A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(16)

Sorcha nodded. “Aye, darling, but that was a long time ago, and now you’ve run away from us, and I didn’t know until just now that you’d survived.” She raised her head to look into Caitlin’s eyes. “I should be furious with you for coming, but it’s so good to know you’re alive. I needed you so.”

Caitlin broke down, leaning on her aunt as much as her aunt leaned on her. “Oh, Aunt Sorcha, I’m so sorry.”

The two of them stood there, holding one another up, as Gavin’s body was placed on the soft ground beside the freshly-dug grave.

“How did you know it was me?” Caitlin whispered.

“I would know you anywhere. The moment you touched my hand, dear. I last held yours not so very long ago, remember.”

“I do.” The night before the wedding, when she’d sobbed through the night with her aunt at her side.

“Where have you been?” Sorcha asked, barely whispering.

“With Fiona.”

“Aye, I’d hoped as much. Alan never knew her, or her husband.”

“Which was why I chose their home to flee to.”

“You took quite a chance, coming here.” Their eyes met, and Sorcha’s crinkled at the corners as they narrowed. “He wouldn’t like it, if he knew.”

No, Uncle Gavin wouldn’t have liked it at all. “I needed to be here. I needed to be with you.”

“As I said, I should be furious that you’d take such a chance—”

The sound of approaching hooves caught their attention, and Sorcha stiffened at the sight of the mourners on their way to the graveyard.

“Quickly. You must hide yourself.”

Caitlin didn’t wait to be told twice, releasing her aunt and fleeing to the hedge behind which she’d hidden prior to Sorcha’s arrival. It sat in deep shadow, untouched by sunlight thanks to the trees on either side whose branches formed a roof overhead.

She watched, barely peering out from around the hedge, as one after another horse and wagon arrived. All of them carried sorrowful friends, faces Caitlin recognized. It seemed the procession would never end.

Was it Caitlin’s imagination, or was her aunt’s back a bit straighter than it had been when she’d arrived at the church? Some of that was surely an attempt to keep up an appearance of strength in front of others, but she wanted to believe her presence had bolstered Sorcha at least a bit. If that was all she managed to accomplish, the journey and its risks would be well worth it.

Her eyes moved across the sea of faces, all of them either tear-stained or looking as though they were about to be. Gavin had touched so many of the neighboring families with his humor and generous nature. It did Caitlin’s heart good to see them there, to know they remembered him fondly.

What did not do her good was the sight of a familiar shade of dark hair as a rider descended from his horse. Thick and wavy as ever, the sunlight seeming to hit it straight on so as to catch her eye.

Sorcha said she would’ve known Caitlin anywhere.

Caitlin would’ve known him anywhere.

The last time she’d seen that hair of his, not to mention the broad back and wide shoulders and the way he’d carried himself in the saddle—so straight and tall—had been the day he’d ridden off and left her behind. She’d seemed much younger then, but as deeply in love as anyone could be.

Deeply in love and certain of his return.

Certain that he would make her his wife one day.

“Rodric,” she breathed.





8





Where was she?

Rodric surveyed the crowd on his approach, his eyes trained for the sight of her fair head amongst so much red and brown. Like a ray of sunshine, she’d always stood out.

Naturally, she’d stood out to him for other reasons as well, reasons which he turned his mind away from or at least did his best to. Bad enough hers was the face he was most intent on seeing again. He didn’t need the reminder of what he’d always thought of as their love to cause him any further pain.

Would her husband be with her? Perhaps it was Alan he should be looking for—then again, no. Alan was hardly a monster and would likely pay a personal call on the widow, but he had never been one for public displays.

In fact, Rodric reflected while dismounting, he couldn’t recall his brother’s presence at their mother’s burial. Strange, that. They’d been mere children, Padraig no more than a baby, and yet Alan had refused to attend. And Ross hadn’t pressed the matter.

Sorcha stood by the grave, greeting those who’d come to pay respects to her husband. She was unkempt, though he hadn’t expected much better. If he’d very suddenly lost his wife, he did not think the condition of his clothing or his grooming would take priority over his grief.

Even so, she appeared to be holding up well and with a great deal of dignity.

He moved through the crowd, nodding in silent greeting to those who appeared to recognize him. Oh, yes, his brother would soon find out of his return—if he wasn’t already aware.

He deliberately avoided looking toward the grave, where the body was waiting. Odd, for a man who’d killed so many in battle and wounded countless others. He hadn’t known them. They hadn’t been kind to him.

It was easier to look upon the dead body of a stranger, especially if the stranger was an enemy.