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.
He’d convinced himself he could not make her a promise that he had no assurance that he could keep. Yet, he could have asked her to wait—at least a short while. Nevertheless, he’d told Sibylla that a future together was impossible while the truth was that he didn’t dare to torture himself with the hope of what might never be.
A strange noise caught his attention. A muffled cry followed by a deep throated grunt. The devil was surely doing his work this night! Keeping his gaze averted from the amorous pair, Alex crept stealthily along the ramparts toward the stairs, but paused as the moonlight shone down upon them. There was something disconcertingly familiar about the two forms joined in a lover’s kiss. His breath seized in the moment of recognition. Ranald and Sibylla?
Was it a lover’s tryst? What was she doing? How could Sibylla profess love to him and then throw herself into another man’s arms? Feelings of betrayal and confusion struck him simultaneously. Had she only played with Alex or had she done this just to punish him? His pulse roared in his ears as he tried to make sense of what his eyes had revealed. Whether by deceit or by design, she was here with Ranald.
Jealous rage had his pulse roaring in his ears.
Fearing what he might do if he stayed, Alex spun to leave. He was on the top stair when a frantic whimper called him back. Once more, he froze. Was Sibylla unwilling?
There was only one way to find out.
Alex was on them in three strides. Taking his sgian-dubh in one hand, he grabbed her assailant’s ballocks with the other. “Release her, or I’ll slice them off. Nod if ye understand me.”
Ranald’s head bobbed vigorously. He let her go so abruptly that Sibylla collapsed against the wall. “Ye interfere where ye have no business,” Ranald hissed.
“I would say ye have no business with this lady,” Alex replied. “Sibylla, would ye care to do the honors? Or would ye have me take care of it?” It was all he could do to refrain from emasculating her would-be rapist on the spot. Given the word, he would not hesitate, nor would he grieve his actions.
“Just let him go,” Sibylla responded in a choked voice. “’Tis all a grave misunderstanding.”
“Let him go?” Alex repeated. Was he mistaken? Had he read it all wrong? He’d acted to protect her, but had he really just made a great ass of himself? In confusion, he stepped back, but certainty of reprisal from Ranald kept his weapon hand at the ready.
Eying Alex with disdain, Ranald jerked up his trews. “I am taking Sibylla to wife.”
“To wife?” Alex repeated dumbly. Was it true? His throat constricted as his gaze darted between them. Sibylla appeared ashen and her body shook with tremors. Though he had little experience with women, he did know Sibylla. To his eyes, she had not the look of a willing woman. “Is it so, Sibylla?” he asked softly. “Do ye intend to take this man as yer husband?”
“Nae,” she whispered. “I would nae have such a man were he king of the world.”
“Then why did ye come here with him?” Alex demanded.
“I didna come with him. He followed me.”
“And assaulted ye?” Alex held his gaze on Ranald. He never would have believed himself capable of taking a life, but he suddenly understood the meaning of bloodlust. He shook with it. Alex’s heart pounded in anticipation of a fight. Knowing he was not Ranald’s equal in size, strength, or experience, didn’t matter. He would defend Sibylla with his life.
“He is drunk and kens nae what he does.”
“’Tis no excuse,” Alex replied. “The man must be held accountable for his actions.”
“Nae, Alexander.” She laid her hand on his arm. “There is no harm done. I would let this matter go. Please,” she begged.
Alexander turned back to Ranald. “Ye will depart Kilmuir at sunup or MacAedh will be informed how eagerly ye wooed his niece.”
“Her brother and I have an understanding,” Ranald replied.
“My brother had nae right to speak for me,” Sibylla said. “But if ye feel ill-used, ye can always appeal to my uncle.”
Knowing himself in the wrong, Ranald must have recognized no good could come of it. Ranald’s behavior would be deemed not just an insult to Sibylla, but an act of utter disrespect for the Thane of Kilmuir. MacAedh would have no choice but to answer the insult with his sword.
“Ye are far too much trouble,” Ranald tossed over his shoulder with a glare. “I willna take ye to wife.”
Once he’d skulked off into the shadows, Sibylla collapsed against Alex.
“Thank ye, Alexander,” Sibylla whispered, her body quivering with aftershocks as he held her tightly against his chest. “I begin to think ye my guardian angel. ’Tis the third time ye saved me.”
He took her face in his hands and titled her chin upward. “Because ye canna be trusted to take care of yerself. I begin to think ye need looking after.”
“Aye? But who is there to do it?” she asked. “Ye’ve broken my heart, Alexander.”
She reached down for his hand and placed it on her left breast. “It aches here since ye said ye were leaving.”
“Aye?” Mirroring her actions, he reached for her other hand, and placed it over his own heart. “And mine began aching almost the moment I laid eyes on ye.”
It only took a moment for Alex to realize their hearts were beating in synchrony.
Her widened gaze said she felt it, too.
“Do ye believe in fate, Alexander?” she asked breathlessly.
“I believe in Providence,” he replied. “I believe in the Divine will of God. And I believe He sent me here for a purpose. But ’twas nae for yer brother that I came. He sent me to ye.”
