Virtue (Sons of Scotland Book 1)

by Victoria Vane

  He didn’t know what he might discover or where else his decision might lead him, but he was compelled to go. He needed answers that would allow him to move on with his life. He wondered if there was any chance that life might include Sibylla. He hadn’t seen her since their fateful encounter at Cnoc Croit na Maoile. Then again, he’d been much preoccupied since Father Gregor’s arrival.

  Although he had little desire to join the feast tonight, this was his last chance to see her, and probably his only opportunity to say goodbye. He had little hope of speaking privately with her, but he could not take his leave of Kilmuir without bidding her farewell.

  *

  At her mother’s insistence, Sibylla took particular pains with her appearance that night, but perhaps not for the expected reasons. Ailis had arranged her hair in a regal coronet, crowned with ribbon and flowers, and she’d donned her best tunic of sea green with gold embroidery at the neck, sleeves and hemline. It was a modest gown, but she thought it became her well. She completed the ensemble with a brightly woven shawl.

  Arriving at the feast, her gaze searched the room full of merrymakers for Alexander. Her uncle, as usual, commanded the head of the high table, surrounded by the clan elders and his laughing guests, whose cups were kept filled as they enjoyed the full bounty of their host’s hospitality. Domnall was, once more, seated beside Ranald. The two of them appeared to be thick as thieves. Her mother, Fiona, and Ailis were at the foot of the table, but Alexander was conspicuously absent.

  Ranald suddenly looked her way and nudged her brother with his elbow. The two men exchanged a few words and conspiratorial looks that raised an alarm inside her. Though the hall was warm, she pulled her shawl more tightly about her as Ranald’s gaze followed her progress toward the head table. His ice blue eyes watched her far too closely.

  Rather than joining them, she purposely made her way toward the foot, only to be called to the table’s head by her brother. “Sibylla! Come and sit with us. I fear our friends feel neglected by our womenfolk.”

  “’Tis true,” Ranald grinned. “We have been sorely deprived of genteel company since our arrival.”

  “Mayhap yer reputation precedes ye and they’ve hidden their women,” one of his men taunted.

  Sibylla looked to her uncle who answered with a slight inclination of his head. Her duty was clear, but why must she act as hostess to their guests? ’Twas her mother’s normal role. Her dismay increased when she found herself seated between Domnall and Ranald. This was all clearly her brother’s design, but her uncle was also complicit. A match with Ranald was surely the kind both her uncle and brother would desire for her.

  Ranald was a particularly well-made man from a powerful clan. Many a lass would fantasize about such a husband. Perhaps, she even would have favored it in other circumstances, but Sibylla’s heart yearned only for Alexander. Why had he not come to the feast? Had Domnall warned him off? Or threatened him in some way?

  Straight backed and tense, Sibylla forced a smile and made inane small talk as she sipped heather ale.

  “The women of the Isles are famed for their music as well as their beauty,” Ranald boasted. “Though beauty abounds at Kilmuir,” he raised his cup to Sibylla and Ailis, “I wonder if ye also have songbirds amongst ye?”

  “Aye,” Domnall said, looking down the table to Ailis. “My cousin, Ailis, has both the nimblest fingers on the strings and the sweetest voice ye will ever hear. The angels in heaven weep with envy when she plays.”

  “Is this so?” Ranald sat back in his chair, eyeing Ailis.

  “Nae,” Ailis replied with a maidenly blush. “But I am much gratified that my cousin believes it so.”

  “Tis true!” Domnall adamantly insisted.

  “I say, let our guest be the judge,” MacAedh declared.

  At MacAedh’s bidding, Ailis rose from the table to take her place at the clàrsach. Her movements were soft and graceful and everything that Sibylla was not. Sibylla often envied Ailis for her quiet grace. The moment she began plucking the strings, the entire hall went still. But when she began to sing a haunting Highland melody, it was as if everyone forgot to breathe.

  “She is verra good, indeed,” Ranald murmured as the song ended.

  “Aye,” Sibylla agreed. “Ailis has many talents.”

  “Do ye also play, Lady Sibylla?” he asked, adding softly for her ear alone, “I promised I would ken yer name.”

