You should not have allowed your temper to get the better of you.” Sorcha’s voice was gentle, yet firm. “I thought you were a grown woman now, no longer the child who once blackened the lad’s eye.”

Caitlin shrugged as though it didn’t matter, her hands working the dough she intended to bake into a fresh loaf of bread for her aunt. The least she could do was attempt to fill the kitchen with as much food as possible—there was already a stew bubbling on the fire, and she had brought in fresh vegetables from the garden after weeding and tending to what was still growing.

Not once could she remember a time when there hadn’t been more than enough to eat, her aunt always busy working while happy, tuneless little songs erupted from her now and again. It was she who had taught Caitlin to cook and bake.

Life was strange. Sometimes it brought a person back to where they’d started without their knowing it.

She shaped the dough into a loaf, then covered it with a cloth and set it aside to allow for rising. “The lad hasn’t learned to control his mouth, which was the reason why I blackened his eye all those years ago. When he learns how to speak to a woman, I’ll stop letting my temper get the better of me.”

“He hurt you,” Sorcha surmised, watching her niece from a chair by the window. “I know he did. I hurt for you when he said it—for both of you.”

“Both of us? How can you defend such terrible things?”

“He was merely lashing out at you, my dear. He was hurt, too.”

Caitlin made a dismissive noise as she fetched the broom and began to sweep. “Nonsense.”

“My darling girl. I’ve known you since the day you were born. I might not be your blood relation, but you’re the closest to a daughter the Good Lord ever saw fit to grant me. And he’s the closest to a son. I’ve watched you grow up together, I saw what developed between you. I’m certain that when he heard of your marriage to Alan, his heart all but broke in two.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“And I’m telling you it is. I’m older than you, dear, and wiser. I’ve seen much more of life. I know what love looks like, and the two of you shone with such a light when you were together that it nearly blinded me just to look at you.”

“Aunt Sorcha…” Caitlin turned her face away, a flush creeping up her throat and over her face.

“It’s so,” Sorcha replied, a bit of gentle laughter at the edge of her voice. She’d always loved to tease and couldn’t help but indulge in a bit of it in spite of her sadness.

Caitlin managed to calm the trembling in her hands before replying. “That was a long time ago, so it matters not any longer. Several years have passed. Many. Who’s to say what’s happened to him since then? He’s a changed person. Surely, you saw this with your own eyes.”

“Aye, he’s a grown man now, strong and capable,” Sorcha observed. “The sort of man you need.”

“Please, don’t tease me.”

“It’s not my intention to tease you, my dear. Not now.” Sorcha leaned forward in the chair, her hands grasping the arms. “I saw the same light in his eyes when he looked upon you. He hasn’t forgotten you, my dear girl, not for a moment in all this time. And I would be willing to wager that you haven’t forgotten him, either.” She settled back in the chair. “If I were a wagering woman, that is.”

Caitlin knew her aunt’s words were intended to reassure her, but they only served to upset her more than ever before. Was it true? Did he love her? How could he be so cruel, then?

She let the matter rest, knowing that the more she protested, the more her aunt would insist she knew the truth of the matter. Instead of discussing Rodric and the terrible things he’d said, then, she finished cleaning the kitchen and put the bread to bake.

By the time she did, the tunic she wore was stuck to her back with sweat, and the hair at the nape of her neck was soaked.

“Go to the river and bathe, wash your clothing,” Sorcha advised, gathering soap and a linen for drying. “You can borrow an old nightdress of mine tonight, while your tunic and trousers dry.”

Such an opportunity could not have come at a better time, as Caitlin needed to be alone in order to think through the swirling, murky thoughts which seemed ready to tear her head to pieces. As murky as the water into which she stepped, making sure to watch her footing as she walked further into the flow. It came to her waist at the deepest point of the narrows, so she crouched for the sake of modesty before removing her clothing.

It was silly to worry about modesty when there was no one around to see. Even Sorcha had settled in for the night, though she’d made her niece promise to announce her return.

When Caitlin had pointed out that this would only wake her, Sorcha had merely offered a weak smile in return. “It won’t wake me. I will not be asleep.”

No, she’d be awake and thinking about her husband. Her dead husband. The man who would no longer warm her bed.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she set about the business of washing the sweat-stained tunic, her hands rubbing the soapy homespun together almost viciously. Now that she’d mourned her uncle over the course of the day, anger had taken the place of sorrow.

It made no sense for him to be gone when her aunt was left behind. What sort of cruel God would take a woman’s only solace away from her when she needed him? What God would not at least allow the two of them to speak words of love to each other before one of the pair was silenced forever?

At least he did not suffer. It was intended to be a consolation, she knew, though she could see how a woman might scream in frustration after hearing it too many times. But people couldn’t be held accountable for the things they said when comforting the grief-stricken. It was always a difficult terrain to travel.

Once the clothing was as clean as she could reasonably hope for it to be, she wrung it out and spread it across a group of rocks at the water’s edge before going back into wash herself.

