A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(61)

“To be fair,” Caitlin pointed out, holding up a finger, “there was no spending the night in the house with all of those men. Rough, drunken, loud-mouthed, angry.”

“A fair point. Even so, you sit at my table and fret and tell stories of what might be, what you think could happen if Rodric believes this or that. You’ve all but named yourself Alan’s murderer, my dear, when you were far away and had no knowledge of the fighting here. Why not wait until you have the time to speak with Rodric before you conclude what he’s thinking?”

Caitlin wanted to answer—wished to tell her aunt she had no understanding of things—but couldn’t. It seemed that all she could do was let out a long, frustrated sigh and wonder if there would ever come an end to her troubles. It seemed that no sooner did one fade away before another came up.

“You love him,” Sorcha whispered.

“I do. With all my heart, always.” It was the only thing of which she was entirely certain, and she answered without hesitation.

“Then, my dear, there is nothing to question, because I’m certain he loves you in the same manner. Do not allow what you only think to be true to cloud your judgment, because it might get in the way of the happiness you both deserve. You’ve waited your entire lives, after all.”

Caitlin smiled. “We have, that’s true.”

The splashing of a horse through the river brought them to their feet, both stepping outside to see what caused the commotion.

When Rodric trotted over to them astride a winded gelding, Sorcha merely patted Caitlin’s arm before retreating back inside the house.

“Why did you go?” he asked, not yet dismounting.

“It was too… too much, I suppose. Too many men, too much shouting.”

“You could at least have warned me you wanted to leave,” he murmured. There was no telling from his expression whether he was angry or merely stating a fact.

“You were at Alan’s bedside.”

He nodded. “You’re a widow now. He’s gone.”

And even in spite of the pain Alan had caused her, caused to so many in one way or another thanks to his carelessness and temper, she felt sorry to hear it for Rodric’s sake.

“You’re free,” he added in an even tone.

“Free.” She repeated it to herself once, twice, unable to quite understand it. She was free. “For the first time in my life, I have no laird and master.”

He nodded, his lips pursed. “No one to order you about or deny you what you want.”

“Are you telling me you would order me about?”

“Are you telling me you still wish to be my wife?”

“What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t know. You’re the one who ran from the house last night.”

“I told you why I did, Rodric Anderson! And I left out one important reason,” she added, her anger fully stoked as she charged over to where he still sat on horseback. “I was afraid you’d blame me for Alan. And you wouldn’t want me in your life any longer, now that the clan is yours.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable once again. “You thought that?”

“Of course. It’s only natural.”

“It isn’t natural at all! It’s the least natural thing I’ve ever heard come from your mouth, lass, which is saying quite a bit as you have a talent for coming up with strange things.” He slid from the saddle, taking her arms in his hands once he was in front of her.

“You don’t blame me, then?” she asked, awestruck. While she understood Sorcha’s assertion that it wasn’t her fault, that Alan had always behaved according to his own desires and had led himself into a fight with a man as ruthless as Connor McAllister, it didn’t make hearing him say the words any less surprising or wonderful.

His face contorted as though she’d said something truly unthinkable. “Why in the world would I blame you for what you had no part of?”

“I… don’t know. I thought you might, is all.”

“You blamed yourself and thought I would feel the same.” He took her in his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Ye daft thing. Sometimes I wonder why I love such a daft lass as yourself.”

She was certain her heart would crack open from pure joy. “Because you know I love you, as well?”

He still loved her. He didn’t blame her. All was well.

No.

All was better than it had ever been.

He pulled back, looking down at her with more love in his grey eyes than she thought she’d ever seen. “My Caitlin,” he murmured, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger in order to draw her closer.

Her heart pounded out of control, her cheeks flushing and the breath all but leaving her body entirely as their lips brushed together—tenderly, gently, the way she’d dip her toe into rushing water to test how cold it was before stepping in.

Her very toes tingled, the racing of her heart all but deafening her as it sent blood rushing in her ears. He was as lovely and delicious as she’d always dreamed he would be.

They had never kissed before, not even when they were children. She’d only ever imagined the firmness of his mouth, the way his hands held her face so carefully. As though she might break. Large hands, hands capable of killing, holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world.