“Can we ride no faster?” Rodric’s voice was almost a growl.

Brice MacDougal exchanged a look with his brother Fergus, whose notoriously thin patience was growing thinner by the moment. It showed.

On the other hand, Brice found Rodric’s anxiety humorous. It was his nature to find humor in the truly ridiculous.

And at this moment, Rodric’s behavior fell well within the ridiculous.

Rodric rode in front of Brice and Fergus, every movement jerky and sharp as though he were nursing a grudge, and hardly able to behave himself as a result.

Didn’t he know that when he acted that way, it only made his friends want to slow to a crawl?

It wasn’t that any of them wished for Rodric to delay in seeing his bride for the first time in a week. They were in agreement that his marriage was a fine, solid decision. The best he could’ve made. Rodric and Caitlin were clearly meant to be man and wife, as they had been since childhood.

Brice would never begrudge a friend his happiness—especially a friend who meant as much as Rodric did to him. He’d never been one to experience anything more than a brief flash of jealousy from time to time, and that was always in the most extreme cases.

So, it was not Brice’s jealousy of Rodric’s marriage which was beginning to make Rodric rather unbearable.

It was the way Rodric insisted on conducting himself of late.

Not an evening had gone by without him mentioning her at least once. Wondering aloud what she might be doing, how she might be feeling. Wondering if Sorcha’s home was truly the best place in which she should spend her time while the four of them were out, earning a living.

It had gotten to the point where, once, Fergus had asked, “And who is Caitlin again?” when Rodric mentioned her name.

They’d all laughed, including the new bridegroom, but that laughter held an edge of truth to it. Perhaps Rodric should’ve taken time away from their work in order to be with her.

Not a possibility, unfortunately, for he needed the silver as much as they did—nay, more, as he wished to secure land for his bride and his family.

The modest farmhouse came into view once they made the turn from the main road, with its lush trees on either side, to the narrower trail which led to the McMannis farm. The land was open, sitting as it did at the apex of the fork in the River Nevis.

It was a lovely sight, to be sure, especially since the four of them were rather filthy and seemed to be holding a competition with the horses for who could smell the worst. So far, the animals were winning, but it was a close contest.

A homecooked meal and a night spent indoors—even if it meant sleeping on Sorcha’s kitchen floor—would be a treat.

Rodric rode ahead, as Brice had known he would. The MacDougal brothers chuckled to themselves, perhaps more than a bit relieved that their friend would finally be with his wife and leave them alone about her for the time being.

“Do ye think we ought to wait outside for a moment?” Fergus wondered aloud as they approached, Rodric already having disappeared through the kitchen door.

Inside the house, something clattered and broke. “I think we ought to give them more than just a moment,” Brice laughed. “Come. Let us water the horses and perhaps have a bath.”

“You could certainly use one,” Fergus observed, nose wrinkling in distaste as though he did not also carry the stench of horse and sweat.

The two of them grumbled good-naturedly as they tended the horses, hobbling them in a particularly thick patch of clover before stripping off their filthy clothing. “I must say, I’m not sorry to be doing this,” Brice groaned as he stepped into the cool, clear water. He’d never been one to believe in an afterlife, much less anything better waiting for him in some far-off invisible place, if such a place existed, however…

A high, shrill voice cut through the heavy, late summer air. “What do the two of you think you’re doing there?”

Brice was already in the river up to the middle of his waist, but Fergus hadn’t yet gone in past his knees. The strident female voice made him stumble in surprise, sending him splashing full-bodied into the water.

Brice laughed at his brother, but Sorcha did not. “Where have you lot been that you do not know of the rains which have swelled the river? It’s dangerous, being in there!” She approached the bank with hands on her hips, glaring at the two of them.

“The current is strong, but not overly strong,” Brice assured her.

Fergus shook his head, flipping back the soaked hair which had hung in his face when he emerged from the rushing river. “You’ve a talent for surprising a man,” he observed, crouching low for the sake of modesty.

