Sybil could not help returning his smile because that was sweet of him to say. Of course, he’d change his mind if she became his wife.
How she dreaded telling him that she would travel no farther with him. She hated to hurt her Highlander’s pride, but it was that or marry him—a perfectly ludicrous notion.
She had grown quite fond of him, but she was realistic enough to realize that she was ill-prepared to live in a rude hovel amidst the wild heathen of the Highlands. While that life had its appeal—her gaze drifted over Rory’s fine form—she would feel like a fish out of water.
Worse, Rory would come to regret being tied to a useless wife. Not that she was without skills, but the ones she had were the sort that would help her husband negotiate safely through court intrigues, not steal cattle or whatever it was that Highlanders did.
***
Rory saw no extra guards on the wall or other sign that the castle was on alert and entertaining a party of the queen’s men. He and Sybil proceeded to the gate mounted, ready for a quick escape.
When the guards recognized Sybil and greeted her with respect, Rory was relieved that they did not shout and sound the alarm. Still, he noticed their exchange of nervous glances. And none of the guards offered to escort them into the hall, as if Sybil was bad news they did not wish to deliver to their laird.
If Sybil was aware of the unease her arrival caused, she did not show it. She slid to the ground without waiting for Rory to help her dismount and strode toward the keep as if ready to do battle.
An old man emerged from the stable to take Curan. When he saw Sybil, a smile spread across his weathered face.
“Lady Sybil!” he called, stopping her in her tracks. “’Tis a delight to see you.”
“And you, Thomas.” Sybil took the old man’s hands and kissed his cheek.
“Still stirring up trouble and breaking hearts?” he asked, and gave her a broad wink. “Of course ye are.”
“I’ve become exceedingly dull and well behaved,” she said with feigned innocence.
“Not a chance of that.” He turned to Rory. “I’ve know this lassie since she was a babe in her mother’s arms. Always was my favorite.”
“Is my sister here?”
“Aye.” The old man’s expression turned somber. “It will do Lady Margaret a world of good to see ye.”
Rory gave the old man a few quick instructions regarding Curan’s care, then caught up with Sybil, who was marching toward the keep again.
“Even if your sister’s husband can be trusted,” Rory said as he took her elbow, “ye cannot vouch for every member of this household. Ye cannot tell anyone here who I am or where we’re going.”
She gave him a furtive sideways glance that made him wonder again what she was not telling him, but he did not have time to dwell on that now.
As they entered the castle’s hall, Rory scanned the room for danger. A finely dressed young woman sat by the hearth stitching. When she saw them, she leaped to her feet, spilling her embroidery to the floor.
“Margaret!” Sybil squealed, and she would have run across the hall to meet her sister if Rory had not kept a firm grip on her elbow.
Sybil cast him an impatient look, but he intended to remain near the door where they had a chance of escaping if need be.
Sybil’s eyes shone as her sister glided toward them. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Her sister was golden-haired, willowy, and contained, in marked contrast to Sybil’s black hair, voluptuous curves, and exuberant sensuality. Margaret was indeed a beauty, but she did not stir his blood like Sybil did.
***
“What a happy surprise!” Margaret said as they threw their arms around each other.
“I can feel your bones,” Sybil said, leaning back to her sister. “Have ye been ill?”
“I’m with child,” Margaret said, a smile lighting her eyes.
Sybil’s throat felt tight. Margaret had lost her last babe, and she so wanted a child.
“I’m happy for ye,” Sybil said, hugging her sister again.
“Who’s this handsome man ye brought with ye?” Margaret whispered in her ear, then she released her and turned to Rory. “Welcome to our home, sir.”
“This is Rory—” Sybil began.
“MacDonald,” he said, and bowed. “Rory MacDonald.”
Margaret would never be rude, but she shifted her gaze to Sybil, clearly expecting to be told more about her guest than his name.
