Virtue

by Victoria Vane

*

  Drawing his cloak closely over his head, Alex exited the castle only to enter a scene of orchestrated chaos and the pungent smell of fresh manure. Amongst the dissonant choir of bleating sheep and lowing cattle that had been penned for the drive to Inverness, he found MacAedh conferring with Fergus, Kenneth, and a few youths. Domnall was also present, but Somerled’s men were nowhere in sight.

  Had Ranald heeded his threat from the night before? He hoped so.

  As Alex crossed the bailey to join the group, Domnall was apparently making one more appeal to accompany MacAedh, but the thane’s word prevailed.

  “And who will be in charge in my absence?” MacAedh asked.

  “Fergus could stay behind,” Domnall suggested.

  “Nae,” MacAedh answered, “as my tanist, it is for ye to see to things in my absence.”

  “See to what?” Domnall scoffed. “There is no one left here but the women and children.”

  MacAedh shook his head with a sigh. “Ye still have much to learn, Nephew. The safety and welfare of the women and children is no small responsibility. Whether chief or king, yer people should always be yer primary concern.”

  MacAedh was saying that this was, in essence, a test of his nephew’s leadership, but Domnall refused to see it that way. There was still a spirit of rebellion in him that had not been completely quenched. Alex hoped the rift between uncle and nephew would not widen in MacAedh’s absence.

  Noting Alex’s arrival, MacAedh nodded to a sway-backed gelding amongst the line of tethered horses that pawed and snorted their impatience to depart. “Alexander, that one is for ye.”

  Perhaps another man may have taken affront at being so poorly mounted, but Alex was thankful to have been assigned the oldest, slowest nag in the stables. It wasn’t that he feared horses, he’d just never learned how to ride, a deficiency that would soon be rectified.

  “Where are Somerled’s men?” Alex asked.

  “They departed an hour past,” Domnall replied tersely.

  Was Domnall aware of the incident of last evening? If so, he volunteered nothing. Since Ranald was gone, Alex decided it best to count his blessings and speak no more of it.

  Some of the women of Kilmuir soon appeared with provisions for their journey. Alex’s heart lightened at the sight of Sibylla. She was, once more, dressed in a plain tunic of homespun and bore a basket on her arm. With her hair shining red-gold in the early morning light, she reminded him of an angel. For a moment, he indulged in the desire simply to look upon her. He wished he could have sketched her likeness in that moment, but he had to suffice with memorizing this image of her.

  As if feeling his eyes upon her, she glanced in his direction. His heart beat a little faster when her mouth curved into a warm, welcoming smile.

  Taking a bundle from her basket, she came briskly toward him. “Alexander! I have something for ye.” She held a finely woven plaid in her arms that she offered to him with a shy smile. “Ailis did the weaving, but I combed all the wool.”

  “Thank ye.” He accepted it with a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment that she’d noticed how threadbare his clothing was.

  “Alexander?” She peered at him more closely and drew back his hood. He cringed at her look of shock upon revealing the crescent shaved from the front of his head. He’d never cared very much for his appearance in the past, but many things had altered since he left the monastery.

  “What did ye do to yerself?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Ye’ve changed yer mind,” her voice quivered. “Ye will take the vows?”

  “Nae, Sibylla.” He shook his newly-shorn head. “I am tonsured, but I havena changed my mind. I pledge ye upon my solemn word that I will come back.”

  “Then why have ye done this?” she asked with a puzzled look.

  “There is much I canna explain yet, but please trust me.”

  “I do trust ye,” she whispered. “I have already trusted ye with my heart.”

  “And ye with mine,” he replied softly. He then reached into his tunic and withdrew the linen-wrapped package. “I also have something for ye.”

  Sibylla opened the cloth with a look of incomprehension. “Yer psalter? But I canna read it.”

  “Yet,” he corrected her. “Please accept it along with my promise to teach ye when I return.”

  “I will hold ye to yer word this time, Alexander, on both accounts—that ye will return and that ye will teach me.”

  “I expected no less,” he replied with a chuckle. “Sibylla, there is something I would ask of ye. Something of great importance to me.”

  “Aye?” her gaze widened. “And what is that?”

