“Leith, my man, I can but try.”
Chapter Eleven
Leaving the twofriends together, Rhian stepped outside for a word with Alasdair. The events just past had shaken her deeply. She still did not know what to make of her reaction to the man who lay inside.
Her enemy. A MacLeod.
Certainly, her compassion might be stirred by anyone, though out of self-protection, she ordinarily kept a tight hold on it. Nothing like this.
Alasdair stood with his brawny arms crossed over his chest and a glower on his face. “Mistress? Wha’ happened here?”
“That is what I would like to know. When I came by, there was no one on guard and all lay dark inside. Someone had tried to smother the prisoner.”
His eyebrows soared. “Smother? ’Tis a craven deed, that. Surely ye be mistaken?”
“I wish so. Whoever it was used a heavy bolster and left it behind.”
Alasdair swore low and bitterly. “I left twa men I trusted here. I ken fine ’tis a duty nobody relishes, guarding a man ye wish dead. But I did trust them.”
“Who were they?”
“Drachan and Marc.”
“Aye.” Rhian reflected swiftly on it. She too would have trusted those particular men, who were steady and reliable. “Might someone planning to attack the MacLeod have lured them away wi’ some false message?”
“If so, they would no both ha’ abandoned their post. One o’ them would ha’ gone. Or come for me.”
“I see. Who will we get to guard him, then?”
“I do no’ ken.” Alasdair lowered his voice. “I do no’ like it, mistress. The council, as ye heard, is in an uproar. Folk do no’ appreciate that one”—he jerked his head toward Farlan, inside—“having a place beside Mistress Moira. Now wi’ the coming o’ this prisoner, they see it all happening again.”
“Aye.” Rhian could only agree, if unhappily.
“I say to ye, mistress, it would ha’ been better had his attacker succeeded and he lay dead.”
With that, Rhian’s heart, given whatever had bloomed so unexpectedly between her and Leith, would not let her agree.
She studied Alasdair. Had he been the one to dismiss the guards? For they surely would have answered his bidding. But nay, for Alasdair would have used the sharp dirk he kept in his boot.
“Best, perhaps, to send him back to MacLeod,” she suggested.
Alasdair snorted. “So he might recover and return to attack us again? We have had all that before also.”
“I do not know if he will ever fight again. He is blinded. And the wound to his arm has done untold damage.”
“Well then.” Did Alasdair look pleased?
“Only time will tell whether or not he regains his sight.”
“’Tis in the hands o’ fate, I suppose. There are worse places it might be.”
Rhian regarded him steadily. Fate had not always been kind to Alasdair. He’d worshipped her da and served him long and valiantly, only to lose him. He’d harbored feelings for Moira, a truth Rhian had long suspected and which Saerla had confirmed, only to have her reject his suit to accept another. His enemy.
Alasdair, though, lived his life directed by a strong inner sense of right and wrong.
“Can ye try to find out who attempted to kill Leith MacLeod?”
“I will speak to Marc and Drachan, but if they abandoned their posts before that person came, they may no’ ken. I will be having words wi’ them, either way.”