“I was forced to leave our uncle’s house in haste,” Sybil said. “Rory helped me escape.”
“Escape?” Margaret’s hand went to her throat. “What’s happened?”
“The charges of treason against our brothers and uncle have not been dropped, as we had hoped,” Sybil said, attempting to break the news gently.
“God help us, they’ve been charged with treason?” Margaret’s face went white.
“They were charged months ago.” As Sybil had suspected, Margaret’s husband had told her nothing of it. The hateful man treated Margaret as if she was a child. “We expected the trouble to pass, as it did the last time, but it did not.”
“This is because of the battle in Edinburgh, isn’t it?” Margaret shuddered. “That was a terrible day. The streets were littered with bodies.”
Sybil had forgotten that Margaret had been caught in the city when the enmity between the Douglas and Hamilton factions exploded into the street fight. That was when Margaret had miscarried. Sybil took her sister’s hand and squeezed it.
“What about the Hamiltons?” Margaret asked. “They were equally responsible for what happened that day.”
“I expect Regent Albany chastised them in private for their role,” Sybil said. “But publicly, he laid the blame squarely on the Douglases.”
“But why?” Margaret’s puzzled expression reminded Sybil that her sister knew little of court politics.
“’Tis the queen’s influence,” Sybil said.
“She’s that angry with Archie?”
“Oh, aye,” Sybil said with a laugh. “She utterly loathes him. Her brother, King Henry of England, only made it worse by sending letters—and then a priest—to lecture her on her duty to be a loyal wife. That was pouring salt on her wounded pride.”
“I almost feel sorry for her,” Margaret said.
“Sybil is in danger,” Rory interrupted. “Excuse my bluntness, but can we rely on your household to keep this visit a secret?”
“Of course!” Margaret said. “Sybil will be safe here with us.”
Rory darted a piercing glance at Sybil. Before she could discern why, she was distracted by a voice behind her that made her cringe.
“Well, if it isn’t the scheming court beauty herself.”
Her brother-in-law. Sybil barely had time to wipe the sour expression from her face before he joined them.
“Ye look well, Sybil,” he said, raking his gaze over her.
His brazen assessment made her want to plant her dirk between his eyes. Though he was only two and twenty, he already had three children that Sybil knew of who were born on the wrong side of the blanket, which made Margaret suffer all the more for her childlessness.
“Congratulations,” Sybil said. “Ye must be pleased to have a child on the way.”
“This one will be a boy, and I’ll not tolerate losing him,” he said. “Praise God the two Margaret lost were only girls.”
Margaret drew in a sharp breath as if she’d been slapped. As her sister blinked back tears, Sybil felt such an explosion of rage at William’s callousness that she truly would have taken her dirk to him if she did not believe that would upset Margaret still more. Rory had moved away to lean against the wall in a relaxed pose, but his clenched fists told her he felt the same way she did about William.
“May this be the first of many healthy children,” Sybil said, taking Margaret’s hand between both of hers. “No woman will make a better mother.”
And no man will make a more miserable father. She glared at W
illiam, who filled his cup from a flagon on the table and showed no concern for the anguish he caused his wife.
“If Archie thought it was safe for ye to travel, that is good news,” William said, lifting his cup to Sybil in a mock toast. “I take it he’s back in Regent Albany’s good graces.”
Before Sybil could blurt out the news, Margaret intervened.
“My dear, I’ve neglected to introduce our guest,” Margaret said. “This is Rory MacDonald, who very kindly escorted Sybil to us.”
“Archibald sent ye here with a Highlander?” William shouted at Sybil. “Have you and your brother lost all sense of propriety?”
“We did not travel alone,” Rory said in hard tone that sounded as though he was dangerously affronted. “I brought a guard of twenty men. My men are camped a mile up the river.”
Sybil was a trifle disconcerted to discover that Rory lied under pressure as well as she did.
“What you need,” William said, wagging his finger in her face, “is a husband who will make ye behave as ye should.”