  He dipped his head close to murmur in her ear. “There is an object hidden under the mattress in my chamber. ’Tis something I value above all things.”

  She drew back with a wrinkled brow. “What is it?”

  “’Tis a family heirloom. I need ye to keep it safe for me.”

  “I will,” she promised. “But ye will, indeed, have much to answer for when ye return.” She added softly, “I hope ’twill be soon.”

  “Aye,” he replied, holding her gaze. “’Tis also my wish.”

  “Godspeed, Alexander,” she whispered.

  He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and place a long and lingering parting kiss on her sweet lips, but forced himself to turn away before he could give in to the temptation. Soon, he told himself. He would soon speak to MacAedh about his feelings for Sibylla.

  *

  With a hollow ache in her chest, Sibylla watched the slow procession of drovers and livestock until they were nothing more than a cloud of dust on the distant horizon. She wondered what the future would hold for them. So many questions with no apparent answers. Would Alexander find what he was seeking? Would he keep his promise and come back to Kilmuir to stay? He’d made her a vow but hearts were oft broken by un-kept promises.

  She turned away with a sigh only to face Domnall crossing the bailey with long, angry strides. “Sibylla!” he called out. “What the de’il did ye do to vex Ranald? Last eve he was ready to take ye to wife, but this morn he said he would have none of ye!”

  “Ye might better ask what he did to vex me!” she retorted with a jut of her chin.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “He conducted himself last night like a drunken lout,” she replied.

  “’Twas a feast,” Domnall said with a shrug. “Most of the men were drunken louts. What in particular gave ye offense?”

  “He dinna like it when I told him I am promised to another,” she countered.

  Domnall’s expression darkened. “Ye are nae promised to anyone but Ranald.”

  Sibylla raised her chin. “I willna have him. I would go to the convent of Iona first.”

  “We already had this discussion, Sibylla. ’Tis nae yer choice. Ye will make peace with him. Everything depends upon it.”

  “Everything?” She arched a brow. “Ye have no faith that Uncle will succeed with the king?”

  His hand clamped tightly on her arm. “And what would ye ken of that? He told no one he goes to the king.”

  Sibylla licked her lips. “I overheard—”

  “Ye bluidy well spied!” he accused.

  “I have every right,” she insisted. “Given I’m part of yer plan.”

  “What did ye hear?” he demanded.

  “Enough. I ken that Somerled offers an alliance. I also ken that Uncle and Alexander go to petition the king for ye.”

  His mouth compressed to a flat line. “I will nae be appeased.”

  “Ye should trust Uncle’s judgement,” Sibylla said. “He has been through all this before.”

  “MacAedh would negotiate for a regency, but I want what is mine by right.”

  “A regency?” Sibylla asked. “What does that mean?”

  “MacAedh thinks to convince the king to appoint me as regent over Prince Malcolm until he comes of age.”

  “And ye would refuse this honor?” she asked.

>   “He will ne’er agree to it,” Domnall said. “If he does, I still canna trust him. Do ye recall how he appeased Wimund with lands in Cumbria? Nae one believes ’twas the Cumbrians who put out Wimund’s eyes and cut off his manhood.”

  Sibylla shuddered. She’d never met her bastard half-brother, who’d demanded his birthright from the king, but the gruesome story had spread like a wildfire through the Highlands. If Domnall was bent on taking up his own cause, he had good reason to mistrust the king.

  “If the king refuses to acknowledge me as his heir, ’twill surely come to blood,” Domnall said. “And that is why ye must wed Ranald.”

  “Given that he left this morn, ’tis a moot point,” Sibylla argued.

  “He agreed to give ye time to come around. He said he will be back in a month to claim his bride.”

  His bride? But which one? Did he intend to take Sibylla or Ailis? She dared not ask. To do so would only reveal Ailis’ disgrace. Nevertheless, Domnall had given voice to Sibylla’s greatest fear. If he would not be moved by her appeal to reason, it was time to tell him the truth, or at least the truth in part.

  “Ye canna trust Ranald either, Domnall. He is nae an honorable man.”

  “Why would ye say so?” Domnall demanded.

  “Because… because last night he tried to rape me!” Sibylla blurted.

  Domnall looked stunned. “Tried?”

