Caitlin jumped, quickly pulled down her dress, and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.
“I’m fine,” she called.
Those were not the words she wanted to say. What she wanted to say was,no actually, and I could really do with you coming in here and holding me right now. I could really do with you putting your arms around me like you did at the inn. I could really do with you making me feel safe and warm and...and...
But she couldn’t say any of that. Not without revealing her flaws and then Kai would know the truth about how broken she was. She couldn’t risk that. Not now. Not ever.
After a moment she heard Kai move away.
With a huff, she lay back, put her hands behind her head, and stared at the moth-eaten interior of the tent. She could still hear the crackle of the campfire and the low voices of the others outside. She listened out for Kai but he was silent.
She closed her eyes and fell into fitful dreams full of flames and screaming.
Chapter 8
Kai pulled his cloaktighter around him and stared into the darkness. The campfire had burned down to embers and as a result, it was bitingly cold. Not for the first time that night he wished he was inside the tent being kept warm by a soft body—Caitlin’s soft body to be exact.
He huffed and shifted his weight, tearing his gaze away from the dark shadow of the tent and scanning the clearing instead. He was supposed to be keeping watch but he was distracted, his thoughts flipping back to Caitlin no matter his efforts to control them.
When those sparks from the fire had drifted towards her earlier, she’d reacted as if she was being attacked by an army of demons. He’d seen the fear in her eyes, the way she’d jumped up and stumbled back from the fire. His heart had twisted at the sight of her terror.
He’d known then that she was not all right, despite her protestations to the contrary. She guarded her past fiercely—didn’t they all?—but he wanted to know what was wrong, what caused the terror he sometimes saw in her eyes, the terror she so desperately tried to hide. But he knew she would not tell him if he asked.
He sighed and rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. The night was quiet save for the occasional hoot of an owl or rustling of leaves. He detected no threats nearby and nor did any of his men if their snoring was any indication.
He hoped that his band had come far enough that anyone following would have lost their trail. Only Alfred had known they’d stolen Leif Snarlsson’s cargo so nobody should be tracking them. But still it made him uneasy.
All of this seemed too coincidental—Alfred and his cargo, Irene and then Caitlin, the planned attack on Aberfeldy, the scrap of cloth he’d found in the ash earlier—all of it was connected, he was sure of it. He just didn’t know how.
Conall turned over in his sleep, grunted, and sat up, looking around. Spotting Kai, he said, “It’s past my turn at watch. Why didnae ye wake me?”
“I couldnae sleep,” Kai replied. “No point in us both being awake. Go back to sleep.”
Conall watched him for a moment then sighed, climbed to his feet, and came over to sit next to Kai. He picked a stalk of grass and began shredding it. For a long time, neither man spoke.
“Ye did the right thing, ye know,” Conall said at last, his voice soft.
