His child. A MacLeod.
The prospect both thrilled and terrified her—that it should happen so quickly, so easily, whatever their feelings for one another.
As a healer, she knew it did happen, even after only one mating. Even after a rape. Whether the child was desperately wanted or not.
Did she want this child? This bairn she sensed like a sliver of flame stirring within her?
She’d never planned on having children. She took care of so many others. She did not need anyone else looking to her for care.
Yet this child, half MacBeith and half MacLeod—surely he was meant to be?
This she contemplated even as Ewan, along with other members of the council, including Alasdair, reviled the MacLeods. While they floated wild schemes for attacking their enemies before Rory MacLeod made a recovery. While they pondered the advantages of Leith’s death.
Calan, who harbored a fierce anger Rhian had no doubt was enhanced by his grief over Fergus, dragged the discussion back to Moira and Farlan.
“I still say it is no’ right to ha’ a MacLeod here clinging to the skirts o’ power. I say he should be sent back to MacLeod along wi’ this Leith, who might or might no’ be Rory MacLeod’s heir. Rid ourselves o’ the filth once and for all.”
There were mutters of agreement from a few council members.
Moira’s face went white with anger, though she gave no other sign of it. She glanced at Alasdair before she said, “Farlan is going nowhere. He canna be sent back to MacLeod, at any rate. He’s been cast out and is no longer welcome there.”
“No’ welcome here either,” said one of Calan’s fellow warriors.
Ewan turned to Saerla with a hint of desperation. “Mistress, be ye certain yon Rory MacLeod still lives?” She’d already told them so at the beginning of the meeting, but they were enamored of the idea he might be out of their way, and reluctant to surrender it.
“Aye.”
“Then,” Ewan declared, “this Leith MacLeod is no good to us, if he is no’ due to become chief in his own right. I say we either slaughter him or send him back.”
And what would happen, Rhian wondered madly, when she began to show? When she at last revealed she carried Leith’s child?
Moira drew a breath that said she fought for patience. “We ha’ been over and over this. Leith remains o’ use to us because he and Farlan may be able to forge a plan for peace.”
“Farlan!” Ewan fairly spat the name. “I am interested in naught that traitor says. He could no’ remain true to his own clan. Why should he deal honestly wi’ us?”
Moira surged to her feet beside the fire. Something sharp as a naked blade shone from her eyes. “I trust him.”
“Aye.” Far more slowly, Ewan rose also. “And there, I am thinking, lies the problem. Alasdair? Wha’ d’ye say?”
Alasdair, seated beside Moira, did not stir. In fact, he seemed a bittoostill, and his stony expression did not change.
“Farlan,” he said, “is a man wi’out a clan and has no reason to betray us.”
“If,” Calan interjected, “this story about him being cast off is true and no’ some ruse to get him in close to our heart.”
Rhian looked at Calan with new respect. The lad had the makings of a tactician.
Alasdair ignored the outburst. “Leith MacLeod, though, is another matter. His loyalty to his chief is undisputed. He is Rory’s cousin and purportedly his heir.” He raised dark eyes to the room. “Leith MacLeod is a dangerous man.”
“I think they are both dangerous,” Calan declared. “I believe ’tis a danger to all o’ us if Mistress Moira takes Farlan MacLeod to wed.”
“I will wed wi’ him,” Moira vowed, and Rhian heard her seething anger now. “I ha’ but held off at the request o’ this council.”
“That is no’ important now,” Alasdair stated. “We ha’ the advantage, thanks to Mistress Saerla, o’ knowing Rory MacLeod is no’ dead. We ha’ only to decide wha’ to do about it.”
“Slaughter his heir,” Ewan cried.
“Attack,” said another of the men, “before he has time to recover.”
