“Our feelings for one another grew while I helped to care for him. After he was moved to my chamber—I did no’ spend those first nights wi’ Saerla but in my own bed. Wi’ him.”
“But, but,” Moira sputtered, “that was mere days ago. How can ye possibly ken ye carry his child?”
“I just do. I felt it almost at once. The bairn is male.”
“Heir to MacLeod,” Farlan murmured.
Rhian moved her gaze back to him. “Aye.”
“Och, God! Sweet, merciful heaven! Rhian, how could ye let this happen? Ye, o’ all women. Sane. And careful.”
“Moira,” Farlan said. “Were ye no’ sane and careful—once?” Their eyes met, and something in Moira’s face eased.
“Aye. Aye. But I do no’ carry your child. Can ye imagine wha’ the council will say?” She switched her gaze back to Rhian. “Does anyone else know?”
“Only Saerla, and Leith himsel’.”
“Leith knows?”
“Aye. I told him at once.”
Farlan muttered, “It maun ha’ killed him being sent awa’.”
Rhian removed her palms from the door behind her and twisted them together. “’Tis killing both o’ us. I ha’ no’ slept. I fear for the welfare o’ the child.”
Moira glanced at Farlan again. “The council cannot be told. If they know Rhian carries the heir to MacLeod, they may seek to hold her and thus the child hostage.”
“’Twill become all too evident soon enough,” he replied.
“Nay,” Rhian said, breathless. “It will no’. Because I plan to leave MacBeith. Soon, before I begin to show.”
Moira’s mouth opened and closed again. Sympathy flooded Farlan’s eyes. Aye, if anyone were to understand, it would be him.
“Ye mean to go to Leith.”
“I do.”
“Nay.” Moira forced the word between her parted lips. She stumbled to her feet. “Nay! Ye canna leave us.”
Rhian looked at her sister with regret. She blinked back tears. “I must.”
“Ye canna go there! To live among strangers. We will manage this somehow. I will face the council down. We will protect the child, the three o’ us, with Farlan and Alasdair—”
“Sister, ye do no’ understand. I canna live wi’out Leith. I ha’ tried, these past days and nights.”
“But Rhian, we canna live wi’out ye! Ye be the very heart o’ this place, since Ma died. Ye be the best o’ us.”
“Saerla is the best o’ us, and ye be our strength. Wha’ ha’ I ever done but kindled a few fires?”
“’Tis the fire,” Moira pronounced, “that keeps us alive. Rhian—nay. It is meant to be the three o’ us.”
“And we shall remain three. Naught can sever the love between us. I shall merely bethere, instead o’ here.”
“Can ye truly leave your home?” Moira challenged her. “The hills? The stones up on the rise? Arran’s grave and Da’s cairn?”
“I will carry it all inside me, just like this child.”
Moira began to weep, though Rhian doubted she noticed her own tears, since they flowed unchecked down her cheeks. “When? When will this terrible thing take place?”
