HIGHLAND PROMISE (THE SONS OF GREGOR MACLEOD)

Chapter Four

Caitlin gawked at Darach's castle. She'd never seen such a grand structure. Built atop a hill, it overlooked a fair sized village next to a loch. The stone walls around the bailey rose about three stories high – a bastion of strength. A portcullis guarded the entrance, and beyond that the keep reached toward the sky.

"My father and grandfather built it in the Norman style," Darach said. "The stones are mortared, and the walls ten feet thick. Naught will harm you here, lass."

Pride tinged his voice, and Caitlin smiled.

"God's truth, 'tis a magnificent sight. My uncle's fortress was wood."

"The keep was still wood when I was a bairn. 'Twas not as safe, but verily, much warmer in the winter."

"Surely you have a hearth?"

"Aye, in every room – two in the great hall – but the stone holds the damp."

They made their way through the village as people called out to them in greeting. Caitlin garnered much attention sitting on the Laird's horse, and she smiled and waved as they rode by.

She noticed the folk welcomed their Laird formally, but none gave him a personal greeting. Even Lachlan shared a special smile with a woman. Darach seemed oblivious to the slight, but Caitlin was perplexed by it. Surely his people were happy to see him?

Deciding she must be mistaken, she let it go and soaked up the cheerful hustle and bustle around her. It reminded her of her childhood home.

"That's Caitlin," she heard Gare tell a lad about his own age. "We saved her from the Frasers. She'd been knocked out and tied over a horse. Our Laird is keeping her at the castle."

A thrill shot through her. 'Twas wonderful to think she would be staying at Darach's keep. She would have a room of her own and could go to the stables to feed Cloud whenever she wanted, nurse her kittens in the kitchen, even visit people in the village and make new friends – all without fear of repercussions.

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed to loosen it. She hadn't had a friend in three years. People in her uncle's keep were afraid of him and had kept their distance. She'd understood and never blamed them, but it had been a lonely, difficult time.

One best forgotten, for she was not going back.

She was going forward – with the MacKenzies. First to the kitchen to tend the kittens, then, she hoped, for a bath. A real one. In a tub with soap and steaming water. She'd done what she could when they'd stopped to camp, but verily, her hair was knotted like mice had burrowed in it. None of the men had thought to bring a hairbrush. 'Twas not the Highland way, Oslow had said.

Leaning back against Darach, a longing rose to throw her arms around him and kiss the fierce scar that slashed through his eyebrow, bite his strong, stubble-covered chin and lick his soft lips. Aye, she wanted to kiss those lips, have them give beneath her own. She wanted his hands to tunnel into her hair and hold her fast as he kissed her back.

An urge to move her hips overwhelmed her, and she thrust her bottom against the hard mass behind her.

His arms wrapped around her body, holding her still. "By the love of God, lass, doona move. We're almost there."

His hoarse voice made her want to move some more, but he held her so tight she couldn't shift even one inch. Instead, she pressed her cheek to his chest and inhaled his scent. Leather, fresh air, horses, and that uniquely musky scent of man.

Of Darach.

He shuddered against her, and an answering shudder wracked her body. He stilled. His breath came heavily against her ear, trickled over her neck.