A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(23)

“You needn’t sound so surprised.” Alan sat in a high-backed chair behind a long table which Rodric could remember being filled with advisors during clan meetings. It looked strangely empty with only one man seated there, even if that man took of the space of three ordinary men.

“I’m merely complimenting you.” Rodric noted the absence of an invitation to sit, so he remained standing with hands clasped behind his back.

Alan shrugged. “It’s nothing, really. One thing Father taught me: leave the work you’re no good at to the men who are good at it.”

“I see,” Rodric murmured, nodding. “Who have you left this work to, then?”

“Padraig. He has a genius for such matters. I was never much good at managing the workers,” Alan admitted. “I’m not too big a man that I cannot acknowledge my shortcomings.”

Rodric bit his tongue at his brother’s unfortunate choice of words.

Once he was certain he wouldn’t laugh, he asked, “Where is he, then? I would enjoy the chance to speak with him. He’s a man by now, I imagine.”

“He is, though I make it a point to remind him who’s the youngest son.” Alan chuckled.

A young woman appeared seemingly from out of thin air, though Rodric knew she must have come through the almost hidden door in the wall between the study and the kitchen.

“Ale,” he barked. “And be certain to bring a tankard for my brother.”

Rodric had no intention of drinking, as this was not a celebration or even a mere social call, but he knew better than to refuse Alan. Best not to draw his ire too early.

“Please, sit, sit, no need to stand there as though you were a mere visitor. This is still your home, whether you choose to treat it as such or not.” A lock of dark red hair fell over his brow when he leaned forward. “And why have you been away so long? Why did you not return at the war’s end?”

“You ask the question so simply, as though the answer were that simple,” Rodric muttered with a smirk.

“Why does it have to be complicated?”

“Because it simply is. I needed something to do for myself, something which didn’t involve the clan.”

“There was more than enough work here for you, especially as I secured our holdings after Father died.” An edge crept into Alan’s voice which he didn’t try to conceal. The reappearance of the kitchen lass couldn’t have come at a better time. They remained silent as she poured the ale, not speaking again until they were alone.

“It seems you’ve handled everything very well,” Rodric reminded him, keeping his tone low and light. “I doubt I could’ve done anything to improve upon what you’ve built.”

“Stop complimenting me as if I were some trollop you’re looking to bed.” Alan laughed, not without humor. “You only see things now, after much work and many sleepless nights. When our father closed his eyes for the last time, the McAllisters took it as a sign that they could step in and take the lands we’ve held for centuries. The filthy bastards.” He slung back his first cup of ale as easily as though he were drinking water, wiping his mouth on his sleeve once he’d drained the vessel.

“You managed to hold them off without violence.”

“Indeed, though not without many rather interesting meetings between ourselves and his men. He lost several to my sword before finally giving in and agreeing to compromise.” Alan snickered. “Old Connor McAllister, the sly devil. He truly believes himself a master of negotiation, thinks he’s the smartest man in the room.”

“I remember that about him.” Among other things.

“Lucky for him, I was getting over a fall from my horse and not in full spirits, or I would’ve blackened both his eyes. But as it was, I felt a bit more generous than is normally in my nature, and I allowed him to talk me into an agreement.”

He cut his eyes to the side, away from Rodric’s, a familiar gesture which told more than he intended to tell. It wasn’t entirely Connor’s idea for Alan and Caitlin to wed, no matter how Alan tried to retell the story. Rodric would’ve bet anything Alan put the idea in the man’s head and then pretended that he’d allowed himself to be swayed.

“An agreement which, from what I understand, you’ve now forfeited,” Rodric murmured.

“He forfeited first.” Alan slammed down the pitcher of ale after filling his cup once again and draining it as expertly as he had before. Rodric wondered why he didn’t simply drink straight from the pitcher. “He forfeited when that bitch ran from me. That was the compromise we made. Peace, so long as we united the clans in marriage.”

Rodric drew in a deep breath, ready to give his brother a talking to—if not a good pummeling, for no man spoke of Caitlin McAllister that way in his presence—when the door behind him opened.

“I heard of your arrival but hardly believed it.”

A tall, handsome younger man all but crushed Rodric in a hug which stole the air from his lungs.

When released, he sputtered in surprise. “Padraig?”

But it couldn’t be. And yet, it was. He was the image of their father, much more like him than either of his elder brothers. As though Ross Anderson had come back to them in a younger form.

“Aye,” his brother grinned. “It’s been a long time.”