Saerla shook her head. She’d not eaten nor combed out her hair. Worse, she’d refused to let Moira persuade her into clean clothing and still wore the gray gown she’d inhabited at MacLeod. Rhian’s gown.
“My love.” Moira came farther in and hunkered down by the bed where Saerla sat. Stark concern sat plain to see inher beautiful blue eyes. “Ye maun eat something. I fear ye will sicken, and then what? Wi’out Rhian here—”
“I am well enough, Moira.” An outright lie. “If ye would do somewhat for me, pray, leave me be.”
“I canna do that. I want my wee sister back.” Moira seized both Saerla’s hands in her own.
“I am right here, Moira.”
“Ye are no’. That monster may ha’ sent ye back home, aye, but the Saerla I love is no’ inside the lass he returned to me.”
I am hereshe wanted to say but did not.I am merely hiding like a beast hurt past enduring. And he is no’ a monster.
“Come out and get some air,” Moira urged. “’Tis a beautiful day.”
“Ha’ ye been watching from the walls? Do the MacLeods prepare to attack?” Would Rory mobilize soon? Would he go back to making war on them as if nothing had ever happened between them?
Moira shook her head. “No’ sign o’ movement yet.”
“And ye?” Saerla searched her sister’s eyes. “Do ye muster for an attack?”
“No’ yet. Alasdair—Alasdair says to wait. He is very nearly well enough to tak’ the field after his sore hurt. He says once he is able to march out beside me at the head o’ the men—”
Then the fighting would recommence. She had done nothing to prevent that, or the possible outcomes she’d seen in her Vision.
She seized Moira’s arms. “Sister, ye maun no’. I ha’ Seen terrible losses if ye return to the fight.” Her life and Alasdair’s.
“Ha’ ye?” Grief flooded Moira’s eyes. “But if he attacks us, we canna refuse to fight. I will no’—can no’—surrender our lands.”
“Och!” Saerla raised her hands to cover her face.
Moira, distressed, glanced at Farlan, who had stepped up behind her.
Farlan sent a look of concern to Saerla. Did he guess at what she’d Seen? That he might be going to lose the woman he loved?
From the depth of worry in his brown eyes, she gathered he might. Then again, the concern might still be for her, Saerla, because he said, “Moira has the right idea, mistress. Come out and tak’ the air.”
“Aye,” Moira said in agreement, and urged Saerla up. As soon as Saerla stood, her legs failed her and she went down again onto the floor.
Terror flashed in Moira’s eyes. “Saerla!”
“Shall I carry her to the healers?” Farlan asked.
“Nay. That is no’ wha’ she needs. Pray, Farlan, carry her up the rise.”
*
It was asteady pull up the skirt of the mountain to the rise, and a long way for Farlan to carry Saerla, but he did so without apparent effort. Not until they’d nearly reached the level place that overlooked the glen did the breath come more quickly in his broad chest.
Moira had not come with them. Though she had indeed set out with them, she’d been called away to some problem with the defenses. So it was just Saerla and Farlan when they reached the cairn that marked Da’s grave.
Farlan set Saerla down carefully but kept an arm around her lest she fall. She stood and gazed out over the glen.
Moira had been right—it was a glorious day. Clouds flew fast from the west, driven by a steady wind, and everything below her glittered, from the stones of the keep to those embedded in the turf, to the broad waters of the loch. Everywhere, everywhere lay glorious light.
She drew a breath and then another deeper one. They felt like the first she’d taken in far too long.
Beside her, Farlan said nothing. He was a quiet, restful sort of man withal. But he kept his broad hand planted against Saerla’s back, and she could feel his strength just as she could feel the strength pushing up through her feet from the granite beneath the soil.
