Page 33 of Highland Fire

His hands were feathering over her shoulders and arms, gentling her, easing her misgivings. If she did not act soon, she would become a mindless quivering jelly.

Praying that she had not left it till too late, she frantically searched her mind for some way of averting what seemed inevitable. He kissed her again, and in sheer desperation, she blurted out the same blatant untruth she had once offered Daroch.

“Didn’t anyone tell you? Surely you must have guessed? You are my brother. I am your sister. We have the same father.”

Her outburst stunned him. Rand sat back on his heels, and Caitlin quickly retreated to the headboard. Hugging her knees, using her hair to cloak her nakedness, she stared at him wide-eyed.

“You’re lying,” he said at last, and reached for her.

She let out a terrified yelp. Grabbing for one of the pillows, she slapped it into his outstretched arms. “It’s the truth, and if you would only think about it, you would see it too.”

He was shaking his head, smiling. “Caitlin, you wretch! I know my father. If what you say is true, he would have made provision for you in his will, and as his executor, I would have known it.”

She looked away. She didn’t want to deceive him, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“I know nothing of that!” she said. “I’m only relating to you what I’ve managed to piece together.” She was practically sitting on top of the headboard. One of his long hands shackled her ankle. “You are my half brother. At least have the decency to listen to what I have to say.”

“Hell and damnation!” He let her go and rolled to his feet. She had found the perfect way to kill his desire. He didn’t believe her, but she had planted a small seed of doubt.

He adjusted his trousers and stalked to the large mahogany wardrobe between the long windows, in which he rummaged for his dressing gown.

Having donned it over his trousers, he returned to the bed.

In his hands, he held a white linen shirt.

“Cover yourself,” he said brusquely, and tossed the garment to her.

Keeping a watchful eye on him, she quickly donned her makeshift nightgown and slipped beneath the covers. Rand sat at the edge of the bed.

“Well? I’m listening. What did you manage to piece together?”

For a moment her mind refused to function. When he absently began running the backs of his fingers along her arms, she unglued her tongue. “Your father was in the habit of coming into Deeside every year for the hunting season. Your mother rarely accompanied him.”

“I’m aware of that. But he did not come alone. He kept open house. Many of his friends came to Strathcairn for the hunting and fishing. The man who fathered you might just as easily be one of them.”

She groped in her mind for a plausible explanation.

“I’ve thought of that. But my mother must have had a pressing reason to keep the identity of my father a secret.

Don’t forget, the feud between our two families really counted for something in those days.

My grandfather would have killed my mother if he had thought a Randal of Strathcairn had dishonored her. ”

His expression was thunderous. “My father was a faithful husband. He loved my mother. In his younger days, he may have been a bit of a rake—wild. He would have been the first to admit it. But from the moment he set eyes on my mother, he became a reformed character. He never looked at another woman.”

“Pooh! That’s what they all say!”

They glared at each other. Rand’s frown gradually dissolved, and he threw back his head and laughed.

“You conniving little witch!” he exclaimed.

“You are doing this on purpose, trying to confuse me. Well, it won’t work.

If you had truly believed I was your brother, you would not have responded to me the way you did. ”

She had the grace to look shamefaced. Her voice was so small as to be almost inaudible. “I didn’t want to. I couldn’t seem to help myself.”

He cursed long and fluently, but made no move to touch her. When he sprang to his feet, she cowered beneath the covers. “Damn you!” he said. “Damn you, Caitlin!”

With the covers up to her chin, she watched him warily as he strode to the fireplace. He used the iron tongs to bank up the fire with great lumps of coal. He was mumbling under his breath.

“What are you doing?” she asked cautiously.

He gave her a long look over his shoulder. “What does it look like? Since you are a guest in my house, I am seeing to your comfort.”

“Oh.” She’d won. Then why did she feel so miserable?

“Is there anything else I can get you. Something to eat? Something to drink?” One hand was on the doorknob.

She shook her head. She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to put him off.

Interpreting that look correctly, he said, “I don’t accept what you have just told me, but now is not the time to enter into a debate. After a good night’s rest, we shall both be in a better frame of mind to discuss it.” He opened the door.

“Rand?”

“Mmm?”

“Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone about what I’ve just told you. If my grandfather ever got to hear about it, there’s no saying what he would do.”

“You have my promise—oh, not for your grandfather’s sake but for my mother’s. Do you suppose I want something like this to get back to her?”

For a moment her expression was stricken. He nodded. “Yes, you hadn’t thought of that, had you, when you sprang your little surprise on me? Caitlin, if this is a blatant untruth—”

“I told you, it’s what I’ve pieced together. I can’t swear to it on a stack of Bibles.” Again, he made to quit the room. “Rand?”

“What is it now?”

“You…you wouldn’t have forced yourself on me, would you?”

He flushed scarlet and stuttered before he got out, “Don’t be a simpleton! If you had told me ‘no’ and could have made me believe it, it would have gone no further than a kiss.”