The water was so cool, a refreshing change after working so hard. The night air was heavy with warmth, almost moist with it. Caitlin unwound her braid with practiced fingers before dunking her head under the surface of the river, delighting in the way her hair floated around her head. Like she had when she was a child.

When she’d swum in this river with Rodric.

The longer she spent in the water, the bolder she became. No one was nearby to see her resting her hands on the river bottom, allowing her unclothed body to float on the water’s surface as she had when she was a little girl. There was something almost wicked about the freedom of it, allowing the river to flow over her skin, through her unbound hair, washing away everything she wished to be rid of.

So she could hope.

She stood again, waist-deep, and rubbed the soap all over herself before dunking up to her neck again, then springing up and laughing to herself at the way the water ran down her body. The moon was nearly full and turned her pale skin even paler, almost silver, and the water which dripped from her breasts sparkled like jewels.

A man cleared his throat from the bank behind her. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more careful, bathing in the moonlight?”

She gasped.

Reflex caused her to drop to her knees, the water rising to her shoulders and granting her a bit of modesty before she turned to face him.

“It’s only me,” Rodric chuckled, his voice tellingly humorless as he sat on the riverbank, arms slung over his bent knees.

At most, he’d only seen her bare shoulders and perhaps her waist. Otherwise, her hair hung in a curtain which covered most of her back. Thank heaven. She would’ve died of shame had it been otherwise.

“I knew it was you,” she snapped. “I know your voice.”

“Do you? After all this time?”

She prayed the moonlight wasn’t bright enough to reveal the flush which spread across her cheeks. “You have a distinctive voice.”

“It is rather memorable, I suppose. And you’ve a rather memorable tendency to use your fists to speak for you.”

She gritted her teeth and willed herself to keep her temper. He wanted her to lose it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Only when I see a face which begs to be hit. Yours is the only one which has ever done so.”

“I assure you, lass, it’s an honor to be your first and only.”

If she hadn’t been completely naked and dripping wet, she would’ve rushed from the water and given him a large piece of her mind. Instead, she stayed where she was and pretended to ignore the heavy double meaning behind his words.

Yes, Aunt Sorcha was right. He was a grown man, one whose teasing had grown along with him. She supposed it was a result of his time in the army, among rough men.

“I didn’t expect you to come back, tonight or ever,” she observed.

“Nor did I, truth be told.” His smile disappeared, a frown taking its place. “I came back to warn ye.”

“Warn me? Of what?”

“Of the fact that my brother has no wish to let you go.”

She began to shiver, the water which had once been so cool and comfortable becoming unbearably cold in the blink of an eye. “What does he plan to do?”

“What do you think? He plans to hunt you down like a fox or a doe.”

“Why are you so hateful?”

Her question clearly surprised him, though she didn’t see how it possibly could. He seemed to be going out of his way to hurt her, when she’d done nothing wrong. In fact, she’d had no say in any of the details.

“You think me hateful?” he asked.

“You’ve been answering a question with a question when you wish to take extra time to find an answer for as long as I’ve known you, Rodric Anderson.”

“Then it shouldn’t surprise ye, lass.”

“Answer me, damn you,” she demanded, stomping a foot to no avail. He couldn’t see.

He sighed, his eyes drifting away from hers until his gaze rested at his feet. “Forgive me, lass. It’s cruel I’ve been. I admit it. And you’re right for pointing it out.”

“I know I’m right.”

“You don’t need to agree with me. I already said you were right.” He shook his head, snickering. “How do we seem to rouse each other’s tempers so easily?”

She bit back the sharp retort which danced on the tip of her tongue. If you weren’t so hard-headed and nasty, my temper wouldn’t flare so easily. “I don’t know. I’ve never known.”

The truth was plain to see, even if neither of them had the courage to speak it: there was far too much between them which remained unspoken.

Caitlin cleared her throat. “I suppose I should get out of this river and dry myself, then get started.”

“Started?”

“For my cousin’s. I need to go, if Alan still wishes to find me.” She cast an anxious look in the direction of the house. “I knew this was dangerous. I can’t expose Aunt Sorcha to danger on my account.”

“You needn’t worry about him tonight.” Rodric snorted, his voice heavy with disgust. Or was it disappointment? “He’s well in his cups at the moment and looked to be settling in for more when I made my leave. He’s in no condition to be hunting for anything or anyone, and likely won’t be until midday tomorrow. Get your rest tonight. You’re safe here.”

“You came back here to tell me I’m safe?” she asked, her head tilted to one side.

He winced, looking at her as though she had taken leave of her senses. “I came back to ensure you’re safe, lass. What else do you think?”

When he stood, he brushed the dust off his trousers and very deliberately averted his eyes. “I would feel a sight better if you’d finish with your bath and return to the house with me, just to be on the safe side.”

Only when she was certain he wasn’t looking did she emerge on the bank opposite and wrap herself in the sheet her aunt had provided. It instantly soaked through, clinging to her, but there was nothing she could do to help that.

She told herself he wasn’t chuckling as they walked to the house, that he hadn’t watched her playing alone in the river.