“Where?”
“Do no’ go losin’ yer heart to her. ’Tis a terrible, hard road. Take it from one who knows.”
“I ha no’ lost my heart to her.” But that was not completely true. A part of his heart, at least, felt anchored to Rhian in a way he could not explain.
“I ken fine she be a lovely woman,” Farlan went on. “And possesses a good heart. But by God, man. Only see what’s happened to me.”
“Aye, so,” Leith murmured. Cast adrift here without friends. Among enemies. Cut off by his own chief. It was a hard fate.
But then, Farlan lay every night with the woman he loved. He got to hold her in his arms and hear he was loved in return. What was that worth?
“By any road,” Farlan went on before Leith could speak, “’tis what I came to tell ye. They are talking o’ sending ye back.”
“To MacLeod?”
“Aye, to Rory.Home,” Farlan added.
“Who says this?”
“Moira. She does no’ want a repetition o’ what happened when she held me prisoner. Holding a hostage against Rory—it did not work out too well.”
Send him back. Ah, God! Emotions tore through Leith, stirring raw conflict. ’Twas the best possible outcome. And the worst.
“When?”
Farlan shrugged. “It will take some time. ’Tis no’ like at home, where Rory makes all the decisions, nor even when Camraith was alive and he did. Here no one agrees, and all maun be discussed. They want Moira to confer wi’ their war chief, Alasdair, before acting.”
Farlan fixed Leith with a stern eye. “And ye will no’ go telling Rory any o’ that when ye get home.”
He would not. Learning that the leadership of Clan MacBeith was not absolute could provide Rory with an advantage. One that could come back to harm Rhian.
And yet—did not all Leith’s loyalty belong to Rory, his cousin and chief?
“Ah, hell,” he swore.
“Gi’ them a while to hash it over,” Farlan advised.
“Aye. To tell ye true, Farlan, I do no’ think I am fit yet for the journey home. Though it shames me to admit it, I do no’ think I could walk so far.”
“They will take ye on a litter, if need be. If they decide ’tis best to be rid o’ ye.”
Aye, and what would Rory say if Leith turned up in his present condition?
For years, even behind the back of his father the chief, Rory had talked of taking over the glen. He’d trained for it, planned for it, lived for it. His father’s death—for Camraith had kept a level head where his MacBeith opponents were concerned—had provided him the chance he’d awaited so long.
So far, however, the campaign had not been going well. Even without their patriarch, Iain, Clan MacBeith had proved far stronger than Rory expected. He’d lost battles, and men.
He’d lost Farlan, his dearest friend.
Leith said, “’Twill no’ take Rory long to launch another attack. He maun be livid, thinking me either captured or dead.”
Farlan nodded grimly. “’Tis too much an echo o’ what happened wi’ me.”
“Aye, when ye were held prisoner, and when ye turned on him.”
“I did no’ turn on him!”
Leith eyed Farlan. “The way he sees it, ye did.”
