A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(3)

“Have ye any more of the tincture you purchased from the healer in Inverness?” Fergus asked, keeping his eyes on the fire.

It was a casual question, carefully phrased. It wouldn’t do to show too much concern.

Rodric let out a grunt of frustration. “Nay, the price was far too dear to purchase as much as I wished. It will be fine.”

What he knew but wouldn’t share with the others was that he had a long, uncomfortable night ahead of him. Any stray movement in his sleep would make the shoulder ache even worse, to the point where it would wake him.

And he would lie there, staring up at the sky, watching as the stars made their slow trek across the blackness.

Quinn settled in against the saddle he’d propped up before a fallen tree, sighing deeply. “I wonder if there are any comely lasses in the Duncan household.”

All of them chuckled, including Brice, who’d just returned from his bath. It was a familiar question which Quinn always managed to be the one to ask, no matter the nature of the journey their group was on. His mind was on one thing only—not that Rodric never thought about it. He thought about it all the time. But he’d managed to master his thirsts better than his friend had.

“Like as not,” Fergus decided. “The manor house is large, likely the largest in the Highlands.”

“Aye, but I don’t believe you’ll find any in the household,” Brice pointed out. “I hear they’re all good and paired up there, married off.”

“There’s bound to be a lady’s maid or kitchen wench for ye,” Rodric offered, barely suppressing a chuckle.

Quinn merely muttered a curse under his breath, causing the rest of them to break out in good-natured laughter.

They shared their meal, still throwing jokes back and forth, placing bets on who would be the first to make the acquaintance of an unmarried beauty in the village beyond Duncan Manor.

Three of them did, at any rate.

Rodric remained silent on the subject, chewing his overcooked rabbit, staring through the fire he no longer saw, and deep into the past.





2





Duncan Manor was indeed a sight to behold. “All the time we spent serving beside him, and I hadn’t the first idea Jake lived in such a castle,” Quinn marveled once they started up the rocky trail which led to the imposing structure.

Even from a distance, there were lookouts visible in each of the towers.

Rodric grunted in agreement. No one would have known of Jake’s upbringing had they only seen him on the field of battle, fighting hard alongside men who’d come of age in far lesser circumstances. He’d been as tough as any of them. Tougher than many.

He’d only ever seen the manor house from a distance before, like the rest of them, and silence fell over the group as they drew closer, with Quinn driving the pair hitched to the wagon, and the other three on horseback.

The slow-moving wagon gave them ample time to take in the expansive beauty of Ben Nevis as well, sitting behind the house and seeming to touch the sky.

A band of riders greeted them before they’d reached the village, as was expected. At the front was a barrel-chested man who sized them up with a practiced eye. “What business have ye here?”

Rodric spoke for them. “We’ve come to deliver supplies from Inverness, as Jake Duncan instructed.”

“You’ll be the men he served with, then? He’s been expecting you.” The man’s expression softened to one close to friendliness as he held out a hand. “The name’s Maccay.”

“Of course. I believe we met once before,” Rodric remarked, shaking Maccay’s outstretched hand.

Introductions were made among them before the entire group continued the rest of the way together, with Maccay and Rodric in the lead.

“Truth be told, we’d expected to see you lot a few days back,” Maccay pointed out. “But the wet weather undoubtedly slowed you.”

“Aye,” Rodric grunted, the memories still fresh. “It was a bit of a struggle at times, but we managed.”

“As Jake said you would,” Maccay grinned. “Hard-headed a group as he’d ever known, I believe were his exact words. Never the type to give up, even in the direst situations.”

“He should be the one to talk.”

“Which is exactly what his wife said!” Maccay’s laughter rang out. “Aye, he’ll be glad to see ye. How was it he came to entrust you lot with this task?”

“We crossed paths on the road to Inverness,” Rodric explained, his voice dropping to little more than a whisper. “I believe he thought himself up to the journey, but it didn’t seem that was the case.”

Maccay’s expression darkened. “Aye. I suspected the story of his horse going lame was just that. A story. I’d never say it to him, of course. I prefer my tongue still attached to the inside of my mouth.”

Rodric snorted. “We’d never speak a word of it, not any of us. Certain things a man doesn’t want getting around.” His heart clenched when, once again, he remembered how his friend had come to earn the wound which had made it impossible for him to ride for long distances.

Jake met them outside the massive front door. “I was beginning to fear for you,” he called out, grinning.

“You know us,” Rodric replied as he dismounted. “We would never let something like Scottish mud keep us from delivering what we promised.”