The anger inside Rory flared. “And there ye ha’ it—the reason I question ye.”
“Ye question me because I demand a measure o’ decency for the woman I will wed?”
Rory flinched. “Nay. Because ye feel the need to upbraid me—your chief—over it. Is yer loyalty to her, or to me? Before we tak’ the field together, ye will answer me that.”
Leith rarely grew angry. That was one of the things Rory valued most in him. Though a big, powerful man who’d outstripped both him and Farlan as they grew, he neglected to use that power, preferring laughter to anger and strife.
Yet Rory saw him kindle up now. The anger looked so strange in Leith’s mild gray-blue eyes that it made Rory sit back a mite on his bench.
“My fealty belongs to ye, my chief. My heart is hers.”
Rory held the furious gaze steadily. “That may be a problem.”
“How so?”
“Wha’ if we meet someone dear to this woman o’ yers on the field? One o’ her sisters, mayhap. They both fight, do they no’?” Rory could not hold back a sneer. “Their men allow them to risk themsel’s that way.”
“The twa sisters both do tak’ the field, aye, bein’ the old chief’s daughters—”
“As is your woman.” Rory added deliberately, “Mistress Rhian.”
“Aye. One o’ them, Moira—”
“Farlan’s woman,” Rory stated with great distaste, and added, “I just want to mak’ sure I ha’ it right.”
“Aye. The way I understand it, Moira stepped into the place of her brother, Arran, after he fell. Just as she has stepped into her father’s place now.”
“And the other—”
“Saerla. The youngest.”
Saerla. He, Rory, had briefly had her in his hands. He still recalled the shock he’d felt when, staring into her face, he’d realized she was not a youth, as he assumed, but a woman. She might have remained his prisoner, only they’d agreed to a trade, had the MacLeods. Traded Leith for her.
“They are strong-headed women,” Leith explained. “No one tells them wha’ to do, nor makes them tak’ the field.”
A mad state of affairs, and further proof MacBeith needed overthrowing.
Rory gave Leith a grim smile. “Here at MacLeod, I mak’ the decisions, and I say ye will no’ tak’ the field tomorrow night.” Not till Rory was sure he could trust this cousin of his.
But he wondered…he wondered, would he ever see Saerla MacBeith again?
Chapter Five
“Imiss Rhian.”
The confession came from Saerla unwillingly, the last thing she’d meant to say. Her heart, so it seemed, would not heal from this latest wound. How could it when Rhian, with her gentle, competent hands and comforting nature, had always been the one to do the healing? Rhian was not here.
When Ma had died some six years ago now, Rhian had softly and silently stepped into her place, become the one to light their fires, cook their meals, and provide them with a soft place to fall.
Losing her felt like losing Ma all over again.
Moira, to whom Saerla spoke, glanced at her. They’d met, this second evening after her Vision, up on the battlements just before nightfall. The soft shadows of the gloaming filled the glen. It would be a dark night with no moon.
“Rhian is no’ dead.”
“She is no’ here, either.”
Moira sighed and tossed her head. She was strong. Yet Saerla found it hard to believe she did not feel the wound they now shared. One of their three, gone.
