A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(40)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rodric warned.

“Don’t I?” Brice leaned against the largest of the horses, smiling sadly. “I’m the first to agree that this is madness, the entire thing from beginning to end. It’s unfair as well. The lass has been sold into marriage, put plainly, and I don’t agree with such practices.”

“Nor do I.”

“But it’s been done,” he continued, his voice firmer than before. “It’s been done, and the vows have been exchanged. The time for the lass to run was prior to the ceremony, not after. It’s a wonder your brother hasn’t brought the law into this, because he might have.”

Rodric spat on the ground, frustrated both at the truth of this and how much he wished for it to not be true. “Aye,” he grunted.

“And traveling with the lass, making it so he can’t catch up to her, might bring the law down on our heads as well. It was one thing entirely to escort her here, but it would be another to continue this madness.”

He was right about that as well, which only served to further frustrate Rodric.

“Then again,” Brice grinned, “we’ve never been much to care one way or another what the local magistrate had to say about our doings, have we?”

Rodric snorted. “You make a good point.”

“I know. I generally do.” He sighed, scrubbing both hands through his wet, tangled hair. “I wonder if I’m not half-mad for considering escorting the lass to safety.”

“If she doesn’t run away before we get the chance.”

“Aye. If. But she won’t. She’ll try, I grant ye, but she won’t get far.” He clapped Rodric on the back, grinning broadly. “And woe to he who tries to come for her. I caught the smell of that McAllister’s blood on my hands today, and I wouldn’t mind more of it.”

“There’s just one thing to consider,” Rodric muttered, his eyes still trained on the camp. Fergus was heating dried meat over a small fire which Caitlin seemed unable to look at.

Of course. What good had fire done her loved ones that day?

“What’s that?” Brice asked.

“What she wants.” He shook his head, banging the heel of one hand against his forehead. “I can’t stand the way she makes me think. I truly cannot. My conscience would never trouble me if she were any other lass in the world. I’m certain of it.”

“What difference does it make?” Brice sounded as though he was entirely aware of the difference and only pretending to be otherwise for the sake of raking his friend over the embers.

“Stop,” he warned.

“I was merely asking.”

“I know what you were merely asking, and I’m advising ye to stop now.”

“I’m certain that much of this could be avoided if you’d only tell the lass how you feel,” Brice murmured. “I know we don’t talk about such things, and I’m a bit disgusted with myself at the moment, if ye must know, but the truth is the truth. Tell her ye love her and ye don’t want her to be any other man’s bride. If she loved him, it would be different. If he would be good to her, it would be different. Neither of those are the case here.”

He didn’t bother to deny it. He’d only sound ridiculous. “It wouldn’t make a difference. She’s doing it because she believes it will keep the rest of us safe. Including me.”

“Because she loves ye, too. Do I have to explain everything?” Brice grumbled, muttering to himself as he returned to the campfire. The sounds of quiet laughter rose up from the group, meaning he’d told a joke of some sort to lighten the mood.

There was little excuse for Rodric to stay away, but he took his time in joining them, his eyes fixed on her all the while. She pretended to be at ease, to only care about the meat warming over the flames, but the tension in her every muscle was evident even from a distance.

That she thought herself convincing was nearly enough to make him sad for her. She tried so hard to be brave, to do what she thought was right. She happened to be unpracticed at it, was all.

Though she had managed to escape Alan and any guards he’d posted about the house during the wedding feast. Perhaps she was a bit more slippery than he gave her credit for. Not only that, but she’d made it to Fiona’s on her own, in the dead of night.

Like as not, the lass was already plotting her escape. Her body might not have moved much, but her eyes certainly did. She studied the men, going over their every movement, most likely in the hopes of learning how she could get past them when the time was right. The whole thing would’ve been downright amusing if it weren’t so dangerous.

He accepted a portion of meat, which he guessed had been rabbit at one time, before sitting to Caitlin’s right. He wouldn’t crowd her. Not yet. If she felt he was aware of her scheme, she’d be even more likely to do something foolish, even more desperate to escape.

She took a dainty bite of meat, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. He gave her credit for at least appearing as though the age of the meat and its dry chewiness didn’t turn her stomach.

Quinn, on the other hand, chortled as he settled back on one elbow. “Not to your liking, lass?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she murmured, her eyes averted, before taking another bite to show how amenable she was.