A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(19)

“Rodric is standing right here in the room with you, so you might as well speak to me rather than about me, as though I’m not here.” He leaned against the now-closed door, folding his arms again. Was he aware of how they bulged, of how the sleeves of his thin tunic seemed to stretch against his muscles?

“Please, do not tease me,” she begged, turning her face away. “I’d do anything if only you’ll give me your word that you won’t announce my presence to your brother.”

“If I what?”

Sorcha placed the cakes on the table, along with bread, butter, and jam. “Eat. If I had anything else at the present, you could have it. But I…”

Caitlin knew she meant to say that she hadn’t been overconcerned with the condition of the larder, likely since the moment her husband had taken ill.

Instantly, Caitlin regretted her thoughtlessness. “Please, sit down. If there is anything else to be done, I’ll do it for you.”

“As will I,” Rodric offered.

“Nonsense. I like to be busy.” Sorcha turned to light a small fire over which she placed a kettle of water.

Hunger got the better of her, and Caitlin made short work of one cake, then another.

Rodric hadn’t moved since he’d closed the door.

“Why did you urge me to meet you here?” he asked Sorcha. “I had intended on paying a call, but you seemed quite set on my joining you.”

“Aye.” She straightened and turned, running a distracted hand over the side of her head to smooth back a few strands of hair.

A gesture Caitlin had observed countless times, even when there was no loose hair to smooth back.

“Did you know that your brother wed my niece?”

She couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of her eye, judging his reaction.

He didn’t move at first, didn’t even blink. Only the slight flaring of his nostrils indicated that he was still alive. “Aye. I’d gotten word of my brother’s marriage, and of the lass to whom he’d been wed.”

How could he sound so uncaring? As though he were speaking of two people he’d never met. No, he’d never been close with Alan, but he had certainly been close with her.

Or so she had believed.

Sorcha made a noise in the back of her throat, as though she had guessed as much. “Did you know she ran away the night of the wedding? Before the wedding feast had even ended?”

He had nothing to say to this.

Caitlin turned to him, all but forgetting the thick piece of buttered bread in front of her. “Well? Had you gotten word of that? You seem to know so much of so many other things.”

She didn’t mean to snap at him, but the coldness in his voice made it impossible not to. The way he sounded… as though she were nothing. Less than nothing. And not only to him, but to the world in general. Like a pesky fly he wanted nothing more than to squash.

The muscles in his jaw jumped, though he said not a word.

She stood. “Well? Say something. Did your brother send you to fetch me? Is that why you’re here? You want to take me back to him?”

His mouth fell open. “Lass, I didn’t know you’d left to begin with.”

“I thought so,” Sorcha murmured as she poured the tea. “I knew you’d never have waited so long to return otherwise.”

“You left him?” Rodric sat down across from her—fell into the chair, more like.

“I was never with him,” Caitlin replied. “In order to leave him, I would have to be with him. The marriage ceremony took place, yes, but not with my consent.”

“How was it arranged, then?”

It was her turn to stand, hands balled into fists which she wanted to smash into his face. How could he be so daft? “You thought I wished to marry him? Alan? Of all men?”

He stared into the dying embers, Sorcha having already put out the fire so as to avoid roasting the three of them in an overheated kitchen.

“I suppose… I mean to say, I had assumed naturally that your stepfather arranged the match. I suppose I also assumed you agreed with it.”

Her chest rose and fell in great heaving breaths. “You shouldn’t assume so much, Rodric Anderson.”

“You ran from him.” As though he was struggling to make sense of it.

She blinked in disbelief. “What choice did I have? I wouldn’t… I couldn’t…”

He closed his eyes. “Oh, I see now. It makes perfect sense.”

“What does?” Sorcha asked.

“I should’ve known they were connected somehow. Your marriage and the feud between our clans.”

It was Caitlin’s turn to be surprised. “There’s been a feud?”

“How far away have you stayed?” he growled. “Yes, there has been, and now I understand why. You ran, and Alan wants what he paid for.”

If he’d struck her, he could not have pained her more. He made her sound like…

She picked up the first thing her hand reached—the bread she’d forgotten until that very moment—and smashed it into his face, butter and all.

It wasn’t the first time she’d struck him, though it was perhaps the messiest.

“Caitlin!” Sorcha sounded as though she wasn’t certain whether she ought to laugh or be angry. She was quick to fetch a rag with which to clean his face.