Usually it took years for a man to become such a pompous ass, but William had achieved it young. For her sister’s sake, Sybil bit back a reply.
“Please, William, not in front of our guest,” Margaret said under her breath.
William ignored his wife and continued questioning Sybil. “Ye brought no maidservant?”
“Under the circumstances, I gave no thought at all to propriety.”
“Ye never concern yourself with priority,” he snapped. “What’s your excuse this time?”
“My life was hanging by a thread,” Sybil said. “The queen’s men were shooting arrows at us.”
William’s eyes bulged and his arm halted midair with his cup halfway to his mouth.
“Ye haven’t heard yet?” Sybil asked. “Our brothers and uncle are banished for treason and have fled to France.”
She took a great satisfaction in shocking William, who spilled his wine down the front of his tunic, until she saw the distraught look on her sister’s face. As usual, Margaret attempted to smooth the tension.
“What a poor hostess I am,” Margaret said, and gestured for them to sit at the table. “You two must be hungry and thirsty after your journey. I’ll send for refreshments at once.”
“You’re most gracious,” Rory said with a bow, “but I must see to my horse. He was favoring a leg.”
Sybil had not noticed anything wrong with Curan’s leg. When she turned and caught the look on Rory’s face, her heart stuttered.
He knew. Oh, God help her, he knew she was not leaving with him, that she had never intended to. Something she had said or done had given away the truth.
“We’re so very grateful to ye for bringing Sybil safely to us,” Margaret said. “I hope you’ll stay with us for at least a few days.”
“You’re kind to offer, Lady Margaret, but I have a long journey ahead.” He leaned over Margaret’s hand and kissed it. “I must be on my way.”
He was leaving so soon? Sybil’s heart pounded. She was not prepared to bid him goodbye.
His tone was deceptively gentle when he spoke to Margaret. When he turned toward Sybil, his eyes were so full of anger that she sucked in her breath. He had to walk by her to reach the door. When he paused in front of her and leaned close, she had to fight not to take a step back. She could almost see sparks in his eyes.
“If ye have something to tell me before I go,” he said between his teeth, “I’ll be in the stable.”
***
Rory paced the stable. He was seething. Did Sybil think he was a fool? Aye, she did. Because he was one. He should have guessed the reason she insisted he take her to her sister’s. His promised bride never intended to travel any farther with him, never intended to fulfill their marriage contract.
The suspicion had been at the back of his mind, nagging him, but he ignored it, did not want to believe it. But when her sister thanked him for delivering her and Sybil did not say nay, she’d only come to say goodbye, he knew the truth.
Here he was, risking his life to take her to safety, and all she wanted was to leave him.
He pounded his fist against the wall, scaring the horses. Why was he so angry? He had come on this journey in the hope of being released from the marriage contract. This was what he wanted…wasn’t it?
The problem was that over the last two days, he had become accustomed to the idea of Sybil as his wife. After spending every hour of that time in his company, she, on the other hand, had found him wanting. That stung.
Not that he was without doubts as to the wisdom of the match. He had plenty. Sybil was the wrong sort of wife for him. She was a Lowlander, for God’s sake, and unsuited to the life she would have had with him. She had no dowry, no connections of value to him or his clan.
And yet it made no difference to him what heartache or trouble lay ahead. Now that they were parting, he realized that Sybil was the woman—the only woman—he wanted for his wife.
Curan snorted and stamped his foot, showing his displeasure at being ignored. Rory patted the horse’s neck and rubbed his nose.
“Ach, the lass used and made a fool of me.” Rory rested his forehead against Curan’s. “I know, I vowed I’d never let that happen again.”
This was a hard thing for a man to forgive. But as his anger cooled, he understood why Sybil had done it. After she was betrayed by her own brothers, men she had known and loved her whole life, it was no wonder that she was unwilling to entrust her fate to a man she barely knew. And how could he blame her for not wanting to be separated from the rest of her family?
