A Soldier's Salvation (Highland Heartbeats Book 7)(9)

He looked around the room at the three men who were set on accompanying him. It was no use arguing—also, they had a point. There was little else for them to do while he was gone, unless they intended to take on another mission without him. They were more than welcome to do it, but his absence would take their number down to three. Very little only three men could do.

Fierce and skilled though they were.

“I suppose we’d best get to sleep, then, if we’re leaving so early,” he announced by way of accepting their company.

As though there had ever been a question of whether they would gift him with it.



“If anything should go wrong, send word for help,” Jake urged as Rodric mounted one of the horses Phillip had insisted they take along for the journey.

If they were going out of their way to protect Duncan interests, Phillip had reasoned, they should at least have fresh horses on which to ride.

“I will that,” Rodric promised, though he had to wonder what good such an action would do. It would take at least a solid day of riding to reach the border of the land which his father had held down by the sweat of his brow and more than a few fierce battles, which meant it would be at least two days before help would arrive.

A young woman carrying a babe against her body joined them. Phillip’s wife, Sarah. “How did the tincture work last night?” she asked.

“Like a miracle,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. Thanks to whatever it was she’d given him, he’d been able to sleep through the night without so much as a hint of discomfort in his shoulder.

“I thought so.” She handed him a wrapped bundle. “There is more of it included here—just a few drops in a cup of hot broth or water, as you took last night—along with herbs which I’ve labeled and instructions for creating poultices. There is never any telling what trouble Phillip’s or Jake’s friends might find themselves in.”

“Thank you very much.” He tucked it carefully into his bedroll, marveling at the generosity of the laird’s wife. Phillip had married well.

Just like that, at the mere thought of marriage, his mood darkened. And he had been so looking forward to another night of pain-free sleep, too. That was the furthest thing from his mind when he set off with the others following on his heels.

Would she want to see him? More important, would he want to see her? No, he decided. He had no desire to set eyes on his brother’s wife. If there was a way to ensure avoidance of her, he would follow it and gladly.

It was better to remember her as she’d been than to see what she’d become.

In his memories, she was his. Only his. Caitlin. With her beautiful light hair and eyes that reminded him of the sky in autumn. Deep blue, clear and expressive. He’d been able to read the love he held for her reflected in those eyes.

Or perhaps he’d only told himself that much.

It only made sense in the end, her marrying Alan instead of waiting for the love of her childhood to return from service. He’d held every intention of making her his wife once the war ended and he was free to go home. He’d resisted temptation at every turn, passing up the many opportunities afforded a soldier whom women seemed to find attractive.

There had only been Caitlin.

She was the one who had changed, not him. When he’d received word of his father’s passing and the almost simultaneous announcement that Alan and Caitlin were betrothed, he had gone so far as to wish Jake Duncan hadn’t saved his life.

A fleeting thought, one which had exploded into the forefront of his consciousness unbidden, but the sentiment had been true. Without her, what was there? What had he been fighting for? There they were, at the end of the war, and him without a home to return to.

Hence his acceptance of the offer Brice had made for him to join their band of rootless men who no longer had a war to fight but did possess skills which made them valuable to those in need of muscle.

Even so, not a night had gone by that he hadn’t imagined her in his brother’s arms, warming his brother’s bed. Perhaps carrying his child—it was inevitable that he would seek an heir, and as soon as possible. She might very well already be carrying an Anderson in her belly.

It turned his stomach. All of it. His Cait, wed to another man. Even if that man happened to be his brother.

Especially him.

“Are you listening? Or have you gone deaf up there?” Quinn shouted.

It was a relief, this break from his terrible thoughts. “I’ll start listening once you start speaking of things which hold any interest to me,” he called back over one shoulder, affecting a sense of carelessness he certainly didn’t feel.

“He was merely commenting on our good fortune,” Brice explained. “The way the rainy spell seems to have passed.”

“Oh, aye,” Rodric agreed, distracted. “We ought to make good time.”

Brice picked up his pace on the wide trail between the thick-growing spruce and pine. “I find myself wondering why you sound displeased when you say that,” he murmured.

“You know why,” Rodric grumbled, already beyond the point of patience.

“Do I?”

“Perhaps you do too much wondering.” He tapped his heels to the horse’s sides and urged it ahead, just close enough to allow the others the chance to follow but far enough to discourage conversation.