CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2)

by Margaret Mallory

  Without another word, he left her.

  “Ye made vows to me, Rory Ian MacKenzie,” she said, though he could no longer hear her, “and I’m holding ye to them.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Rory’s mood did not improve as the days wore on. He could avoid seeing Sybil most of the day, but he still spent his nights on the floor. He was so tired from lack of sleep that he did not notice Alex approach him in the courtyard until his brother was beside him.

  “I’m surprised to see ye out of bed,” Alex said, slapping him on the back. “You’re still a newlywed.”

  “I’m also a chieftain with a great deal to accomplish.” Rory was not telling his blissfully married younger brother that he had no reason to stay in bed, which was still a pallet on the damned floor.

  “I see,” Alex said. “Things are not well with you and that lovely wife of yours?”

  “They’re fine,” Rory snapped. Alex was always too perceptive.

  “That bad?” Alex said. “What have ye done?”

  It irritated him that his brother assumed he was at fault. “I’m not prepared to discuss my wife with ye.”

  “I’m a priest. I could hear your confession…”

  “Alex,” he ground out. “Shouldn’t ye be at home with your own wife when she’s about to give birth?

  “My wife assures me all is well, but I’ve come to fetch Grizel to have a look at her just the same,” he said. “If ye can spare him, Malcolm will come with us.”

  “Of course.”

  “While I’m here, Catriona and Grizel asked me to knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours,” Alex said. “I’m sure ye can work this out with Sybil. Ye do know that with women ye have to talk?”

  “I’ve nothing to say to her,” Rory said. “And there’s nothing she can say to me that will make a damned bit of difference.”

  “Ach, Rory.” His brother’s tone turned serious. “That’s no way to resolve it. But if ye don’t want to talk, try taking her to bed.”

  Sybil had made it clear that was unlikely to happen anytime soon.

  “Go home,” Rory said, and stomped off.

  That night he lay awake again with his feet hanging off the too-small pallet and stared at the ceiling, while every fiber of his being was keenly aware of Sybil on the bed.

  He could hear her breathing. He could almost feel her heartbeat.

  It had been a week since their wedding night. Seven long days and longer nights. They could not go on like this much longer. At least he couldn’t. Celibate and married. He’d gotten the worst of both.

  His body did not care that Sybil had deceived him or that he could never trust her again. Every muscle was tense, and his cock was rock hard. He wanted her so badly his teeth ached.

  She was his wife. His bride. He needed to beget an heir. They had a duty, for God’s sake. Given Sybil’s passionate nature, she had to give in sometime. But how long would it take?

  Sybil sighed, and he imagined her breath on his skin. Could his cock get any harder? He’d never sleep like this. He threw off the blanket and got up.

  “Rory?”

  Desire drenched him at the sound of the soft voice calling his name.

  “Aye?” He was afraid to hope. Tension thrummed through him as he stood waiting.

  He stopped breathing when he heard her get out of bed and walk lightly across the floor to him. Then she brushed her fingertip along the side of his hip, and he thought he would explode.

  “Ach, Sybil,” he said. “Tell me this means you’ll let me have ye.”

  ***

  Denying Rory her bed had not gained Sybil what she wanted and made them both miserable. She could only hope that by giving in to passion she could break through his barriers and force him to see her. In this battle to win back his heart, she feared he would break hers again. But she had to take the risk.

  Because she simply could not bear another night without his touch.

  “Sybil?” he said in a strained voice.

  “Aye.” She barely got out the word before he hauled her up against him and crushed his mouth against hers.

  The pent-up hunger of the last week exploded between them like grease on a hot fire. Their kisses were bruising, and his hands demanding as he backed her against the wall. When he lifted her off her feet, she clasped her legs around his hips. Her heart was racing, and her chest felt too tight to breathe. When she broke her mouth away, he sucked on the side of her neck. His hands were everywhere, prodding, kneading, squeezing.

  At last. At last. She wanted him so much.

  “I need to taste you.” He dropped to his knees and gripped her hips.

  She gasped as he thrust his tongue over the sensitive nub between her legs. No slow build, no teasing caresses. He was relentless with his mouth and tongue, circling and sucking. She leaned her head back against the wall, swamped by the raw intensity of the sensations coursing through her body. When she did not think she could stand any more, he began thrusting his finger inside her while he continued his sensuous assault with his mouth and tongue.

  Her release came with such force that her knees gave way. He gave her no time to recover. In one smooth motion, he rose to his feet, wrapped her legs around him, and thrust inside her. His mouth ravaged hers, and she dug her nails into his shoulders as the tension inside her quickly peaked again.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” She came in a rolling release as Rory pounded against her and spilled his seed on a last anguished cry.

  It was over so quickly.

  She was breathless and her heart pounded in her ears. After climaxes that left her weak and shaking, she could not say he had failed to satisfy her.

  Yet when he pulled out of her, she felt bereft. There had not been one tender moment, not one whispered endearment. It was a physical act, the satisfying of a need, and it left her feeling hollow inside.

  Rory had not spoken her name. She could have been anyone.

