Caitlin wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. Just when she thought she’d cried every tear available.

“From what I heard, it was a brief illness,” Kent explained. He stood in the doorway to the bedroom he shared with his wife, drying his face and hands on a strip of linen after having washed both in the basin. “The fever flared up of a sudden, and it was all over within another two days.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. It was too painful to imagine poor, sweet Uncle Gavin succumbing to any such illness. To think, she would never see him again. Would never be able to thank him for treating her as though she were his own daughter.

Fiona patted her back. “He was a good man. I’m certain he’s gone on to his reward.”

“Aye, I’m certain he has,” Caitlin sighed, not wishing to upset either of her hosts by asking what good it was for him to be gone, reward or no reward. Surely, if what they’d all been taught as children was true and there really was an eternal reward waiting for all God-fearing, pious people, Gavin McMannis was in the Heavenly Kingdom at that very moment.

Little good it did her. A selfish thought, but her heart was far too pained for her mind to think unselfishly. She needed him. Aunt Sorcha needed him, too. They had never been blessed with children, and she would be all alone.

What difference did it make for a person to do good their entire life? To be good, to do right by others? Sorcha and Gavin had been the kindest, dearest people in the world and the only true family she’d known after her mother’s passing. If it hadn’t been for the certainty that their home would be the first place Alan would look for her, she would’ve fled to them after the wedding. Their modest home had been more of a home, more of a comfort, to her than her own had ever been.

And where did it get them? Uncle Gavin, dead after a sudden illness. Aunt Sorcha, alone and poor and childless, without the husband with whom she’d lived so happily in spite of their meager circumstances. They had always been loving and dear, and had always kept her best interests at heart.

They’d even gone so far as to stand up to her stepfather when he’d announced her betrothal. Not that he had listened. Not that she had expected him to.

“You say he only died early this morning?” Caitlin asked, looking at Kent.

“Aye, just this morning. I tried to call upon your aunt to express my condolences, but she was far too occupied with other callers and the arrangements which needed to be made.”

“Yes, it’s a difficult first few hours, just after someone dies.” Caitlin been but a child when her mother died after having given birth to her fourth dead son, but she remembered the great commotion just afterward. People coming and going, the village deacon hanging about, the weeping of women in nearly every room of the suddenly very crowded house.

Only Aunt Sorcha had thought of her that day, finding her in her bedchamber and ensuring she was cared for while everyone else mourned the double death.

Who would care for Sorcha now?

“I must go to her,” she decided, determination setting her jaw in a firm line.

“What?” Fiona leaped to her feet, hands on her hips. “You’ll do no such thing! What do you think? That we’ve taken the chance of allowing you to live here all this time so you could then be so foolhardy as to show yourself on McAllister lands?”

“Fiona…” Kent murmured, taking her arm.

Caitlin merely shook her head. “It’s all right, Kent. You needn’t behave as though you haven’t felt my presence just as keenly as my cousin has. I hold nothing against you—in fact, I owe you everything, and I’m well aware of it.”

“Even so,” he replied, not bothering to tell her she was wrong. “Even so, it seems a great risk, and an unnecessary one. What do you hope to accomplish?”

“I must at least let her know she isn’t alone.”

“She has the entire clan to look after her,” Fiona argued.

“Do you think any of them care? Truly? Connor cares nothing for my mother’s family, as they are not his blood relations. He’ll extend no courtesies to her; you can be sure.”

“You’ll still accomplish nothing by going. Nothing real, nothing lasting, as you cannot afford to be seen. You’d never be able to stay without someone spotting you and reporting back to Alan or Connor that you were seen.”

“I’ll simply have to be smart enough to avoid detection,” she reasoned.

Fiona shot Kent a look of exasperation, throwing her hands into the air. “There’s no reasoning with her! My mother was right when she told tales of her cousin Caitriona and how that hair of hers meant a stubborn temperament. She passed it on to her daughter.”

“You might not speak of me as though I’m not here,” Caitlin interjected, looking from one of them to the other and back again. “Also, once I’m gone, you won’t have to fret over my presence.”

Fiona’s cheeks flushed scarlet, matching the color of her hair. Clearly ashamed of her cousin knowing the truth of her feelings.

“It’s all right,” Caitlin assured her. “I forced myself on you, and you’ve been kind enough to keep me here all this time.”

“You’re welcome to return—would that you wouldn’t leave at all.” Fiona wrapped her in a tight hug.

“It’s what I feel I must do. I’m alive and well and a half-day’s ride away. I could return in two days, perhaps three. Once I’m certain Sorcha is taken care of.”

“She’ll be furious when she sees you,” Fiona warned. “You know that once you tell her the chance you’ve taken, she’ll be so disappointed.”

“I know. There’s nothing I can do about that. She’s worth the risk.”

Kent sighed, wringing his hands together. “You’ll want to borrow some clothing, then. No use traveling in…” He waved his hands to indicate her light grey kirtle.

She eyed him up and down. “You would lend me something?”

“Aye—you’ll need to belt it tightly, but I’ve an old pair of trousers which might help.” He let out an anxious sigh, but then he was an anxious man. It was a wonder he’d ever agreed to allow her to live under his roof.

