by Aileen Adams
Caitlin smiled. “We have, that’s true.”
The splashing of a horse through the river brought them to their feet, both stepping outside to see what caused the commotion.
When Rodric trotted over to them astride a winded gelding, Sorcha merely patted Caitlin’s arm before retreating back inside the house.
“Why did you go?” he asked, not yet dismounting.
“It was too… too much, I suppose. Too many men, too much shouting.”
“You could at least have warned me you wanted to leave,” he murmured. There was no telling from his expression whether he was angry or merely stating a fact.
“You were at Alan’s bedside.”
He nodded. “You’re a widow now. He’s gone.”
And even in spite of the pain Alan had caused her, caused to so many in one way or another thanks to his carelessness and temper, she felt sorry to hear it for Rodric’s sake.
“You’re free,” he added in an even tone.
“Free.” She repeated it to herself once, twice, unable to quite understand it. She was free. “For the first time in my life, I have no laird and master.”
He nodded, his lips pursed. “No one to order you about or deny you what you want.”
“Are you telling me you would order me about?”
“Are you telling me you still wish to be my wife?”
“What do you think?”
“I wouldn’t know. You’re the one who ran from the house last night.”
“I told you why I did, Rodric Anderson! And I left out one important reason,” she added, her anger fully stoked as she charged over to where he still sat on horseback. “I was afraid you’d blame me for Alan. And you wouldn’t want me in your life any longer, now that the clan is yours.”
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable once again. “You thought that?”
“Of course. It’s only natural.”
“It isn’t natural at all! It’s the least natural thing I’ve ever heard come from your mouth, lass, which is saying quite a bit as you have a talent for coming up with strange things.” He slid from the saddle, taking her arms in his hands once he was in front of her.
“You don’t blame me, then?” she asked, awestruck. While she understood Sorcha’s assertion that it wasn’t her fault, that Alan had always behaved according to his own desires and had led himself into a fight with a man as ruthless as Connor McAllister, it didn’t make hearing him say the words any less surprising or wonderful.
His face contorted as though she’d said something truly unthinkable. “Why in the world would I blame you for what you had no part of?”
“I… don’t know. I thought you might, is all.”
“You blamed yourself and thought I would feel the same.” He took her in his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Ye daft thing. Sometimes I wonder why I love such a daft lass as yourself.”
She was certain her heart would crack open from pure joy. “Because you know I love you, as well?”
He still loved her. He didn’t blame her. All was well.
No.
All was better than it had ever been.
He pulled back, looking down at her with more love in his grey eyes than she thought she’d ever seen. “My Caitlin,” he murmured, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger in order to draw her closer.
Her heart pounded out of control, her cheeks flushing and the breath all but leaving her body entirely as their lips brushed together—tenderly, gently, the way she’d dip her toe into rushing water to test how cold it was before stepping in.
Her very toes tingled, the racing of her heart all but deafening her as it sent blood rushing in her ears. He was as lovely and delicious as she’d always dreamed he would be.
They had never kissed before, not even when they were children. She’d only ever imagined the firmness of his mouth, the way his hands held her face so carefully. As though she might break. Large hands, hands capable of killing, holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
The way he’d press his mouth to hers more firmly after the first taste, how the passion which had built between them over the course of their lives would suddenly break free and consume them both.
Her arms wound around his neck while his wound around her back, enclosing her in a tight embrace she sank joyfully into. Her head fell against his shoulder, her senses full of the scent and taste and even the sound of him as he groaned with every movement of their lips against one another’s.
Each groan increased a delightful tightness, the flickering of the flames she would swear were burning deep inside her body. Inside her soul.
Everything was right. Finally, all was as it was meant to be.
When he lifted his head, she strained toward him, hungry for more. His breathless chuckle broke her free of the daze she’d fallen under.
“A man needs to breathe, lass,” he whispered, smiling softly. “And there are limits to what he can endure without losing control of his better nature. We’ve had many happy times here—but I cannot imagine doing what I long for more than anything else on your aunt’s land.”