  With no warning, she burst into tears. It was the last thing she wanted to do. When she tried to hide her face, Rory held her arms away.

  He looked down at her with wild, feverish eyes. “Ye wanted it as much as I did. Ye came to me. Ye said aye.”

  “I want it like it was before,” she whispered, and touched his cheek. “I love you.”

  “That’s not fair, Sybil. Lie to me about anything else, but not that.” He backed away from her, shaking his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

  ***

  Rory had been gone for days when a priest arrived at the castle leading a mule.

  Sybil only knew where Rory had gone because Catriona told her he was taking her to Killin to retrieve something hidden in the barn and to get the local men started on rebuilding the house.

  Sybil thought nothing of seeing the stranger in priestly robes at supper that evening. Churchmen were always welcomed and given provisions when they stopped at noble houses on their journeys. She felt too low to engage him in conversation, as she usually would.

  Long after she had blown out her candles and gone to bed, there was a knock at her door. Her first thought was that something had happened to Rory, but when she flung the door open, the strange priest was there.

  “I was sent to give this to you.” He spoke in Lowland Scots, the language of home, which she had not heard in weeks.

  She took the folded parchment he handed her. When she turned it over and recognized the seal, her hand went to her throat.

  She glanced up and down the dimly lit stairwell. “You’d best come inside while I read it.”

  She quickly lit a candle, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment. A second message was enclosed inside the first.

  She glanced up at the messenger. “How did ye get this?”

  “Your uncle is my bishop,” he said. “As soon as he learned where you were, he sent me to deliver it to you.”

  Edinburgh

  My dear niece,

  Several weeks ago I received the enclosed message for you, along with a request to make
the necessary arrangements. Word has just reached me that you have taken refuge at Castle Leod. The man who carries this missive will take you to Inverness to board a ship bound for Calais. I have sacrificed precious funds to arrange your passage so that you may join your brothers in France.

  The signature at the bottom was indeed her uncle’s. She opened the second message that was enclosed in the first. Tears stung her eyes when she saw the familiar handwriting. While she was still angry with her brothers, she had not realized until this moment that she also missed them.

  George had scrawled his note and signed it with his familiar but illegible signature—the very one that had started her on her journey with Rory.

  It distressed me greatly to leave you behind. I took comfort in knowing that if you were ever truly in danger, there were always men willing to play the hero for you. But a wild Highlander? That was unexpected, but then, you always did like an adventure. I daresay you’ll entertain us for hours with the tale.

  You will adore Paris. I predict you’ll have all the men at the French court falling at your feet within a week. We could use your help in gaining support.

  With great affection from your loving brother,

  G

  Archie had added a line at the bottom in his elegant hand.

  Gather what jewels and other valuables you can and come to Paris. – A

  Fighting angry tears, she read the letter again. No apology. No expression of concern for her safety. And her escape from the queen’s clutches through dangerous lands with a stranger was an adventure?

  “Lady Sybil,” the priest said, “are you ready to leave for the ship?”

  She ought to go. Rory did not want her here. He and the MacKenzies would be better off if he took a different wife. But she did not want to go. Not to Paris. Not to her brothers.

  Nor anywhere that Rory was not.

  “Thank my uncle, but tell him I cannot leave,” she said. “At least not yet.”

  “Are ye certain, m’lady? If ye can change your mind, the ship doesn’t set sail for a week.” The priest asked for ink and quill, then wrote the name of the ship and the date it sailed on the bottom of her uncle’s message. “Ye know how to get to Inverness?”

  “Aye.” She remembered Rory telling her one could sail there from Beauly. “But I won’t come.”

  After the priest left, she put the ink and quill back in the drawer where she kept her drawings. She hesitated, then tucked the messages underneath them.

  CHAPTER 33

  When Sybil learned that Rory had returned while she was down in the kitchens speaking with the cook, she went looking for him. Patience was not one of her virtues, and it was past time he forgave her. She was determined to find a way to mend things between them. She had to try. Despite how much he had hurt her, she missed him terribly.

  As she started past the door to an empty chamber, she heard someone moving inside and peered in. Her husband and his sister were leaning over a table staring at the pages of an open book. Both wore intense, puzzled expressions.

  The pair looked up as she entered the room. When Rory’s gaze locked on hers, she knew he was also remembering the last time they saw each other—both the violence of their passion and how he’d left her with the flush of pleasure still on her skin and tears in her eyes. From his worried frown, she thought perhaps she had broken through his barriers that day after all.

  Or perhaps he just feared she would start weeping again. He need not worry about that. She did falter for a moment, but then she drew herself up and put on a pleasant smile.

  “You two look perplexed by that book,” she said. “Perhaps I can help?”

  “Nay,” Rory said at the same time Catriona said, “Aye.”

  Sybil chose the response she wanted and joined them at the table. The book looked like a ledger, with items written in neat columns. A second book was under it.

  “Can ye read?” Catriona asked.

  Sybil nodded. “I take it this ledger is important?”

  “Don’t—” Rory said.

