Rory shot a look at Leith. If there was one thing worse than a screaming woman, it was a weeping one.
Women, in his opinion, should know their place. They should prove obedient and allow their men to protect and care for them.
The sisters MacBeith did not fit this expectation.
He said to Rhian, “Wha’ do ye think o’ me that I would shut a woman, captive or no’, in a filthy pen?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ye do no’ want to know wha’ I think o’ ye.”
“She is comfortable. Safe and in good quarters.”
Leith glanced around the study. “Since ye be here, ye maun ha’ decided to keep her in your own chamber.”
Rory could have throttled his cousin. Instead, he gave Rhian a stiff bow. “The best chamber o’ the house.”
Mistress Rhian did not appear mollified. In the past, Rory had seen his aunt, Leith’s mother, in a fury over some prank they had pulled. Naught to rival this.
“Sit,” he suggested again through clenched teeth. “We will discuss it reasonably.”
One of her eyebrows quirked. “Reasonably?” she repeated scathingly. “But ye are no’ a reasonable man. Ye be a monster.”
“Ye ha’ a right, mistress, to yer own opinion o’ me.”
“’Tis everyone’s opinion. And now Saerla—precious Saerla!”—her voice broke—“lies in your hands.”
A telling reaction. He hoped the chief, Moira, shared it.
“Is she hurt? Was she injured in the fighting?”
“I do no’ believe she has taken more than a scratch or two.”
“Ye maun let me see her. I am a healer.”
Aye, and Leith had recommended her for this damn hole in Rory’s back. As if he would allow her near him now.
“No’ yet.”
“What?” The word flew from Rhian like a hurled rock.
“Ye may no’ see her just yet. Later, mayhap. If she deals cooperatively wi’ me.”
Rhian seemed to expand where she stood. Rage illuminated her. “Ye would keep me from tending my sister’s hurts as a means of coercion? Who are ye to do so vile a thing?”
“I am master o’ this place. The Chief MacLeod.”
She sneered. For an instant, he was certain she would spit on the floor. Apparently she had too much dignity.
Instead, she took a step toward him. In a voice that quivered, she said, “Ye be naught. Naught, do ye hear me? No’ worthy to lick Saerla’s boots. No’ worthy to breathe her air. We shall destroy ye. Ne’er doubt it. We will tak’ ye down to blood and bone.”
“Leith, curb yer woman!”
“He does no’ own me! And he does no’ command me, Rory MacLeod.”
Rory narrowed his eyes at her. “I would be careful if I were ye, Mistress Rhian. Ye find yersel’ alone here, among enemies.”
Leith stepped swiftly in front of Rhian, his gray-blue eyes, so often lit with laughter, becoming dangerous slits. “She is no’ alone, cousin. And if ye threaten her, ye threaten me.”
Curse all women and the influence they put upon men!
