A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(11)

“It’s what I feel I must do. I’m alive and well and a half-day’s ride away. I could return in two days, perhaps three. Once I’m certain Sorcha is taken care of.”

“She’ll be furious when she sees you,” Fiona warned. “You know that once you tell her the chance you’ve taken, she’ll be so disappointed.”

“I know. There’s nothing I can do about that. She’s worth the risk.”

Kent sighed, wringing his hands together. “You’ll want to borrow some clothing, then. No use traveling in…” He waved his hands to indicate her light grey kirtle.

She eyed him up and down. “You would lend me something?”

“Aye—you’ll need to belt it tightly, but I’ve an old pair of trousers which might help.” He let out an anxious sigh, but then he was an anxious man. It was a wonder he’d ever agreed to allow her to live under his roof.

At least he’d breathe more freely once she was gone, even if it was only for a short while.

If she managed to escape detection, of course.

Otherwise, it was back to the Andersons, back to Alan. He’d never let her out of his sight again.

And that terrible thought was nearly enough to make her doubt herself. Was she indeed behaving rashly by rushing to join her aunt? When Alan would undoubtedly make her pay dearly for running from him?

The thought of Sorcha suffering alone, Sorcha who’d been like a mother to her, reminded Caitlin of the reason why she had to make the journey. She simply had to, if only to provide a small bit of comfort.

“I’ll leave before dawn,” she announced, squaring her shoulders in determination.



It was still dark when she awoke on the straw-filled tick tucked in one corner of the main room. Had it been winter, she would’ve been nearer the hearth—even without a fire blazing inside, the stones which lined it would hold warmth. She’d often slept by the hearth while staying with her aunt and uncle.

Even a makeshift bed on the floor of a house full of love was better than comfortable lodgings in that cold, lonely home which had once been her mother’s domain. Mother had always ensured that her daughter felt wanted. Safe. Protected.

Not like Connor, who had all but cast her aside once Caitriona McAllister’s body gave up after the fourth stillbirth. Theirs had never been a loving relationship prior to her mother’s death—she wasn’t his child, not really, though that might have been forgivable had she been male. There was no one for him to pass his name on to.

Hence the near obsession he’d had with his wife bearing him a son. He hadn’t suffered as Caitriona had suffered with each loss, he hadn’t carried the babies in his body as she had. Lines hadn’t etched themselves into his face, deeper and deeper, as though each line represented another child which never lived outside its mother’s womb.

He’d killed Caitriona as surely as if he’d driven a blade into her heart. It might have been easier on her, at that.

And what had he done afterward? Had he expressed sympathy toward his motherless stepdaughter? Had he shown her love, attention, even the slightest semblance of caring what came of her? No. None of it.

If anything, he’d regretted her existence. He would’ve been free had it not been for Caitlin.

It was easy to fall into dark memories when she was alone, and the rest of the world seemed to be asleep. Were Fiona and Kent enjoying a good, deep sleep? Perhaps so. They wouldn’t need to fear Caitlin being discovered on their farm for at least a few days.

She washed her hands and face before sliding into the trousers and tunic which Kent had left for her. Both were quite large, though Kent was of a smaller build than the men she’d grown up around. Highlanders, all of them. Burly and massive.

She never could’ve worn Rodric’s clothing, had he been there to lend it to her. His trousers would likely have billowed around her legs like sheets no matter how tightly she’d cinched them.

The mere thought of him made her heart clench tight, as though a hand were squeezing it. The sensation took her breath away, made her clutch the sides of the kitchen table for support. How different it would all be if he had never gone away.

Perhaps it was easier to believe that. The truth wasn’t as simple as she liked to believe. There was no way of knowing whether Rodric would’ve wanted to marry her upon his return.

War changed a man. Hadn’t he warned her of as much before leaving? He swore his feelings for her would never change. Why, then, hadn’t he come for her once the war ended? Why hadn’t he at least let his clan know he was living?

He’d never once stepped foot on Anderson land again, so far as she knew.

He hadn’t really loved her. Theirs had been nothing more than a childhood romance which had ended with the passage of childhood. Its usefulness had run its course along with other childish concerns.

For him.

Not for her. Never for her.

“Still set on leaving?” Fiona’s soft whisper was still enough to make Caitlin jump and whirl about. “I must admit to having my doubts.”

“You ought to know me better than that.”

“Aye. I also know how you loathe waking before the dawn.”

Caitlin barely stifled a laugh for Kent’s sake. She assumed he slept on, though he’d surely be awake soon enough in order to begin the day’s business. One was rarely idle on a farm, no matter how many hands were employed there.