A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(30)

She shook herself at the only somewhat charitable thought. There was no reason to think of him so negatively. He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman the night before, when there had been more than enough opportunity for him to do anything but. And if he’d perhaps taken liberties by watching her bathe, he’d at least made her aware of his presence before she’d done anything truly embarrassing.

Even so, there was no escaping the way her temper flared from time to time, all thanks to him.

She wondered if he knew what he did to her. How he upset her thoughts.

But then, he always had, hadn’t he? From the time they were children.

“We had better start off,” he announced after clearing his throat gruffly. “We want to reach your cousin’s before nightfall, and we have to stop at the inn as well.”

She nodded, casting one more look down at her aunt before turning the mare in the direction of the road.

“Take care!” Sorcha called out, a brave smile shining on her otherwise grief-stricken face.

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears which Caitlin knew would likely be shed once her visitors had disappeared on the road.

She turned away before her own tears revealed themselves.

Rodric rode straight and tall in the saddle, as always. And as always, Caitlin wondered what he was thinking. He’d always been infuriatingly skilled at keeping thoughts to himself—unfortunately, she had not become more skilled at understanding him.

Only a slight sniffle escaped her as she rode away. All the while, she willed herself not to look back. Looking back would only make the pain more severe. It was all but beyond bearing.

“She will be all right back there,” Rodric offered, his gaze focused on the road. After that, all she heard was the soft clop-clop-clop of the horses’ hooves on the well-trod dirt trail.

Caitlin couldn’t bring herself to speak. If she tried, nothing would come out but weeping. They had far too much riding to do for her to give in to emotion, no matter how it tore at her heart.

“Loss… is never easy, no matter if a person is alone or surrounded by others,” he mused, his voice thoughtful. As though he were sharing whichever thoughts came to his mind as they did so. “Imagine if Sorcha had borne a dozen children, the way we knew she always wanted to. What if your uncle passed on and left her alone with them? How would she see to their survival until they came of age? No matter the circumstances, loss is loss and always brings challenges.”

She thought this over as they rode side-by-side. She was once again disguised, her hair tucked under the hat and—as before—causing no end of discomfort under the already hot early morning sun. Sweat had already begun making itself known, tricking down her head. She wanted nothing more than to tear off the hat and scratch her itching scalp.

Instead, she concentrated on what Rodric had to say. When he wasn’t behaving like an arrogant prig or allowing his tongue to get the better of him, he was quite insightful.

“I suppose anyone would’ve looked upon my stepfather and me and deduced that it was for the best that he be part of my life after my mother died,” she reasoned once the crushing grief passed. “Without him, I would’ve been alone—according to them, to strangers.”

“Aye, I recall hearing murmurings to that extent in those days,” he admitted. “I was too young to understand, but then again people are more likely to share confidences while in the presence of a child who they believe can’t make sense of what they’re saying. They believed it was a blessing your mother had remarried, that it meant your protection.”

“It meant everything but my protection,” she whispered, disgusted. “It meant my sale into slavery, or something close to it.”

“Slavery?”

“Do you honestly believe my marriage to your brother would’ve been anything else?”

“I doubt he would’ve made you his slave.”

As always, anger bubbled up in her chest. His dismissive tone! How could he sound that way? “Do you think we would have been friends? Companions? Do you think we would’ve shared each other’s lives the way my aunt and uncle did? And before you accuse me of setting my sights too high, I’d ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to say that at all. I would’ve commended you for knowing what it is you want—even if it is, perhaps, a bit farfetched.”

“I hate you when you say things like that.”

“I know.”

“And yet you do it anyway.” She glared at him, still only seeing his profile as he stared straight ahead. Was it her imagination, or was he smiling ever so slightly?

“You’ve always been one to allow your fancy to get the better of your reason.”

“And you’ve always been one to allow your tongue to get the better of your self-preservation.”

“I know this. I don’t intend to hurt you when I speak as I do.”

“Oh? What is it, then? Do you intend to make me happy? If that’s the case, you fall short.”

“I’ve never been skilled at diplomacy. You know this. Why do you expect me to be better than I am, when you’ve known me your entire life?”

She snorted, looking away, closer to tears than ever. “Perhaps I thought you would’ve changed in all these years. Perhaps something good would’ve come out of all the time you spent away. You might have grown up a bit.”