“Farlan does?” That surprised her.
“Aye. Farlan caught a glimpse o’ him as he was carried in.”
“Ah.” Rhian wondered at it. Did Farlan speak up for the man’s benefit? Or the benefit of Clan MacBeith? Despite Farlan’s obvious love for Moira and the near-visible bonds between them, Rhian still found it difficult believing he would work against his own clan.
Something that might be spite flickered in Alasdair’s dark eyes. “This man is close to Rory MacLeod. His cousin, so Farlan says.”
Not that again. Farlan had been a prisoner, aye, and also valuable to Rory MacLeod. Rhian had tended him in turn.
“I ha’ several more o’ our men to care for. Then I will come.”
To her discomfiture, Alasdair lingered and watched her care for said men. She could not help believing he must have more important things needing his attention.
She took her time giving the care, keeping her hands steady and gentle. They remained so until she gathered her bandages and salves back into her basket, and allowed Alasdair to lead her away.
“Where is he, this prisoner?”
“In yon cattle shed.”
Rhian grimaced. The very same place Farlan had been housed when first he came to them. Could this be happening all over again?
“What is wrong wi’ him?”
“A bad wound to the upper arm.”
For an instant, only an instant, Rhian wondered. But nay, that man had either escaped or, given the state of his injury, perished out there in the dark.
“Blinded,” Alasdair added.
“What?” Then it could not be him. For the man she’d tended had stared into her face, marking her features as if he wanted to memorize them.
She found Moira at the door outside the cattle pen when they arrived. Farlan stood at her side.
Rhian still found it impossible not to think of him as Farlan MacLeod, even though Moira insisted that name had been stripped from him along with his right to wear the MacLeod tartan. He was a big man, broad of chest and long of limb, with a cap of rich brown hair and a pair of earnest brown eyes. They fastened upon Rhian now, full of honest concern.
“His name is Leith, mistress. He is Rory’s cousin and as close to him as—as I used to be.”
For an instant, Rhian’s world spun.Leith MacLeod. No, it could not be! What were the chances? And—blinded?
She shot Moira a look before returning her gaze to Farlan, holding hard to her scattered emotions. “A friend of yours, then, also?”
“Aye, mistress.”
“Does he ken ye be here?”
“Nay. He has no’ seen me yet.” Farlan’s features twisted with distress. “It appears he canna see.”
“’Twould be well to keep him alive, if ye can,” Moira put in. “He might be traded for some o’ our men. They’ve taken two o’ our own.”
Rhian sighed. Nay, this could not be happening—could not be happening again. Only weeks ago, Moira had made a hostage of Farlan before turning around and falling in love with him.
But Leith MacLeod…
Farlan said, “I do no’ ken whether he can be saved. It looks verra bad. If anyone can save him, Mistress Rhian, ’tis yoursel’.”
“Let us see what we have, then.” Rhian raised a hand. “All o’ ye stay out here. I will no’ be crowded.”
“I am coming,” Moira replied, since she so seldom listened to suggestions.
