A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(34)

“Indeed.”

“I saw it. It was very clear to me. The night of the storm.”

A lump formed in his throat, one which he swallowed back in order to speak. “I thought I was the only one who remembered that night.”

“I thought I would die along with you, if you died.” She chuckled. “I had a talent for the dramatic back then.”

“I recall that, as well. I was often at the receiving end of that flair of yours.”

“I had no siblings at home to torment. You bore the brunt of it. That night, during the storm, I saw how your father panicked when you hadn’t returned.”

“When we hadn’t,” he corrected. “Alan was with me.”

“I said what I said,” she replied in a small, but firm, voice.

He looked at her, only to find her watching at him.

“He cared more for your return than for Alan’s,” she explained. “I think I was the only one who saw, because I cared more for you than for him as well.”

Another lump in his throat, and this one wasn’t as easy to ignore. He’d never given much thought to how his father had been affected by their absence; he’d been angry by the time Rodric had warmed up enough to give much thought to what was going on around him. Before that, being half-frozen had taken up too much of his thoughts for anything else to sink in.

“Thank you for telling me,” he finally muttered, eyes away from hers.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, as he thought over what she said. And over, and over. Never once had his father expressed love or affection. He’d rarely, if ever, expressed approval. He was a fair man, to be certain. To Rodric, as a grown man, Ross Anderson’s fairness was clearer than it had been when Rodric had been a boy.

Some of the stupid things he’d done, too. The sorts of scrapes healthy, boisterous young boys found themselves in, to be sure, but the sorts of memories which made him cringe years later. Father had never meted out unwarranted punishment, and had always made a point of asking his son what he’d learned once his punishment was through—even if it had taken the form of a beating.

The most unforgivable thing a man can do is make the same mistake twice, Ross had often lectured. And the more you force me to teach you a lesson, the harsher your punishment will be each time.

Rodric had at least made a point to learn.

Alan had not, and had taken beatings which still caused Rodric to question how he’d ever managed to sit again.

In light of what Caitlin had shared, those beatings took on another meaning.

They emerged from the woods, and instantly sweat beaded on his forehead. It would be a relief to return to Jake’s home, even if he hardly had good news to share. Perhaps Phillip might consider returning with him in order to reach a—

“What is that?” Caitlin’s voice was shrill. When he followed the direction in which her shaking arm pointed, he saw why.

Smoke on the horizon, billowing in thick, black clouds which stood out starkly against the blazing sky.

Sick certainty turned his stomach to ice, and he was about to order her to stay where she stood when she kicked the mare’s sides and sent it into a gallop.

“Wait!” he shouted, knowing as he did that it was a pointless endeavor. He looked to Brice and Fergus. “Watch around us. Whoever did this might be waiting to see if she’ll appear.”

He turned back to Quinn. “Follow me.”

The two of them galloped behind Caitlin, who all but stood in the saddle as the horse tore across the lush countryside. Wind ripped the hat free from her head, sending it flying along with the braid which now swung wildly behind her.

If anyone were watching for her, they’d see her. She’d be impossible to miss. He shouted for the horse to hurry, urging it to catch up with her. The mare she rode hadn’t seemed so fast, but appearances deceived.

The closer they came to the site of the smoke, the clearer the source became.

It was a house, or had been a house, one which sat on the slope of a gentle hill between two groves of spruce trees. He thought he heard screams floating to him on the wind and realized they were Caitlin’s.

She reached the smoldering mass before he and Quinn did, falling from the lathered mare and staying on her knees, face in her hands.

He exchanged a glance with Quinn, who understood what needed to be done. Rather than meet her, Quinn directed his horse to ride around the house to the rear in order to check for attackers lying in wait.

Rodric pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted quickly, gathering her mare’s reins before hobbling both animals. While the fire had burned out, the smoke still upset the beasts, and they might rear or bolt in spite of the exhaustion they were surely suffering.

Caitlin was still screaming, still on her knees. Rodric fell beside her, gathering her in his arms and holding her to his chest. She shook violently, the words coming from her mouth all but impossible to understand. He wasn’t certain he needed to understand her. Not really. It was enough to feel what she was suffering.

He felt it, too. He felt rage. Disgust. Disbelief.

His own brother had done this terrible thing. He’d gone further than Rodric had ever imagined.





16





It was a nightmare. It had to be.

She had never really awoken that morning. She was still on the floor of Sorcha’s house, sleep having finally overtaken her, and this was all a terrible dream. Nothing this horrible truly happened in waking life.