Saerla took the garments into her hands. “Are these yours?”
“Aye. I altered them. See? There is a pocket in the skirt. Or, if ye prefer, I ha’ stitched in a loop beneath where ye might secure the dirk. And see, ye can kilt up the skirt if ye need to run.” Oncemore, Rhian’s gaze met Saerla’s. “Ye maun promise me ye will try to get awa’ once ye—once ye do wha’ must be done.”
Kill him. Kill Rory MacLeod.
“Ye can run verra fast when ye choose. Go to the loch. There are always wee boats—”
Slowly and regretfully, Saerla shook her head. “I do no’ think I will get awa’ out o’ here after. There are too many guards. Once they ken he is dead—”
“But they will no’ ken at once.”
“Still, they know me for a prisoner. They will no’ let me walk or run awa’. I expect, sister, that I will die here.”
“Nay,” Rhian said fiercely. “Nay, ye will no’. At worst, they will hold ye. And bring ye before the chief, the new chief. That will be Leith.”
“Rhian, Rory is his cousin. He will ha’ no choice but to retaliate against me.”
“He wants peace as much as I do. He wants it for our bairn.”
“Aye, so.” Perhaps. Saerla thought of the three lads she’d Seen in her dream. So close in friendship and in spirit. As close, in their way, as she was to her two sisters. Could such ties be completely severed even by anger or betrayal?
“Still, I am certain Leith harbors strong feelings for his cousin. And in such a situation, he will act as his clan expects.”
“He will act as a new kind o’ chief, Saerla. One who has already an agreement wi’ Farlan. Saerla, a new age can begin for Glen Bronach.”
Begin with her performing a heinous act. For whatever Rory MacLeod’s nature or his intentions, he was a man. Slaying him in cold blood and not in battle would violate all she believed in.
And yet…
Mayhap it would not be in cold blood. If what she’d Seen in the Vision came true, it would be very hot indeed.
She shuddered.
“Pray on it,” Rhian urged again. “And get what sleep ye can.”
“I will.”
“I maun go. Be strong.” Rhian embraced her fiercely. Saerla clung to her for one moment before letting her go.
She must let it all go, she thought as she watched her sister slip from the chamber. She had always been a woman of faith. One who harbored magic. She must now place her fate in the hands of the spirits who had always gathered around her. Who had comforted and advised her. She must have faith they would direct her to the right path, the one her feet needed to tread.
She shed her filthy, tattered clothing and donned the garments Rhian had brought, which smelled wonderfully of her. Herbs and comfort. She stashed both her weapons carefully about her person where she knew she could reach them if Rory returned. Then she curled on the bed and imagined herself not at home in her own chamber, but up on the rise, safe in the light.
Chapter Eighteen
By first light,Rory stood on the ramparts straining to gaze across the glen. A familiar view was this, one he saw every day. A position of strength that usually calmed his doubts and assured him he held a measure of power.
He had never been a man who experienced much in the way of self-doubt. Instead, he knew things. He’d known all his life that his clan, Clan MacLeod, should hold all the glen, as his ancestors had intended when they arrived here generations ago. He knew he’d be the man who would make that come true. He’d been impatient with his father, who refused to move upon the notion, despite MacLeod’s superior numbers over MacBeith.
To be sure, he’d known other things as well. That he could trust his best friend, Farlan, to the death. That naught so fragile as the fancy of love could come between the three of them—himself, Farlan, and Leith.
Now just look at them.
Love, as he told himself even while he strained to see out over the glen in the first gray light of morning, was just a pretty word for lust. One meant to persuade a woman into a man’s bed.
His war chief, Murgor, came up beside him.
“See aught?” Rory demanded, not sparing a greeting. “Are they still mustering?”
