“Alasdair is still hampered by his wound, though he will never admit it.” Worry poured through Saerla in the wake of all the other emotions. “Ye do no’ think Moira will launch an attack in an attempt to rescue me, do ye? Rhian, I think that is what he wants. To use me as bait.”
Rhian bit her lip. “Who can say? But I do no’ see Moira sitting back and leaving ye in Rory MacLeod’s hands.”
“Ye maun help me get awa’ out o’ here before she does aught so foolish.”
“But how? The place is swarming wi’ warriors. There is no chance—”
Saerla glared into her sister’s eyes. “We maun kill him. We maun kill Rory MacLeod. D’ye no’ see?” Saerla hurried on in a hushed voice for Rhian’s ears alone. “There is always more than one path forward fro’ any destiny.”
“So ye ha’ told us, but—”
“I feared being brought here. Rhian, I knew I would be brought here one day.”
Rhian caught her breath. “This? This is what ye Saw?”
Saerla nodded solemnly. She need not tell her sister the rest of it. Not if she still might keep it from coming true. “Wha’ if I’ve been brought here in order to kill him? To end all the madness and bring us peace.”
Rhian blinked rapidly. “I do no’ see how.”
“I ha’ a sgian dubh. I will plunge it into his heart.”
An indecipherable expression flooded Rhian’s eyes. “Such a thing, here in the center o’ MacLeod, in his very lair, could cost your life.”
“Aye, I ken.” Saerla faced that squarely as she had during the night just past. “But perhaps I am meant for that.”
“Nay. Dear one!” Rhian caressed her cheek. “Ye are a creature o’ magic, meant for fine and beautiful things. For prayers and Visions, and holding the ancient light of the first MacBeiths.”
“Mayhap. Mayhap I did that for a time. But there maun be a reason also I learned to tak’ up a sword, aye? Learned to fight and kill.” Saerla drew a breath and said starkly, “I am willing to spend my own life, if I can end his.”
“By God, Saerla!” Rhian whispered in dismay. “Do no’ say such things. Wha’ if someone were to hear? Sit down. Sit down for now. Let me care for ye properly. I do no’ ken when he will let me see you again.”
“Can ye find me another weapon? Smuggle it in, perhaps? Somewhat better than this wee sgian dubh, which I admit is better than naught. Bring me one o’ Leith’s swords, if the monster lets ye see me again.”
“Ye expect Leith to hand over a weapon that ye might use to slay his cousin and dear friend?”
As if Rhian’s using his name summoned him, Leith came in the door, which still stood ajar, followed by a serving woman carrying a basin of steaming water. He closed the door behind the woman when she left and looked at Saerla doubtfully.
“Are ye bad hurt, mistress?”
Rhian answered him. “Bad enough. This wound has bled much. Leith, wha’ can we do for her? Can we get her awa’ out o’ here?”
Leith’s expression turned grim. “I do no’ see how. Rory kens full well he has a prize.”
Saerla met Rhian’s gaze. She willed her sister not to speak of her desire for murdering Rory.
Rhian said, “Speak to him, Leith. Tell him ’twould be an act o’ good faith to return Saerla home. ’Twould go far to make Moira agree to negotiate wi’ him. Negotiate a peace.”
Leith laughed harshly. “He does no’ want peace, my love. He wants conquest.”
Rhian clenched her teeth. “Sit still, Saerla.” She applied the dampened cloth to the back of Saerla’s head. “This might sting.”
So it did, but Saerla sat quietly beneath Rhian’s ministering hands. She’d always believed there was healing in Rhian’s touch, and more than a little magic.
Two of MacBeith’s daughters here at MacLeod. What did it mean? Surely there must be a power in it, and the two of them might act together to bring Rory MacLeod down from within.
Then—then she could go home. To her circle of standing stones. To the serenity of being there among them. To the beauty of watching clouds sail down the glen from the direction of the sea. To blue sky and green turf and gray stone. Och, she ached for all of it.
But if she had to sacrifice her life…
