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We moved it to the bed, huddling together for comfort, warmth, sleep. The baby noticed nothing. As I buried my nose in Eric’s trunk of a neck, then wrapped my leg around his middle, my arms around his shoulders, I might even have felt like I loved him a bit, too.
Chapter Seventeen
~ Caelan ~
A few days after landing back in the UK, he arrived home in Scotland to discover the log cabin had gone up in smoke. It’d burnt itself out, but when he looked closely, there were human remains.
Four adult males, if he had to guess.
His guts churned.
No baby. No woman.
Who’d done this?
He couldn’t figure it out.
The first thing he did was call Harold.
He picked up at the cottage they’d bought themselves with their severance package.
“Is that really you, lad?”
“Aye.”
He groaned down the line. “I’m afraid it’s as we feared.”
“Aye. I’m at the cabin.”
“Aye. They’re at the castle.”
Caelan’s fury built inside him. A throb inside his skull. His knuckles clenched, the skin stretching around his bones uncomfortably.
No, he told himself, Eric would pay. The right way. At the right time.
Hamish would have his vengeance, so would the other lads.
“How was it?” Harold said after a time.
“Like the bowels of Hell itself.”
“Like old times then, eh?”
“Aye, Harold.”
The old man sighed deeply. “He’s a canny one.”
“Nae cannier than me.”
“Verra true.”
“Do something for me?” Caelan asked.
“Anything.”
“Take Morag abroad. I’ve got a friend who owns a place. I’ll set it up.”
Caelan could nearly hear Harold nodding. “Might do us some good. Nae been the best, I admit.”