As if reading his mind, Sibylla entwined her arms around his neck. “Are ye saying ye’ve changed yer mind about leaving?”
“Nae. I must go, Sibylla. Please understand that I’ve no choice in the matter. I couldna live with myself if I dinna do this. But I will come back.” He took her face in his hands and softly kissed her lips.
“Will ye speak to my uncle?” she asked.
He nodded. “As soon as the time is right.” He vowed to make his interest in Sibylla known. Come what may. “I promise ye now that if there is any way for us to be together, I will find it.”
Even as he spoke, Sibylla’s grandmother’s prophetic words rang a warning in his mind. From yer loins will spring two sons and many daughters. They will sire two great clans that will spread across the Highlands from east to west… but with this blessing also comes a curse—for yer son’s sons will ever be at odds. Relentlessly, they will make war upon one another—until the verra last drop of blood is shed.
Had the old woman’s madness overtaken him? Or could it all be true? If so, did it matter? Did knowledge of the future change how he felt? It did not. Passion rarely existed without pain. If it meant a future with Sibylla, he’d unhesitatingly accept the one in order to embrace the other.
PART
TWO
I am going the way of all the earth.
Be strong, therefore, and show yourself a man.
–1 Kings 2:1
Chapter Twelve
ALEX AROSE EARLY the next morning in preparation for his journey. Once again, he packed up his meager belongings but this occasion was nothing like the last. He’d left Portmahomack reluctantly, feeling as if it were almost a banishment. Now, he couldn’t imagine returning to the monastery. He was not the same man he was. He would never be the same. Instinct told him, for better or worse, momentous things were about to happen.
As he had done before, Alex wrapped his psalter but, this time, with another intent. Alex then hesitated over the sword. ’T would be a conspicuous weapon in any circumstance, let alone carried by one professing to be a man of the cloth. Moreover, he had no training in how to use it. He had his easily concealable sgian-dubh should he need to defend himself. The sword, however, would be nothing but a liability. His identity would immediately come into question should anyone discover it. He couldn’t take that risk.
He briefly considered leaving it hidden under his mattress but then feared it might be accidentally found. Should he return it to the sepulcher? No, he could not. It was his now. He might never come forth with it, but he still would not give it up. The sword was a crucial connection, indeed his only connection, to his birthright. It must be protected. But what to with it? There was only one person he could trust—Sibylla.
Once packed, Alex retrieved his sgian-dubh from its sheath around his lower leg. With a sigh of resolution, he ran his thumb across the newly-sharpened blade. Like it or not, there was one last thing that must be done to ensure his safe passage.
“I am yer servant, Lord,” he murmured in prayer. “I will go as ye lead me.”
*
SIBYLLA WAS STILL awake and sitting by the window when the first rays of sun broke through the clouds. The events of last night had shaken her to the core. Domnall believed he needed the alliance. Had she destroyed it by rejecting Ranald?
“Sibylla?” Ailis sat up with a yawn. “Ye are already awake?”
“Aye,” Sibylla replied. The questions would be unending if she revealed to Ailis that she’d never even closed her eyes.
“I slept like the dead,” Ailis confessed, adding with a wrinkle of her nose, “too much mead I think. Did ye enjoy the feast?” she asked.
“Aye,” Sibylla replied absently. The bailey stirred to life below her window. The livestock had gathered at the feeding troughs, nudging and butting each other for first chance at the feed. The farm lads scurried forth with feed buckets. The sun had crested, but there was no sign of Ranald and his men. With any luck, he would keep his word and depart. She dearly hoped she would never lay eyes on him again.
“Aye?” Ailis frowned. “Is that all ye have to say?”
“What more do ye expect?” Sibylla asked. “Ye were there also.”
“But I was nae seated half the night with our guest of honor,” Ailis prodded. After a moment she asked, “What do ye think of Ranald?”
“I think he’s an arrogant ass,” Sibylla replied without hesitation.
Ailis smirked. “He is, indeed, verra full of himself… but perhaps he has good reason for conceit.”
“What reason?” Sibylla scoffed.
“He’s braw and handsome, has powerful connections, and has an obvious appreciation of music.”
It was Sibylla’s turn to frown. “Ye canna mean to say ye fancy him?”
“A lass could do far worse,” Ailis replied, absently loosening her plait.
Sibylla couldn’t understand why Ailis had suddenly become so keen on matrimony. “Ailis, if ’tis a husband ye seek, ye would do better to look elsewhere.”
Ailis’ gaze narrowed. “Ye want him for yerself, do ye?”
“Nae,” Sibylla replied. “I just think such a man would nae suit ye.”
“Why nae?” Ailis demanded.
“I dinna think him honorable.”
Ailis stood, hands on hips. “On what basis would ye judge a man’s honor after a mere day’s acquaintance?” she challenged.
Sibylla scrambled for an answer that would satisfy her cousin. Ailis was generally even-tempered but she had a will of steel. “Yesterday when I went spying, we met outside the great hall. He was verra forward in the belief I was a servant.”
“He tried to kiss ye?” Ailis snorted. “He wouldna be the first man to sample a servant’s favors.”
“Nae, Ailis. ’Twas more than that—.”
