Aye, so, and that was the accepted belief. Every MacLeod was better dead, including Moira’s Farlan. Acknowledging that, Rhian had a glimpse of what her sister faced. Loving Farlan as she might, how would she ever convince anyone else to accept him?
“’Twas a cowardly act all the same, when the man lay helpless. He is blinded, Fiona.” Though Rhian hoped the condition would not prove permanent.
Fiona hissed, “I ken fine, Rhian. Ye ha’ a sympathetic heart. Your da loved ye for it. But were it no’ for the MacLeods, your da would still be here wi’ us now.” She fought back ready tears.
“Aye,” Rhian said softly. No one could argue that.
“The council has been in session since early this morning.”
“Over Elreadh?”
“Nay, nay, and if Alasdair finds her, I doubt much they’ll be willing to hear a word against her.”
“Her punishment will be up to Moira, surely.”
“Will it? I am no’ so certain.” Fiona’s gaze met Rhian’s. “For ’tis Moira’s own fate they’ve met to discuss.”
*
His head hurt,an unrelenting pain that spread from the back of his skull in a band across his eyes. It felt like he’d had his brains rattled all over again. That was naught, though, to the pain in his arm. That had teeth and gnawed at him, deep.
Both those things paled in the face of the fact that he could not see.
He’d never been afeared of much. Indeed, his ma routinely condemned him for it in that chiding, loving way she had.
Leith, will ye never stop wi’ landing yoursel’ in trouble? And laughing about it.
Aye, he’d always possessed more daring than sense, and the three of them—himself, Rory, and Farlan—had landed themselves in no end of trouble and mischief.
He’d retained an almost magical belief that if he could get into trouble, he’d be able to work—or charm—his way out of it again.
He’d never, though, been in such difficulty as this. Captive. Sorely injured. Blind.
Panic stirred in his breast. Take now, for instance. He’d awakened alone and cold, lying in what was undoubtedly his prison. Hurting. Whatever draught the merciful angel had mixed for him had long worn off.
Rhian. It was a beautiful name that fairly sang in his mind.
He could not see her, nay, but he could feel the kindness that flowed from her. He felt it whenever she touched him and even when she did not, so long as she remained nearby.
He wished with all his being she was here now.
He lay motionless, trying to breathe against the pain in his arm, enduring breath after breath. The vast and vital strength that helped him escape whatever scrapes befell him had now near deserted him.
Perhaps that meant he would die.
But nay, he was not so weak as all that. He’d fought off the attacker who’d come intending to finish him. The need to breathe had brought him up from the depths of his darkness, fighting. That meant he must still possess the will to live.
At least he had a friend nearby. Farlan was here in this place of enemies, and had come to see him. Or had that been but another mad dream? Nay, for Farlan had come here, to MacBeith. Sacrificed his name and birthright to be with the woman he loved.
And Rory was still livid over it.
Aye, but what could Farlan do to help him? Farlan would not be accepted here, would he?
Leith thought about it, figured the odds and chances, none of them good, while he breathed in and out against the pain.
If it was morning, might Rhian return? He did not know it was morning for certain because he could not see the light. But he could hear increased activity beyond the door. Foot traffic and folk calling questions to the guards who stood out there, where it had been quiet before.
He prayed Rhian would come. Then again, what reason did she have to continue tending him? He was an enemy, and perhaps she had finished with him.