When the door closed behind him, there was a lump in her throat. Though her ruse had succeeded, she felt no sense of relief, no sense of triumph. She grieved as if she had suffered an unspeakable loss. It was finally over. She could see that now. The Randal wanted her, but not enough to marry her.

Sighing, she turned her head into the pillow. Did you think I would offer you marriage? Can you see yourself fitting into my world? Good God, girl, don’t you think I know what I owe my name and family? His words pounded inside her head, over and over, like a blacksmith’s hammer striking the anvil.

He would keep his distance now. It was for the best. Then that secret part of her which never obeyed the commands of her brain would cease entertaining flights of fancy respecting the high and mighty chief of clan Randal.

For a long while, she dwelled on Rand’s words and the insulting way he had flung them at her. By degrees, self-pity gave way to a slow simmering anger. By the time she pounded her pillow and composed herself for sleep, she was thinking, Marry him? I’d as lief marry a toad!

On the other side of the door, Rand hesitated, torn between storming back into the room to have it out with her, and finding a quiet place where he could reflect in private. The minx had given him a lot to think about.

He delayed for no more than a moment or two.

The corridors and great hall were cold, drafty places at the best of times.

He looked in on Daroch, but did not linger when he ascertained that the youth was sleeping peacefully.

He debated about rousing one of the servants to prepare a bedchamber for him.

Thinking better of it, he descended the stairs and made for his bookroom.

Flinging himself down in the leather armchair flanking the grate, the one Caitlin had occupied earlier, he stretched out his long legs and gazed morosely into the embers of the fire.

In a long night where one jolt had followed hard upon another, that last disclosure had been the most astonishing one of all.

He and Caitlin brother and sister? The idea was preposterous. Then why would she throw such an obvious fiction in his teeth? The more he thought about it, the less he liked the answers that came to him. And how to disprove it? That was the rub.

He awakened to such a thundering that he first thought he was leading his Scots Greys in a cavalry charge.

Blinking back sleep, rolling his neck to ease his cramped muscles, he pulled himself out of the armchair.

Light streamed through the windows. The storm had subsided and the fresh fall of snow reflected the pale wintry sunshine to a crystal brilliancy.

The thundering came again. Yawning, stretching, Rand went to investigate. When he reached the great hall, two manservants were hauling back the bolts on the massive front doors. His housekeeper, Mrs. Fleming, was standing well back, wringing her hands.

The doors opened. There was a heart-stopping roar; then a great beast of prey came bounding over the threshold, followed by a crush of angry Highlanders brandishing clubs and knives.

Mrs. Fleming shrieked and fell to her knees in mortal terror.

The deerhound checked her momentum at this odd behavior then continued on, hurling herself at her quarry.

“Down, Bocain!” Rand’s commanding tone had the desired effect. Caitlin’s deerhound sank to her haunches. Tongue lolling, she gazed adoringly up at him.

The great hall was filling up with men, most of whom were Glenshiel’s gillies or tenants.

Rand’s few retainers were roughly herded into a corner, where three Highlanders stood guard over them with raised clubs.

Finally, the laird of Glenshiel himself appeared, leaning heavily on his walking staff.

His eyes were shooting sparks, and his lips were pulled back in a bestial snarl as he advanced on Rand.

When they were toe to toe, he hissed, “My granddaughter is missing. Caitlin’s hound has led us to your door. Where is she?”

Feeling the disadvantage of his position, Rand tightened the belt on his robe. “You need not take that tone of voice with me. When I explain the circumstances that brought your granddaughter to my house, you will, one hopes, give her the beating she so richly deserves.”

“I don’t doubt it. Will that be before or after I put a ball in your black heart, yer lordship?”

“What is it? Why all the ruckus?”

All eyes turned to the gallery. Daroch, in borrowed nightshirt, with Gordon plaid draped negligently over his shoulders, leaned against one of the oak columns. There was a dazed look about him.

Glenshiel’s face was an ugly shade of purple. He wheezed, he spluttered, then struggled to draw air through his teeth and into his lungs. “What kind o’ orgy have I stumbled upon?” he whispered; then he roared, “Caitlin? Where are ye, lass?” And to Bocain, “Find her!”

The housekeeper, still on her knees, broke into a fit of uncontrollable weeping. “Och the poor lass, the poor wee lass. And to think I slept through it all.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Rand pressed one hand to his eyes and fought to control his temper.

The deerhound lurched to her feet and loped away. At Glenshiel’s signal, two of his men went after her, drawing wicked-looking dirks from their hose as they stealthily climbed the stairs. Some minutes were to pass before they reappeared.

“We found her,” shouted one from the gallery. “She was in one o’ the bedchambers. Dinna fash yersel’, Glenshiel. The lass is no the worse for wear.”

At the ill-chosen expression, Glenshiel winced.

Seeing that reaction, the Highlander on the gallery hastened to reassure his laird. “Twa beds hae been slept in, but there’s nae doubt about whose bed the lass shared. The Randal is yer man.”

Glenshiel’s hand whitened around his staff. His teeth ground together. Glaring at Rand, he said, “It would seem, yer lordship, that ye are goin’ to a weddin’!”