his
belly. "But ye might have prevented my fate from mirroring yers,
if ye'd had the courage to come back for me. I hardly knew my
mither. She died of a fever when I was but five. Mayhap if she
had lived ..."

He shook his head, bitterness at what might have been filling
him. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"It does, if ye have it in yet heart to forgive a foolish old coward.
A man who'd now gladly be a father to ye, if ye'd have him."

Dar saw the pain, the entreaty, the hope burning in Goraidh's
eyes, but there was no forgiveness in him. He'd had that beaten
out of him years ago. He hadn't any left to give.

"Ye had many times in which to redeem yerself," he said, his
voice gone low and hard. "But the longer ye stayed away ..."
For a moment, he couldn't go on. He looked down, his throat
constricting with emotion.

Finally, Dar met the glittering gaze of the other man with an
equally tear-filled one of his own. "Leave me. I cannot forgive
ye. Not now. Not ever."

Goraidh opened his mouth to protest. Dar grabbed him by
the front of his tunic, jerked him to his feet, and shoved him
toward the door.

"Guards!" he shouted, his voice so hoarse he hardly recognized it. "Take this man away. We're finished with our visit.
Finished!"

An hour later, Caitlin found Anne in the healer storeroom.
The auburn-haired woman was busy making some additional
decoctions from recently harvested herbs and flowers and, at
first, didn't notice Caitlin's presence. A loud clearing of a throat,
however, finally gained her attention.

"Och, just in time to assist me," Anne said, glancing up. "Come here, if ye would, and hold the strainer steady over the jar while
I pour in this boiling water."

Caitlin had more pressing matters at hand than preparing
healing potions, but she obediently did as requested. Just as soon
as Anne finished and put aside the hot pot, though, Caitlin
launched into her questions.