  “Aye. He dinna succeed only because Alexander came along.”

  “If ’tis true, why the de’il did ye nae speak of it before he left?”

  “Because Ranald was drunk and likely dinna ken what he was about… I wouldna have a clan war over it.”

  “Drunk or nae, Ranald dishonors us all with his actions. Does Uncle ken of this?”

  “Nae,” Sibylla replied. “Please, Domnall,” she pleaded. “There was no real harm done.” Searching his eyes, she softly added, “But do ye now ken why I willna have Ranald?”

  His hand tightened painfully, before he abruptly released it. “Aye. I willna force the marriage.”

  Sibylla felt as if a great weight had dropped from her shoulders. She didn’t know what she would have done had Domnall continued to press the issue.

  But her relief was short lived.

  “Mayhap there is another way.” Domnall’s eyes had taken on a calculating gleam.

  “Another way for what?”

  “Another way to bind an alliance,” Domnall said. “By the hand of fate, Ranald has given me all that I need to ensure Somerled’s support.”

  “I dinna understand,” Sibylla said. “What are ye saying?”

  Ignoring her question, Domnall strode to the paddock where the remaining few horses munched on their hay. Sibylla’s stomach churned as Domnall led one of the horses out by the halter and tethered it to a post. He then disappeared into the tackle shed and reemerged a moment later with a saddle and bridle slung over his shoulder.

  “Where are ye going?” she asked.

  “Where do ye think? I go west to Kintyre.”

  “Ye should await Uncle’s return,” Sibylla insisted.

  “I will nae,” Domnall replied defiantly. “To do so would only forfeit my advantage. I must confront Somerled now, before Ranald has an opportunity to tell his version of the story.”

  “What if he doesna believe ye?” Sibylla asked.

  “’Tis a risk I am willing to take. Ranald has brought disgrace to his family name.” He lifted a booted foot to the stirrup. “And Somerled’s honor will demand that he make reparation for it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alex departed Kilmuir riding behind MacAedh and Fergus. Thus far, MacAedh had said nothing to him about Sibylla, but the matter weighed heavily on Alex’s mind. He’d made her a promise to return, but that promise would lead to naught if her uncle opposed him. The time had finally come to speak of it. Nudging his horse into a trot, Alex pulled up beside MacAedh.

  “I… er…” Alex nervously cleared his throat. “There is a matter I must speak to ye about.”

  “Aye?” The thane’s mouth curved subtly at one corner. “Does this ‘matter’ by chance have a name?”

  An invasion of heat slowly coursed up Alex’s neck into his face. “Aye,” Alex confessed. “So ye know already that I have feelings for Sibylla.”

  “I suspected as much,” MacAedh replied.

  “Do ye object?” Alex asked.

  “I canna object to feelings alone, only to actions.” He regarded Alex with a raised brow. “Is there something more ye would confess?”

  “Nae!” Alex protested. “I dinna dishonor her. I swear it.”

  “But ye have spoken of marriage?” MacAedh asked.

  “Aye. I dinna expect ye to accept my suit, but I would ask ye nae to reject me out of hand.”

  “I dinna reject ye, Alexander. Ye are a fine man from an illustrious line, but ye are in nae position to seek a wife. Ye ken that her brother would see her wed to Ranald?”

  Alex scowled. “I ken that he desires it, but Sibylla doesna want him.”

  “My niece is a willful lass, but marriage is nae always about happiness. ’Tis about protection, comfort, and security. Ranald can offer her that and more.”

  “Is it already done then?” Alex asked, his heart racing. “Is she already pledged to Ranald?”

  MacAedh shrugged. “Domnall would have it so.”

  “And ye? As her guardian, is it nae ye who has the final word?” Alex asked.

  “Aye,” MacAedh answered.

  “Would ye see her wed to Ranald?” Alex asked.

  “I would see her settled soon,” MacAedh replied evasively. “Before ye woo a maid, Alexander, ’tis best to ask yerself what ye have to offer.”

  “’Tis a question I canna yet answer,” Alex said. “But I ask that ye give me some time before ye pledge Sibylla to another.”

  “Ranald left this morn without an agreement,” MacAedh said. “But he intends to return in a month’s time. Ye have only until then to make a better case for yerself.” He added with a chuckle, “With any luck, Ranald may realize what a banshee wife she will make.”

