A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)

by Aileen Adams

  “I heard of your arrival but hardly believed it.”

  A tall, handsome younger man all but crushed Rodric in a hug which stole the air from his lungs.

  When released, he sputtered in surprise. “Padraig?”

  But it couldn’t be. And yet, it was. He was the image of their father, much more like him than either of his elder brothers. As though Ross Anderson had come back to them in a younger form.

  “Aye,” his brother grinned. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long, if this is how much older you’ve become.” He’d imagined his baby brother as a bookish, quiet, shy little man who allowed Alan to push him around after hearing the truth of how the lands were managed. Not so. Padraig looked as though his ham-sized fists could easily pummel any man who dared speak ill toward him.

  And yet the same softness was about his eyes and smile. The same boyishness.

  “Our brother was just about to tell me how to run the clan,” Alan explained, already into his third cup of ale in mere minutes. It didn’t seem to affect him—at least, not yet. Hardly enough time had passed, and he was a very large man accustomed to drink.

  “I wasn’t telling anyone how to do anything,” was Rodric’s testy reply. “I was merely addressing the fact that a feud has sprung up anew.”

  “Aye.” Padraig ran a hand over the back of his neck, a rueful smile touching the corners of his mouth. “It’s a hardship, to be sure.”

  “Hardship.” Alan slammed the cup down again, reminding Rodric for all the world of a child showing his temper. “It’s a damned break of the agreement we reached. I was to marry the girl and unite the clans. What does she do? She runs off like a thief in the night. So help me, if I find out who’s harboring her—”

  “You don’t know that anyone is,” Padraig reminded him, his voice firm but gentle. Rodric reminded himself that his brother knew how to handle the leader of his clan. He’d been doing it for years. “And again, let us consider the situation from Caitlin’s point of view.”

  “Point of view, bah!” Alan crossed his arms over his chest, his face more flushed than ever. “She had a duty, the agreement was set, and she reneged.”

  “What has Connor to say about this?” Rodric asked.

  “Claims it had nothing to do with him, he had no control over her. What I would expect him to say.”

  “Why hold it against him, then?”

  “Why not?” He stood, palms on the old, heavy table, and leaned forward. “For all I know, he told the girl to do as she did! Wanted to make a fool of me. Wanted the benefits of a peace between us and the protection of a much stronger clan.”

  “Och, he cares nothing for the girl,” Rodric reminded his brother. “He wouldn’t have cared one way or another whether or not she wished to be wed. I strongly suspect this was her doing, and hers alone.”

  “Even so, what do you expect me to do? You expect me to roll over and take this sort of treatment? What kind of message would that send the other clans?”

  A fair point, reluctant though Rodric was to admit it.

  “Is this why you’ve returned?” Padraig asked in a voice far different from Alan’s. He didn’t need to bellow and bluster to command attention.

  “Aye,” Rodric admitted, turning his attention on Alan. “Word of this new disagreement has reached other clans, as you’ve suggested. The Duncans, in particular.”

  “Bah, the Duncans. A curse on the lot of ‘em.” Alan shook his head as he poured yet another cup, full to the point where ale sloshed over the sides.

  “I wouldn’t speak so flippantly if I were you,” Rodric warned.

  “Why? Are they so much stronger than we?” Alan taunted. “You know the size of the force we had at our back when you and I were boys. Double that number, and you’ll have some idea of our current strength.”

  “We all know how wealthy and powerful the Duncan clan is,” Padraig reminded both of his brothers, looking from one to the other. “Perhaps it’s best we solidify our alliances, rather than destroying what’s made us strong from the beginning. I, for one, do not wish to count Phillip Duncan as an enemy.”

  “You’d be better off as a woman,” Alan snarled, glaring at his younger brother.

  “Says the man who only just admitted what a wonder Padraig is,” Rodric spat.

