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If not for his instincts, Caelan would have fallen off his horse in shock.
“When was this?”
“Just before we left to come here.” Brock let out bark of laughter. “Is that him?”
Caelan’s eyes widened at seeing a group of guards standing at the camp, Lachland standing out, taller that those around him.
“Do not say or do anything,” Caelan warned Brock, who grinned widely while wagging his eyebrows.
“Brock...”
“What?” His friend made kissing motion, his lips pursing comically. “I am so glad I didn’t stay at the tavern.”
Chapter Six
After checking on his horse, in the stables, Lachland stalked to where the others were lined up for last meal.
So far Caelan had managed to avoid him, which was admirable given the small size of the camp. He’d seen him ride toward the camp earlier that day with his friend Brock. Then he’d gone to stable the horse and effectively disappeared since.
Like the quarters at Taernsby, each man had an assigned cot with a divider made out of wood and fabric. Other than that, there was little privacy.
The entire way from his last assignment, he’d wondered how it would be possible to have a relationship with Caelan, without anyone suspecting. It would be impossible.
“Yer back.” It was Brock who spoke, meeting his gaze. “Need new scenery?”
Despite himself, Lachland liked the gruff red-haired man. “Aye. Ye could say that.”
“Hmm,” Brock replied, then walked away with his overfilled plate.
It was moments later, after he lowered to an empty seat at one of the tables that he saw Caelan. The man sat on the ground under a tree, next to him a pair of dogs with whom he shared his meal.
When one of them sat on its hunches, holding up both paws, he threw his head back in laughter. It was a beautiful sight.
The next time he looked over, all three dozed, Caelan with his head leaned against the tree and the dogs, one with its head on the man’s leg, the other sprawled next to them on the grass.
Caelan seemed at peace, almost as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders.
“He saw his family today,” Brock said walking next to Lachland as they moved from placing their plates in a basket for washing. “They invited him to visit.”
“That is good,” Lachland replied. “Do they live near?”
“Aye, but he’d not seen them in five years,” Brock shared scratching his beard. “I’m off for a swim.” He sniffed under his arms. “I stink.” The man sauntered away, whistling.
The moon was high and bright. Caelan looked up studying it, still at the tree. He would wait until most were abed before going inside. This was definitely a day of mixed emotions, he considered standing and stretching. The dogs had gone, knowing the cook would offer scraps while cleaning up.
When a man emerged from the building and walked toward him, Caelan stood and steeled himself. Nothing good could come from Lachland coming there. Why had he?
“Why are ye out here?” Lachland asked, his voice gruff. “Is it because I am here?”
“Nay,” Caelan lied. “I wanted time alone to think.”
Lachland walked closer, his gaze piercing. “I came because of ye. I find it hard not to see ye. It does nae mean I expect anything from ye. Just that I cannot deny how strongly I feel for ye any longer.”
The thundering of his heart was so loud, Caelan wondered if Lachland could hear it. “What are ye saying?” He had to hear it, had to know exactly what Lachland meant.
Lachland looked to the tent, then took him by the upper arm and guided him around to the other side of the tree and out of sight. “That I love ye.”
“We cannot. What I mean is-it is impossible. I-I...”
