I wish I could spend more time here with you,” Caitlin murmured against her aunt’s shoulder as they embraced. It seemed impossible that she should leave again when they’d hardly been able to spend any time together.

It seemed cruel to leave her all alone on her land with no one to talk to. While neighbors had been helpful during Gavin’s illness, and of course had paid their respects the day before, life went on. Chores demanded attention, children needed raising.

Caitlin could not even make arrangements for someone from either the McAllister or Anderson households to make the ride, as that would mean revealing herself. If she’d not run from Alan, she might have been the one to do it. She might even have used her uncle’s passing as an excuse to stay in the little farmhouse for a while.

Another way in which she had failed, but how was she to know the way the future would unfold? And there was still so much more unfolding to be done. Just the thought was enough to dampen her spirits.

“Worry not, my dear,” Aunt Sorcha whispered, smiling in spite of her trembling chin. “I’m happy.”

“Happy?”

“You needn’t look so disbelieving,” she chuckled. “Yes. I’m happy, because I know you will be safe now.”

She knew no such thing, and neither did Caitlin. All either of them knew was that she would leave with Rodric and that he intended to escort her to Fiona’s. They would meet up with friends of Rodric’s at the inn in the village before continuing on.

Yet there was a certainty in her voice, a firmness in her nod. “You’ll be safe, because he would die before allowing harm to come to you,” Sorcha whispered, obviously referring to Rodric.

“Don’t even say such things,” Caitlin warned, a chill running through her at her aunt’s words.

Superstition did not seem to matter to Sorcha. Perhaps she’d already been through enough to know that superstition meant nothing. Caitlin had taken silent notice of the herbs which her aunt had burned at Gavin’s bedside, had seen the pillow which Sorcha had knelt on beside the bed in order to pray over him. The pillow was still there, just one of the many things which had fallen by the wayside in the wake of Gavin’s passing.

What good had prayers and burned herbs and who knew what else done for him? What difference did it make if one spoke of things they didn’t wish to see become true? If something was meant to happen, it would happen. No amount of avoiding the subject would help.

“I believe he will take care of you, and he will.” Sorcha pressed her lips to Caitlin’s tear-dampened cheek before pushing her in the direction of her mare.

Rodric stayed at a discreet distance, pretending as though he wasn’t listening. He had the grace to do that, at least.

She shook herself at the only somewhat charitable thought. There was no reason to think of him so negatively. He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman the night before, when there had been more than enough opportunity for him to do anything but. And if he’d perhaps taken liberties by watching her bathe, he’d at least made her aware of his presence before she’d done anything truly embarrassing.

Even so, there was no escaping the way her temper flared from time to time, all thanks to him.

She wondered if he knew what he did to her. How he upset her thoughts.

But then, he always had, hadn’t he? From the time they were children.

“We had better start off,” he announced after clearing his throat gruffly. “We want to reach your cousin’s before nightfall, and we have to stop at the inn as well.”

She nodded, casting one more look down at her aunt before turning the mare in the direction of the road.

“Take care!” Sorcha called out, a brave smile shining on her otherwise grief-stricken face.

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears which Caitlin knew would likely be shed once her visitors had disappeared on the road.

She turned away before her own tears revealed themselves.

Rodric rode straight and tall in the saddle, as always. And as always, Caitlin wondered what he was thinking. He’d always been infuriatingly skilled at keeping thoughts to himself—unfortunately, she had not become more skilled at understanding him.

Only a slight sniffle escaped her as she rode away. All the while, she willed herself not to look back. Looking back would only make the pain more severe. It was all but beyond bearing.

“She will be all right back there,” Rodric offered, his gaze focused on the road. After that, all she heard was the soft clop-clop-clop of the horses’ hooves on the well-trod dirt trail.

Caitlin couldn’t bring herself to speak. If she tried, nothing would come out but weeping. They had far too much riding to do for her to give in to emotion, no matter how it tore at her heart.

“Loss… is never easy, no matter if a person is alone or surrounded by others,” he mused, his voice thoughtful. As though he were sharing whichever thoughts came to his mind as they did so. “Imagine if Sorcha had borne a dozen children, the way we knew she always wanted to. What if your uncle passed on and left her alone with them? How would she see to their survival until they came of age? No matter the circumstances, loss is loss and always brings challenges.”

She thought this over as they rode side-by-side. She was once again disguised, her hair tucked under the hat and—as before—causing no end of discomfort under the already hot early morning sun. Sweat had already begun making itself known, tricking down her head. She wanted nothing more than to tear off the hat and scratch her itching scalp.

Instead, she concentrated on what Rodric had to say. When he wasn’t behaving like an arrogant prig or allowing his tongue to get the better of him, he was quite insightful.

“I suppose anyone would’ve looked upon my stepfather and me and deduced that it was for the best that he be part of my life after my mother died,” she reasoned once the crushing grief passed. “Without him, I would’ve been alone—according to them, to strangers.”

“Aye, I recall hearing murmurings to that extent in those days,” he admitted. “I was too young to understand, but then again people are more likely to share confidences while in the presence of a child who they believe can’t make sense of what they’re saying. They believed it was a blessing your mother had remarried, that it meant your protection.”

“It meant everything but my protection,” she whispered, disgusted. “It meant my sale into slavery, or something close to it.”

