“Your family taught ye all that.” Rory kept his tone light, but he thought it damned shameful the way her family tossed the lass in the snake pit of court politics to serve their interests and then failed to protect her.
“Oh, aye, I know a great many useless things.” She took his flask and drained it, then gave him a broad wink. “But I can pick a lock with the right tool, and that’s something.”
Rory admired how Sybil managed to keep her sense of humor. He was, however, losing his. His bride could not drink enough to cope with having to follow through on their marriage.
Until her plans went awry at Drumlanrig, Sybil had never intended to honor their marriage contract and become his wife. She had used him, just as her family had used her. He told himself that she had only done as she had been taught. And yet it stung.
He’d be a fool to ever trust her.
Exhaustion and whisky were a poor mix, and she sank against his chest with a sigh. That talk he needed to have with her would have to wait until morning. He closed his eyes as he enfolded her in his arms and kissed her hair. Though this Lowlander lass was wrong for him in so many ways, she felt exactly right.
***
Sybil awoke with her head throbbing. She squinted up at the gray, rain-laden sky and wondered why she was sleeping outside…then everything came back in a rush. She was penniless and homeless and on her way to an uncertain life in the wild Highlands.
“How’s your head this morning?” Rory gave her a reassuring smile as he sat beside her and handed her a cup. “Drink this down. It will help.”
As she drank the foul-tasting mixture, she debated whether it would be rude to ask him if they would share his cottage with his cow.
“I know ye came with me because you’re frightened,” Rory said, taking her hand, “and ye have no one else to turn to.”
Sybil lowered her gaze, embarrassed that her circumstances had sunk so low.
“I saw what ye meant about your sister’s husband crushing her spirit,” Rory continued. “I don’t want a wife who feels caged like Margaret does.”
What was he trying to tell her? Was this an excuse for leaving her? If he realized he did not want such an unsuitable wife after all, what would she do now? Though she did not relish the idea of living in a tiny cottage with a cow, she did want to live.
“On MacKenzie lands,” Rory said, “I’ll be able to keep ye safe.”
She swallowed and closed her eyes against the flood of relief that poured through her. He did not mean to desert her after all. In a weak voice, she managed to say, “Thank you.”
“I can do that without our being man and wife,” Rory said.
Sybil snapped her eyes open. She should have known he would disappoint her. Men never acted selflessly.
“If not your wife, just what would I be to ye?” she said. “Your mistress?”
“Ach, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” Rory fixed his gaze on the horizon. “My clan will take ye in and protect ye as my guest for as long as ye need. When the winds shift at court and your brother returns from exile, I’ll return ye to your home. If that’s what ye wish.”
Sybil was too overwhelmed to speak. Why would he do this for her?
“I don’t want ye to be my wife only because ye must to be safe,” he said.
She never cried, and yet tears flooded her eyes. When Rory turned and caught her wiping them away with her hands, his brows shot up.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head and choked out, “This is kind of you.”
“Nay, ’tis not kindness, but selfishness.” He lifted the corner of his plaid and dried her cheeks. “I flatter myself that I deserve a wife who wants me for her husband.”
As she watched him through watery eyes, Sybil was tempted to tell him that she was that woman, that she wanted him for her husband. But she reminded herself that Rory felt honor-bound to protect her only because he had signed his name to a piece of parchment. She could not accept him as her husband without first telling him that it was all a lie, that he owed her nothing. She could not risk that.
“You deserve a devoted wife who loves you with all her heart,” she said.
That kind of love took trust, did it not? Sybil doubted she was capable of it. Time and again, the men closest to her had put their interests before hers.
Nay, she would never let herself trust like that. Even now, despite all Rory had done for her, she was waiting for the moment when the cost of caring for her well-being became too high and he decided to sacrifice her.
When that moment came, she feared it would hurt her even more than her brothers’ betrayal had. It would be a grave mistake to let herself be trapped forever in marriage to a man who could hurt her that much, time and again.
As she faced an unknown future fraught with peril, Sybil was certain of only two things. If she married Rory, she would lose her chance of ever returning home.
And she wanted to go home, to her life as it was before.
She had no notion how many months or years it would take, but her family would eventually return to power. The Douglases always did. Until then, she would do her best to adapt and survive in a harsh land among strangers.
She must also steel herself against the day that would inevitably come when Rory would fail her, and she would have no one to rely on but herself.
CHAPTER 12
You deserve a devoted wife who loves you with all her heart. How in the hell did the lass think it was a comfort to tell a man that? It was just a long way of saying nay.
“Now that we have that settled, I’d better catch us some breakfast so we can be on our way.” Rory braced his hands on his thighs and got to his feet.
He’d be glad when they reached MacKenzie lands and could stop running. They had a fortnight of hard travel before they got there. That should give him time enough to change her mind about being his wife.
“Rest while ye can,” he said when Sybil got up and began rolling up the blanket. “We’ve a long day ahead of us, and many more after that.”
