A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(58)

Her words hardly registered with Rodric, sounding as though they came from a great distance. She might as well have been shouting to him from the Duncan manor house.

He’d been through this before. The finality of watching a man die.

But he’d never watched his brother die. He’d not known until that very day that there were further horrors in the world.

When Rodric did not reply, Padraig cleared his throat. “I’ll send for her, and for her apprentice. They ought to both learn of the mistakes made here.”

“Do not be too hard on them,” she warned. “As I told Rodric, if the liver was punctured there was not much a healer could have managed. And I do believe that was the case, judging by the placement of the wound to his lower back.”

Connor had stabbed him in the back, the coward. Banishment wasn’t enough for him. He should’ve died for what he did. To murder the leader of another clan…

“Rodric.” Sarah touched his shoulder, her voice stronger than before. “You need to wash, and I believe food and rest would do you a world of good.”

“There’s far too much to manage,” he replied, still staring at the dying man stretched out before him.

“You’ll manage it much better when you’ve taken care of yourself.” The hand on his shoulder tightened. “I’m the wife of the laird. I’ve spoken those words many times, and I’ve always been correct.”

“She makes a good point,” Padraig agreed. “You ought to refresh yourself. There’s nothing to be done at the moment, while he sleeps.”

“I do not wish to leave him.”

“I won’t leave his side,” Sarah promised. “Now, please. You’ve been traveling for many days with little food and even less sleep. I do not wish to have to treat you because you’ve run yourself into exhaustion.”

It was as if her words sank into his bones and weighed him down. Yes, he was nearing the point of exhaustion, and she only reminded him of this.

He nodded at Padraig. “I’ll go to my old room, then.”

“I instructed one of the maids to prepare it for you when you arrived,” Padraig replied.

“You always think ahead.” He shared a long look with his brother, rivers of thought and feeling and regret flowing between them. It would go unspoken, as it always did. It was there nonetheless.

His feet were heavy as he walked from the room which no longer held the thick stench of death, likely thanks to Sarah’s opening of the window curtains. Or he’d grown accustomed to it that quickly.

His clan. Within hours, it would be his to do with as he pleased. By blood and by law.

He wanted none of it.

The sensation of a rope slowly tightening around his neck was strong enough to make him touch his fingers to his throat, as though rough, coarse fiber would be there instead of skin. Every breath his brother took put him one step closer to losing his freedom.

Some men would consider it gaining power and strength. Alan certainly had, and their father had before them. What was wrong with him, then, that he saw it as being just the opposite?

Caitlin wasn’t waiting in the corridor, as he’d assumed she would be. Judging by the sounds of it, she wasn’t downstairs with the men—they were ready to rush from the house and cut down any McAllisters who came into view, and like as not were merely waiting for word of their leader’s death to do so.

He supposed she’d gone to rest and was glad of it. She had been running for too long. They both had.

It occurred to him that once Alan breathed his last, she would be free. She could be his. He’d waste no time in making it so. They had already nearly missed their chance.

Only the thought of their marriage could lift his spirits, but it did, and it carried him the rest of the way to the room in which he’d spent so much of his life.

The bed was the same, still sitting by the window which overlooked the breadth of Anderson territory. From where he stood, the Grampians looked like little more than foothills. To his left, too far off to see clearly, was the River Nevis and the farm where Sorcha lived her solitary life. To the right, beyond the lands his clan oversaw, were thick woods populated by any number of animals and birds and wandering stragglers.

So much of it would be under his control, and so soon.

A yawn wide enough to split his head open reminded him it was well past time to sleep. There would be much to address once Alan succumbed to his wounds.

The bed was still soft, at least, and the linens clean. He sank into it without removing his tunic or trousers, exhaustion overtaking him before his head touched the pillow. The full weight of all that had transpired seemed to catch up to him at once.

He fell into a deep slumber.



When he woke to the sound of knocking at the closed chamber door, he knew what needed to be done. It was all so clear.

Much to his bemusement, Sarah had been correct, in order to manage the matters before him, he needed first to attend to himself. Nothing was as murky as it had been before after even a short sleep.

No wonder Phillip Duncan managed to keep his clan in line and the activities of the manor house running smoothly, with a wife such as herself behind him.

There was no need to ask why Padraig waited on the other side of the door. The light outside told Rodric that he’d slept for hours, meaning enough time had passed that Alan could only be dead.