A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(21)

The courage it took for her to run…

The skill she’d used to survive the journey…

His heart swelled with pride. His Caitlin, if she still wanted to be his after the terrible way he’d treated her.

He’d find a way to make it up. He’d express his sorrow and explain that he’d only wanted to see how she’d react. To test how she’d truly felt about her marriage—to understand whether it was simply Alan she’d been opposed to, or the entire idea of marriage to someone other than himself.

He’d gotten a face full of butter for his efforts, but then he’d never been good at expressing himself in a way which wouldn’t earn a slap in the face. Especially when it came to her and her temper.

When the house came into view—at a distance—his heart swelled with pride and longing he hadn’t realized existed.

He did love it so. He had missed it so.

Perhaps that had been another reason for staying away, one he hadn’t considered a possibility. Staying far away because the thought of returning to a place which held such deep significance in his heart was too much to bear. Knowing he’d have to leave again, that his brother would undoubtedly make decisions which would put the two of them at odds and drive a wedge between them tight enough that it might never be removed.

The future of the clan and of the tenuous relationship they’d always had were too important to jeopardize over nothing more than a little homesickness.

The house grew larger as he continued to ride, though at a slower pace than before. He wanted to drink it in with his eyes, to hold it in his mind as there was no way of telling when he’d be back.

The rock wall had been repaired, he noted, the stones no longer crumbling. Someone had long since patched the thatched roof, too—a good thing, since it had leaked even before he took his leave and like as not would’ve been clear open to the sky by then. So Alan had seen to it that the house was kept in good order.

The fields were well-kept, too, the hay neatly baled and stacked against one of the barn’s long outer walls where it could quickly be brought into use by the lads who tended the livestock. His shoulders and back ached at the memory of long hours spent with the beasts, cleaning their stalls and ensuring they were fed and watered.

The sort of work that made a man a man, his father used to remind him with a gleam in his eye and a bit of a smile.

Would that he were still alive. So many things might have gone differently.

A game he often played with himself, a habit he’d tried to break long since. The unfortunate habit of wallowing like a pig. How would life differ if Ross Anderson had lived until his middle son returned from war?

A waste of time to dwell on these matters. Things were the way they were. Nothing could change it. He had only to make the best of what had transpired.

He reached the split-log fence which separated the pen where the horses took the air and rode along its length, noting the neighs from inside the stables as well as the snorts and bellows from inside the barn. So Alan was indeed responsible for the thriving conditions around the place. It spoke well of his abilities. Perhaps he had changed somewhat over the years.

Not enough to keep Caitlin from running away, a voice inside his head whispered.

“Is that young Rodric?” An old woman in a smudged apron and kirtle came on the run from the side door which led to the kitchen. At least, she tried to run, though at her advanced age the attempt was all but futile. Cook had seemed ancient to him even all those years earlier.

He quickly dismounted, tossing the reins over a fencepost before meeting her with arms outstretched. It sounded as though she were weeping when she fell against his chest.

“It’s a blessing, to be sure,” she sniffled, shoulders shaking. “We thought the worst many a time, young Rodric.”

“Not so young anymore,” he chuckled in an attempt to brighten the old woman’s spirits. “It’s been a good many years since last we saw one another.”

“Too many years.” And now it sounded as though she were accusing him of something. When she straightened up, her watery, faded blue eyes were hard with anger. “What did you think you were about, staying away for so long? Worrying us all near to death. This is your home, young man.”

Time had not softened her tongue, nor her spirits.

He winced with embarrassment even as he slung an arm over her shoulders and steered her in the direction of the kitchen door. “You know how it is, Cook. A man’s life doesn’t always follow a straight line.”

“Nonsense.” She sniffled before blowing her nose on a handkerchief which she tucked back into her sleeve. “There’s no excuse for leaving the ones who love you with no word of your well-being, Rodric Anderson.”

“Surely you knew I was living.” He chuckled, embarrassment clawing at him in spite of the lighthearted manner he pretended.

“We knew you were living, aye, but nothing of how you were living. And I thought you’d come back for the wedding feast, too.”

He froze just before stepping foot over the threshold. “You did?”

“Aye,” she replied, stepping inside without hesitation. “What with your brother being wed and you and young Caitlin always having been such good friends. When we didn’t receive word from you…”

She went on, her voice fading into the background of his thoughts.