Or for not wanting him.
***
Sybil left the hall as soon as she could get away and hurried to the stable. She had almost reached it when a figure stepped out of the darkness.
“Thomas!” she said, when she realized it was the old stable master. “Ye nearly frightened me to death.”
“You’ll need your courage if you’re going in there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “He’s calmed down, but I’d mind my step, lassie.”
Sybil swallowed.
“Just approach him slow and easy,” Thomas advised, “like ye would a wild horse that’s stopped rearing but is still rolling his eyes and pawing at the ground.”
“Thank you, Thomas,” Sybil said, because he meant well.
Her heart was beating so fast that she felt lightheaded as she paused outside the stable door. She had to face Rory. She owed him that, so she stepped inside.
Her breath caught when she saw him at the far end of the stable brushing Curan in the glow of a lantern. With each sweep of his arm, the muscles of his back rippled beneath his shirt, and the light caught in glints of red and gold in his hair.
She sensed he knew she was there, but he took his time saddling Curan. When he finally turned around, she found she could not meet his gaze and fixed hers on the straw that covered the dirt floor as he crossed the stable to her.
He stood before her, waiting. Now that it was time to tell Rory that she was not going with him to be his wife because the contract was false, she could not summon the words to say it.
“Look at me,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. “I know what ye want.”
What she wanted and what was the wise course were two different things. “I… I—”
“Shh, you’ve no need to tell me lies or make excuses,” he said, touching his finger to her lips. “’Tis a simple matter. Ye want to be released from our marriage contract. Ye don’t wish to be my wife.”
Rory kissed her forehead, a gesture so tender that it made her eyes sting.
She reminded herself of the many reasons it would be foolish to go with him. Rory must see as many obstacles as she did. He had waited eight years to claim her for a reason.
Rory had only come for her out of a sense of obligation. Admirable as it was for a man to honor his obligations in these challenging times, he had won her at a game of cards, not chosen her because he felt
a bond of affection.
The obligation he thought he had to her was a lie. It would be wrong to hold him to it.
A tear slipped down her cheek. He caught it with his finger.
“I thank ye for that wee bit of regret,” he said, with a heartbreaking smile.
He accepted that she would not be his wife. She saw no point in hurting his pride further by telling him he had been duped by her brothers.
“I hope ye find a more suitable lass,” she said. “One who can make ye happy.”
“The prospects for that don’t look bright,” he said. “But I’ll be content.”
***
Content? That was a bald lie. He might have been content with another woman as his wife before he imagined sharing his life with this lively, raven-haired lass with the sparkle in her eyes. But not now.
He could refuse to release Sybil from their marriage contract. Instead, he would hold on to what pride he had left. He would return to his clan and take a bride who would wed him out of duty or because she needed his protection.
He could accept that sort of marriage with someone else, but not with Sybil.
God’s bones, he wanted Sybil to choose him, to want him for himself, to wed him because she cared for him. Nothing less would satisfy him. How had he developed such a weakness for her in so short a time?
He knew damn well it would be a mistake to kiss her farewell. And yet his body was pulled to hers like the tide to the shore. He could not stop himself. As he leaned down, she rose on her toes to meet him.
One taste of her lips, and the word mine pulsed through him. Desire surged through his veins, robbing him of his reason, when she leaned into him and kissed him back. He wanted so badly to sweep her into his arms and carry her away.
He broke the kiss while he still could.
Ach, he was a fool. Knowing he was did not make leaving her any easier. He was packed and ready, so he took Curan by the reins and left the stable. He felt Sybil’s eyes on his back but he did not turn around.
His heart felt heavier with each step as he crossed the dark bailey to the torch-lit gate. The guards wordlessly opened the gate for him. The wind howled as he stepped into the black night on the other side.
The heavy oak gate banged behind him with a finality that reverberated in his soul.
CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) Page 6