“’Tis no’ right,” declared a man from the back, “to protect a MacLeod above our own, who is grieving.”
Moira looked at Alasdair. “Alasdair? Your opinion?”
For the first time, emotions showed on Alasdair’s craggy face. “Let the lass go. She has already suffered enough.”
Rhian’s heart fell.
Moira caught her breath. “I feel there should be some consequences—”
Alasdair sent her an unreadable look. One of the men muttered, only half under his breath, “Aye, mistress, so ye would.”
“’Twas mostly my fault by any road,” Alasdair rumbled. “I placed the guards who abandoned their posts. She would never ha’ ventured in had they been where they belonged.”
“Elreadh,” Moira pronounced, “I wish ye to think hard on wha’ ye ha’ done while ye grieve your Dannochat. I want ye to seek forgiveness. Tak’ her home,” she added to Elreadh’s parents. “There will be no further punishment.”
They went out with a clatter, Elreadh weeping harder than when she came in. Not until they were gone, and the four of them were alone, did Rhian realize what had just happened.
Alasdair had made the decision. One that should have been the chief’s alone. Did Moira resent that? Hard to say, because she had her face schooled and near expressionless.
Saerla covered her face with her hands. “We ha’ to stop wi’ this.”
The rest of them stared at her.
“We ha’ to find a way for MacBeith and MacLeod to stop wi’ killing each other.”
Moira gave an incredulous laugh. “Wi’ Rory MacLeod at the gates? ’Twould be a fine thing.”
Chapter Twenty
After Farlan leftthe cattle pen, Leith took stock of himself with a brutally honest eye.
Weak as an infant he was, hurting in both his body and mind. It had perhaps been a bad decision to get up on his feet, because this accursed wound of his had started back to bleeding and needed the bandages changed.
But, by God, he’d be cursed if he’d lie on his back helpless and wait for the next MacBeith to walk in and try to finish him off.
The contents of the flask that Farlan had left with him served marginally to dull the pain that beset him. It remained fierce enough though to make him clench his teeth in the effort at endurance.
The word Farlan had brought tormented him almost as much. The MacBeiths intended to send him home. Too much trouble, he was, and too much of a risk after what had happened between Farlan and Moira.
He tried to decide how he felt about that. How he should feel. Despite the leaking wound, he heaved himself to his feet and returned to his plodding course around his prison.
He should be glad to get away from this grim place. To escape the hatred and the ill will. He should be eager to go home, return to his family. Ma and his little sister Aisleen would be frantic with worry for him.
He should be ready to return to Rory and provide what support he could, what sanity he could, though no one had excelled at that like Farlan.
A part of him, though, feared that if they sent him away, he would never see Rhian MacBeith again.
He paused with his good arm braced against the wall and thought about that. It might be for the best. Whatever these feelings were between them—and he’d be cursed if he could name them yet—they had no future. He might, aye, be attracted to the woman. He might think her the loveliest thing ever to draw breath, an angel, in truth, but it would do him no good. Because it did not mean she could ever feel anything more than a kind woman’s obligation toward him.
Best to go. To cut whatever ties he felt forming with her quick and clean. Because look what had happened to Farlan.
By the holy mother, Leith would not choose that for his fate.
He stumped to the next wall and paused again. Rhian might be unrivaled in his experience, aye. He could not persuade himself to argue otherwise. There were, however, beautiful women at home, many of them widowed by the conflict. Widowed and with bairns to raise.
Him, he liked bairns and had always hoped for a passel of them. And a number of the women back home looked toward him favorably.
He did not need Rhian MacBeith.
