“I do no’ think the council will agree to send ye back. And as I said before, ye are no’ fit to travel yet.”
So she would continue to nurse him. Shed her smiles on him. And perhaps the blessings of her kisses. So that by the time he did return home, should he find himself in the place of chief, he would not be able to imagine raising his hand against her, and hers.
By God! Already he could not imagine it. He might be angry and let it be admitted, hurt by the possibility that she had been leading him by the nose all this while. That did not mean he could bear seeing harm come to one wild red hair on her head.
Lost—he was lost to this woman. Sitting there facing her in the quiet of her chamber, he admitted that to be true. But he could not let her see she had such a hold on him. Just in case—
In case she was not what he’d sell his soul for her to be. In case he, the charmer, had been charmed.
And she in truth cared naught for him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rhian shifted uneasily,and her gaze once more strayed to the doors of the hall. How long had she been here, shut in a meeting between her sisters, Alasdair, and the members of the council? It felt an eternity.
She did not understand quite why Moira wanted her here. She had little to contribute to discussions of warfare or, for all that, clan politics. She held no real authority. And she had other, more important things to do, like make a round of the wounded under her care. Make sure there were sufficient bandages and other supplies, should Rory MacLeod prove still alive—that being a question much argued during this meeting—and eager to bring another attack.
She had other things to do, like gazing into Leith MacLeod’s gray-blue eyes.
She pushed that thought away from her with some difficulty. Inappropriate, to say the least, while the others sat debating whether he was likely to be the next Chief MacLeod and whether, in such case, they would be better off taking this opportunity to slaughter him.
She did not think Moira would let that happen. Not with Farlan speaking in her ear. Yet the council seemed to want just that, and Ewan, their undisputed leader, was, as usual, in a stroppy mood. And Alasdair. Alasdair’s bent was to take the hard line. To show no mercy.
If it were up to Alasdair, she thought Leith would already have been executed.
After all her work to heal him. After the time she’d spent getting to know the man, while looking into those fine eyes of his.
But did she truly know him? She had impulses, aye, ones foreign to her that had driven her to touch his lips with her own. To sleep in his arms last night.
Yet when she’d spoken with him earlier, after he’d seen Farlan, something had changed. A coolness had entered those eyes made for smiling. Or perhaps ’twas wariness.
Perhaps it was just that he grew stronger, returned to better health, and began to comprehend his situation. Enough to make any man wary.
It made her uncomfortable, though. Caused her to fidget on the bench where she sat. To worry about what Leith might be doing even now.
If he got up on his feet too soon, if a renewed energy caused him to do so, he could reopen his wound still. She did not know that he would ever again be able to use the injured arm properly. At least he’d have his life.
“Rhian?” Moira’s voice had an edge, as if she’d sought her sister’s attention more than once. “What d’ye think?”
Rhian lifted her gaze. Everyone in the chamber stared at her, awaiting a reply. She had none.
“Forgive me. My mind wandered.”
Some of the council members exchanged glances. With deliberate patience, Moira said, “When do ye say the prisoner will be fit for travel?”
The prisoner. The MacLeod. The man who seemed to have taken root inside her.
“No’ soon,” she blurted a bit too abruptly. “His condition improves, aye, but an attempt to move him any distance could prove disastrous.”
“Yet”—Ewan stretched his lips in a ghastly smile—“ye ha’ moved him. Into your own chamber, so I understand.”
“Aye. And I am bunking wi’ my sister, Saerla, for the duration o’ his stay.”
Saerla sent her a swift look. She alone knew Rhian had not bunked with her last night.
Another of the council members waved his hand. “Aye, why no’ situate the MacLeod bastard in luxury?” He shot an antagonistic glance at Moira. “’Twas good enough for his fellow clansman before him, aye?”
Moira stiffened. Farlan was conspicuously absent from the meeting, and, in fact, Rhian figured he guarded the door of her bedchamber.