  “Nae,” she replied. “I have ne’er mastered the instrument.”

  “Then perhaps ye would favor us with a song?”

  Sibylla laughed. “I would only offend yer ears—unless ye happen to find the call of ducks appealing.”

  After a few cups of ale, she’d found herself beginning to relax. Ranald was a conceited and boastful man, but he didn’t lack for charm when he sought to use it.

  “Surely ye are too modest.”

  “Nae. I assure ye, I have no musical talent.”

  “Yet yer brother sings yer praises.”

  “Does he?” She turned to him with a grin. “I hope he doesna sing them too loud, for Domnall is even more tone deaf than I am.”

  He laughed, a full throated chuckle. “I do like a lass with a quick wit.” He reached out to claim a lock of her hair that he gently wound around his finger. “Yer cousin indeed sings like an angel, but there are some men who prefer a bit of she-devil.”

  His touch was an unexpected liberty and innuendo filled his words.

  Had she encouraged this? She looked to her brother who was either oblivious or simply chose to ignore the increasing familiarity. Growing more uncomfortable, Sibylla shifted a few inches on the bench in hope of reclaiming a more decorous distance from him, but Ranald seemed equally intent on closing the gap.

  Feeling trapped, Sibylla waited and watched for an opportunity to make her escape. Ranald had been drinking heavily. It was only a matter of time, before he would have to go and relieve himself. The moment he did, she would sneak away. Happily, it wasn’t long before he turned to her with a sloppy smile and a murmured excuse.

  The moment he left the hall, she rose.

  Domnall laid a hand on her arm. “Where are ye going?”

  “I dinna feel well.”

  “Ye canna leave,” Domnall scowled. “’Tis rude.”

  “And Ranald’s touching my person isna?”

  “Ye ken how ’tis, Sibylla. Ranald fancies ye and I need his help.”

  “If ’tis so important, why dinna ye marry him!” Jerking out of his grasp, she spun for the door.

  *

  Alex arrived in the great hall just as Ailis had begun to sing. Not wishing to interrupt her performance, he stood at the threshold, taking in the scene.

  The great hall had been swept clean and glowed with oil lamps and blazing torches that filled the room with welcoming warmth and light. The long trestle tables were laden with baskets of fruits and cheeses, freshly baked breads, and roasted meats—suckling pig, beef, venison, and grouse. Servants scurried from table to table with pitchers of mead, heather ale, cider, and blackberry wine.

  Sibylla was seated at the high table, dressed in finery and looking every inch the noble lady. Her appearance only made him more acutely aware of their social divide. As the son of Malcolm Mac Alexander, he would have been her equal. He could have paid court to her. They might have wed. He, once more, felt cheated. But soon, he hoped, justice would prevail.

  When the song ended, he made his way toward her table, hoping for a word with her, but she was too engaged with Ranald to notice. To his consternation, Somerled’s son was making no secret of his admiration of her. Sibylla flashed Ranald an impish smile and his stomach knotted. Damn it! Was she flirting with him?

  Jerking his gaze away, Alex made a detour to an open place at the next table with Sibylla’s younger half-siblings, Duncan and Donata, and their kinsman, Kenneth. Flinging himself onto the bench, Alex poured a generous portion of ale and drank it down in a few full gulps. He’d never known jealousy before but, in this
moment, it was very much alive, like a knife twisting inside his gut.

  “What’s amiss?” Kenneth asked.

  “Naught’s amiss,” Alex snapped and refilled his cup.

  “Do ye go with us to light the banefire at Cnoc Croit na Maoile?” Kenneth asked.

  “Banefire?” Alex frowned. “The kirk condemns such Pagan practices.”

  “What is the harm?” Kenneth replied. “’Tis an age old midsummer tradition, and Domnall says Somerled’s men will expect it.”

  “So he’d defy the kirk just to impress them?” Alex remarked.

  Kenneth shrugged. “Domnall desires the alliance.” He nodded to where Domnall sat with Ranald and Sibylla, adding with a grin. “And happily for him, Ranald desires Sibylla.”

