“Och, d’ye no’ give me any o’ that twaddle. A man is in charge o’ his emotions. Always. Any man who will trade awa’ his loyalty for the pillows o’ a woman’s thighs is no’ a man.”
“I am no’ certain that is true.”
Aggravated, Rory got to his feet. “Och, Leith, do no’ ye begin wi’ turning soft as well. Wha’ do they do to men there at MacBeith? Is it some potion?”
Or magic.“I am sayin’ only there is a strength in what Farlan feels for his lady.”
“Pah!” Rory spat. “As soon as ye are ready to fight, Leith, or maybe sooner, we will launch another attack. And its sole objective will be to tak’ the life o’ this Moira MacBeith.”
“He will ne’er forgive ye, Rory. Is that what ye want?”
Rory flashed another look, hard as iron. Leith heard what he did not say.And I will never forgive him.
“If ye attack her in battle,” Leith went on, more upset than he could express, “he will stand for her. He will die for her, Rory.”
“So?”
“So are ye prepared to kill Farlan as well?”
Rory did not answer.
“Man, he is like a brother to ye!”
“Everything has changed. Changed for all time. There is just one objective now. Finish my task. Accomplish my goal.”
And get revenge against Farlan.
“At least,” Rory said, squeezing Leith’s good shoulder, “I ha’ ye back at my side.”
How could Leith tell Rory the truth? That just like Farlan, he’d lost his heart to one of MacBeith’s daughters. That at least half his loyalty lay anchored to the other side of the glen.
He could not. Nor could he stand by and watch Rory make preparations to kill Rhian’s sister.
“I think,” he said slowly, “’twill be a while yet before I can lift a sword, to say naught o’ training wi’ it. We will ha’ to bide our time.”
“No’ too long,” Rory said, the fervent light shining in his eyes. “Ye maun recover before yon Alasdair does. Else I fear I’ll ne’er get near enough to Moira MacBeith to put her to the sword.”
Chapter Fifty
“Rhian, ye mustgo and speak wi’ Alasdair. I ha’ just been to visit him, and he is bent on getting up and out o’ his bed.” Saerla gave Rhian a beseeching look. “I fear if he does, ’twill be the death o’ him.”
Rhian sighed and nodded. She had to agree. She’d spoken with the other healers just yesterday about Alasdair’s condition, and they all warned against undue movement before his wound fully closed.
Five days had passed since the battle wherein Alasdair was wounded. Since Leith had left. She could not say they had passed so much as dragged by. She had barely slept, and felt as if she moved through her days in darkness. Indeed, the only thing that kept her moving was the desire to prevent her sisters finding out how deeply Leith’s departure had affected her. The only thing that kept her eating and drinking was her concern for the welfare of her child.
At night she lay imagining Leith held her in the circle of his arm, and catching the flutter of life from within.
“Alasdair has ever been a stubborn man,” she pointed out.
“Aye, so. But I swear I never guessed how stubborn till now. He has never been badly injured before, has he?”
“No’ that I can recall. At least, not that he ever admitted.”
Saerla wrinkled her nose. “He is no’ a good patient.”
That almost made Rhian smile. “I will go and see him, gladly.” For all his scowls and grumbles, Alasdair was one of Rhian’s favorite people. What would he say when he found out she carried Leith MacLeod’s child? “But I am no’ sure wha’ I can say to make him obedient.”
“I think obedient is beyond our reach. I am hoping for reasonable. He respects ye, Rhian. And ye bein’ a healer, he may listen.”