She giggled, turning her face to his shoulder to hide her burning cheeks.
“Besides,” he added, sounding solemn, “there’s something standing in our way. We aren’t yet wed.”
She looked up at him, hoping he meant what it sounded as though he meant. “You want to marry me?”
“Not the most expressive way I could imagine asking a lass to marry me—especially once I had always intended on marrying, ever since I was a wee lad—but yes. I can say with all certainty that I do wish to marry ye, Caitlin, if you’ll have me as your husband.”
“Oh, Rodric!” She was ready to sink into another one of his deep, delicious kisses, but he surprised her by dropping his arms from her waist.
His frown startled her, nearly stopping her heart.
“There’s still one thing we have yet to discuss,” he explained. “And you might not wish to carry on with what we’ve discussed once we’re through.”
29
She hardly dared ask. Did she really wish to know what he meant?
When he turned his back, her heart sank lower than ever. He couldn’t bear to look at her. What could be so wrong that he couldn’t meet her gaze?
She drew a deep breath and forced herself to ask. “What is it, Rodric? What could possibly make me rethink my wanting to marry you?”
“Oh, lass.” He looked up at the clear, blue sky—there was no trace of the storm which had torn through the day before, not a cloud visible. “There’s so much you do not know.”
“Tell me, then, if you feel you must.” She wasn’t entirely certain she wished to learn whatever it was, seeing as how it seemed to tear him apart. He punched one palm with the other fist, looking down at the ground now. He walked to the river, and she followed him dutifully, prepared to listen.
She loved him. He’d saved her life. She owed him that much.
“The questions you asked yesterday,” he reminded her, staring off across the river as he did. “You asked about the sort of men we were, what we did together. Why we traveled as we do.”
When he sat, she sat. Her feet were still bare after spending the night on her aunt’s floor, and she extended her legs until they touched the surface of the water. She felt horribly soiled, in need of a long bath and at least a fortnight’s sleep.
Rather than prompting him, she waited for him to continue. It was becoming clearer with every passing moment that he referred to the things he’d done in the past.
After his performance in the woods, using the dirk so quickly and efficiently to cut a man down, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d killed before—after the war had ended.
How did that make her feel?
“I’ve done things I’m ashamed to share with you,” he murmured, turning his head ever so slightly, so she could make out most of his face. “And I’m afraid I haven’t much to offer you in the way
of a home or wealth. There’s still so much uncertainty.”
She frowned. “No home? What about your house?”
“My…?” He laughed softly. “Aye, I didna explain that far, did I? I won’t be taking over in Alan’s stead.”
“You won’t?”
He met her gaze, shaking his head. “I named Padraig leader instead.”
She laughed, clapping her hands in glee. “He’s perfect! You’re so clever to see it.”
“You see it, too?”
“Of course. It’s as if… he is so much like your father, but he has your sensibility as well. I couldn’t imagine a better choice.”
“Not even me?” he asked, feigning shock.
“Not even you—because I know you never wanted the position, whereas he’s at least gained experience after managing things for Alan.”
“Aye, which was exactly how I saw it.”
“We think alike, I suppose.”
Instead of turning to her for a kiss or a sweet word, he turned his face away again. “Even so, this means I have nothing to offer at all. We can live at the house—Padraig has already insisted upon it, in fact—but what good would that do? You’d live in a house not your own, one in which you’d have little say. You should have your own home, your own family.”
“Perhaps this is all the sort of thing we can work out together over time,” she suggested. “There is no need to act in haste. If we were to spend a little time with Padraig—perhaps until he feels better settled, too, as it’s likely he’ll face many challenges—we could spend more time making plans. Nothing has to be decided today except the fact that I want to be your wife.”
He let out a sigh which might have been a laugh. “Still? You saw what I did in the woods. How easy it was for me.”
“I like to think it was easy because you did it on my behalf,” she murmured.
