A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)

by Aileen Adams

And Sorcha had gone along with the lie that a boy from the village had given it to him, just to protect his young pride.

  “Rodric,” she breathed, her face almost lighting up once she recognized him.

  The strength of her reaction startled him. Had he meant as much to her as she and her husband had to him?

  “Sorcha, I was so sorry to hear of Gavin’s passing,” he murmured, taking her outstretched hand.

  To his great surprise, her fingers clamped down over his before she pulled him closer to whisper in his ear.

  “Come to the house. Can you manage it?”

  “Aye,” he muttered in return, his nerves tingling in the wake of the sudden change in her. She sounded desperate. What could’ve happened?

  Even if he hadn’t planned to pay her a visit, even if doing so would cause greater complications, he wouldn’t have refused for anything after her fingers dug into him the way they had.

  “I’ll meet you there. It’s important.” She released him, and he caught just the hint of her eyes moving in the direction of a hedge off to the side of the graves. He thought there was a movement of the branches, a rustling, but it might have been a squirrel or other small animal.

  He’d been one of the last to arrive, and the deacon began the short service soon after he moved along to join a group of mourners who stood alongside the grave. Sorcha stood to the deacon’s right, her head bowed in prayer much of the time.

  All the while, Rodric wondered what had unnerved her so. It seemed to be more than the loss of her husband. Such desperation, such fierceness in the way she’d whispered to him. As though it were a matter of dire consequence that he meet her at the old house.

  The house which sat so close to his clan’s lands.

  It was quickly becoming a very interesting day.

  He slid from the saddle and secured the horse before turning to the left and admiring the River Nevis. He’d always enjoyed watching it flow by from this spot, behind the house in which Gavin and Sorcha had lived out their married lives. The land came to a point, with the river forking off on both sides. To the southwest, were the lands under his brother’s protection. To the right was McAllister land.

  They’d always met in the middle, he and Caitlin. To think, she was the woman of the house in which he’d grown up. In his childish daydreams, that was how he’d imagined her—though she was his wife in these dreams, not his brother’s. That the woman of the house would by necessity be married to the head of the clan hadn’t factored into his imaginings at the time.

  She was so close, right there, in the house he would’ve been able to see had it not been for the woods which sat in the way. He would only need to cross the shallow, narrow stretch of river—more like a stream, really—in order to continue on his way to her.

  If he had any right to her, he’d do just that. Would that he had.

  There would be no reason to go to her now if she were yours, you daft fool. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering what he might have been able to do that would’ve changed things.

  There had been no choice but to go off and fight. Someone from each clan had to do so, and Alan had been needed. Besides that, Rodric had wanted to bring honor to the clan and—if he were being truly honest—to himself.

  He’d wanted to be her hero.

  The creaking of wagon wheels made him turn away from the river, toward the trail which led from the road to the farmhouse. There was Sorcha, seated beside the driver, hands folded in her lap but her eyes active. She looked around the place, searching. For him.

  And she found him, and a look of calm replaced the strained expression she’d worn up to that point. As though she were afraid he’d not keep his promise. As though he would do that to her.

  He hadn’t expected her to be in the company of another—a farm hand, most likely, someone she’d asked to do the driving for her. A young man, perhaps a mere boy judging by the small frame and loose clothing. As though it had been borrowed from a larger man for the occasion.

  The lad raised his head—not entirely, not enough for Rodric to get full sight of the entire face, but it was enough for the entire world to go silent. The birds which had only just been singing a sweet song, the river, the frogs which sang at its banks. Everything went quiet. The air stopped moving.

  It wasn’t a lad at all. How could he have believed it so, even for a moment?

  But why? Why would she dress as a lad? Why would she look back and forth all the time, as though watching out for danger?

  Why would she pull the wagon to a sudden stop the moment she caught sight of him?

  9

  What is he doing here?” Caitlin’s question was directed at her aunt, though her eyes never left the familiar figure lurking in the shadow of the house.

  She’d just been reflecting on the familiarity of the farm and how much she’d missed it in such a short period of time. Extreme duress, like that under which she’d labored, had a tendency to make a person long even more desperately for the things they’d left behind.

  All the while, she’d been watching. Waiting. Driving the wagon as fast as she dared, Kent’s mare tied to the back, wishing she could spur the team into running the entire duration of the journey. The sooner they were inside the house, the door closed on the outside world, the sooner she’d be able to breathe freely.

  For though the air was fresh and clean—if not a bit too warm for her taste—breathing was very nearly a chore. She couldn’t seem to get past the pressure in her chest, as though something or someone were sitting on her.

  And now, him.

  Under any other circumstances, she would’ve marveled at the handsome sight he made. The wide expanse of clear, blue sky behind him set off the hue of his hair and even the stubble on his cheeks. He crossed impossibly thick arms over an equally thick chest, his jaw clenching as though he were working through some unpleasant emotion. Emotion from seeing her again? Undoubtedly.

  Though it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Why would he have stayed away so long?

  How silly to think that she’d seen him as a man back then, before he’d left her. Man enough to train with the army and fight in a war, to be sure, but the Rodric who’d ridden off that day so long ago had been nothing but a boy compared with the tall, muscular man before her.