  *

  Having failed to stop Domnall, Sibylla sought out her mother and grandmother in the solar. “Domnall has left Kilmuir,” Sibylla breathlessly announced.

  “He’s gone?” Ailis gasped. “Where?”

  “He’s bound for the Isles,” Sibylla replied. “He thinks to bind Somerled to an alliance.”

  “Damn his eyes!” Her mother threw down her tambour with a curse. “My brother told him to remain at Kilmuir! Why canna Domnall heed his judgement?”

  “Because he is young and rash, just as my Angus was,” her grandmother replied with a sad sigh.

  “I fear what Uncle will do when he returns from Inverness,” Ailis said.

  “But he’s nae returning from Inverness,” Sibylla replied. “Uncle is going south after the taxes are paid and Alexander has gone with him.”

  “Why would Alexander go?” Ailis asked.

  “I dinna ken exactly,” Sibylla said. “He only said he hopes to learn something of his family.”

  “He is a mysterious lad,” her mother remarked.

  “What kind of monk keeps a sword?” Fiona asked.

  “A sword?” Sibylla spun to face her half-sister.

  “Aye. Duncan and I found it under his mattress.”

  Sibylla suddenly recalled Alex’s request to keep safe something that he’d hidden, but she’d never expected a sword!

  “Fiona!” her mother scolded. “Have ye been snooping where ye dinna belong?”

  “He left it.” Fiona shrugged. “We was only looking around.”

  “Ye had no business in his room!” Sibylla rebuked. “Did ye take it, ye little thief?”

  “I dinna take it,” Fiona said. “But if Alexander wanted it, he wouldna left it behind.”

  “Where did he get a sword?” Ailis asked. “He dinna bring one to Kilmuir. I am certain of it. I was there when he arrived.”

  Lady Olit
h ceased her spinning. “I would see this sword.”

  “But ye canna see,” Fiona protested.

  “My vision may have failed me, but I see much more than ye with two good eyes. Bring it to me,” the old woman commanded.

  Sibylla accompanied her half-sister to Alex’s room where Fiona peeled back the straw mattress to reveal the object hidden beneath. It was, indeed, a sword and not just any sword by the look of it. Snatching it from her sister, she removed it slowly from its sheath. Sibylla immediate recognized the inscription on its blade. Although she couldn’t read the words, she knew it was the same as what she’d seen on his knife. What did this signify? Only one person would know. Sheathing the weapon, Sibylla briskly strode back to the solar.

  “Here it is,” Sibylla laid the sheathed blade on her grandmother’s lap.

  The other women formed a circled around her as the old woman ran her hands up and down the sheath and then carefully removed the blade. “Is there an inscription?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Sibylla replied. “I canna read it, but it looks much like the one I saw on Alexander’s sgian-dubh.”

  “It also had an inscription on it?”

  “Aye,” Sibylla answered. “’Twas written in Latin.”

  “What did it say?”

  Sibylla hesitated. “I canna remember exactly. Veritatem? Virtutem? I forget the last word.”

  “Vindictae?” her grandmother suggested.

  “Aye. I think ’twas it,” Sibylla replied.

  “’Tis one of the Seven Swords of Alba,” her grandmother declared.

  “I thought they were only a legend,” Ailis said.

  Her grandmother shook her gray head with a cackle. “There is much legend attached to them, but the swords, themselves, are verra real. Have I ne’er told ye the tale?”

  “I have nae heard it,” Sibylla said. “I surely would remember if I had.”

  “Then come and sit,” she commanded. “Ye and Ailis both should ken this. ’Tis part of the history of yer own clan.”

  The moment Sibylla settled on the floor at her grandmother’s feet, she felt as if she were a little girl again, hanging on every word as the old woman spoke.

  “Long, long ago, in times nigh forgotten, there was a great king by the name of Cruithne, a name for which all of his people became known. ’Tis said that so great was the peace in his reign that the voices of all the people sounded as the music of the harp to one another. This Cruithne was blessed with seven braw sons. Fearing they would weaken the kingdom by making war upon one another after his death, this king divided the land into seven provinces, over which each son would independently rule.”