A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(25)

“I ought to kill you!” Alan lunged, missing Rodric completely and falling against the chair.

Padraig went to him in spite of the cruelty he’d just shown and helped him to sit.

Rodric drew a deep breath, regaining control of himself. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to lose his temper. He shouldn’t have allowed his tongue to run away from him.

His brother was a pathetic, quivering wreck of a man. It was the same as abusing a defenseless creature, really. There was little defense Alan could offer in his shameful state.

Except one.

“A shame you’ll likely be away again when I find the bitch,” Alan snarled as he leaned his head against the back of the chair. His breath came in ragged gasps, like an animal.

“Why is that?” Rodric whispered. The dirk he always carried was at his waist, concealed by his tunic, but he was more than ready to clasp the hilt and withdraw the thing.

Alan’s smile held no humor. It was the nastiest, most repulsive thing Rodric had ever seen. “I would hate for you to miss witnessing the punishment I’ll surely deliver.”

“Alan, please,” Padraig urged. “That’s enough. I won’t hear any more of this.”

“Then leave. I didn’t invite you in.” His eyes bored holes into Rodric as he spoke. “She’s my wife. Mine to do with as I choose. And I choose to make certain she never gets away from me again. If it means she no longer walks, so be it.”

A cold hand gripped Rodric’s heart even as his blood began to boil. “You won’t touch so much as a hair on her head.”

“Ah, and there it is,” Alan chortled. “I knew it! Pretending to only care about the future of the clan, and whether the Duncans hold the Andersons responsible for breaking the peace. As if I didn’t know all along that it was the old feelings you had for the girl that truly brought you to my door.”

“That isn’t true,” Rodric murmured with a shake of his head. “I didn’t know she’d deserted you rather than take your bed.”

Padraig roared. “Enough!”

When Alan tried to stand, Padraig placed a hand in the center of the man’s chest and shoved him back into his chair before whirling around to glare at Rodric.

Padraig scowled at Rodric. “After all these years, the two of you fall right back into your old ways. I’ve managed to grow up a bit over the last few years. A pity neither of you has—still at each other’s throats like a pair of children.”

In spite of his brother’s harsh words, in the back of his mind, Rodric couldn’t help but marvel at just how like their father Padraig was. He even sounded like him when he scolded them.

Padraig turned to Alan, staring down at him with contempt but not without a bit of love and sympathy mixed in. “It’s barely nightfall, and you’re already at the point of falling down. Perhaps it would be best for the two of you to continue this discussion in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Rodric murmured. “We all know it. Drunk or sober, some things never change.”

Alan nodded. “Aye, such as my pride. A man’s pride.”

Rodric merely snickered. “I did what I could. Let it be said that I came here in good faith, wishing to broker a peace between the clans.”

“Talk to McAllister about it, then,” Alan slurred.

It was Padraig who answered, his voice as sharp as a freshly-honed blade. “You were the one who started the old feud back up, and we all know it. If a peace were to be arrived at, you would have to be the one to extend a hand.”

“Which will never happen, unless my bride is returned to me.” Alan squinted at Rodric, struggling to bring his face into focus. “That’s my final word on the matter.”

“So be it,” Rodric replied, casting a regretful look at his younger brother before turning on his heel and marching from the room, then out of the house entirely.

It looked as though he would be her only protection.





12





You should not have allowed your temper to get the better of you.” Sorcha’s voice was gentle, yet firm. “I thought you were a grown woman now, no longer the child who once blackened the lad’s eye.”

Caitlin shrugged as though it didn’t matter, her hands working the dough she intended to bake into a fresh loaf of bread for her aunt. The least she could do was attempt to fill the kitchen with as much food as possible—there was already a stew bubbling on the fire, and she had brought in fresh vegetables from the garden after weeding and tending to what was still growing.

Not once could she remember a time when there hadn’t been more than enough to eat, her aunt always busy working while happy, tuneless little songs erupted from her now and again. It was she who had taught Caitlin to cook and bake.

Life was strange. Sometimes it brought a person back to where they’d started without their knowing it.

She shaped the dough into a loaf, then covered it with a cloth and set it aside to allow for rising. “The lad hasn’t learned to control his mouth, which was the reason why I blackened his eye all those years ago. When he learns how to speak to a woman, I’ll stop letting my temper get the better of me.”

“He hurt you,” Sorcha surmised, watching her niece from a chair by the window. “I know he did. I hurt for you when he said it—for both of you.”