Wee lovehad been Ma’s pet name for Saerla. Rhian wondered if, in that moment, she had not become her mother. For just one instant.
Long enough.
“Is she all right?” Tears flowed down Moira’s cheeks. She wept so seldom that it made Rhian stare. “Wha’ happened?”
“I do no’ ken. Saerla?”
“Here, help me sit up.” Saerla struggled, and they both assisted her, once more lending their strength. A bit of color returned to her face, though not as much as Rhian wanted to see.
“Sit quietly yet.” She laid gentle hands on Saerla’s shoulders, both supporting and holding her down.
Saerla began to draw great, deep breaths. Through the remnants of their connection and her fingers on Saerla’s shoulders, Rhian felt her calm.
Moira did not wait long to ask of Saerla, “Wha’ happened?”
A few moments longer Saerla took to quiet herself. “I did no’ receive the Vision I sought. Or”—she gazed away, out over the glen—“mayhappen I did.”
Rhian and Moira exchanged glances, Moira appearing as concerned as Rhian felt—and Rhian’s concern ran deep.
She never should have allowed Saerla to make this attempt. Aye, her sister was fey and steeped in magic. But all too plainly, somewhat had gone awry.
“Wha’ did ye see?” Moira asked. She licked her lips before going on, “Somewhat terrible bad, was it? Ye canna deny ye received a Vision, for I caught the edges of it.”
“Aye,” Rhian whispered.
Instead of giving them an answer, Saerla lowered her forehead to her upraised knees and pressed tight.
Again, Rhian and Moira exchanged horrified looks.
Moira’s voice sounded dry as that of an old woman when she asked, “Are we to be destroyed, then? Is MacBeith to go down to defeat?”
“Nay. That is no’ what I Saw.”
“Then what?” Rhian trembled badly.
Saerla lifted her head, and Rhian got a glimpse of her face—pale, stark, and with terrible knowledge.
“I will no’ say.”
“Sister.” Moira put her arms around Saerla’s shoulders. “There is naught so terrible ye canna share it wi’ us.”
“There is, and I will no’. All ye need to know now is, Rory MacLeod lives. He lives yet.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“What do yethink she Saw?”
Moira whispered the words to Rhian as they worked together over bundles of provisions to be given the sick and elderly. Fiona had been helping them with the task, but she had gone off with two younger women to make some deliveries, leaving Rhian and her sister alone.
Rhian glanced up into Moira’s face, which reflected her own unease.
“I do no’ ken, and she will no’ say.”
“That is verra unlike Saerla.” Rhian would have said Moira, with the cool head, was not one to fret though she clearly fretted now. Of course, Rhian would have said Moira was not a woman to lose her head over a man, either.
“Usually,” Moira went on, “she feels it her duty to speak o’ what she Sees, especially if it concerns someone else.”
“True.” Rhian thought about it. “Mayhap it does no’ concern anyone else.” Her gaze met Moira’s again. “Perhaps ’twas somewhat to do wi’ Saerla alone.”