  All of this went through her mind in a matter of moments, thoughts overlapping as she fought to understand what it all meant. Had he come to take her back to his brother? Was that what it was all about, his appearance after so many years?

  Aunt Sorcha tugged on the sleeve of her tunic. “Go on. Hurry. To the house.”

  When Caitlin did not respond—could not possibly respond—Sorcha took the reins from her and finished what was left of the drive, which wasn’t much at all.

  Caitlin hardly noticed.

  Her eyes never left him.

  And his never left her.

  “What is he doing here?” she whispered again, like the hissing of a snake.

  “I told him to come,” Sorcha announced in a calm, almost pleasant tone. “I told him how important it was that he come to see me.”

  Caitlin pried her eyes from the tall, brooding figure beside the house in order to glare at her aunt. “How could you? You of all people know how important it is for no one to know of my presence!”

  This didn’t seem to bother her aunt in the slightest. “You need his help.”

  “He won’t help me.”

  “You know he will.” Sorcha pulled the horses to a stop before turning to her niece. “You know he will.”

  Though common sense denied it, her heart agreed.

  But her heart had been so very wrong. It couldn’t be trusted.

  “I can’t stay,” she whispered, shaking her head almost violently, wishing she could bolt from the wagon and run, just run, anywhere. As far as her legs would carry her.

  Perhaps she would make it easier for herself and everyone she’d ever loved by simply throwing herself into the river and allowing it to carry her away. Yes,
that would be better. No more fear, no chance of Alan finding her, no chance of her family facing his wrath for hiding her from him.

  No need to face Rodric again, either.

  “Stop this, right this instant.” Sorcha placed a firm hand on her arm, holding her in place. “He is still your friend. I know this to be true.”

  “Would that I knew it,” Caitlin whispered as he approached.

  “Come.” Sorcha had no time for such qualms. She pulled Caitlin from the wagon and propelled her toward the house. “Rodric, please see to the team. You might lead them into the stable.” She did not wait to see whether he would comply.

  It was as though a great change had come over her. Instead of the weak, unsteady woman she’d first seen at the church, Caitlin watched in awe as her very capable aunt went about the business of preparing tea.

  In spite of the roiling mix of emotions fighting for control in her stomach, hunger made itself known at the sight of sweet cakes which Sorcha placed on a small plate. She’d eaten nothing more than a few bites of stale bread and hard cheese prior to leaving Fiona’s that morning.

  With the door firmly latched behind her, Caitlin felt free to remove her hat and shake free the coiled braid which had been hiding underneath. She felt soiled and uncomfortable after hours of riding through summer heat.

  At least the inside of the house was cool, the hearth dark and cold. Sorcha moved quickly, sparing no excess motion as she worked. A woman very familiar with her kitchen.

  The door opened.

  Caitlin’s breath caught, her eyes cutting to the side so as to catch a half-look at the man standing on the threshold. He all but filled the doorway, his shadow casting itself over the room.

  “Hurry up inside,” Sorcha ordered without so much as a glance over her shoulder. “There’s much to be discussed.”

  “There is nothing to be discussed,” Caitlin whispered. Her hands shook so, she twisted them in her lap and eventually thrust them between her closed thighs to keep them still. “This was a grave mistake, and I would thank Rodric to forget he ever saw me here.”

  “Rodric is standing right here in the room with you, so you might as well speak to me rather than about me, as though I’m not here.” He leaned against the now-closed door, folding his arms again. Was he aware of how they bulged, of how the sleeves of his thin tunic seemed to stretch against his muscles?

  “Please, do not tease me,” she begged, turning her face away. “I’d do anything if only you’ll give me your word that you won’t announce my presence to your brother.”

  “If I what?”

  Sorcha placed the cakes on the table, along with bread, butter, and jam. “Eat. If I had anything else at the present, you could have it. But I…”

  Caitlin knew she meant to say that she hadn’t been overconcerned with the condition of the larder, likely since the moment her husband had taken ill.

  Instantly, Caitlin regretted her thoughtlessness. “Please, sit down. If there is anything else to be done, I’ll do it for you.”

  “As will I,” Rodric offered.

  “Nonsense. I like to be busy.” Sorcha turned to light a small fire over which she placed a kettle of water.

  Hunger got the better of her, and Caitlin made short work of one cake, then another.

  Rodric hadn’t moved since he’d closed the door.

  “Why did you urge me to meet you here?” he asked Sorcha. “I had intended on paying a call, but you seemed quite set on my joining you.”

  “Aye.” She straightened and turned, running a distracted hand over the side of her head to smooth back a few strands of hair.

  A gesture Caitlin had observed countless times, even when there was no loose hair to smooth back.

  “Did you know that your brother wed my niece?”

  She couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of her eye, judging his reaction.

  He didn’t move at first, didn’t even blink. Only the slight flaring of his nostrils indicated that he was still alive. “Aye. I’d gotten word of my brother’s marriage, and of the lass to whom he’d been wed.”