“I can’t have your clansmen thinking of me as a useless Lowlander lady, now can I?” Sybil planted a hand on her nicely rounded hip. “Before we reach your home, I intend to learn to help ye in all the ways a Highland lass would.”
“Such as?” The help he desperately needed involved unrolling that blanket—or backing her up against the nearest tree. His mouth practically watered as his gaze drifted up and down her enticing form.
“I don’t know.” Sybil gave an impatient wave of her hand. “Build a fire, cook.”
Rory raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Give me your flint,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ll have a fire roaring by the time you’re back.”
“Let me show ye how.”
“No need,” she said. “It can’t be that hard, and I’ve seen ye do it.”
Rory admired her confidence, but making a fire from damp moss and twigs was harder than it looked. And he’d had plenty of practice. But he left her to it.
When he returned with a trout, Sybil was coughing from the smoke. Rory sighed inwardly at her pitiful attempt at a fire. The lass was as helpless as a newborn babe. He reminded himself that she had other qualities that were more valuable to him in a wife than her skill at building a fire. Besides her obvious physical appeal, the lass was witty and bright.
When she looked up, he could not help smiling at the smudges and determined expression on her face—and he was sorely tempted to kiss her. Sybil was not one to give up easily, another attribute he admired, though in her case it verged toward stubbornness.
“All right,” she said. “Show me how.”
She paid close attention as he shared the secrets of building a fire on a damp day.
“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Sybil said later as she watched him clean the trout, “about me having the protection of your clan without us marrying.”
When he looked up, her expression was innoce
nt, but something about the way she said it put him on his guard. Taking his time, he set the trout to cooking over the fire before saying, “Aye?”
“Well, it made me wonder,” she said, “aren’t your clansmen expecting ye to bring home a wife?”
“Nay.” Rory could not think of a good way to explain it to her, so he left it at that.
He felt her eyes drilling into him, and he did not believe it was because she was fascinated by his skill at cooking trout.
“Ye didn’t tell your clansmen the reason ye traveled all this way, did ye?” she said, resting her hand on her hip, which he was learning was not a good sign. “No one in your clan knows about the marriage contract.”
Rory turned the trout over while he tried to think of an explanation that would not offend her, but nothing came to him.
“Eight long years, and ye never showed it to a soul,” she said. “Why?”
***
Sybil had wondered why no one told Rory the marriage contract was signed by the wrong brother. Though Archie was the queen’s husband and the king’s stepfather, she had thought perhaps not everyone in that distant part of Scotland where Rory lived knew the Douglas chieftain’s name. Now she realized that no one told Rory the contract was faulty because he never shared it with anyone.
That did not explain, however, why he kept a marriage contract he believed was binding a secret.
“Why?” she repeated.
“As I told ye before, I expected your brother would find a way to avoid honoring the agreement,” Rory said. “I don’t like looking like a fool.”
“I think that when ye returned home,” she said, pinning him with a look, “ye realized ye wanted a wife who would fit into your Highland clan more than ye wanted my dowry.”
Rory shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now.”
His acknowledgment that she would make him an unsuitable wife hurt, though she had told herself as much. She recalled with grim amusement how not very long ago she had thought herself such a prize.
“What about the brother ye mentioned?” she asked. “Ye speak as if the two of ye are close. Surely ye at least told him.”
“Nay,” Rory said.
This struck her as odd indeed. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are ye already married?”
“Nay,” he said again, but this time she heard hesitation in his voice.
“You’d best tell me the truth.” She leaned in front of him and gripped his arm so that he would look at her instead of the damned fish.
“I don’t have a wife.”
He met her gaze and spoke in a firm tone. All the same, she sensed there was more to this tale, and she waited for it, tapping her fingertips against her knee.
“Well, there was talk,” Rory said, dragging the words out, “about a possible match with the daughter of a neighboring clan chieftain.”
“I see,” she snapped. “This is why ye came alone for your bride. Ye hoped to escape your obligation without anyone at home ever finding out ye nearly got caught in a disastrous marriage with no advantages at all.”
“I wouldn’t say no advantages,” Rory said with a glint in his eye.
“Don’t attempt to divert me with false flattery. I’ve known far too many charming men for ye to succeed,” she said, crossing her arms. “And I understand better than most that the marriage of a chieftain’s close kin is made to benefit the family and clan.”
He could not deny it. As the brother of the MacKenzie chieftain, Rory was expected to make a marriage alliance that served the clan.
“This talk of a possible match is what finally brought ye to Edinburgh, isn’t it?” she asked.
Rory shrugged as if this was of no importance. “I had to know if I had a prior obligation.”
“And you believed that if my brother had not already dishonored the contract, he would readily agree to destroy it.”
He had not come to fetch his bride but to avoid marrying her—and that was when he believed she had an enormous dowry. When he discovered that Archie was banished and she was in danger, Rory was trapped by his sense of honor to abide by the contract.
Sybil was like a rock tied around his neck at sea.
