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It was purpose.
He’d had purpose with Flora and Logan, but this was different. This was where he belonged, on the very outer reaches of what was possible. He would help these men achieve something never before seen. An underdog coming from behind to prove its quality.
He hoped she would forgive him, understand, and be patient.
More than anything, he hoped she would see through Eric when he inevitably showed up on her doorstep.
Chapter Seven
~ Flora ~
He’d been gone nearly two weeks when there was a knock on the door I hadn’t been expecting. My heart immediately lurched for the worst-case scenario, of course.
After I was brave enough to peer through the entrance hall, and look beyond the glazed glass that gave a slightly blurry view of whoever was outside, I saw Eric’s outline. He was unmistakable. Not much taller than me, but a barrel of a man around the shoulders and chest. Plus with that light hair…
I swallowed all my anguish and answered the door. His light-blue, almost silver eyes studied me carefully. His platinum hair was tied back. For a man meant to be in the military, he seemed to get away with a louche sort of short bob which was shaved underneath.
A commander like Caelan once was, Eric could get away with a few things, I supposed.
“He stayed behind,” said Eric, unemotional about it.
I caught sight of the cuts on his face which were scabbed up, then the slight bruising around his neck. When I didn’t react, that seemed to unnerve him.
His eyes even widened when he saw I could mirror him, if I wanted to. I gave no reaction because I knew this man couldn’t be trusted. Or he wouldn’t have come here like this. He’d have called ahead if he were anything like a decent human being.
I hadn’t for one second thought Caelan dead. No. If he were, I’d not be looking at a man upright, but a shadow. He seemed haggard but together.
“Come in,” I said, and he gingerly stepped over the threshold, since it was still quite chilly in Scotland.
A green bomber jacket, tight grey t-shirt beneath, comfy jeans and black boots. Despite the inconspicuous dressing, his arrogant swagger, cold eyes and the way he dressed his hair told people immediately he wasn’t ordinary.
“I’ve got rather a lot on my plate, but I can offer you some tea if you would like.”
I stood in the entrance hall with my arms folded, mentally prepared to defend myself against whatever passive aggressive comments he was about to make.
“You’re not worried about Caelan?” he asked, staring around the room, utterly nonchalant.
He was no doubt seeking ways into our world, little tells of what our private life together was like.
“My husband will be back. He’s just doing whatever it is he’s got to do. I know him. He’ll be back.” While I knew all that was true, beneath I was a quaking bag of nerves, not sleeping at night, not showering without crying… every single day.
I comforted myself whenever my despair got too much, thinking of his return home and how sweet that would be. It would be forever this time, too; no more missions, no more nastiness.
No more Eric.
“I’ll take some tea,” he said.
He followed me to the kitchen and stood by the sliding doors which looked out onto the garden and the forest beyond that. Somewhere in the wilderness Harold was walking the dog. I was expecting them back any minute.
The log store from winter was still full owing to the fact we’d spent much of our time lately down in London, what with the new baby and all. It was one of those things Harold loved to do whenever he came over—he’d potter around chopping wood for us, check the water butts weren’t overflowing, the drains etc. Anything he could do to make himself feel useful, since the land he used to tend had been sold off and he’d officially retired soon after. Having shared with the new caretakers all the knowledge he possessed, Morag had been able to persuade him to finally rest at seventy-seven years old.
“Milk, sugar?” I asked.
“Just milk thanks, Flora.” He leaned against the frame of the sliding doors with one hand on the top bar, his other hand in his pocket.
“I really thought you’d be more mad he stayed behind,” said Eric, eventually.
I placed his tea on one of the coasters lying on top of the circular breakfast table. He heard me stamp it down and turned, plastering a fake smile on his face as he picked it up. I held my tea close to my face, blowing the steam off the top, my back propped against a sideboard. Logan slept upstairs and would soon wake needing to be fed. I hoped Eric would be gone by that time. Later on, I had a video call with some staff of mine and wouldn’t want him around for that, either.
