Page 59 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
“I will do that,” Caelan committed, standing and extending his hand. Conall shook it.
“One more thing.”
Caelan raised his eyebrow, eager to hear what else Conall was going to demand.
“Once she returns and she has this child, I want to be a part of her life. Me sister and I had been separated for too many years, and I didnae look after her. I want to see her regularly, spend time with her, and check up on her. I willnae let her suffer torture ever again.”
“I need to ken somethin’ too before I can agree to that.”
Conall looked up suddenly, his forehead immediately creasing in disbelief.
“Ye abandoned this lass once. I ken that yer clan situation was complicated, but to leave her there for all those years? To not check on her when ye received nae letters? How can I trust that ye won’t abandon her again if I let ye be part of her life forever?”
Conall stood, pushing his chair back and scraping it loudly against the floor. He bore his eyes into Caelan and clenched his jaw in anger. He seemed to be holding back words while his brain calculated.
“Ye have nae issue trustin’ me to care for her while ye sort out yer own mess. Ye’ll just have to take me word for it,” Conall replied, his voice low and curt, showing that negotiation was over.
Caelan decided they had both made their points clear and that no further debate was necessary. He wasn’t entirely sure of Conall and was not happy with the way he had been spoken to, but Caelan had bigger problems to deal with.
The men shook hands again, acknowledging each other’s intentions. They had a mutual enough understanding, and Caelan was more than happy to keep up his end of the bargain. Now, he just had to find and take down whoever had been sending all of these assassins after him. It was more important now than ever.
At that moment, the door to his study creaked open, and Rosaline stepped inside.
Caelan quickly rose from his seat, and Conall turned to greet her. He knew she was still very angry with him, and he did not want to upset her further.
“Ah, Rosaline, are ye ready to go?” Conall asked.
“Aye, I’m ready,” she replied so softly.
Caelan could hear the sadness in her voice. He felt terrible for reducing her to such a quiet, subdued woman, but he had to keep telling himself that it was for the best.
Rosaline looked as beautiful as ever in the dark blue dress Mrs. Milloy had crafted to her shape and preference. The dark hue of the dress and her hair accentuated her glowing skin and the brown of her eyes. Caelan tried to commit her beauty to memory as she stood there, resolving to remember her as she was. He was going to miss having her around.
Eventually, the three walked out of his study and headed to the castle gates. A stable boy secured Rosaline’s trunk onto Conall’s horse and fetched another for her to ride on.
“Ye may return on this horse when the time comes,” Caelan told her.
Rosaline stood in front of him, looking him in the eyes with her chin held high. She was keeping herself together, letting no emotion show in her eyes.
“I will come for ye, Rosaline. Ye just need to stay with yer braither for now. It’s what is safest for ye and the bairn.”
Caelan hoped that the explanation would suffice, but Rosaline did not dignify him with an answer. She took a deep breath, broke her stare, and mounted the horse.
He hoped that her willingness to take the horse rather than just ride on her brother’s was her silent agreement to return. He could not fault her for her coldness. She had every right.
“I will write to ye as soon as we arrive safely,” Conall told Caelan once he was secure in the saddle and ready to go. “Fulfill yer promise, Sinclair, and dinnae take too long.”
“Aye.” Caelan nodded. “Safe travels.”
And with that, his wife was gone.
He watched her long, dark curls bounce with each step the horse took. He stood there for a few moments, drinking her in, until she was a mere speck in the distance, disappearing in the gaps between the cottages.
As she disappeared from view, Caelan dug his fingernails into his palms and rolled his shoulders back. He tilted his head from one side to the other, cracking his neck. Anger built in his muscles.
He had work to do.
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