“A Highland chieftain’s daughter would suit ye well,” she said, annoyed with herself for being upset. “She’d be a far better choice than a Lowlander noblewoman who’s lost all her wealth and powerful connections.”
“Ye did not hear me say I wanted to wed the lass.” Rory’s eyes were fierce as he bit out the words.
“Do ye want her?” Sybil asked, her voice coming out in a whisper.
Though it should not matter that he wanted someone else, Sybil held her breath as she waited for his answer. She understood Rory’s desire to wed a Highland lass who would fit easily into his way of life. That only made sense. But the thought of him desiring a particular Highland lass made her stomach tighten into a hard knot.
“I was prepared to wed the lass if I was free to do so because my clan needs the alliance with hers.” Rory paused. “But nay, I do not want her for my wife.”
Her rush of relief was brief. Rory was simply using his obligation to her to avoid an unwelcome marriage his chieftain wanted to force upon him. She could hardly blame him since she had been thwarting her brother’s efforts to marry her off for years.
“Why not?” she could not help asking. “What’s wrong with the lass?”
“I’ve no objection to her,” he said. “I don’t even know her.”
Sybil narrowed her eyes at him. There was something more to this than Rory was telling her.
***
The Grant chieftain’s daughter would be the wiser choice for Rory’s bride. Though it was unjust, he was blamed for the strain in the alliance between their two clans. The proposed marriage was meant to settle the hard feelings between their families and salvage an alliance both clans needed.
But Rory would just have to think of another way to appease the Grants.
Because the only lass he wanted for his bride was Sybil.
CHAPTER 13
“The Grant and Munro clans are threats to us.” Hector slammed his fist on the table. “We must strike them before they strike us.”
He moved his gaze from man to man of the select group of MacKenzie warriors gathered around the high table in the great hall at Eilean Donan Castle. These were the most respected men of the clan and served as a council to Hector and the chieftain. Hector neither wanted nor needed their advice, but he had spent years cultivating their support.
Some of the men nodded their agreement, others were uneasy but silent. None openly challenged him until he came to Malcolm, an old warrior who had served as captain of the guard when Hector’s father was chieftain and as a close advisor to Hector’s brother.
“With respect, this is no time to break with good allies like the Grants and Munros,” Malcolm said. “We should save our strength to fight the MacDonalds. They are a powerful enemy and our greatest foe.”
Hector nodded, pretending to acknowledge the advice as worthy of consideration, while his fingers itched to plunge his dirk into Malcolm’s heart. Rory had been whispering this same advice in Brian’s ear for months. Hector needed a war to galvanize the clan behind him. The graver the danger and the more enemies they faced, the more his clansmen would realize they needed him, an experienced warrior and victor of many battles, to lead them.
“We ought to persuade the Grants and the Munros to join forces with us against the MacDonalds,” Malcolm droned on, “not make them blood enemies by attacking them unprovoked.”
Hector could not lay hands on the revered old warrior here in front of the others, but the old man had challenged him for the last time.
“You’ve served the clan well for many years,” Hector said. “If ye no longer feel ye have the heart to fight, we’ve plenty of young MacKenzie warriors who—”
“I don’t lack courage,” Malcolm said.
“Good.” Hector walked around the table to clamp a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.
“Then I’ll grant ye the honor of leading our next battle.”
Hector would make sure Malcolm did not survive it. That was one obstacle removed from his path.
Unfortunately, Malcolm’s objection caused rumbling among the other warriors at the table. Hector could always find a way to provoke the Munros into attacking first, and then these men around the table would be shouting for vengeance.
“Before we attack these neighboring clans who have been our allies in the past,” one of the others said, “our chieftain should give the command.”
“Aye, we should wait for the MacKenzie,” another said. “Where is he?”
That was a question to which Hector hoped to have an answer soon. If all went as planned, there would be no shackles on his authority.
“He’s gone hunting,” he lied. “And of course we must wait for the MacKenzie.”
He stifled a smile. They could be waiting a long, long while.
After they left, he met with a different sort of advisor. He opened the secret stairway to an old woman who had knowledge of the dark arts and a sweet granddaughter she did not want given to Big Duncan.
It never hurt for a man to hedge his bets.
***
Rory grinned as he watched the sister-in-law to the queen cooking oats for their breakfast over an open fire. She spooned the steaming porridge into two cups and handed him one.
“Not too bad,” she said, frowning after she took a taste. “Better than yesterday, wouldn’t ye agree?”
“’Tis perfect,” he lied.
“As good as any Highland lass could make it?” she asked, tilting her head in a fetching way that he imagined she did when she flirted at court.
“Aye,” he lied again, and was rewarded with a smile that shone in her eyes.
Last night when he returned from hunting with a pheasant for their supper, Sybil had a good fire going and their camp set up. She had adapted to the rough travel better than he would have imagined. From the start, she had shown herself to be determined and clever, but her desire to undertake these mundane tasks that he would have gladly done for her surprised him.
CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) Page 9