  “Aye, a woman can run a household, can she not? But she hasn’t the balls to run a clan,” Alan announced. “Which is why I sit in this chair, right here behind me, and why my word is the final word when it comes to clan business. And I say, damn the Duncans straight to hell if they think they can tell an Anderson what to do.”

  He squinted at Rodric, who realized Alan was holding himself steady against the table and took this to mean his brother had already had more than enough to drink. “And damn you along with them, if that’s what you’ve come here for.”

  “I should’ve known there would be no talking to you,” Rodric muttered. “You were impossible enough when you were sober, but now?”

  “Stop this,” Padraig insisted, stepping between the two of them before Alan had the chance to explode. “Nothing can be achieved this way.”

  “He wants to achieve nothing but what he wants,” Rodric pointed out, pushing his way past Padraig.

  He had good intentions and would’ve made a much better leader than either of his older brothers, but he was still the baby of the family.

  “Yes!” Alan cried out, eyes lighting up. “Let him come at me as he’s always wanted to. Now that he’s a big man, a soldier, he thinks he can take on his older brother.”

  “I could’ve taken you on years ago—when you were still in shape,” Rodric added. “Now, you’re nothing but a shadow of who you used to be and nothing like the man our father was. You can’t even stand up straight. And you can’t stand the blow the girl landed on your pride. Why not admit what this is truly about?”

  “I ought to kill you!” Alan lunged, missing Rodric completely and falling against the chair.

  Padraig went to him in spite of the cruelty he’d just shown and helped him to sit.

  Rodric drew a deep breath, regaining control of himself. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to lose his temper. He shouldn’t have allowed his tongue to run away from him.

  His brother was a pathetic, quivering wreck of a man. It was the same as abusing a defenseless creature, really. There was little defense Alan could offer in his shameful state.

  Except one.

  “A shame you’ll likely be away again when I find the bitch,” Alan snarled as he leaned his head against the back of the chair. His breath came in ragged gasps, like an animal.

  “Why is that?” Rodric whispered. The dirk he always carried was at his waist, concealed by his tunic, but he was more than ready to clasp the hilt and withdraw the thing.

  Alan’s smile held no humor. It was the nastiest, most repulsive thing Rodric had ever seen. “I would hate for you to miss witnessing the punishment I’ll surely deliver.”

  “Alan, please,” Padraig urged. “That’s enough. I won’t hear any more of this.”

  “Then leave. I didn’t invite you in.” His eyes bored holes into Rodric as he spoke. “She’s my wife. Mine to do with as I choose. And I choose to make certain she never gets away from me again. If it means she no longer walks, so be it.”

  A cold hand gripped Rodric’s heart even as his blood began to boil. “You won’t touch so much as a hair on her head.”

  “Ah, and there it is,” Alan chortled. “I knew it! Pretending to only care about the future of the clan, and whether the Duncans hold the Andersons responsible for breaking the peace. As if I didn’t know all along that it was the old feelings you had for the girl that truly brought you to my door.”

  “That isn’t true,” Rodric murmured with a shake of his head. “I didn’t know she’d deserted you rather than take your bed.”

  Padraig roared. “Enough!”

  When Alan tried to stand, Padraig placed a hand in the center of the man’s ches
t and shoved him back into his chair before whirling around to glare at Rodric.

  Padraig scowled at Rodric. “After all these years, the two of you fall right back into your old ways. I’ve managed to grow up a bit over the last few years. A pity neither of you has—still at each other’s throats like a pair of children.”

  In spite of his brother’s harsh words, in the back of his mind, Rodric couldn’t help but marvel at just how like their father Padraig was. He even sounded like him when he scolded them.

  Padraig turned to Alan, staring down at him with contempt but not without a bit of love and sympathy mixed in. “It’s barely nightfall, and you’re already at the point of falling down. Perhaps it would be best for the two of you to continue this discussion in the morning.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Rodric murmured. “We all know it. Drunk or sober, some things never change.”