At least he’d breathe more freely once she was gone, even if it was only for a short while.

If she managed to escape detection, of course.

Otherwise, it was back to the Andersons, back to Alan. He’d never let her out of his sight again.

And that terrible thought was nearly enough to make her doubt herself. Was she indeed behaving rashly by rushing to join her aunt? When Alan would undoubtedly make her pay dearly for running from him?

The thought of Sorcha suffering alone, Sorcha who’d been like a mother to her, reminded Caitlin of the reason why she had to make the journey. She simply had to, if only to provide a small bit of comfort.

“I’ll leave before dawn,” she announced, squaring her shoulders in determination.

* * *

It was still dark when she awoke on the straw-filled tick tucked in one corner of the main room. Had it been winter, she would’ve been nearer the hearth—even without a fire blazing inside, the stones which lined it would hold warmth. She’d often slept by the hearth while staying with her aunt and uncle.

Even a makeshift bed on the floor of a house full of love was better than comfortable lodgings in that cold, lonely home which had once been her mother’s domain. Mother had always ensured that her daughter felt wanted. Safe. Protected.

Not like Connor, who had all but cast her aside once Caitriona McAllister’s body gave up after the fourth stillbirth. Theirs had never been a loving relationship prior to her mother’s death—she wasn’t his child, not really, though that might have been forgivable had she been male. There was no one for him to pass his name on to.

Hence the near obsession he’d had with his wife bearing him a son. He hadn’t suffered as Caitriona had suffered with each loss, he hadn’t carried the babies in his body as she had. Lines hadn’t etched themselves into his face, deeper and deeper, as though each line represented another child which never lived outside its mother’s womb.

He’d killed Caitriona as surely as if he’d driven a blade into her heart. It might have been easier on her, at that.

And what had he done afterward? Had he expressed sympathy toward his motherless stepdaughter? Had he shown her love, attention, even the slightest semblance of caring what came of her? No. None of it.

If anything, he’d regretted her existence. He would’ve been free had it not been for Caitlin.

It was easy to fall into dark memories when she was alone, and the rest of the world seemed to be asleep. Were Fiona and Kent enjoying a good, deep sleep? Perhaps so. They wouldn’t need to fear Caitlin being discovered on their farm for at least a few days.

She washed her hands and face before sliding into the trousers and tunic which Kent had left for her. Both were quite large, though Kent was of a smaller build than the men she’d grown up around. Highlanders, all of them. Burly and massive.

She never could’ve worn Rodric’s clothing, had he been there to lend it to her. His trousers would likely have billowed around her legs like sheets no matter how tightly she’d cinched them.

The mere thought of him made her heart clench tight, as though a hand were squeezing it. The sensation took her breath away, made her clutch the sides of the kitchen table for support. How different it would all be if he had never gone away.

Perhaps it was easier to believe that. The truth wasn’t as simple as she liked to believe. There was no way of knowing whether Rodric would’ve wanted to marry her upon his return.

War changed a man. Hadn’t he warned her of as much before leaving? He swore his feelings for her would never change. Why, then, hadn’t he come for her once the war ended? Why hadn’t he at least let his clan know he was living?

He’d never once stepped foot on Anderson land again, so far as she knew.

He hadn’t really loved her. Theirs had been nothing more than a childhood romance which had ended with the passage of childhood. Its usefulness had run its course along with other childish concerns.

For him.

Not for her. Never for her.

“Still set on leaving?” Fiona’s soft whisper was still enough to make Caitlin jump and whirl about. “I must admit to having my doubts.”

“You ought to know me better than that.”

“Aye. I also know how you loathe waking before the dawn.”

Caitlin barely stifled a laugh for Kent’s sake. She assumed he slept on, though he’d surely be awake soon enough in order to begin the day’s business. One was rarely idle on a farm, no matter how many hands were employed there.

“I should go. Now.” She hugged her cousin, who returned the embrace. “I owe you no less than my life, and should I not make it back to you…”

“Do not speak of such a thing. Do not even dare think it,” Fiona whispered in her ear, fierce and determined. “You will return. He will not find you.”

“Pray for me.” She kissed her cousin’s cheek and turned away, wanting to leave before the tears in her eyes became evident. As she went, she pulled her long braid up on top of her head before jamming a borrowed hat on top. It would do little to conceal her feminine features, but she might keep her head down in the presence of others while passing through the village. Her only chance at survival.

The morning air was soft, warm, full of dew, and the stars still shone when Caitlin mounted the gentle mare Kent had agreed to lend her along with his clothing. The song of the grasshoppers was nearly deafening, what seemed like hundreds of them shouting to be heard over their brethren.

She turned in the saddle. “Tell Kent I owe him everything as well, and I plan to repay him whenever I can.”

Fiona nodded from the doorway, a deep frown creasing her brow. “I will, though you know he’ll accept no such repayment.”

“I can offer, can’t I?”

The two of them were smiling when Caitlin clicked her tongue to signal the beginning of her journey.

The mare took off at a trot, and soon the farm was behind them.