A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(18)

9





What is he doing here?” Caitlin’s question was directed at her aunt, though her eyes never left the familiar figure lurking in the shadow of the house.

She’d just been reflecting on the familiarity of the farm and how much she’d missed it in such a short period of time. Extreme duress, like that under which she’d labored, had a tendency to make a person long even more desperately for the things they’d left behind.

All the while, she’d been watching. Waiting. Driving the wagon as fast as she dared, Kent’s mare tied to the back, wishing she could spur the team into running the entire duration of the journey. The sooner they were inside the house, the door closed on the outside world, the sooner she’d be able to breathe freely.

For though the air was fresh and clean—if not a bit too warm for her taste—breathing was very nearly a chore. She couldn’t seem to get past the pressure in her chest, as though something or someone were sitting on her.

And now, him.

Under any other circumstances, she would’ve marveled at the handsome sight he made. The wide expanse of clear, blue sky behind him set off the hue of his hair and even the stubble on his cheeks. He crossed impossibly thick arms over an equally thick chest, his jaw clenching as though he were working through some unpleasant emotion. Emotion from seeing her again? Undoubtedly.

Though it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Why would he have stayed away so long?

How silly to think that she’d seen him as a man back then, before he’d left her. Man enough to train with the army and fight in a war, to be sure, but the Rodric who’d ridden off that day so long ago had been nothing but a boy compared with the tall, muscular man before her.

All of this went through her mind in a matter of moments, thoughts overlapping as she fought to understand what it all meant. Had he come to take her back to his brother? Was that what it was all about, his appearance after so many years?

Aunt Sorcha tugged on the sleeve of her tunic. “Go on. Hurry. To the house.”

When Caitlin did not respond—could not possibly respond—Sorcha took the reins from her and finished what was left of the drive, which wasn’t much at all.

Caitlin hardly noticed.

Her eyes never left him.

And his never left her.

“What is he doing here?” she whispered again, like the hissing of a snake.

“I told him to come,” Sorcha announced in a calm, almost pleasant tone. “I told him how important it was that he come to see me.”

Caitlin pried her eyes from the tall, brooding figure beside the house in order to glare at her aunt. “How could you? You of all people know how important it is for no one to know of my presence!”

This didn’t seem to bother her aunt in the slightest. “You need his help.”

“He won’t help me.”

“You know he will.” Sorcha pulled the horses to a stop before turning to her niece. “You know he will.”

Though common sense denied it, her heart agreed.

But her heart had been so very wrong. It couldn’t be trusted.

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, shaking her head almost violently, wishing she could bolt from the wagon and run, just run, anywhere. As far as her legs would carry her.

Perhaps she would make it easier for herself and everyone she’d ever loved by simply throwing herself into the river and allowing it to carry her away. Yes, that would be better. No more fear, no chance of Alan finding her, no chance of her family facing his wrath for hiding her from him.

No need to face Rodric again, either.

“Stop this, right this instant.” Sorcha placed a firm hand on her arm, holding her in place. “He is still your friend. I know this to be true.”

“Would that I knew it,” Caitlin whispered as he approached.

“Come.” Sorcha had no time for such qualms. She pulled Caitlin from the wagon and propelled her toward the house. “Rodric, please see to the team. You might lead them into the stable.” She did not wait to see whether he would comply.

It was as though a great change had come over her. Instead of the weak, unsteady woman she’d first seen at the church, Caitlin watched in awe as her very capable aunt went about the business of preparing tea.

In spite of the roiling mix of emotions fighting for control in her stomach, hunger made itself known at the sight of sweet cakes which Sorcha placed on a small plate. She’d eaten nothing more than a few bites of stale bread and hard cheese prior to leaving Fiona’s that morning.

With the door firmly latched behind her, Caitlin felt free to remove her hat and shake free the coiled braid which had been hiding underneath. She felt soiled and uncomfortable after hours of riding through summer heat.

At least the inside of the house was cool, the hearth dark and cold. Sorcha moved quickly, sparing no excess motion as she worked. A woman very familiar with her kitchen.

The door opened.

Caitlin’s breath caught, her eyes cutting to the side so as to catch a half-look at the man standing on the threshold. He all but filled the doorway, his shadow casting itself over the room.

“Hurry up inside,” Sorcha ordered without so much as a glance over her shoulder. “There’s much to be discussed.”

“There is nothing to be discussed,” Caitlin whispered. Her hands shook so, she twisted them in her lap and eventually thrust them between her closed thighs to keep them still. “This was a grave mistake, and I would thank Rodric to forget he ever saw me here.”