“Och, I’d have held my tongue longer for the sake of observing ye if I hadn’t been concerned for your safety.” Sorcha smoothed back the gray-streaked hair which a steady breeze had pulled loose from her braid. “The pair of ye looked so pleased to be washing the filth from yourselves.”

Brice had never possessed much patience with women—they were beyond his realm of understanding and so rarely relied on sense and logic—but Caitlin’s aunt was a different matter. She was a lovely person, which perhaps was the highest compliment he could pay.

He’d known many who were not nearly so lovely, after all.

“We’ll be safe enough,” he grinned. “And if I feel the current pulling on me a bit too strong, I’ll be sure to call out to ye for help.”

She shook her head. “I’d give your head the dunking it needs, more like.” She glanced toward the house, a sly smile crossing her face. “I suppose my nephew and niece are inside.”

“Aye, which is why we’re outside,” Fergus snorted.

“I’m certain ye could both use the bath after spending your days in the saddle.” She ran a hand over the soft, brown flank of the gelding Brice had been riding since they departed Drimarben and crooned soft words into its ear. “I would’ve preferred my nephew join ye prior to spending time with his wife inside my home, but I cannot ask for everything.”

“He ought to scrub the place out after spreading his stench about,” Brice suggested. “I’d be more than happy to order him for ye.”

“Aye, I’m certain of it,” Sorcha grinned. “I’ve never seen a lot so ready to break each other’s private bits.”

Fergus snorted in disbelief at the older woman’s turn of phrase, perhaps even a slight twinge of embarrassment. But not Brice. If anything, it only made him like her more. He could understand why Rodric had taken to her in such a manner.

At least his friend had a kind, motherly woman to call his aunt after having married Caitlin. She’d always been a mother figure to him, Brice knew, and it meant a tremendous lot to him that she was still part of his life.

So, too, did it mean much to know his new wife had a home to live in and someone to watch after her while he went off to his work.

Brice was a reasonable man. He knew his friend was loyal, steadfast, brave. He also knew he’d rather be home with his wife if at all possible. It pained him endlessly to spend even a day away from her.

Many were the nights when they’d spoken amongst themselves, determined to draw him out by telling old stories and jokes when he’d fallen into silence after speaking of her.

To his credit, he’d done his best to play along. Never one to dampen the mood if he could help it. But Rodric’s heart wasn’t in it, just the same, and they’d given up after a while. Best to let him stew in his thoughts, far away from wherever the men happened to be camped for the night.

Just as it had before, it would be a difficult parting when the time came for them to leave. Only the fact that Quinn hadn’t met them at the house—meaning he’d still be in the village or on his way back—allowed them to linger as they were.

“Well?” Sorcha asked, gazing down at the two bathers from the slightly elevated bank. “What will ye be embarking on this time?”

Brice shrugged, careful to keep himself far enough below the surface to maintain even a slight sense of modesty. While he enjoyed conversing with her, he wished she’d find something else to do at the moment, but the house was likely off-limits just then, and she wouldn’t wish to intrude on the newlyweds.

“We cannot say just yet,” he explained. “Quinn rode ahead to the village, so he might get word of another task for us.”

“And you’re certain he won’t dally?” she asked with a knowing gleam in her eye. So, Caitlin and she had talked about the men with whom her husband spent his time. Quinn was notorious among them for his roving eye and way with women.

“I’d like to see what he could find in terms of companionship with the small bit of silver in his pouch,” Fergus laughed. “We made certain of it. I don’t trust him on his own after so many days spent outside the acquaintance of lasses.”

“A wise decision,” Sorcha smiled, nodding. Then, she turned in the direction of the house and cupped her hands around her mouth. “I’ll be needing to prepare dinner for my guests, in case anyone inside the house cares! I’ll want to enter in a minute or two!”

The door opened moments later, Caitlin’s familiar black hair fanning out when the breeze caught it. “You can come in any time you like, and many thanks for the embarrassment!”

Brice raised an eyebrow as Sorcha headed toward the house. “Hmm. Already finished up in there. Perhaps our friend was a bit more… enthusiastic than we gave him credit for.”

The brothers did their best not to chuckle knowingly as Rodric advanced. His brow was deeply lined, his mouth a sharp slash across the lower part of his face.

