A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(14)

Rodric grinned at the memory of the brothel they’d passed along the road. “Try not to lose everything we’ve only just earned.”





7





Was Caitlin merely lying to herself, or did it seem as though she was getting away with her deception?

Perhaps the truth was even plainer. People simply didn’t look at her as she traveled down the wide road which had become more and more populated the further she went. While dressed as a woman, she’d never been able to avoid glances, looks of interest, outright stares from men and sometimes even other women.

She’d never taken it as a compliment, and not only because to do so would be sheer vanity. She’d simply assumed it to be the way of life, that a traveler riding along, alone, would attract attention.

Only if that traveler were female, evidently. A man—even one in clothing far too large for him—could come and go as he pleased with no one paying much mind.

Still, she kept her head down as she rode, avoiding meeting the eyes of those she passed as much as possible. Men’s clothing or no, she still looked like a woman.

Excitement thrummed in her veins, a mixture of nauseating fear and the certainty that she was getting away with the grand risk she’d taken. She’d get past anyone who might identify her to her husband.

Her husband. Oh, the horror of it all. The very thought sent a jolt of disgust throughout her body. What had once been excitement in her veins turned to ice. Her hands clenched tight on the reins, her teeth grinding together as though a cry of revulsion would escape her throat otherwise.

She wasn’t entirely na?ve. She knew many women married men not because they wanted to, but rather out of a sense of familial duty or because they’d been promised from a young age. She understood enough of the world to comprehend that marriage was not always a result of love.

But Sorcha and Gavin had loved each other. She liked to believe her mother and father had, as well. Why Mother had married Connor McAllister was anyone’s guess, though Caitlin suspected the arrangement to be more one of necessity than anything else. A new widow with a young daughter, no man to protect her. Connor had like as not appeared to be a savior sent from the heavens.

And he had been kind to Caitlin when she was young. She remembered it well, most likely because he’d changed so over time. Such a contrast from the patient, kind, friendly man her mother had married. Perhaps he’d put on an act to convince Caitriona that her daughter would be loved if the marriage took place.

Perhaps he’d led her to believe he’d never sell her daughter in marriage.

The closer Caitlin drew to the village which sat just outside the border of McAllister land, the greater the danger. She was aware of this and made an effort to maintain a sense of calm as a result. It was critical that she do nothing to arouse suspicion as the mare trotted over the well-worn road.

Which only made her more aware of herself, and more likely to behave as though she had something to hide. Sweat rolled down the back of her neck. While it was a warm day, to be sure, the hat she wore made it worse. Would that she could remove it.

Though there was something to be said for the freedom afforded by trousers. No need to concern oneself with gathering skirts, tucking them strategically, being careful not to show more leg than was considered proper. How was a woman supposed to exist in the world when she had to worry about her kirtle getting in the way?

The church steeple stood out against a clear, cloudless sky, the beacon which drew her in. There was no telling when the burial rites would be performed, but she had nothing better to do than to wait.

Her mother was there, as were the brothers she’d never known, but she decided against visiting them. Her presence at their graves might arouse suspicion. She needed more than anything to avoid causing those around her to ask questions.

At least the yard surrounding the church was empty, telling her there was time before the services would begin. Perhaps she might meet up with her aunt before the other mourners arrived.

It was a poor church, a poor village, and the condition of the graveyard reflected this. The corners of her mouth pulled down as she took in the overgrown grounds, weeds choking out every other living thing in an attempt to take over. If she were there as herself, she’d clean off the graves of her family and perhaps even plant something pretty.

The weeds would only choke it, too. Like everything else.

There was a fresh hole dug not far from Mother’s grave, which she guessed was intended for Gavin. A lump formed in her throat when she imagined him there, at the bottom of a grave, covered in the dirt which sat in great piles along the edges of where he’d be laid to rest. It was doubtful that Sorcha would have the silver on hand to afford a marker for the grave.

He deserved better. They both did. Would that she were in a position to provide for them.

She might have been able to, had she stayed with her husband. A sobering truth, to be sure, but still a truth. While Alan wasn’t the most thoughtful of men and had a temper worse than any she’d ever witnessed, he wasn’t an animal. He had feelings. He could reason.

She may have talked him into providing for Sorcha in the future. Into at least seeing that her needs were met. Connor most certainly wouldn’t—Gavin was his dead wife’s brother, so Sorcha meant nothing to him.

At least there was no chance of Connor appearing at the burial, nor of Alan’s presence. She knew them both well enough to be certain.