Nay. Everything within him wanted to protest—didprotest, though he held the words from his lips.
She no doubt heard the ones in his mind. In his heart.
With trembling fingers, she refastened her gown and turned away to gather her things. A clean chemise from the clothes press. Her comb and a few pots of unguents.
“Wait,” he said just before she turned to the door. He rose and went to her, laying the palm of his hand on her belly. “Bless this child. Keep him safe at all cost.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Rhian did notsleep that night. Her emotions rather than her thoughts kept her awake. A curious thing, for usually she was able to force her emotions into line.
Not now.
She could feel the child within her, a flutter deep inside where his father had put him. Another curious thing, for she knew very well it took many months before a mother might feel her child move.
Leith had upended everything, overset her world. He’d torn her apart and put her back together again, a new woman.
Saerla, beside her in the bed, was also restless. When they were young, the three of them barely five years apart from oldest to youngest, they had slept in the same bed. She remembered Ma coming in each night and telling them stories—beautiful ones about heroes and mystical beasts, and their ancestors—and kissing themone, two, three.
Goodnight and sleep ye well, my beauties. All the powers keep ye safe.
Now neither she nor Saerla felt particularly safe. She hoped Saerla, who at least did sleep, if only restlessly, was not caught in the throes of another Vision. Rhian did not think she could bear more mystery or ill news.
She lay staring wide-eyed into the dark of the chamber, wondering again what Saerla had Seen. If it was naught to do with her or Leith, then what?
She wanted so much to be with Leith, it hurt.
If she went next door, if she did no more than slip out of one chamber and into the next, she could be with him. He would touch her, slide that broad-palmed, calloused hand over her skin. Kiss her everywhere. This terrible feeling of longing would fade, and rightness would flood in to take its place.
She could not be so weak, though, as to rise from this bed and go. Surely she had more self-discipline than that.
She must have dozed at last near morning, for she awoke abruptly to find Saerla out of the bed, at the door, and admitting Fiona to the chamber.
The older woman, a strapping example of MacBeith femininity, swept Rhian with a look where she lay in the bed.
“I came to tell the both o’ ye,” Fiona cried. “The guards ha’ spied signs o’ movement over at MacLeod. Just now, wi’ the first morning light.”
Rhian sat up far too quickly, and her head spun. Saerla stared at Fiona in dismay. “Moving upon us?”
“Aye, lass.”
“Are they certain? Mayhap the MacLeods but train there on the green sward.”
They did that, aye, frequently.
Fiona shook her head. “They think no’. The men called Alasdair, who went up and took a look. He is mobilizing the warriors. I thought ye should know.”
“Aye.” Saerla looked grim. Rhian wondered if this was what she had Seen. “I maun don my armor,” Saerla said, almost to herself, “and strap on my weapons.” She looked at Fiona. “Has Moira been told?”
“Aye. Alasdair went to her himsel’.”
“This must mean Rory MacLeod is recovered enough to fight,” Rhian said.
“Aye.” Saerla shot her a look. “And it will change everything.”
Fiona went out, doubtless to spread the dire news elsewhere.
“At least,” Saerla told Rhian, “Fiona will now be able to attest that ye passed the night here wi’ me. Are ye no’ glad?”
