“Close enough! They beat him near to death. D’ye think they will no’ do the same wi’ this one?”
“Then send him home!” Moira blared. “He and Farlan can form an alliance first.”
“Aye. You can be certain,” Alasdair said with great scorn, “the only one who does no’ disdain Farlan for renouncing his birthright is Leith MacLeod.”
Obviously infuriated, Moira reminded him, “Ye it was who stood to defend Farlan when he came across the loch to us.”
“I did that for ye, Moira. Forye!”
Rhian had to look away from Alasdair’s agony. In the past, he had asked Moira to wed with him. For the benefit of the clan, supposedly, though Rhian did not believe it the only reason.
“We canna send him home,” she put in. “No’ yet. The journey would kill him.”
“I see no choice, then,” Moira cried. “’Tis leave him where he is to die, or let him do so on the way to MacLeod.”
Alasdair heaved a great sigh. “I wish we had never taken the bastard prisoner.”
So did Rhian. Only, she didn’t. She thought of brushing her lips across his earlier, the pure need and longing that had seemed to flow out of him and into her. To never have known that seemed an abomination.
“Ye do realize”—Alasdair looked at Moira—“if the council does no’ approve of our joint decisions, they may well strike ye off as chief?”
Moira toed up to him. “I am still Iain MacBeith’s daughter and still ha’ a right to head this clan. Let them gainsay that.”
“Theywillgainsay it,” Alasdair retorted, “if ye marry yon MacLeod.”
“Farlan is a MacLeod no longer.”
“Wha’ is he, then? A free man? Wi’out any clan at all? Do no’ be a fool, lass. MacLeod blood flows in his veins. And any offspring he gets on ye will carry that blood.”
“So be it.” Moira narrowed her eyes to slits. Without looking at Rhian, she said, “Mak’ arrangements to move the prisoner, sister.”
For the first time, Rhian faltered. “Aye, but where? No’ where ye held Farlan before.”
“Nay. Farlan was attacked there. We maun keep Leith closer by.” Moira spun to face Rhian. “I think he should be moved to your chamber. Ye can share wi’ Saerla, for the time.”
Alasdair grated out, “Family quarters?”
“Let us see if attackers dare intrude there. Ask Farlan to help ye move him.” Moira hesitated. “Where is Farlan?”
“With the prisoner.”
“Aye, so he will help ye, then. Keep Leith in your care, Rhian. If ye share with Saerla, ye will be close by.”
Or she could merely keep to her own chamber. Stay there with Leith.
Shocking, should it get out. Tempting beyond measure.
“Once his condition improves,” Moira pronounced, “we shall meet and speak again. Perhaps by then we shall know whether Rory MacLeod is fatally wounded. And perhaps by then Farlan will ha’ an agreement wi’ Leith.”
Rhian nodded and went out before Alasdair could argue it further, or perhaps change his mind.
She stood for a moment outside the doors of the hall, drawing air into her lungs. Leith MacLeod in her quarters. In her bed. The thought fair stunned her senses.
She wanted, aye, to take care of him. Wanted to take care of the man in ways that had naught to do with healing.
In the past, she’d heard women talk. While she’d provided them care, she had. Both matrons and maidens alike speculated on and recalled acts they’d performed with their menfolk. Some quite intriguing acts.
If Rhian had been intrigued, it was in a distant way. She’d never considered indulging in those pleasures herself.