“Slavery?”

“Do you honestly believe my marriage to your brother would’ve been anything else?”

“I doubt he would’ve made you his slave.”

As always, anger bubbled up in her chest. His dismissive tone! How could he sound that way? “Do you think we would have been friends? Companions? Do you think we would’ve shared each other’s lives the way my aunt and uncle did? And before you accuse me of setting my sights too high, I’d ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to say that at all. I would’ve commended you for knowing what it is you want—even if it is, perhaps, a bit farfetched.”

“I hate you when you say things like that.”

“I know.”

“And yet you do it anyway.” She glared at him, still only seeing his profile as he stared straight ahead. Was it her imagination, or was he smiling ever so slightly?

“You’ve always been one to allow your fancy to get the better of your reason.”

“And you’ve always been one to allow your tongue to get the better of your self-preservation.”

“I know this. I don’t intend to hurt you when I speak as I do.”

“Oh? What is it, then? Do you intend to make me happy? If that’s the case, you fall short.”

“I’ve never been skilled at diplomacy. You know this. Why do you expect me to be better than I am, when you’ve known me your entire life?”

She snorted, looking away, closer to tears than ever. “Perhaps I thought you would’ve changed in all these years. Perhaps something good would’ve come out of all the time you spent away. You might have grown up a bit.”

“I grew up, lass,” he growled. “Just not in the way you wish.”

“Evidently.”

It was likely a blessing that they came up on a more populated area then, as it gave them an excuse to ride in silence. Caitlin kept her head down as she had a day earlier, doing what she could to ignore the rush of blood in her ears as her heart began to race out of control.

Her fingers closed tight around the reins, hands aching from the strain before very long.

“You’d do well to relax,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Thank you for the advice,” she whispered in return, and when she did, she cursed herself for being just as ill-mannered as he was. There was no call for her to reply as she had, but she’d spoken before thinking.

The day grew hotter all the time, and Caitlin soon reached behind her for the flask she’d filled at Sorcha’s. The water had warmed in the sun but was still fairly refreshing. When she’d had her fill, she held the flask out to Rodric.

“Thank you,” he replied with a faint grin.

As though it both surprised and amused him that she would offer. As though she were the one who had run off to fight and not come back for seven years.

Perhaps if he’d given a damn about her marrying his brother, he would’ve come back prior to the wedding and at least spoken on her behalf. He might have claimed her for his own. She would’ve gone anywhere with him, would’ve done anything. Would even have run away to marry him if he’d asked.

But he hadn’t. He’d left her to fend for herself and then dared to insult her when she’d merely done her best.

The deep unjustness of it made the sweat trickling down her back more difficult to bear than ever.

“Here we are,” Rodric murmured.

Clearly, he was unaware that she imagined throwing the flask at his head as he handed it back to her. He’d deserted her. He hadn’t even sent word that he was alive. At least half of the tears she’d shed had been on his behalf, out of fear that he’d died or been terribly injured. Knowing there was no chance of their ever being together once the wedding to his brother took place.

Knowing he didn’t care.

“What took ye so long?” Out of the inn came bounding a tall, burly man with dark hair and a beard to match. His eyes were bright, sparkling, full of life and laughter.

He stopped short when he saw Rodric wasn’t alone.

“Shh,” Rodric signaled with a finger to his lips.

“Ahh.” The dark-haired man nodded. “I should’ve guessed, then.”

Caitlin had no time to wonder what he believed he should’ve guessed, since they were soon joined by two other men. One shared a strong resemblance with the dark hair, though his face was clean-shaven and his frame a bit leaner. The other was clearly the youngest of all, his hair dark brown and his sharp, dark eyes immediately drawn to Caitlin in a way she recognized as more than just idle curiosity.

“And who’s this, then?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking up.

“Quinn, fetch the horses,” Rodric ordered in a tight voice.

Tight because Quinn called attention to her, or tight because of the nature of the attention he showed?

Rodric scowled. “We must be on the road immediately, or as soon as possible.”

“Aye, I’ve already spent too much time idling,” the largest of the three agreed, the one with the dark beard. “The name’s Brice, by the way. I can guess what yours is, so do not bother speaking. This is my brother, Fergus.”

Caitlin nodded in greeting. None of them seemed put-out by her presence, which she hadn’t realized until that moment had been something which worried her. The fewer people she inconvenienced, the better.

“You’ve settled up inside, then?” Rodric asked as his friends mounted their horses.

“Aye, we’ve only been waiting for you.” Fergus flashed a knowing smile. “It’s good to know you had a worthwhile reason for keeping us waiting.”

Caitlin bit her lip, her eyes downcast as Rodric fumed over this. She enjoyed these friends of his.

Amazing, she thought to herself as they rode together. The five of them attracted no attention, just as she’d attracted no attention while riding on her own. Certainly, people saw them. They were impossible to miss. But they were not considered, not thought about. Simply a group of men riding from one place to another. Free to do as they chose, without the concern or curiosity of others holding them back.

She had been so frightened, too, barely sleeping for more than a few moments at a time the night before. Certain they’d be stopped on the road the moment someone recognized her. Every time she’d begun to fall asleep, she’d imagined being stopped and dragged back to Alan.

Perhaps she truly was as safe as Sorcha had believed.