“He is safe,” Saerla whispered to her sister, and Rhian nodded, some of the terrible fear leaving her face.
And aye, Saerla could see him now, a large figure—for Leith MacLeod was not a small man—moving steadily across the brilliant green turf. She lifted her eyes farther. Above the glittering water of the loch. Up the rise, opposite till she found the place where perched the fortress made of pale granite.
Home.
And farther still.
Even on this bright morning, mists gathered on the rise, obscuring the stones that had occupied that place for so long.
Although she could not see the stones, they endured. And when she died, even when she passed from this world and flew to the next, when she surrendered the path of light she kept, the magic would continue on.
Comforting. And, in a terrible way, quite terrifying.
She withdrew her gaze to find Rory watching her, his eyes as green as the turf. A strange thought found her. As she was part of this glen, stone, water, wind, and sunlight, was he not also? Part and parcel of this place, this beautiful place where they’d both been born.
They stood so, Saerla’s and Rhian’s hands linked and sharing strength, until Leith drew near, coming at a steady jog. Then Rhian’s will broke and she ran to him.
She did not embrace him, not there in front of so many people, but they stood looking into one another’s faces, exchanging words no one else could hear before they joined arms and came on.
Rory quickly stepped forward to intercept Leith, and they spoke in turn. Leith, seeing Saerla standing waiting, looked surprised.
“I ha’ spoken wi’ yer sister,” he said, “as well as given her yer letter. Let us speak o’ it somewhere private.”
He glanced at Rory, who nodded.
They went, the four of them, to a room that might once have been a solar. Now, though flooded with sunlight, it had a forsaken air of neglect. They sat down around a table, and Rory laid his large, scarred hands upon it.
“Well? Speak, man.”
Leith looked at Saerla, not at his cousin. “Moira read your letter quite carefully, mistress.Quitecarefully.” Was there an added message in Leith’s voice? Did that mean Moira had understood the warning Saerla had dared not put into words? “She did no’ write a letter in return, did no’ wish to tak’ the time. But I spoke wi’ her about it at length.” Leith glanced at Rory. “Wi’ her and Farlan both.”
Rory’s expression tightened at the mention of his former friend, but he said nothing.
“Her answer?” Saerla asked softly. Her heart had commenced beating hard in her chest.
Leith looked at her kindly. “She bids ye ken she understands yer message. But that ye be loved quite dearly there at MacBeith, and she is no’ certain she can hold her people, or even the council, from making war on yer behalf. Yer people want ye back, Saerla. She bade me tell ye, it may be out o’ her hands.”
Rory clenched his fingers atop the table. Saerla bent her head, not wanting to see what lay in his eyes.
She’d meant to save those she loved. She feared she would instead be their doom.
Chapter Forty-Three
After the fourof them left the solar, Rory retreated to his study, where he brooded for several hours. Rhian and Leith had gone away back to Leith’s quarters—to provide one another comfort, he did not doubt.
Saerla had returned to his chamber.
He debated reinstating a guard there, at her door, and decided against it. Aye, she still made a valuable hostage, as much as ever she’d done. But he had trouble now with treating her as one.
Because he’d held her in his arms. Tasted her. Been inside her. Felt the light that lay within the fragile shell of that outer beauty. He knew, now, what she was.
Not just a woman.
It would be wrong to pen her. It would be disrespectful to steal her will. Anyway, no man could imprison the light.
Not even him.
He’d seen the look in her eyes when Leith gave her Moira’s responses to her letter. Pain, regret, terror—all standing clear in those beautiful, mist-blue eyes. He’d read the letter she’d written Moira—of course he had—before he sent it with Leith. And he could only wonder why she wanted so badly for Moira to abandon her to her fate, here at MacLeod.
