“Enough to bring us down. Ye will be needed, sister.”
Rhian nodded. “I will refill my supplies and go.”
But not out onto the battlefield this time. She might condone that risk to her flesh. Her heart could bear no more.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Someone had kissedhim. Nay, not just someone. It was Rhian who had laid her lips upon his brow. He would know her touch anywhere, and the feel of her when she bent near.
He wanted to open his eyes and see her. He tried and failed.
She whispered something, a charm that flickered over his skin and cooled the heat that consumed him. Odd that, for he burned and yet he felt cold, and racked by shivering.
She was magic, this woman of his. She spoke magic, shed it over all she tended, all she cared for. Over him. He wanted that magic as he’d never desired anything, not even laughter. Wanted to take it deep inside him and make for it a place to dwell. Within him for eternity.
Rhian.He tried to speak her name, but could not do that either. Nor could he feel her as intensely as before. She had left him. He was alone.
Steady,he lectured himself.She will return.If she had tried to stay away from him before, sent another healer in her place and yet returned, she would once again.
He need only hold on till then. Surely she had told him so.Hold on for me.
He could do that. He could do anything to be with her.
He sucked in a breath even though it hurt to do so. He had to keep breathing if he wanted to see her face again. See those eyes of deep blue gazing into him, into him as if she could see his soul. He had to keep breathing against the weakness and the pain, if he wanted her to touch him.
And he did. Och, he did.
He floated and fought the pain and breathed and dreamed, even though he did not sleep. He dreamed he was in a battle with warriors shouting all around him, the clashing of weapons, the loud rattling of shields. In the dream, his right arm once more served him. He held a sword in his hand, strong and sure. He could hear Rory’s voice shouting—shouting for them to advance.Attack. Take no prisoners. MacLeod. MacLeod!
Leith turned swiftly toward the nearest opponent, a MacBeith warrior. They fought outdoors in the dark, the combat heavy and hand-to-hand. Kill or be killed.
But the MacBeith warrior toward whom he swung bore no sword, held no shield, and wore no leather armor. Shock poured through Leith like a douse of cold water as he stared and stared.
The warrior was a woman, and she had Rhian MacBeith’s face.
*
Fearing she hadnot sufficient supplies in her own chamber, Rhian ran instead to the infirmary where the healers kept their stores. The door of the hut stood wide open, and it looked like the place had been ransacked. No one remained there, all gone out already to search for the injured.
She found a basket and loaded it with supplies, her hands shaking. The commotion outside had grown louder, and she had to pause, take a few deep breaths, before she gathered the courage to go back out.
Her anger, though, still accompanied her, lying like a hot stone just beneath her heart.
The worst of the injuries, as she knew, would be up on the ramparts at this point in the battle. Wounds from flying arrows, hacked fingers dealt by those climbing up to breach the walls. Later, if the MacBeith clansmen marched out to meet their attackers, it would become worse, much worse. Men would lie broken and bleeding on the ground.
Just like before, when she’d found Leith.
Leith. The very thought of him tangled up the thoughts in her mind. So many conflicting feelings—
Climbing up the worn stone steps that led to the ramparts, she met someone tumbling down who crashed into her. They both fell, with Rhian on the bottom. Her basket flew out of her hands, and she scraped both palms on the rough stone. Her chin made hard contact with one of the steps and all hope of breath left her body in a grunt.
“Mistress!” someone nearby hollered. “Be ye hurt?”
She did not know, but gasped, “Nay.”
Feet ran to her. Hurried hands helped her up. The man who had crashed into her, a MacBeith warrior, was no longer a man but a corpse. He lay with his eyes wide open and an arrow through his throat.
Suddenly Rhian had a flashback to Da, to how he had looked when Moira, Alasdair, and the others had brought him home the night he died. So much blood, and the gaping wound at the side of his neck from where that blood had come flowing.
