“I came only to gather some o’ my things. I maun lodge wi’ Saerla this night.”
Dismay rendered Leith silent.
She went on precisely as if he’d asked why. “Saerla says I should no’ be here wi’ ye. Perhaps she is right. I am meant to be bunking wi’ her. Next door. If someone were to find out I ha’ been staying here instead—”
Leith’s voice sounded hoarse when he forced it between his lips. “Tell them ye but stay to care for me.”
“That is what I thought to do. I ha’ already let Alasdair think ye fare worse than ye do. That ye are no’ fit to travel across the glen.”
“That is what they ha’ decided, then? To send me awa’?”
She shook her head. “’Tis no’ decided.”
So, they might still kill him.
“Here.” He drew her by the hand to the bed. “Sit before ye fall down.”
“The worst thing I can do,” she said miserably, “is cause further suspicion to fall on ye. If they find out I am doing more than nursing ye, and if they think I ha’ fallen under your influence, they will no longer trust me.”
“I see.” Leith’s heart indeed felt like a stone in his chest.
“’Tis wise, ye see, no’ to tak’ the chance. I strive always to act wisely. And”—her lips trembled—“in a practical manner.”
She was coming apart, was his Rhian. Had he done that to her? And what best might he do to heal her, as she healed so many others?
She said again, “I maun gather my things. I will be right next door.” She lifted her gaze to his. “If ye need me.”
I need ye. He did not say that aloud, did not need to. He knew she heard.
He fell to his knees in front of her and took her hand in his good one. “Do as ye must. I ha’ already caused ye enough in grief.”
“Grief?” She pressed her free hand to her belly. “Ye suppose this bairn causes me grief? Nay and nay, naught but joy. ’Tis as if I was born to carry this child. Your child.” She leaned forward and kissed him, the action a gift bestowed with warmth and devotion. “I was born for ye, Leith MacLeod.”
“And I for ye.” He added ruefully, “Though I never knew it.”
“Nor I.” She drew a breath. “I believe there are times when God or fate or some other power moves us beyond ourselves. Just look at Moira and Farlan. At ye and me.”
At least, Leith thought, Farlan had leave to be with his woman. Though he’d traded much.
“Go if ye must,” he told her. “Spend the night wi’ yer sister. Only allow me to hold ye first.”Somewhat to keep me warm. Somewhat to keep me sane.
They clutched one another. Comfort flowed into him—and another strong wave of healing.
Her lips but a breath from his, she whispered, “Let me dress your wound before I go.”
He would let her cut off his arm, if it kept her longer. “It is better.”
“Aye, but do no’ tell anyone.”
He took her place on the bed while she bustled around fetching supplies from her basket. He did not need her to tell him the hole in his arm was at last healing. He felt the difference. The healing came every time she touched him.
“There now.” She smoothed clean bandages with careful fingers, then dropped a kiss on them. “For healing.”
“Heal me, Rhian,” he begged. “Heal me before ye go.”
She dropped a second kiss on his lips before unlacing the front of her gown and drawing him to her bosom. She cradled him there, weaving her fingers through his hair while he feasted on her warmth, on her strength.
“I maun go,” she whispered.