“Aye, lass! What did you think? I don’t consider it an amusement.”
“Well, then?”
“That isn’t the first time.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“And you still love me?”
“Oh, Rodric.” She leaned against him, winding her arm around his. “I’ve loved you every day since I was old enough to understand love. Perhaps before then. Yes, I still love you. I’m certain that I will to the last beat of my heart.”
“You wouldn’t mind being the wife of a man who might be wanted by the authorities for some of the things he’s done?”
The thought did chill her heart somewhat. “All there is to do is hope things work out for the best. They always do. Even if it takes a lifetime.” Her hand found his, their fingers intertwining.
He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering there. “I think it would be only fair to escort Sarah back to the Duncan house and meet up with the men there. Explain to them our plans.”
“Of course,” she whispered. “I’d think they’d want to congratulate you on your happiness.”
“They’ll want to slap me on the back and ask you if you’re completely daft for marrying a such a scoundrel,” he snickered.
She shrugged, smiling as she imagined how much enjoyment the men would derive from taunting her new husband. “Either way, I’ll enjoy it.”
He leaned back, looking down at her. “We’re truly going to do this, then?”
“We truly are. Perhaps you’re the daft one if you didn’t know it.”
He shook his head, smiling in amazement. “I must confess something I’ve never told anyone else.”
Another confession? “What is it?”
“I’ve spent a good deal of time wondering why I was spared during the war—the Battle of Largs, in particular. Jake Duncan—Phillip’s brother—saved my life. I was moments from dying there, on the field, lying on the ground after my horse threw me. That’s how I got this,” he added, motioning to his wounded shoulder.
“Oh, my dearest…”
He nodded. “A enemy soldier was nearly about to take my head off when Jake threw himself in front of me and took a wound which nearly killed him. Sarah saved his life, but it was very close.”
She remembered overhearing them speak of Jake in Alan’s room, while she watched from the doorway.
“Since then,” he continued, looking just over her head, out toward the horizon, “I asked myself why I was spared. Why me? Why not any of the men who died there, or throughout the rest of the war? I felt in my heart that there had to be something, some reason, some purpose I was spared for.”
A wide, brilliant smile spread across his face. “And now I know. It was you. You were my salvation.”
Tears filled Caitlin’s eyes. “Oh, Rodric.”
“It’s true. I know it now, lass.” He cupped her chin, stroking her jaw with his thumb, his eyes so deep and clear she was certain she’d drown in them as she gazed helplessly up. “I was spared because of you. You needed me—and I needed you. It wouldn’t be right for me to be taken in battle before what was meant to come to pass had come to pass. I believe this.”
It made perfect sense, just as Padraig leading the clan was the only course of action which anyone should have ever considered. Everything had fallen into place as it was destined to do.
“I believe it, too,” she agreed.
He caught the tears which trickled down her cheeks. “You cry frequently.”
“It seems I do,” she gasped, laughing at his observation. “But only because I’ve had reason to do so as of late.”
His lips replaced his thumbs, kissing away what remained of her tears. “I vow to you, Caitlin, that I will do everything in my power to ensure the only tears you shed are tears of joy.”
Her heart swelled as she once again reflected on the way it had all come to be.
“Excuse me! You two!”
They turned to find Sorcha standing by the front door, smiling. “If you aren’t too busy out there, you might like to come inside so we can discuss the plans for your wedding ceremony. If you think I’m going to let you traipse all over the Highlands without first witnessing you taking vows together, you’re sadly mistaken!”
Rodric burst out laughing. “I wasn’t aware we had an audience. I suppose our voices carried.”
Caitlin could only shake her head at her aunt, who’d known all along the way things ought to be. The two of them stood, hand-in-hand, and walked to the little house where so much of their history—and their love—had first come to pass.
I hope you enjoyed A Soldier’s Salvation.!
Next in the series... A Warrior’s Soul.
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Copyright © 2018 by Aileen Adams
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