She hoped he did. If somewhat happened to Leith MacLeod, she—
“The prisoner was moved to Mistress Rhian’s chamber for safekeeping,” Moira said, breaking into Rhian’s thoughts, “and so she might better care for him. Given his possible importance, we will tak’ no chances on another murder attempt.”
“I say,” Ewan grated out, “his possible importance is reason to slaughter him. End the problem before it begins. ’Tis the opportunity o’ a lifetime.”
“We do no’ ken,” Moira argued, “but he may represent an opportunity for peace.”
“Peace!” Ewan spat. “Here in Glen Bronach, where there has been naught but strife for time out o’ mind?”
Saerla spoke up in her soft voice. “Things can change, Ewan. Sometimes they need to change.”
They had argued all this already, up one side and down the other while Rhian fretted, wishing for escape. While the now-familiar tug beneath her breastbone became more acute.
She needed to see him. Needed to be with him.
Now everyone looked at Saerla.
“Mistress,” the eldest member of the council half whispered, “have ye Seen?”
“Nay.”
“D’ye ken,” Ewan said, far more harshly, “can ye tell if Rory MacLeod be alive or dead?”
Aye, for that was the question. Like everyone else, Rhian stared at her sister, barely breathing.
Again, Saerla shook her head.
Alasdair spoke up unexpectedly. “Can ye, Mistress Saerla, perhaps seek that knowledge? We all ken fine ye ha’ the magic upon ye.”
Saerla raised her gaze and regarded them one by one. “It comes when it comes. I ha’ asked. I ha’ prayed on it—”
“Mayhap,” Moira said gently, “ye might do so again, sister, and we will hope the spirit moves wi’ ye.”
“But,” Ewan began, “this is information o’ vital importance. Should no’ Mistress Saerla devote hersel’ to it and try harder?”
Rhian startled herself by surging to her feet. “I will no’ ha’ ye badgering my sister.”
This was unprecedented for Rhian, who usually held her tongue during such meetings, and they all stared at her now. She rarely lost her temper, but aye, it did happen.
“It is all right, Rhian,” Saerla said softly.
“It is not!” Bad enough Rhian had to spend her own talents to heal a man they might then take out and slaughter. She would make them leave Saerla alone.
Ewan, too, stumbled to his feet. “’Tis no’ my intention, Mistress Rhian, to badger Mistress Saerla. I prize her abilities. We all do.”
“Ye might try respecting them instead. Respect the magic that lies in this glen rather than seeking more ways to drown it inblood.” Rhian could feel the heat flame in her face. She fair trembled with indignation. “Flesh and blood can bear only so much. I suggest ye look to your souls.”
She stalked out, breaking through the doors and into the cool, open air. She went at the behest of the pull anchored inside her. She needed to answer that pull.
To see Leith MacLeod.
She felt like she was losing her mind.
Did a woman lose her mind when she fell in love? From what little Rhian had observed, aye. She’d watched it happen to Moira, and to countless others before her.
It felt very different when it happened to her. A preposterous observation, because she could not be falling in love with Leith MacLeod. Some other ailment beset her. Some sickness, aye, of the mind.
She half expected one of her sisters to come out of the hall after her. Saerla, most likely. No one did. Clansmen and women, passing by, cast her curious glances as she stood there letting her fury die.
