“There is no defense fro’ this, Rhian. And it concerns only me. In this”—she gave a sad smile—“my twa sisters canna protect me. I maun look after mysel’.”
Rhian’s heart trembled with love. “That does no’ seem right.”
“Trust me, it is. Can ye trust me?”
“Of course. But there are times we all need one another. And—and it seemed so terrible, what ye Saw. Why should ye try to bear it alone?”
“Because I must. I am well now, sister. No ill effects from what struck me down. Ye would better spend your time tending those who need your care.”
“Aye.” Rhian’s mind flailed over it, but she could think of no more to say. Except… “If ye need me, Saerla, if ye need at any time to unburden yoursel’, ye should come to me. Day or night, aye?”
Saerla gave her a challenging look. “Even when you lie wi’ yon Leith MacLeod?”
Heat rose to Rhian’s face. “I did no’ lie wi’ him!”
“Perhaps not, but ye did no’ share my chamber either, as ye claimed. So at the very least, ye shared yours wi’ him instead.”
Breath gusted from Rhian. “Is that wha’ ye Saw? Me and—and Leith?”
Saerla shook her head. “I told ye, it concerned only mysel’. Why, is there somewhat I might See as regards ye and him?”
“Nay. Mayhap. ’Tis no’ easily explained.”
Saerla stared away across the glen. “Wha’ is it about these MacLeod men?”
“He is a good man, Saerla, when ye come to talk wi’ him. Not like ye would suppose. And the feelings I ha’ for him are strong, I will no’ deny.”
“Ewan and the other members o’ the council will ne’er countenance it. And I canna imagine what Alasdair will say.”
Rhian did not want to imagine. “There is naught at the moment to countenance. I thought—hoped—if Rory MacLeod were dead, if Leith became Chief MacLeod, he and Farlan might forge some alliance. For peace.”
“A fine dream. But Rory remains very much alive. Gravely wounded, but alive.”
“It was him you Saw, then?”
Saerla nodded.
“Well, if he be gravely wounded, at least that may give us some time.” Time to get Leith up on his feet. Time to talk him around and attempt to argue out a treaty that he might try to persuade Rory to accept when he returned home.
When he left her.Unbearable even to imagine.
Saerla looked at her. “Does Leith say Rory MacLeod is a man disposed for peace? Because I do no’ think it so. Fro’ wha’ I ha’ Seen, he is a man of anger and violence.”
Again, Rhian wondered precisely what Saerla had Seen. Naught of good, not for any of them.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rhian returned toher chamber at nightfall. The soft light of the gloaming filtered in through the narrow slit window by the time she arrived, filling the chamber with soft radiance. Leith, listening hard, caught the quick patter of her footsteps and lifted the bar on the door for her.
It had been a long day without her company. He’d tried to keep off his feet as much as possible because he did not want the accursed wound to start bleeding again. He’d spent the time, much of it, thinking about Rhian and wishing she would return.
The balance of his thoughts had all revolved around Rory, and what Farlan had told him. The possibility he could become chief, and for the very worst of reasons.
His cousin was difficult at times, aye. Hotheaded and single-minded. But he remained close to Leith in blood and heart.
Were Rory MacLeod gone from the world, naught would ever be the same. No one could fill his place. Leith, in particular, could not—he had less ambition in his whole body than Rory harbored in his smallest finger.
He did not want the place of chief.
