Chapter Fifty-Four
Rhian’s legs trembledbeneath her as she stood on the green turf overlooking the glen. Another bonny morning it was, with beauty spreading out from her on all sides. The gentle wash of morning light flooding golden from the east. The shadows of the hills slipping away westward. Behind her, to the south, the rise and the stronghold—her home—where lay all the safety she’d ever known. Away northward, MacLeod’s keep in the distance.
It seemed such a very great distance after all.
Even as she contemplated that, Farlan took his place at her side. He wore his gray kilt and cloak—a reminder of all he’d given up—and enough weapons to outfit a small army. He had tied back his mop of brown hair, and his level gaze met Rhian’s.
“Rhian, be ye certain o’ this?”
She could still change her mind. Or could she? Moira had already been up on the walls with a word to let the guard there know what transpired. Those guards now hung far out over the battlements, watching. That, though, was not the only reason she could not turn around and go back inside. Because if she did, what of her longing? What of the unbearable tug that drew her relentlessly to the man she loved?
She could scarcely bear to go. She could not bear to stay.
“I am certain,” she told Farlan.
But och, she felt sick with it. Sick with terror. Her heart beat so hard it shook her whole body. And aye, her legs quivered so she did not know if they could hold her up.
Moira walked out from the gate and pulled Rhian hard into her arms. “Ye need not go.”
“That is just it, sister. I must.”
Saerla, stepping out softly, embraced her next. Her scent enfolded Rhian like the very breath of magic. “Be safe.”
Rhian nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Farlan took her arm. His hand felt strong and steady. “One step,” he whispered. “Then twa.”
One step. The very turf felt uneven beneath her foot, as if she would tip and fall. Or maybe float away.
Two steps.
I am coming, my love. I am coming because I canna bear to live awa’ from ye.
Did he hear? No response came across the distance. Only the light finding and surrounding her as she and Farlan walked out, him half supporting her, and carrying her pack.
What of her fire? What of the hearth she had tended in her father’s home since Ma’s death? Who would keep that now?
Almost—almost that thought made her turn back. The fire was the heart of her being. How could she abandon it? How, and still remain the woman she was?
Her step faltered, and Farlan looked at her. The depth of kindness in his gaze touched her clear through.
“Ye can still turn back.”
“Nay, I canna. He—he awaits me.”
“Leith is a blessed man, far more than he ever knew.”
They exchanged very few words during the balance of the journey. Rhian did not look back, and the tears that blurred her vision and choked her throat slowly cleared. Longing sprang up in their wake. She would see him soon, be with him and answer the terrible yearning.
Farlan murmured solicitously when they reached the loch and he settled her in the tiny boat. He rowed them across with clean, strong strokes, and she wondered what he felt. Going home. Not going home.
“D’ye miss it? D’ye miss MacLeod?” she asked him while he helped her out on the other side. Foreign soil.
He shook his head without hesitation. “Moira is—Well, she is my place o’ belonging now.”
“I hope that happens for me.”
“Aye, Rhian, so do I.”
