A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(5)

Perhaps it wasn’t that grave. He tried to convince himself of this.

It didn’t work.

“Will you go?” Jake asked.

The question sat heavy on Rodric’s heart. Would he go? He hadn’t gone in so long, not even at the announcement of the death of Ross Anderson. His father had been a rough, brutish man, but he was merely a product of his times and the responsibilities he’d shouldered since boyhood.

Not to mention the roughness of the land and the sort of hardy character one needed to possess in order to survive.

Rodric had never been the hot-tempered, strike-first-and-ask-questions-later sort of man Alan had grown into. For that reason—and so many others he’d never dare discuss with Jake Duncan, no matter what he meant to him—Rodric had stayed far away.

He thought of Jake’s question; would he go? “I do not know,” he replied, keeping his tone even. “I truly do not know.”

“Is there no longer any loyalty to your clan?”

When Jake caught sight of the withering look with which Rodric favored him, he almost visibly fell back.

“My apologies. It was an indelicate question, and not one I had the right to ask.”

Rodric withheld a grunt and looked around at the bustling activity beyond the manor house. Smiling, cheerful people. The sounds of laughter coming from the smithy and the stables. There was warmth and life in the house, in the family.

Phillip was a good and fair leader who cared deeply about doing what was right by both his wife and child, and the clan on the whole.

And everyone knew it. That was the most important of all. Doing right by the clan meant no fear of showing strength when the need arose. Phillip Duncan wouldn’t back down from a fight, and he’d shown as much, time and again.

The two of them walked past the training yard, where many men practiced with swords and shields while instructors shouted commands.

He ruled both with compassion and an iron fist. A good balance, Rodric thought.

“My brother isn’t your brother,” he pointed out. “Your clan was fortunate to fall into the right hands upon your father’s passing.”

“Do you feel the Andersons would’ve done better in your hands, then?” Jake asked. The question was asked both in jest and in all seriousness.

He shook his head. “Nay, I’ve never wanted to take on that sort of responsibility. It holds no great pleasure for me. I would much rather sleep in a field every night, downwind of the stinking beast I spent the day riding.”

Jake laughed. “I cannot say I miss those days much, though there are moments when I look back on them fondly.”

“Aye, because they’re so far in the past. We can look back with fondness on that which the passage of time has softened for us.”

They laughed together then, though Rodric’s eye kept falling on Jake’s leg. The days of spending sunrise to sunset in the saddle were indeed far behind him.

Even if the second-oldest Duncan son had wished to devote his life to roaming the clan’s holdings to ensure their safety, it would’ve been beyond his grasp. The short walk they’d taken together had already left the limp far more pronounced than when he’d exited the house.

If it pained him, Jake gave no indication—then again, he wouldn’t. Neither of them was the sort of man to reveal weakness or pain unless under the most extreme circumstances. Even when they’d met up on the road north, less than a day’s ride from Duncan lands, Jake hadn’t spoken a word of the agony he’d clearly suffered.

They came to a stop several yards from the house.

Jake turned to him. “You realize I have somewhat selfish reasons for bringing this up. Phillip will more than likely wish to discuss it with you as well, once you’ve freshened up and eaten your fill. Any troubles between the clans could in time mean trouble for us, so naturally, he’d prefer the matter be put to rest as painlessly as possible.”

“And if it’s not possible to put it to rest?” Rodric grumbled, folding his arms. “Please, do not mistake me. I would do anything in my power to assist you in keeping the peace. But my brother is hardly the type to listen to reason.”

“I remember hearing he took a wife not long ago,” Jake said. “I didn’t hear which clan she was from, but I did hear he’d been wed. Perhaps she might be persuaded to bend his ear?”

This only inflamed Rodric’s already troubled mind. Rather than shouting, rather than explaining why that was a terrible idea which would never work because he would rather die than see his brother’s wife in his brother’s household, he merely replied, “Of all people, I’m certain she’s the one he’d be least likely to listen to.”





3





Caitlin drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as the sun began its magnificent descent beneath the far-off Grampian Mountains. She’d never seen them up close, but could imagine their ability to strike awe in even the most jaded heart from a distance.

What was it that drew her to them on this day? There was no way of knowing. She only knew she had to watch them as the brilliant warmth of early evening light turned into dusk. The rays of light, amber and gold, turned nearly red as the fiery ball sank lower and lower.

Something about the mountains called to her. Something quiet, like a whisper on the wind, but far more incessant. Insistent.