A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(20)

“Either he leaves, or I do,” she demanded. “I’m sorry, Aunt Sorcha, but I can’t stay in the same house with him. You were wrong. He won’t help me.” Her voice cracked at the end, much to her disgust. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how deeply he wounded her.

“Do not worry about which of us should go,” Rodric grunted once his face was somewhat clean.

He stood, patting Sorcha’s shoulder in a rather clumsy display of either affection or regret—Caitlin wasn’t certain which.

“Where are you planning to go?” Sorcha asked, her mouth twisting in a dismayed grimace.

“I intend to visit my brother, to ask that he end this feud which threatens the peace between not only our clans but the Duncans as well.”

“What have they do with it?” Caitlin asked.

“It was they who asked me to come, to ensure war doesn’t break out.” He shook his head and chuckled before standing. “I should’ve known, I suppose. Only you could cause two clans who’ve worked so hard for so long on even a tentative peace, to break down in such a manner.”

She drew herself up to her full height, throwing her head back with a defiant sneer in spite of her aching heart. “Are you certain it isn’t your brute of a brother you ought to blame? Perhaps if he weren’t such a beast, a woman would wish to remain married to him!”

He was laughing as he went to the door. “I’ll be certain to share the sentiment when I see him.”

Sorcha let out an exclamation of pure terror. “Rodric!”

He paused, his hand on the latch. “You know I wouldn’t,” he murmured, sounding contrite.

Yes, Caitlin thought as she sank back into her chair before putting her head in her hands. She knew he wouldn’t.





10





Rodric didn’t know whether to laugh or shout in frustration. Perhaps both.

It was with a sense of determination that he rode through the narrowest, shallowest part of the river—the water reached the horse’s knees and no higher—then allowed the animal to run full-out through the tall, rippling grass.

He’d made the ride countless times before, but never while driving the horse beneath him to a full gallop except on the rare occasion when he’d lost track of time and knew his father would tan his hide for coming home so late.

It was suddenly very important that he reach Alan quickly.

His jaw smarted when he smiled, but only slightly. She could still land a blow. A shame there had to be butter involved.

Oh, he should’ve known. She wouldn’t have changed that much, couldn’t have. All along, he’d harbored a quiet belief that she’d married Alan because she’d wanted to. A belief he hadn’t wished to admit to himself.

How furious Alan must’ve been. No wonder he’d begun a feud.

But what in blazes had he thought he was doing, forcing Caitlin into marriage? Connor McAllister had little to offer in the way of monetary offering. He’d be the one to benefit from such an arrangement, all but bringing his clan under the protection of the more powerful Andersons. Unless more had changed than he’d ever thought possible, that would still be the case.

What, then, had Alan to gain? Furthering peaceful relations between the clans? It could’ve been, and had Ross Anderson been alive, he might have advised such a match for that motive alone. The two clans, bordering each other’s lands as they did, had been at one sort of war or another for generations prior to Rodric’s birth. His grandfather and two uncles had, in fact, been killed by members of the McAllister clan.

That was behind them—at least, it had been Ross Anderson’s chief purpose to make it so. Alan could easily claim that he’d been only attempting to further his father’s cause.

Why start things anew, then? Why not work with Connor rather than against him?

Not that Connor McAllister was a man who believed in dealing fairly, of course. Rodric had never borne much goodwill for the man, who he knew had all but abandoned his stepdaughter after practically causing his wife’s death. Any fool could’ve seen the woman wasn’t fit to bear his children—or, seeing as how Caitlin was so healthy and vibrant, that he wasn’t fit to sire living babes.

A rough creature of slovenly habits, if he remembered correctly. His housemaid and cook had often gossiped about their neighbor, and from what he remembered of the conversations on which he’d eavesdropped, the man had fallen into ruin after Caitriona’s death. He’d stopped caring for himself entirely.

Because he’d loved her? Because of the guilt he surely had to struggle with? Regardless of the reason why, he’d become a hardened, bitter, slovenly man who was more than likely partly to blame for any inflammation between the clans.

Rodric could just imagine the two of them going head-to-head. His grim smile set off another twinge of stinging pain from the blow Caitlin had delivered.

The pain would pass.

Knowing that he’d hurt her wouldn’t fade so easily.

He hadn’t been able to help himself, though the knowledge did nothing to ease the crushing guilt at the memory of her crestfallen face. She hadn’t deserved it. He’d been a cruel beast for making it sound as though she’d been little more than a trollop.

When he thought of her grief at the notion of being sold in marriage to his brother…