“The next Chief MacLeod may no’ be so hellbent upon conquest. Who will tak’ his place, Farlan, should he die?”
Farlan pressed his lips together as he contemplated it. “A goodly question. He has no issue and nary yet a wife. I suppose in the regular way o’ things, Leith would ha’ taken the place, being the eldest o’ his surviving cousins. But Leith lies here, in your prison.”
“Near to death,” Rhian put in.
Now they all stared at her. Sorrow flooded Farlan’s fine brown eyes. “Truly?”
“I fear so. I was with him when the alarm sounded.”
“Holy mother,” Farlan whispered. “I maun go to him. He is like a brother to me.” He looked at Moira. “He should nae die alone.”
“Then go to him ye shall,” Moira assured him. She went on, relentless, “If Rory MacLeod dies, and if his cousin, here in our hands, does also—”
“We could assure it,” Alasdair growled.
“—who will take the place o’ chief at MacLeod?”
Farlan pondered further. “There are other, more distant cousins, o’ course. Leith has a sister, younger than him, but she is no’ wed either yet, and has no bairns.” He made a rueful face. “She be a strong lass, but the prospect o’ a female chieftain has no’ yet caught on over there.”
“These distant cousins,” Alasdair suggested, looking more cheerful, “may well fight it out among themselves. ’Twould gi’ us some relief.”
“Aye, but do no’ count Rory out so swiftly,” Farlan cautioned. “He is tougher than old boots.”
“Well,” Moira said, “here was me thinking ’twould be a good idea to send yon Leith back to MacLeod and be rid o’ him.” She looked at Rhian. “Now I am no’ so certain. Even if he survives, why allow him back to step into the place o’ chief?”
“It may no’ come into question,” Saerla murmured, and Rhian wondered again what she had Seen.
“Leith,” Farlan told them, “would mak’ a very different sort o’ chief to Rory. There is nary an ambitious bone in him. Wi’ him in charge there, and me here, I think we would ha’ a very clear shot at a peaceful existence.”
Alasdair spat at him, “Ye be no’ in charge here, Farlan.”
“I did no’ say I was.”
“Whisht, Alasdair,” Moira said. “’Tis a fair point Farlan makes. And maybe a way forward for the future.”
Was it? And did that make a chance, however slight, for Rhian and Leith to be something more than enemies?
All Rory MacLeod had to do was die.
Rhian did not like the thought, even though her anger, still a hard knot inside her, was mostly focused on that man.
“I must go to Leith at once,” Farlan said, moving away from Rhian and back to Moira’s side. “Perhaps before he is sent home, a tentative agreement might be made.”
“One resting on the death of his cousin?” Moira’s lips tightened. She sighed. “He will no’ like that. I maun go visit the wounded and add up the damages. Alasdair?”
“I will come wi’ ye, aye.”
They went out, and without a word to anyone, Saerla followed, leaving Rhian alone with Farlan, who yet lingered.
Rhian did not at all dislike the man who would one day become her sister’s husband, at least if Moira got her way. And she usually did. In differing circumstances, Rhian thought that she and Farlan might have been friends. They had much in common. A certain steadiness of spirit. A quiet strength. The ability to put their own needs aside for the benefit of others.
But circumstances were not different.
He approached her and gave her a level stare. “Is it true? Is Leith dying?”
“I canna say either way. His life hangs in the balance.”
Hold on until I return.
