CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (9 page)

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.

CHAPTER 8

“Ye seem so low,” Margaret said, and squeezed Sybil’s hand. “Do ye regret not going with your Highlander?”

Sybil had told her the whole story as they sat talking on the bed with their backs propped against the headboard, as they used to when they were young girls.

“How could I regret it?” Sybil forced a smile. “I hardly know him.”

“I think ye do know him,” Margaret said. “Though your time together did not amount to many days, I suspect ye learn more about a man when ye face danger together than ye do chatting in a crowded hall at court.”

Sybil did feel as though she knew Rory’s character. He was a good man. But what would he think of her if he ever learned that the marriage contract was false? Nay, she made the only decision she could.

“I saw how he looked at ye,” Margaret said. “He cared for ye.”

“Ye mistake lust for affection,” Sybil said, rolling her eyes. “Once his lust was satisfied, I’d be a constant disappointment to him. Can ye see me living in the wilds?”

“I can see ye doing anything ye put your mind to,” Margaret said.

In any case, it was too late to change her mind. Rory was anxious to return home. Without her to hold him back, he would be many miles away by now. He would soon forget her and make some lucky Highland lass his bride. Sybil’s heart clenched in her chest at the thought.

“Perhaps you’ll meet him again one day,” Margaret said, and patted her hand.

God forbid. While Sybil wished Rory happy with all her heart, she most definitely did not wish to see him with his beaming wife on his arm.

“Margaret!”

The shout coming up the stairs jarred Sybil from her thoughts. It was William, the last person she wanted to see. Without pausing to think, she dove under the bed. She pulled her skirts out of sight just as the door scraped open.

It slammed shut and William’s polished boots came toward the bed.

“Good evening, husband,” Margaret said in a soft voice.

“Where are Sybil and that Highlander?”

“He left the castle, and Sybil has gone to bed,” Margaret said.

“I don’t want your sister here,” William said. “We’re already in danger because of your brother. Her presence here can only make our situation worse.”

A shiver went through Sybil. What did William intend to do?

“Why did she have to come here?” William said. “’Tis bad enough that I can’t rid myself of one of Archie’s sisters, but I must have two of ye?”

Sybil was sorely tempted to kick William in the ankle.

“I understand your concern,” Margaret said in a soothing tone. “But Sybil is my sister. Of course we must protect her.”

“We must do no such thing!”

Sybil watched his boots as he stomped to the side table, and she heard the gurgle of liquid as he poured himself a cup
of spirits. He must have guzzled it, for a moment later he slammed his cup down.

“I know ye can’t be suggesting we turn her out, dear,” Margaret said. “She has no place else to go.”

“No place to go? Ha,” William said. “That lass had half the men at court eating out of her hand. Let one of them take the risk of sheltering her.”

“Ye know verra well that, despite Archie’s efforts to persuade her, Sybil refused to accept any of them for her husband.”

“None of them will take her as a wife now—but they
will
take her.” William gave a harsh laugh. “James Finnart has been a fool for Sybil for years. She should have gone to him. With his father in favor with the queen and the regent, Finnart can do whatever he likes.”

“She despises Finnart,” Margaret said. “She would never go to him.”

“Finnart would teach her to mind her tongue
.
Damn it, that lass is troublesome,” William said. “But at least Sybil looks as if she would be a lively bed partner and a good breeder—unlike the sister I got.”

William wielded his sharp tongue like a blade to pierce Margaret’s heart. Sybil lay helpless under the bed with tears of rage stinging her eyes as the conversation continued its unpleasant course, with his voice loud and angry and Margaret’s soft and placating.

Marriage.
God save me from it.

As soon as William left the chamber, slamming the door behind him, Sybil crawled out from her hiding place and put her arms around her sister.

“By the saints, ye shouldn’t allow him to speak to ye that way,” she said.

“Ye can’t blame William for being disappointed with my failure to birth a child,” Margaret said. “He wants one as badly as I do.”

There was no point in arguing. If blinding herself to her husband’s true nature helped Margaret tolerate her miserable situation, that was probably a blessing.

“What do ye think he intends to do about me?” Sybil asked.

“William is all talk. He would never turn you out.” Margaret laid her palm against Sybil’s cheek and looked into her eyes. “Even if he had a mind to, I would not allow it. I’m not as weak as ye believe.”

“I don’t want ye to argue with him,” Sybil said, knowing it would do no good. “Ye mustn’t let this upset you, for the babe’s sake.”

“I’ll speak with my husband again in the morning,” Margaret said, and patted Sybil’s arm. “He’s sure to be in a better mood after he’s had a good night’s sleep and his breakfast.”

While Sybil believed her sister would do anything to save her, it was abundantly clear that Margaret was powerless in her marriage. Margaret was right, however, about William being all talk. He liked to complain and criticize, but Sybil did not believe he’d have the nerve to actually throw her out.

And yet she could not shake the uneasy feeling that she had made a grave error in putting her safety in the hands of another Douglas man.

***

Hector rode through the gates of Castle Leod tired, dirty, and in need of a woman. He had ridden for days to reach Eastern Ross.

“Have the laird’s chamber prepared for me at once,” he ordered as he tossed his reins to one of the servants. “And send that young Maggie to me.”

He had a fine tower house of his own nearby, but he stayed in Castle Leod, the traditional home of the MacKenzie chieftains, to remind people here that Hector MacKenzie of Gairloch wielded the chieftain’s power. Loyalty ran deep for him in the west, where he had spent years leading battles against the MacDonalds. His support here in Eastern Ross was not as strong, so he made the journey as often as he could to shore it up.

“I believe the chieftain is using his chamber,” someone said, snapping Hector’s attention as he started for the keep.

“He isn’t here,” Hector said. “I left him at Eilean Donan Castle.”

“He rode in yesterday, without his usual guard, and rode off again,” the man said. “We assumed he would be back…”

Big Duncan, who was supposed to be at Eilean Donan watching over Brian, emerged from the keep. He would not have disobeyed Hector’s orders without good reason. A short time later, they were ensconced in the laird’s private meeting room secreted behind the hall.

“The same day you left, Brian rode out of Eilean Donan with only a handful of men. I followed them. Brian was in a hurry, traveling fast, in the same direction as you.”