Rhian’s face became grim. “Rory has been seen leaving here early of the mornings. By the guards on duty about the stronghold. More than once!”
Saerla did not speak, though dismay washed through her.
“The first time they thought no’ much o’ it. Then they began to watch for him. They gossip about it like old women. Their chief, having his way wi’ the MacBeith captive.”
Saerla did not know what to say, how to admit this truth or explain even to Rhian what she herself did not completely understand.
“Saerla?”
“Aye, Rhian, ’tis true. Rory has been spending the nights here wi’ me.”
“Spending—” Rhian’s stunned gaze moved to the bed and back to her sister. “Wi’ yer permission? He did no’—no’ force ye?”
Saerla’s cheeks flamed. “He did no’ force me. I welcomed him.”
“But—” Rhian’s legs wobbled visibly. She crept to the bench and sat down. “But ye be an innocent. My wee sister.” Unsullied and untried, her tone insisted. “Ye be un-breached!”
“I was.”
“Saerla!” All Rhian’s shock lay in the word. All her horror. “How could ye?” It was a wail.
A spear of anger pricked Saerla. “Ye ask me that? Ye, o’ all women?”
“But—but Leith is gentle, beneath all his brawn. He is kind. He loves me. He is no’ a monster. He is no’ Rory MacLeod, o’ all men!
Of all men.
Not giving Saerla a chance to speak, Rhian hurried on. “How did such a thing even come about? How could ye let him touchye? He being what he is—” Bright anger flared in her eyes. “Ye say he did not force ye?”
“Nay.”
“If he did, I will kill him.”
“Sister, listen to me. It was I who began it. I thought—I knew I must get near him if I were to use the knife ye brought me.”
Horror appeared in Rhian’s eyes. “But I thought that knife would defend ye! I—”
“And I thought the best way for me to get him close enough to me that I might use the knife was to seduce him.” Color stained Saerla’s face, but she held her sister’s gaze. “I ha’ never done such a thing. I did no’ think I could. But it worked all too well. Rhian, I seduced him and mysel’ as well.”
“What are ye saying?”
“That I desired what passed between us. I wanted it. I wanted him. I still do.”
Rhian seemed to shrink where she sat. She looked at Saerla with doubt. With…was that disgust?
Saerla clenched her fists, turning sick inside.
“Saerla,” Rhian whispered. “He is Rory MacLeod.”
Not when he is here with me. He is the young boy who ran wild in the glen. A man who touches me so tenderly, it melts my very bones. He who allows me to fly.But that was not completely true, for he remained the conqueror also, deep inside. She had felt that in him. The sense of dark purpose remained always. When he left her, no doubt it flared to life again.
“I maun confess, Saerla, I canna imagine ye doing such a thing. Taking up a sword on the battlefield, aye, though even that was difficult for me to accept. But this—”
“I ken. I did no’ expect it to happen either. I thought when I laid my blade to his neck, it would be over—”
“Ye laid yer blade to his neck?” Rhian’s eyes narrowed. “And he still lives?”
“I failed, Rhian. I failed.”