A commotion from below drew her attention back to the bailey. To her great relief, Somerled’s men were preparing to depart. Domnall was with them. He and Ranald stood away from the others, their heads dipped in what appeared to be a heated exchange. Her brother’s expression grew fierce.
What were they saying? Surely Ranald had not confessed his actions of the night before. Perhaps he didn’t even remember it. As if reading her thoughts, he suddenly looked up at her window. Once more catching her spying, Ranald pierced her with a dark look that told her he remembered all too well.
Sibylla drew back with a shudder. She didn’t expect an apology to be forthcoming, but prayed he would not seek retaliation. She feared for Alexander. Last night, Ranald had been drunk and unarmed, but any other time Alexander would be no match for him. Her heart began beating again when he turned to mount his waiting horse. A few moments later, the men from the Isles departed through the castle gates.
Looking bewildered, Ailis appeared by her shoulder. “What is this?”
“Somerled’s men are leaving,” Sibylla answered.
“Nae!” Ailis gasped. This canna be!” Her visage had paled and her body shook.
Sibylla stared at Ailis in utter incomprehension. “What the de’il is wrong with ye?”
Ailis shut her eyes on a choked whisper. “He promised he would speak to MacAedh.”
“He?” Sibylla asked. “He who?”
“Ranald,” she answered.
Sibylla was so stunned she nearly swallowed her tongue. “Ye canna mean ye agreed to wed Ranald? Surely I dinna hear ye right.”
“Are ye daft?” Ailis asked. “’Tis exactly as I said. Last night at Cnoc Croit na Maoile we agreed to wed.”
“Last night?” Sibylla repeated reeling as if she had gone daft. How could this be so? Had Ranald gone to Ailis at Cnoc Croit na Maoile immediately after molesting Sibylla on the ramparts?
“Aye. At the banefire,” Ailis replied. “Are ye nae happy for me?”
“Happy? Nae, Cousin.” Sibylla vehemently shook her head. “I canna be happy. He is nae worthy of ye.”
Ailis’ brows pulled together in a frown. “Why do ye say such a thing?”
Sibylla bit her lip, wondering how she should reply. Should she tell Ailis what happened? She desperately needed Ailis to understand the kind of man he was. Last night, she’d vowed to maintain her silence as long as Ranald kept his promise to leave. But this changed everything. How could she remain silent and allow her cousin to wed such a callous brute?
“I canna be happy for ye because last night, Ranald tried to claim from me what is nae his to take.”
Ailis’ frown deepened. “I dinna understand. He laid hands on ye?”
“Aye, Ailis. After I left the feast. Ranald followed me up to the parapets… If Alexander hadna come along…”
“Nae!” Ailis violently shook her head. “I dinna believe ye! Ranald came to me last night at Cnoc Croit na Maoile.”
“Ye think I would lie to ye?”
“I dinna ken what to think, but I am promised to Ranald. We pledged ourselves last night.”
“Under the circumstances, ye need nae be bound to the promise,” Sibylla said. “We only need to tell Uncle what transpired.”
Ailis looked away. “I canna do that. It is already done, Sibylla.”
“Done? What do ye mean, it is done?” Understanding struck Sibylla like a slap in the face. “Ye canna mean ye already consummated?”
Ailis’ face flushed deep rose. “’Tis how we sealed the bargain.”
Sibylla shut her eyes on a shudder as the scene from the night before flashed before her eyes. Was this how Ranald had taken his revenge? By ravaging Ailis? Sibylla seized her cousin by the shoulders. “Did he force himself on ye?”
“Nae!” Ailis pushed her away. “He dinna force himself. Ranald would ne’er do such a thing!”
How could Ailis be so blind to his character? “How can ye judge a man’s honor on a mere day’s acquaintance,” Sibylla tossed Ailis’ own words back at her.
“The heart sees more than the eyes,” Ailis replied softly.
Was she so infatuated with Ranald that she would refuse to hear the truth?
“What of Domnall?” Sibylla asked. Only weeks ago, Ailis had confessed her secret feelings for him. “I thought ye loved him. I ne’er would have believed ye so fickle with yer affections.”
“I am nae fickle!” Ailis insisted. “I still love him,” she paused before adding softly. “But he doesna want me.”
Sibylla saw all too well the pain in Ailis eyes. “I dinna ken my brother’s heart,” Sibylla said, “But perhaps he is just nae ready.”
“But I am ready!” Ailis insisted. “I canna wait for what might ne’er be. Ranald will be a fine husband and the marriage can only help Domnall. Do ye nae see? It is as much for Domnall as it is for myself that I agreed to this.” Her eyes took on a lost expression as she gazed out the window. “I dinna understand why Ranald has gone.”
“Ye have been ill-used, Cousin. I fear ye were simply a convenient tool of vengeance. ’Twas his way of getting back at me for rejecting him. We must go to Uncle at once.”
Pulling on her arm, Sibylla steered Ailis toward the door.
“Nae!” Ailis jerked back out of her grasp. “Uncle must ken nothing of this!”
“But we canna let that fiend get away with it!”
“What do ye suppose will transpire if we tell MacAedh?” Ailis asked.
Reckless Scotland: A Scottish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 13