Ewan began speaking. “We, the members o’ the council, remained in session all last night trying to decide wha’ should be done to secure the leadership o’ this clan. We live in dire times.”
He looked around at them all, his gaze touching each face. “Since the death o’ his father Camraith the chief, Rory MacLeod has been determined to run roughshod over us and defeat us if he can. Claim all Glen Bronach for MacLeod. That means our lands, held here for long before any MacLeod ever darkened the horizon. ’Tis no time, this, for weak leadership.”
Moira took a step forward. “Are ye calling me weak?”
Ewan’s expression became difficult to read. He’d been a contemporary of Da’s, and a trusted advisor. He’d known Iain MacBeith’s daughters all their lives.
Now he seemed to choose his words carefully. “I would no’ call ye weak. But I believe, as do the other members o’ this council, that your judgment has been compromised.”
That made Moira blink. “Because I am a woman?”
“No’ just that. Though it be a factor.”
Another of the council members, an older man called Rab, spoke up. “We are no’ men used to following the leadership o’ a woman, though not one o’ us here would be foolish enough to ignore advice from our wives. Ye, Mistress Moira, ha’ proved yoursel’ in battle, as has Mistress Saerla. Your father was, and would be, proud o’ all his daughters.”
“’Tis the MacLeod,” said another, younger man. “The one ye ha’ taken to yer bed.”
Moira flushed even though she must have been expecting this. She took it like a blow. “Farlan does no’ affect my decisions as befits this clan.”
“How can he no’?” the same man demanded. “He is always whispering in yer ear.”
“He is no longer a MacLeod. He has renounced the name.”
“He may well ha’ done. And he might ha’ stripped off the tartan. That does no’ make him any less what he is, and for certain sure does no’ make him a MacBeith.”
“We trust ye, Mistress Moira,” said Rab. “We canna trust him.”
“So what? Ye want to cast me off as Rory did Farlan?”
“Nay, nay,” Rab soothed. “But ye could gi’ him up.”
Anger now poured into Moira’s dark blue eyes, hardening them to flint. “That is your decision, is it? The choice ye give to me. Gi’ up Farlan or step down as chief? We ha’ been here before.”
“Aye, so we have,” Ewan agreed. “But we never settled the matter. We canna ha’ a MacLeod in whatever guise holding a place o’ leadership in this clan. Not while Rory MacLeod beleaguers us. Both yer sisters have refused the place o’ chief. We’ve offered it to Alasdair.”
Moira looked at Alasdair, who gazed back at her. Bitterly, she asked, “And what has Alasdair said?”
Ah,Rian thought on a quick surge of sympathy.This cannot be easy for Alasdair.He had, aye, for some time harbored feelings toward Moira, only to see her fall for another man. The most unsuitable man possible.
“I told them,” Alasdair said, his gaze still on Moira’s face, “I still believe a member o’ Iain MacBeith’s house should stand at the head o’ the clan. Wi’ yer brother dead and neither o’ yer sisters willing to accept the place, Moira, that leaves ye.”
Moira shook her head. “I do no’ understand. Ye ha’ also refused the position?”
Ewan did not sound happy when he said, “After speaking half the night, we came to a compromise. We are willing to leave ye at the head o’ the clan, Mistress Moira, so long as Master Alasdair leads beside ye.”
Moira’s lips parted. It took Rhian a moment to grasp what Ewan had just said. Moira took an instant also.
“Joint leadership? Is that wha’ ye mean?”
“Aye.”
“Mysel’ and Alasdair?” She closed her lips into a hard line before she said, “He is to approve my decisions, is that it?”
“Nay, not so,” Rab insisted. “Merely make them alongside ye so we may be easy in our minds that there is no undue influence upon ye.”
Moira’s nostrils flared. She said nothing.
“And one more condition,” Ewan added.