  How could he sound so uncaring? As though he were speaking of two people he’d never met. No, he’d never been close with Alan, but he had certainly been close with her.

  Or so she had believed.

  Sorcha made a noise in the back of her throat, as though she had guessed as much. “Did you know she ran away the night of the wedding? Before the wedding feast had even ended?”

  He had nothing to say to this.

  Caitlin turned to him, all but forgetting the thick piece of buttered bread in front of her. “Well? Had you gotten word of that? You seem to know so much of so many other things.”

  She didn’t mean to snap at him, but the coldness in his voice made it impossible not to. The way he sounded… as though she were nothing. Less than nothing. And not only to him, but to the world in general. Like a pesky fly he wanted nothing more than to squash.

  The muscles in his jaw jumped, though he said not a word.

  She stood. “Well? Say something. Did your brother send you to fetch me? Is that why you’re here? You want to take me back to him?”

  His mouth fell open. “Lass, I didn’t know you’d left to begin with.”

  “I thought so,” Sorcha murmured as she poured the tea. “I knew you’d never have waited so long to return otherwise.”

  “You left him?” Rodric sat down across from her—fell into the chair, more like.

  “I was never with him,” Caitlin replied. “In order to leave him, I would have to be with him. The marriage ceremony took place, yes, but not with my consent.”

  “How was it arranged, then?”

  It was her turn to stand, hands balled into fists which she wanted to smash into his face. How could he be so daft? “You thought I wished to marry him? Alan? Of all men?”

  He stared into the dying embers, Sorcha having already put out the fire so as to avoid roasting the three of them in an overheated kitchen.

  “I suppose… I mean to say, I had assumed naturally that your stepfather arranged the match. I suppose I also assumed you agreed with it.”

  Her chest rose and fell in great heaving breaths. “You shouldn’t assume so much, Rodric Anderson.”

  “You ran from him.” As though he was struggling to make sense of it.

  She blinked in disbelief. “What choice did I have? I wouldn’t… I couldn’t…”

  He closed his eyes. “Oh, I see now. It makes perfect sense.”

  “What does?” Sorcha asked.

  “I should’ve known they were connected somehow. Your marriage and the feud between our clans.”

  It was Caitlin’s turn to be surprised. “There’s been a feud?”

  “How far away have you stayed?” he growled. “Yes, there has been, and now I understand why. You ran, and Alan wants what he paid for.”

  If he’d struck her, he could not have pained her more. He made her sound like…

  She picked up the first thing her hand reached—the bread she’d forgotten until that very moment—and smashed it into his face, butter and all.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d struck him, though it was perhaps the messiest.

  “Caitlin!” Sorcha sounded as though she wasn’t certain whether she ought to laugh or be angry. She was quick to fetch a rag with which to clean his face.

  “Either he leaves, or I do,” she demanded. “I’m sorry, Aunt Sorcha, but I can’t stay in the same house with him. You were wrong. He won’t help me.” Her voice cracked at the end, much to her disgust. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how deeply he wounded her.

  “Do not worry about which of us should go,” Rodric grunted once his face was somewhat clean.

  He stood, patting Sorcha’s shoulder in a rather clumsy display of either affection or regret—Caitlin wasn’t certain which.

  “Where are you planning to go?” Sorcha asked, her mouth twisting in a dismayed grimace.

  “I intend
to visit my brother, to ask that he end this feud which threatens the peace between not only our clans but the Duncans as well.”

  “What have they do with it?” Caitlin asked.

  “It was they who asked me to come, to ensure war doesn’t break out.” He shook his head and chuckled before standing. “I should’ve known, I suppose. Only you could cause two clans who’ve worked so hard for so long on even a tentative peace, to break down in such a manner.”

  She drew herself up to her full height, throwing her head back with a defiant sneer in spite of her aching heart. “Are you certain it isn’t your brute of a brother you ought to blame? Perhaps if he weren’t such a beast, a woman would wish to remain married to him!”

  He was laughing as he went to the door. “I’ll be certain to share the sentiment when I see him.”

  Sorcha let out an exclamation of pure terror. “Rodric!”

  He paused, his hand on the latch. “You know I wouldn’t,” he murmured, sounding contrite.

  Yes, Caitlin thought as she sank back into her chair before putting her head in her hands. She knew he wouldn’t.

  10

  Rodric didn’t know whether to laugh or shout in frustration. Perhaps both.

  It was with a sense of determination that he rode through the narrowest, shallowest part of the river—the water reached the horse’s knees and no higher—then allowed the animal to run full-out through the tall, rippling grass.

  He’d made the ride countless times before, but never while driving the horse beneath him to a full gallop except on the rare occasion when he’d lost track of time and knew his father would tan his hide for coming home so late.

  It was suddenly very important that he reach Alan quickly.

  His jaw smarted when he smiled, but only slightly. She could still land a blow. A shame there had to be butter involved.

  Oh, he should’ve known. She wouldn’t have changed that much, couldn’t have. All along, he’d harbored a quiet belief that she’d married Alan because she’d wanted to. A belief he hadn’t wished to admit to himself.

  How furious Alan must’ve been. No wonder he’d begun a feud.