  Alan nodded. “Aye, such as my pride. A man’s pride.”

  Rodric merely snickered. “I did what I could. Let it be said that I came here in good faith, wishing to broker a peace between the clans.”

  “Talk to McAllister about it, then,” Alan slurred.

  It was Padraig who answered, his voice as sharp as a freshly-honed blade. “You were the one who started the old feud back up, and we all know it. If a peace were to be arrived at, you would have to be the one to extend a hand.”

  “Which will never happen, unless my bride is returned to me.” Alan squinted at Rodric, struggling to bring his face into focus. “That’s my final word on the matter.”

  “So be it,” Rodric replied, casting a regretful look at his younger brother before turning on his heel and marching from the room, then out of the house entirely.

  It looked as though he would be her only protection.

  12

  You should not have allowed your temper to get the better of you.” Sorcha’s voice was gentle, yet firm. “I thought you were a grown woman now, no longer the child who once blackened the lad’s eye.”

  Caitlin shrugged as though it didn’t matter, her hands working the dough she intended to bake into a fresh loaf of bread for her aunt. The least she could do was attempt to fill the kitchen with as much food as possible—there was already a stew bubbling on the fire, and she had brought in fresh vegetables from the garden after weeding and tending to what was still growing.

  Not once could she remember a time when there hadn’t been more than enough to eat, her aunt always busy working while happy, tuneless little songs erupted from her now and again. It was she who had taught Caitlin to cook and bake.

  Life was strange. Sometimes it brought a person back to where they’d started without their knowing it.

  She shaped the dough into a loaf, then covered it with a cloth and set it aside to allow for rising. “The lad hasn’t learned to control his mouth, which was the reason why I blackened his eye all those years ago. When he learns how to speak to a woman, I’ll stop letting my temper get the better of me.”

  “He hurt you,” Sorcha surmised, watching her niece from a chair by the window. “I know he did. I hurt for you when he said it—for both of you.”

  “Both of us? How can you defend such terrible things?”

  “He was merely lashing out at you, my dear. He was hurt, too.”

  Caitlin made a dismissive noise as she fetched the broom and began to sweep. “Nonsense.”

  “My darling girl. I’ve known you since the day you were born. I might not be your blood relation, but you’re the closest to a daughter the Good Lord ever saw fit to grant me. And he’s the closest to a son. I’ve watched you grow up together, I saw what developed between you. I’m certain that when he heard of your marriage to Alan, his heart all but broke in two.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “And I’m telling you it is. I’m older than you, dear, and wiser. I’ve seen much more of life. I know what love looks like, and the two of you shone with such a light when you were together that it nearly blinded me just to look at you.”

  “Aunt Sorcha…” Caitlin turned her face away, a flush creeping up her throat and over her face.

  “It’s so,” Sorcha replied, a bit of gentle laughter at the edge of her voice. She’d always loved to tease and couldn’t help but indulge in a bit of it in spite of her sadness.

  Caitlin managed to calm the trembling in her hands before replying. “That was a long time ago, so it matters not any longer. Several years have passed. Many. Who’s to say what’s happened to him since then? He’s a changed person. Surely, you saw this with your own eyes.”

  “Aye, he’s a grown man now, strong and capable,” Sorcha observed. “The sort of man you need.”

  “Please, don’t tease me.”

  “It’s not my intention to tease you, my dear. Not now.” Sorcha leaned forward in the chair, her hands grasping the arms. “I saw the same light in his eyes when he looked upon you. He hasn’t forgotten you, my dear girl, not for a moment in all this time. And I would be willing to wager that you haven’t forgotten him, either.” She settled back in the chair. “If I were a wagering woman, that is.”

  Caitlin knew her aunt’s words were intended to reassure her, but they only served to upset her more than ever before. Was it true? Did he love her? How could he be so cruel, then?