“You won’t, if you know what’s good for ye,” Rodric announced as he stripped down and plunged into the river, washing his clothing as he washed himself. “Here,” he said, tossing two small cakes of brown soap to the men.

“Many thanks,” Brice replied, glancing at his brother. Fergus shrugged.

“She’s feeling poorly,” Rodric explained without being prompted. “Told me she’s been losing the contents of her stomach all morning.”

“Och, that’s a shame,” Brice muttered as he washed. “Poor timing, to be certain.”

“That isn’t what bothers me,” Rodric replied as he savagely washed his tunic. His movements were sharp, jerky, making Brice wonder if he shouldn’t warn against rubbing holes in the already worn cloth. “It’s that she’s been ill like this for days. And there is no way for me to know about it when she is. Anything could happen here. Anything at all.”

It was a familiar concern, one which the rest of them were unable to offer a solution to. Just as they’d always been unable to do before.

The way Brice saw it, life was full of choices. This or that. Live in front of the hearth, comfortable, growing fat and soft over time as a life of action and activity faded away until it was nothing but the vaguest memory, or continue to travel across the countryside in search of new adventures—while, not unimportantly, providing for one’s family.

In Rodric’s case, choosing to make a living as he did meant spending time away from his new bride. He might instead decide to accept his brother Padraig’s offer to make a home in the Anderson clan—according to the order of his birth, Rodric as the eldest surviving son should be the one to lead the clan, not Padraig, the youngest son.

However, Rodric wanted nothing to do with clan leadership.

Brice could understand that.

Still, after three months of taking on assignments, stopping at Sorcha’s farm whenever possible, it seemed to all of them that Rodric should have adjusted to being without Caitlin.

After all, as Quinn had made the grave mistake of pointing out, the couple had spent seven years apart after Rodric left to join the Army.

Rodric hadn’t taken well to that bit of flippancy, and Quinn had earned himself a split lip. As it turned out, while they’d easily jested with one another for as long as they’d been acquainted, there were certain topics a man did not appreciate being used as fodder for jokes.

Brice knew well when to hold his tongue, and he did so while the three of them finished bathing. He ran the soap between his hands and lathered his beard, then the thick hair which hung down to his collar. A mix of brown and red, more of the latter than the former.

At the very least, his friend’s inability to stay away from his wife meant the occasional warm, fresh meal from Sorcha’s kitchen and the promise of a pack full of food to take along when they left.

The smell of roasting lamb greeted Brice as the three of them walked from the river toward the house, making his mouth water in anticipation. It would be a pleasant afternoon and evening, to be sure. He was glad Quinn took so long in the village, as they’d been on horseback for nearly a solid fortnight.

Even a man whose life had been spent more or less outdoors, no matter the time of year, appreciated the promise of rest.

Rodric was first inside the house, followed by Fergus. The pair were immediately put to work by Sorcha, who ordered them to scrub potatoes and turnips as Caitlin still wasn’t feeling herself.

Brice laughed at the look on his brother’s face—the only time he’d ever spent in a kitchen was while eating.

Caitlin did not allow Brice to enter, catching him by the arm before he could cross the threshold. The troubled look in her eye put him on his guard. He allowed her to lead him behind the house, where the land came to a point at the river’s fork. It was a lovely scene, to be sure, with the tall grass swaying and rippling in the breeze, stretching out before them.

Caitlin Anderson didn’t look as though the landscape gave her much pleasure. She looked rather put out, in fact.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly as she did. “Forgive me,” she whispered, “but I needed to get away from the house for a bit. While the meat is roasting, I cannot seem to avoid feeling ill.”

Her skin had a strange, gray color to it, and he began to wonder if there wasn’t something to her strange illness, after all. Perhaps Rodric’s worry wasn’t entirely without merit.

“Do you need to sit?” he asked, casting his eyes about for something suitable.

She shook her head, eyes opening. “No, thank you. It’s kind of ye to ask. How was your journey?”

He knew what she was asking. “He did well. No danger to him. Did I not offer my word?”