  Ranald now held a lock of Sibylla’s hair between his fingers. Alex almost choked on his ale. It was one thing to know in his head that they could not be together, but quite another to actually see her with someone else.

  He’d done his best to keep up a front while the others feasted and reveled, but he’d had enough. He could take no more. The sooner he was gone from here, the better. Alex drained his drink and stood, but as he made his way to the door, he nearly collided with Sibylla.

  “Alexander!” she cried with a look of surprise. “I have been looking for ye all eve.”

  “I only arrived a short time ago,” he said.

  “Why did ye nae make yerself kenned?” she asked, looking hurt.

  “Ye were otherwise occupied.” It was an effort not to sound accusing. He had no right to judge her, but the fangs of jealousy still gnawed at his insides.

  “’Twas nae by my choice,” she said. “My brother bade me play hostess. ’Tis nae a role I favor.”

  “But nevertheless, one ye were born to,” Alex said.

  “Aye,” she sighed. “So my brother reminds me.” She bit her lip. “He would see me wed soon.”

  “To Ranald?” Alex asked.

  “’Tis my brother’s wish.”

  “But nae yer own?” he couldn’t help asking.

  “Nae.” She replied. “There is another I would have… if only he would ask me. Ye could make a home here, Alexander… if ye wanted one.”

  Her suggestion made his chest ache. He wanted nothing more than a real home, but it was impossible. “Sibylla, there’s something I must tell ye.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m leaving Kilmuir on the morrow.”

  “Leaving?” Her eyes flickered. “Ye mean ye go with MacAedh to drive the livestock?”

  “Aye, but I willna return after.”

  Her brows drew together. “B-but why? Have ye already decided to take the vows?”

  “I havena decided anything yet.” He hesitated to reveal more but she deserved an explanation. “I go south to look for my family.”

  She looked puzzled. “But I thought ye had no family?”

  “That’s what I was led to believe,” he said. “But that might nae be so. I dinna ken if any of my family still live, but if there is any chance… I have to find out, Sibylla. My future depends upon it.”

  “How long will ye be gone?” she asked, her gaze searching his.

  “I willna be back,” he replied. His heart wrenched as her eyes clouded. “I care for ye, Sibylla. More than I can say, but we canna be together. If I returned to Kilmuir, ’twould only make things harder for both of us.”

  He wished it could be different, but he’d made his decision—he must not return to Kilmuir. Returning would only risk his integrity and Sibylla’s virtue.

  “B-but I dinna understand. I thought we…” She glanced down at her hands. “Ye say ye care for me, yet ye just stand by and do nothing?”

  “I canna ask ye to wait for me.”

  “So ye’d let me wed another?”

  “How can I prevent it?” he asked. Alex told himself he’d chosen the noble path. Did not the greatest love of all only become manifest through self-sacrifice? “I canna make ye a promise that I might ne’er be in a position to fulfill. Leaving is the honorable thing to do.”

  “Nae,” Sibylla answered with a stifled sob. “My brother was right… ye have no honor.”

  Chapter Eleven

  On the verge of tears, Sibylla fled the great hall. Why did she care so much for Alexander? She could make no sense of her feelings for a man who could not possibly love her as she loved him. If he did, he would go to her uncle and fight for her. But he seemed all too willing to just give up without even trying. How she could love such a weak man?

  But deep down, she knew it was strength rather than weakness that drove his actions. Alexander was a man of integrity who would only be directed by his own moral code—and that was exactly why she loved him. She understood his need to confront his past, and desperately hoped that, once he had the answers he sought, he would make his way back to her.

  Too distraught to return to her bedchamber, Sibylla climbed the staircase leading to the ramparts, her second favorite place when she needed solitude to sort out her thoughts. The sky was clear and black as onyx, making the countless stars appear as tiny explosions of light. Staring up at the heavens, she filled her lungs with the salt-tanged and heather-scented air, and gazed out at the glittering waters of the firth.

  She wondered what would happen after Alexander left. Was she also destined to leave Kilmuir for places unknown? Would she soon be forced to wed the virtual stranger she’d entertained in the great hall? To share his life… and his bed?