  She let the matter rest, knowing that the more she protested, the more her aunt would insist she knew the truth of the matter. Instead of discussing Rodric and the terrible things he’d said, then, she finished cleaning the kitchen and put the bread to bake.

  By the time she did, the tunic she wore was stuck to her back with sweat, and the hair at the nape of her neck was soaked.

  “Go to the river and bathe, wash your clothing,” Sorcha advised, gathering soap and a linen for drying. “You can borrow an old nightdress of mine tonight, while your tunic and trousers dry.”

  Such an opportunity could not have come at a better time, as Caitlin needed to be alone in order to think through the swirling, murky thoughts which seemed ready to tear her head to pieces. As murky as the water into which she stepped, making sure to watch her footing as she walked further into the flow. It came to her waist at the deepest point of the narrows, so she crouched for the sake of modesty before removing her clothing.

  It was silly to worry about modesty when there was no one around to see. Even Sorcha had settled in for the night, though she’d made her niece promise to announce her return.

  When Caitlin had pointed out that this would only wake her, Sorcha had merely offered a weak smile in return. “It won’t wake me. I will not be asleep.”

  No, she’d be awake and thinking about her husband. Her dead husband. The man who would no longer warm her bed.

  Tears trickled down her cheeks as she set about the business of washing the sweat-stained tunic, her hands rubbing the soapy homespun together almost viciously. Now that she’d mourned her uncle over the course of the day, anger had taken the place of sorrow.

  It made no sense for him to be gone when her aunt was left behind. What sort of cruel God would take a woman’s only solace away from her when she needed him? What God would not at least allow the two of them to speak words of love to each other before one of the pair was silenced forever?

  At least he did not suffer. It was intended to be a consolation, she knew, though she could see how a woman might scream in frustration after hearing it too many times. But people couldn’t be held accountable for the things they said when comforting the grief-stricken. It was always a difficult terrain to travel.

  Once the clothing was as clean as she could reasonably hope for it to be, she wrung it out and spread it across a group of rocks at the water’s edge before going back into wash herself.

  The water was so cool, a refreshing change after working so hard. The night air was heavy with warmth, almost moist with it. Caitlin unwound her braid with practiced fingers before dunking her head under the surface of the river, delighting in the way her hair floated around her he
ad. Like she had when she was a child.

  When she’d swum in this river with Rodric.

  The longer she spent in the water, the bolder she became. No one was nearby to see her resting her hands on the river bottom, allowing her unclothed body to float on the water’s surface as she had when she was a little girl. There was something almost wicked about the freedom of it, allowing the river to flow over her skin, through her unbound hair, washing away everything she wished to be rid of.

  So she could hope.

  She stood again, waist-deep, and rubbed the soap all over herself before dunking up to her neck again, then springing up and laughing to herself at the way the water ran down her body. The moon was nearly full and turned her pale skin even paler, almost silver, and the water which dripped from her breasts sparkled like jewels.

  A man cleared his throat from the bank behind her. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more careful, bathing in the moonlight?”

  She gasped.

  Reflex caused her to drop to her knees, the water rising to her shoulders and granting her a bit of modesty before she turned to face him.

  “It’s only me,” Rodric chuckled, his voice tellingly humorless as he sat on the riverbank, arms slung over his bent knees.

  At most, he’d only seen her bare shoulders and perhaps her waist. Otherwise, her hair hung in a curtain which covered most of her back. Thank heaven. She would’ve died of shame had it been otherwise.

  “I knew it was you,” she snapped. “I know your voice.”

  “Do you? After all this time?”

  She prayed the moonlight wasn’t bright enough to reveal the flush which spread across her cheeks. “You have a distinctive voice.”

  “It is rather memorable, I suppose. And you’ve a rather memorable tendency to use your fists to speak for you.”

  She gritted her teeth and willed herself to keep her temper. He wanted her to lose it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Only when I see a face which begs to be hit. Yours is the only one which has ever done so.”

  “I assure you, lass, it’s an honor to be your first and only.”