Something he never would’ve admitted to Rodric—or, frankly, to any of the others. The morning the group had left on their first mission after the wedding, Caitlin had all but held a dirk to his throat and forced him to give his word to protect her husband.

He’d wanted to tell her the dirk was unnecessary. The four of them and any other of the men they’d lived and fought and traveled alongside had protected one another for years. There was no hope for any of them to survive otherwise.

A woman—even one who Brice could admit was unique to her sex—wouldn’t understand that sort of brotherhood.

“Yes, that is true,” she murmured, sighing, turning her gaze toward the horizon. “I fear for him. For all of you.”

“We’ve been at this line of work for a long time,” he reminded her, aware that it was awkward and perhaps little consolation, but at a loss for anything more to say. For it was true, they knew what they were about and the fact that one of their number had taken a wife didn’t change that.

Even so, it meant the actions which might’ve once been performed without a second thought were no longer as easily managed. Rodric had more than just himself to consider.

Brice turned to her, hoping to choose the correct words for once in his life. It seemed the wrong thing tended to fall out of his mouth just when he was trying his hardest to do right. “It’s important for men such as us to act without fear. When we fear, we pause. Hesitate at the wrong moment. In a fight—especially a fight in which there is quite a bit of danger—hesitation can be a deadly mistake.”

“You’re telling me I ought to discourage Rodric from thinking about me while he’s with ye.”

“To be honest with ye, lass, I’m not entirely certain what I’m saying. It’s of little use to tell your husband how to think or what to do. I’ve learned that particular lesson the hard way.”

“I’m sure you have,” she chuckled softly. “And I understand. But I worry. I worry so terribly.”

“I wish there was something I could say or do to ease your mind.”

She turned to him, eyes now hard as flint.

And he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d fallen into her trap so easily.

“You can speak to him on my behalf and convince him to allow me to accompany you on your next mission.”

He laughed.

That was the wrong thing to do.

“What’s so amusing?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

He’d seen that posture many times in their short acquaintance, had heard the threatening note in her voice. She was not the lass to be laughed at. He’d like as not earn her fist in his eye.

“I’m sorry, lass. Forgive me.” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to think of sad or tragic things to keep his mirth at bay. The very thought of her accompanying them was truly humorous.

“I’ve traveled with the lot f you,” she insisted. “I know what it means to ride for so many days at a time, to sleep out-of-doors, to eat whatever is handy. You cannot frighten me off, Brice.”

“I’m not trying to frighten ye off, lass. Believe me. I know you’re not easily frightened. Even so, that was a far different situation. You were our mission then. Keeping you safe was our goal. It would still be our goal if ye were to ride along—which means we would not be able to focus our attention on the mission at hand. Do ye understand?” He hoped so, for there was no better way he could imagine to explain himself.

She frowned, looking pained.

That was the last thing he’d wanted, to pain her in any way. “Please, I meant no personal affront. I’m merely telling ye what Rodric would.”

“What are you on about out here?” Sorcha called out.

He’d never been so glad to see her. Surely, she would be able to talk sense to her niece. He was already preparing himself to edge away from Caitlin and make his escape.

Caitlin’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. “I was asking him to speak to Rodric on my behalf.”

Sorcha’s expression hardened into angry lines. Not what he had expected to see—instead of confusion or surprise, she was angered.

“You’re still on about this?” she asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I’ve never known another more determined to have her way.”

“The two of ye have discussed this, then,” Brice surmised.

“Indeed—more times than I can count,” Sorcha growled. “Yet it seems she refuses to listen to reason. As if she’s determined to ignore me.”

Caitlin looked ready to burst with anger. “I’m not a child. Or had you forgotten?”

When she stomped her foot, Brice had no choice but to bite his tongue in order to refrain from laughing. For someone who wasn’t a child, she certainly made a show of behaving like one.

Sorcha wasn’t laughing. “I should think any sort of travel would be the furthest thing from your mind, in your condition.”

Brice’s jaw dropped.

And, to his surprise, so did Caitlin’s.

Her eyes went wide, perfectly round, and her face went slack with surprise. “I’m… I’m with child?”