“Moira,” Farlan said, and squeezed her hand.
“Big, brave MacLeod warrior,” sneered Calan, who, much to Rhian’s dismay, was also in attendance. “Who canna do aught but hide behind a woman’s skirts.”
This was getting them nowhere. Rhian stepped forward. “Moira does ha’ a point about Farlan’s safety.” She had tended Farlan following his battering, and it had been bad.
Ewan turned on her. “Wi’ all respect, Mistress Rhian, I would expect ye to tak’ your sister’s part here. The daughters o’ Iain MacBeith ha’ always, aye, stuck together. But I want to hear wha’ Alasdair has to say. Because we”—he gestured to himself and the other men—“think Alasdair is the proper man to take the place o’ chief.”
Everyone stared at Alasdair, who looked intensely unhappy.
“I think,” Saerla said, “my father would want one o’ his own offspring at the head o’ this clan.”
With that, Rhian could only agree. “I, too, believe that.”
“And would he want a MacLeod standing there also?” Ewan challenged. “In the place that should ha’ been occupied by his son, who was killed by those selfsame MacLeod bastards? ’Tis an abomination.”
True enough, Rhian acknowledged. Da had been heartbroken by Arran’s death. He had, in fact, never really recovered from it.
Saerla lifted her chin a notch. “My father has expressed his approval of Moira’s joining with Farlan. I ha’ been told so.”
Dead silence met this pronouncement. Everyone there stared at Saerla. They all knew she had the Sight. Would they argue it with her?
“Aye, well,” one of the older council members said, “her bein’ wi’ him—even takin’ him to her bed or wedding wi’ him—is no’ the same as her leading wi’ him at her elbow. Mistress,” he said to Moira directly, “if the man means so much to ye, then gi’ up your place as chief to another. God knows, he has given enough up for ye, in turn.”
True, that was. And everyone, including Farlan, might look upon it as a test of Moira’s devotion. He had surrendered all, including his right to his name. Would she not step down from leadership for him?
Her lips parted and her eyes went wide with dismay. She did not speak.
A deep rumble sounded as Alasdair cleared his throat. “I ha’ no yet stated my opinion.” Moira and Farlan still held hands. Alasdair’s gaze touched there before he went on, “I ha’ heard many o’ ye talking of me taking the place o’ chief. ’Tis true, I was long Chief Iain’s right-hand man, as well as his war chief, even before Master Arran died. ’Tis true also I would do aught I could for this clan. But I believe the place o’ chief should remain wi’ Iain’s house.”
Everyone began speaking at once, mostly expressing loud objections.
Alasdair spoke over them. Looking at Saerla, he said, “I ken naught o’ signs or portents. I possess nae magic and canna say what our chief has expressed to Mistress Saerla. I believe wha’ she says, though. Perhaps”—now he turned his dark stare on Rhian—“Mistress Rhian might take the name o’ chief.”
“Me?” Rhian pressed her hand to her chest. “I cannot possibly. I am no warrior, and I ha’ duties enough to occupy me.”
“Mistress Saerla, then.”
Saerla appeared stricken, as did the members of the council. While Saerla’s abilities were respected and while she was well-loved, she was Iain MacBeith’s youngest daughter. Someone to be protected, even though she regularly took the field.
She said merely, “I canna. ’Tis no’ my place.”
“Mayhap ye might consider on it,” Ewan told her gently. “Speak to the powers that guide ye, mistress.”
Saerla nodded woodenly.
“Meanwhile, Alasdair?” Ewan turned back to the big man.
Alasdair shook his head. “I say we leave Mistress Moira in charge for the time. The defense is going well, and she is no’ yet wed wi’ the MacLeod. So long as they remain unwed—”
Moira glared at him but said nothing.
“And if the battles begin to go badly?”
“Then,” Alasdair said, “I will step up and lead wi’ her jointly—or wi’ Mistress Saerla. I do no’ think leadership should leave the chief’s house.”
“Aye, well,” Ewan declared, “it seems we shall ha’ to be satisfied wi’ that for the time being. But mistress”—he shook a finger at Moira—“if any hint comes to our ears that ye ha’ let this rogue influence your decisions as befits his clan—”
“I would no’,” Moira snapped. “He would no’.”
