“Send the MacLeod back,” Calan added.
And Ewan asked again, “Alasdair, wha’ d’ye say?”
Alasdair got to his feet, moving like a mountain. “Ye all ken I want revenge for the death o’ our chief. And I would no’ mind seeing every male o’ MacLeod blood dead. But Chief Iain would no’ wish us to disrespect his house. And his house is represented by his daughters now. I say Mistress Moira has a place at the head o’ this clan, Farlan or no Farlan.
“And I think,” he went on, “we would be far better wi’ Leith MacLeod dead. Toss the coin and tak’ our chances that Rory may die o’ his wound after all, and pass wi’out an heir.”
Nay. Rhian did not say it aloud, but Saerla turned her head sharply to look at her. Rhian wondered again—what was this terrible thing Saerla had Seen? She insisted her Vision had only to do with herself. But they were all so closely connected. Had she possibly Seen that Rhian would bear Leith’s son? The next heir to MacLeod, if Rory did not survive. Did that somehow affect what would happen here, and to Saerla?
Rhian gasped, and Moira also looked at her. For a moment the three of them stood again united, their wills one.
Defend, nurture, enchant.
Rhian found words in her mouth and spoke them. “I think Leith is more use to us alive. Once he recovers, he will deal with Farlan and carry an intention for peace back to MacLeod.”
“I agree,” said Moira.
“I agree also,” Saerla added in turn.
Members of the council glared. Alasdair nodded. “Iain MacBeith’s daughters ha’ spoken. We will do naught for now. Let Farlan talk wi’ his friend. See wha’ comes o’ it.”
Ewan cried in frustration, “We will miss our opportunity.”
“Then we will ha’ another, anon. Rory MacLeod may die after all.” Alasdair shrugged. “We will stand strong and wait.”
Rhian pressed a hand to her belly. She would. She must. She had double the reason now.
She turned as the meeting broke up and caught Saerla’s gaze on her. Saerla, who saw far too much.
Chapter Forty
“Ye look better,a good deal better,” Farlan told Leith as he came in through the chamber door.
“I feel it.” Leith replaced the bar across the door behind Farlan. “I believe this stubborn wound may be on its way to healing at last.”
What he truly thought, though he would not say, was that Rhian herself had healed him. Nay, not in the ordinary way that she’d attempted all the while. Making love with her had changed him. Made him strong. Launched healing through his very blood. He felt better when she touched him and stronger when he was inside her.
Where he wanted to be again. Immersing himself in her presence. Feeling her all around him.
Instead, she’d not come near him today, not since she’d left him here this morning. Now the day grew old. He wanted her, and not just physically.
Would she return to him tonight? Could he endure that long?
He made a face at Farlan. “I am growing restless, that is certain.”
“Means for certain ye be on the mend. I near went mad when I was penned up.”
“Aye, so.” Leith took a turn around the chamber, and Farlan eyed him, arms crossed over his chest. “Well? Ha’ ye come to tell me they’ve decided to cut my throat?”
“Nay. For now, Moira wants to keep ye alive, and for now, Alasdair is respecting her wishes.”
“For now.”
“Aye. From what Moira tells me—for a turncoat such as I is no’ allowed in meetings o’ council—there are others who bitterly disagree.”
“I do no’ doubt it.”
“Moira…” Farlan drew a breath. “Moira wants peace. She believes you and I, being close as brothers, can lay the groundwork for it, and then ye can take that back to Rory. Moira believes there is meaning in the fact that the three o’ us—ye, me, and Rory—are so close.”