  “Our brother Brian brought these two books—ledgers, as ye call them—to me for safekeeping,” Catriona said. “I’m thinking they must hold a clue as to why he was angry with Hector and rode off to Edinburgh.”

  “Let me take a look,” Sybil said, and squeezed between them.

  This was not how she envisioned winning Rory back, but she knew to take advantage of an opportunity when she saw one. As she ran her finger down the page, she forgot about her problems with Rory and became absorbed in the puzzle.

  “’Tis written in Latin, probably by a scribe,” she said. “This column on the left appears to be a list of names.”

  They were colorful Highlander names that loosely translated into Black-haired Donald, One-eyed Collum, and Handsome Ullium with two wives.

  “This column on the right contains an assortment of items, mostly farm animals and grain.” She read them off as she ran her finger down the column. “One pig. Two geese. Thirty pounds of oats. One chicken.”

  “It’s the ledger of tenants’ payments to the laird,” Rory said, rubbing his jaw. “I wonder what Brian found amiss. He wouldn’t become upset because a tenant held back a chicken.”

  Sybil flipped the book closed to read what was written on the front cover. “It says Eilean Donan.”

  “The ledger is supposed to stay at the castle,” Rory said. “Brian wouldn’t have taken it without good reason.”

  “Brian could read Latin?” Sybil asked.

  “Aye,” Catriona said. “He was good at numbers as well. He should have been a scholar.”

  “Let me study these for a while,” Sybil said. “Perhaps I can figure out what is in them that upset your brother.”

  She pulled up a stool and opened the first page.

  ***

  Rory watched Sybil pore over the page, feeling irritated that he needed her for this. Though he did not trust her, he could at least be certain she was not in league with Hector. When she bit her lip as she worked, his mind drifted to all the times he had kissed those lips.

  But as he watched her, those tantalizing memories were replaced by the image of her the last time he saw her, leaning against the wall after their frenzied passion. It was not her tears that had haunted his days and nights since—he suspected she could turn them on and off at will—but the sadness that had shone in her eyes and weighed down her bright spirit. Now she behaved as if nothing had happened. Which was an act?

  She looked up and seemed surprised to find him and Catriona still in the room.

  “This could take some time,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hand as she returned her attention to the page. “You two should go eat or…something.”

  After an hour, Rory returned, but she did not even look up. Catriona came back with him after supper and brought a platter of food, which Sybil absently munched on as she slowly flipped through the pages. She was working her way through the second ledger now.

  The candles were burning low the third time he and Catriona returned. He was going to insist Sybil stop for the night when she looked up with a glint of victory in her eyes, like a warrior who knows he has won the battle.

  “Ach, your uncle Hector is a wicked man,” she said. “He robbed your brother blind.”

  Rory folded his arms and waited for Sybil to explain.

  “Both these ledgers have lists of animals, bags of grain, and coin for each quarter of the year,” Sybil said, then tapped the ledger on her right with her forefinger. “But the quarterly lists in this second ledger have no men’s names, and the lists are short with large quantities—twenty pigs, twelve goats, and such. I had to add it all up to be certain, but the entries in the second ledger are sums of the entries in the first. So, one pig each from five tenants in the first ledger will be listed as five pigs in the second.”

  “You’re good with figures as well as reading,” Catriona said.

  “My brothers’ tutors thought so,” Sybil said as if this were nothing
and opened the second ledger. “Now I’m getting to the interesting part. This second ledger records what was done with all these pigs and fowl and bags of grain.”

  Rory saw how confident she was and knew she was onto something, but he still had no notion what it was.

  “Some of the stores were kept at Eilean Donan to be consumed at the castle,” she said.

  “What else could be done with geese and oats?” Catriona asked.

  “All the surplus was taken to Edinburgh and sold,” Sybil said. “The coin from the sales there plus any coin originally collected from the tenants was then taken to your uncle’s estate in Gairloch.”

  Rory sat up straight. “To Gairloch? Are ye certain?”

  “Aye, ’tis clear as day once I figured out the pattern,” she said. “Your uncle had an arrangement with an Edinburgh merchant who sold the goods on his behalf. Judging by how the money and goods appear to flow smoothly back and forth, my guess is that this was a well-established arrangement.”

  “What do ye mean by that?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a feminine shrug. “This arrangement has likely gone on for years.”

  “What proof do ye have that the coin was taken to my uncle’s own estate in Gairloch?”

  This was the important part. There was nothing wrong in selling the surplus unless Hector took the money for himself.

  “Let me find the clerk’s notation,” Sybil said, flipping through the pages again. “Ah, here it is. I…, clerk and loyal servant to Sir Hector of Gairloch, this twenty-seventh day of February in the year of our Lord…”

  By the saints, how did she have the patience to wade through such tedious detail for hours? Even if Rory could read, he could not have kept his eyes open.

  “…did place the above recorded amount,” she continued, “into the hands of Big Duncan of the Axe to deliver to Gairloch.”

  “That proves it,” Rory said, stabbing the open ledger with his forefinger. “Duncan is Hector’s most trusted man, and he took the money from the chieftain’s castle at Eilean Donan to Hector’s lands in Gairloch.”