  Her stomach tightened at the notion. She’d given her heart to Alexander. She couldn’t bear the thought of giving her body to any other.

  “Ah! How fortunate I am to find ye alone,” a deep, rumbling voice startled her out of her thoughts.

  She spun with a gasp, her heart leaping until she realized it wasn’t Alexander. “Ranald? Did ye follow me?”

  He flashed a wolfish smile. “Dinna ye want me to?”

  “Nae. I only came up here for some fresh air, but I’m ready to go back now.”

  “So soon?”

  She sensed danger but tried not to show her unease. Her pulse sped as he moved closer and skirted a large, callused hand up her arm. The light touch made her shiver but it wasn’t pleasure that made her body react. She was beginning to fear.

  “I will soon be missed,” she replied tightly.

  “Nae until the feast ends,” he replied. “We have time to ken one another better.”

  “There is little point when we will probably ne’er see each other again after this.”

  “On the contrary. I have reason to believe we will be seeing a great deal of one another.”

  “W-what do ye mean?”

  “I came on my faither’s behest to negotiate a pact with yer brother but, having seen his sister, I am tempted to bind my own alliance…” He moved in to trap her body against the wall. “With ye.”

  “I still dinna ken what ye are saying.” Sibylla struggled to think of a tactful way to extricate herself. She couldn’t afford to do anything that might alienate him from her brother.

  “I told yer brother Somerled will look for a marriage to bind the pact between our clans. Surely ye understand how such things are arranged? Let us seal our bargain with a kiss.”

  “There is no bargain.” She turned her face away as his hot drink-tainted breath assailed her nostrils. He was drunk and drunkenness had made him far too bold. “I’m already pledged to another,” she lied.

  He pulled back with a frown. “Domnall said ye were free.”

  “Domnall doesna ken everything,” she said. “’Tis a secret understanding.”

  “Aye?” he challenged. “Then I would ken my rival’s name.”

  Sibylla opened her mouth to answer but promptly realized she’d trapped herself. She couldn’t name Alexander. He had made no such promise.

  “Ah,” he laughed. “’Tis but maidenly qualms.” He pressed his hardness against her as his mouth came down on hers. Unlike Alex, there was no tenderness in his kis
s, not hesitancy when his tongue invaded her mouth. He had come to plunder and pillage, and Sibylla was powerless against him. “It only hurts the first time,” he said. “Ye will soon come to enjoy it.”

  In seconds, he’d freed himself from his leather trews. She tried to scream but she could barely breathe. In other times, there might have been a sentry on these walls, but men were in short supply. Even if she could cry out, it was unlikely anyone would hear her. She squeezed her eyes shut on a whimper. There was no use fighting him. He would effortlessly overcome her.

  Please, God, let it be quick.

  *

  Alex left the great hall shortly after Sibylla. Kenneth and the others had departed the castle with lit torches, bent on making the long trek to Cnoc Croit na Maoile to spend the next hours in Pagan revelry, but Alex was in no mood for any kind of celebration, let alone such undisguised devilry. And the very thought of returning to his room was suffocating. Instead, he sought to sort out his thoughts with a long, solitary walk on the ramparts.

  Carefully navigating the narrow, stone stairs in the darkness, Alex seated himself on a parapet and watched the slow progress of flickering lights bound for Cnoc Croit na Maoile. Although he couldn’t approve of their celebration, deep down, he understood their need to hold to old Highland traditions. Much had been taken from the people of Kilmuir. Over the past weeks, he’d developed a kinship to this place and these people that he was reluctant to let go of. Could there ever be a permanent place for him here?

  The chapel had no priest.

  He’d told Sibylla that marriage was impossible but, in fact, only the Catholic Church forbade the marriage of priests. Many clergy in the Highlands ignored that particular restriction, believing ’twas better to wed than to burn with passion—and his passion for Sibylla burned as hotly as the distant banefire. Was this God’s will or the devil’s temptation? He knew not.

  But he had no doubt that he loved her.

  He would lay down his life for her without a second thought. Her stricken expression made him heartsick, and her harsh parting words in the great hall had nearly rent him in twain.