Nevertheless, when she’d done all she could to make the prison more comfortable, she sat down with her hands in her lap and watched him sleep.
A big man and a powerful one he must be, when in good fettle. She had never seen him so. At his best, he would tower over her, and she was not a particularly dainty woman like Saerla.
She could not allow herself to fall into any traps. Could not think about the body beneath the blanket that she and Moira had seen when they washed the blood from him, fine as that body might be.
Moira, as levelheaded a woman as Rhian knew, had fallen into that trap, and look where it had got her—at odds with her own people and at risk of losing leadership of the clan.
Yet, even after telling herself all that, Rhian sat on, her gaze resting on Leith MacLeod. He slept quietly for a time. When he stirred, when his eyelids twitched and his lips moved, denoting a dream, she touched his hand, which lay across his chest.
He quieted again.
Not until she heard voices outside the door was she able to break the spell that held her and step outside.
When Alasdair saw her, he motioned, and they stepped away from the two men who stood on duty.
“Did ye chase down the errant guards?” Rhian asked him.
“Aye.” His expression looked sour. “They say one o’ our own brought them a message supposedly fro’ me, saying the prisoner was dyin’ and was no’ worth guarding any longer. Since they did no’ want the duty anyway, they left.”
Rhian searched his dark eyes. “Who brought the message?”
“As soon as they grasped it had been false, they did no’ want to say. I persuaded them, so to speak.”
“And?”
“’Twas young Tearlach.”
Rhian searched her mind. “Kebran’s son?” Kebran had been killed by the MacLeods some time ago in a battle. Tearlach was not quite old enough yet to take up a sword, being a stripling. But he spent his time in the warriors’ hall, and they all knew him.
Rhian’s eyes narrowed. “Tearlach’s sister, Elreadh, is married to Dannochat, is she no’?”
“Aye,” Alasdair said heavily. “And Dannochat fell to a MacLeod sword during the battle just past. He lies even now awaiting burial.”
Rhian drew a breath. “Where is she, Elreadh?”
“No one seems to know. Mistress Rhian—” Alasdair seized her elbow and pulled her still farther away from the guards, who watched them curiously. He lowered his voice. “If ’twas she who sought her revenge upon yon MacLeod, well, there be none who will blame her. ’Twill be hard indeed to get any sort o’ judgment upon her from the council.”
“But ’twas an act o’ cowardice. Ye said so yoursel’, Alasdair. We canna just let her get away wi’ it.”
“’Twas cowardly, aye. But who would condemn a woman who has just lost her husband for acting fro’ her grief and rage?”
“The bolster that was left behind—can it be proven to be hers?”
“Wi’out a doubt. And I suspect she thought she’d killed him. From the way young Tearlach reacted when I told him the prisoner was no’ dead, they both did. No doubt that is why she ran off so swiftly that she neglected to take the bolster.”
In a panic over what she’d done, Rhian thought. Elreadh was a tiny thing. Even blinded and severely wounded, Leith MacLeod had withstood her attempt at murder.
“What’s to do?” she asked Alasdair.
“I will go now and inform Mistress Moira o’ what we’ve found. Ye can trust these two guards, Mistress Rhian. They ken fine they are no’ to be tricked into leaving their post till their relief arrives.”
“Aye.” Rhian gazed at the door of the pen. She could leave now. Sheshouldleave now. She had no cause to worry about the man who lay inside.
Yet that accursed hook buried in the center of her belly argued differently, tugging hard every time she thought about walking away.
He is naught to me. Just a man. Our enemy.
“Go and get some rest,” Alasdair bade her, not unkindly. “No’ to speak out o’ turn, but ye look ready to drop.”
