So it would end that swiftly between them, would it? Whateveritwas—this connection. This latent desire. Aye, no doubt for the best. Cut those bonds, and cut them clean.
Moira made a face. “Of course, now I will have to consult wi’ Alasdair before I make any decisions. If I try to act on my own, the council will no doubt replace me entirely and make him chief.”
“Likely they merely do no’ want ye making such decisions wi’ Farlan,” Saerla offered gently. “Ye can see that, surely.”
“I can see it.” Moira sighed. “We maun be ready for more battles. When I go up on the rise—” She paused, and her blue eyes became almost as dreamy as Saerla’s. “I can feel that we are part o’ this land, all o’ us. The three o’ us especially.” She curled an arm around each of her sisters’ necks, uniting them once again. “Our roots here run deep. I will no’ surrender this land to Rory MacLeod or anyone.”
“Aye,” Saerla agreed softly. “I will pray on it, that we might be strong enough and determined enough. That through all the strife, we may find a lasting solution.”
Rhian smiled. “I will never, Saerla, doubt the power o’ your prayers.”
“Nor I,” Moira vowed.
“And,” Saerla went on, “we maun gather together this way more often. For there is, aye, strength in it.”
“Aye,” both Moira and Rhian agreed.
“Just think on it,” Saerla added. “Rory MacLeod has lost that strength. He and Farlan and Leith were all close, aye?”
“So Farlan says.”
“Well, he is now without the two o’ them. Mayhap”—Saerla’s gaze sharpened—“’twill be better to keep Leith here after all.”
Rhian’s heart leaped. Perhaps it would.
*
She wanted togo and see the prisoner after that, longed to make an excuse for it and check that terrible wound of his. Discover whether he wanted that draught after all. Be in his company. But the longing frightened her, because there was no sense in it. She might well be attracted to him, aye. He was a man and she a woman. Nature had made them with the purpose of being so attracted to one another.
The curious thing was she’d never been so attracted to any other man. Oh, in her youth she’d followed a few lads with her eyes—MacBeith had a surfeit of handsome men. She’d even kissed a few on feast days, after dark. It had meant nothing. And following first Arran’s death and then Ma’s, she’d devoted herself to running the household and taking care of others. She’d put such nonsense behind her.
Now the nonsense had caught up with her, and she a spinster.
And he an accursed MacLeod.
She would not go and see him, nay. She had plenty of other wounded to treat, folk of her own blood.
She set off about those visits, this time well-sheltered in her cloak against the rain, all the while thinking—it wasn’t mere physical attraction that drew her to Leith MacLeod. There was something more. The look in his eyes. The strength and vulnerability together that lay inside him. The sense of rightness that bloomed within her every time she touched him, even if just to provide care.
There could be no rightness in being with a MacLeod, she told herself savagely while she treated wound after terrible wound, reminding herself all this came of conflict with Clan MacLeod. A clan full of greedy, ruthless, and ambitious men.
Like Rory himself. Leith MacLeod’s cousin.
She must cut any ties she fancied had formed between her and the man. Was she not a levelheaded woman? One who dealt with the basics of survival? She had no business imagining anything more.
She had her place here in Clan MacBeith. A good and necessary place. She need only be content with it. And that required dismissing any thoughts of earnest blue-gray eyes and a face made for laughter.
There could be no laughter shared between them.
Mayhap it would be best to assign Leith one of the other healers. Just because she’d stumbled over him out on the battlefield, and because she’d been there when the effects of the blow he’d taken to the head wore off, did not mean anything existed between them. Did she not have the example of Moira before her?
The rain ceased late in the afternoon, flying away down Glen Bronach to pelt the MacLeods’ stronghold before departing.
Rhian, with her basket now filled with soiled linens, stepped outside for a breath of air before retiring to her own quarters. How sweet the air smelled after a rain. Clean and fresh, and carrying the tang of wild thyme from high on the braes. She stood breathing deeply and felt her heart calm within her.
This place, this blessed, beautiful glen, was enough. A reason for her to work and care, to strive. If she dedicated her life to its preservation, it would be a worthy and satisfying cause.
Upon the thought, the clouds overhead, which still ran hard before a fast wind, parted and the late afternoon sun broke through. It shone down in bars of gold and lit the green turf, and the loch beyond.
