CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (13 page)

“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 t
hr
eats 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.

Did she do it out of pride, or was this an indication she had decided to accept becoming his wife? If she’d made up her mind, he wished to God she’d tell him. Sleeping beside her every night without touching her was torture. If she made him wait much longer for their wedding night, it just might kill him.

“Wear your extra stockings today,” he told her. “We’ll see snow in the mountains.”

“Already have them on,” she said, and gamely lifted her skirts to show him.

“A bit higher,” he said. “I can’t quite see them.”

“You’ve seen all you’re going to see,” she said with a laugh. “Now, if you’re done lazing about, shouldn’t we be on our way?”

Despite the hardships, Sybil’s natural cheerfulness shone through now that they had put many miles between them and her former troubles. But they were in the Highlands now. Spring had not yet come this far north, and their route would take them into increasingly rugged terrain. He worried it would be too hard on her.

“I had no notion any place could be as beautiful as this,” she said, pausing to gaze at the shimmering surface of Loch Lochy and the rich green hills on the opposite shore.

When he stood beside her, she hooked her hand through his arm. Now that she was at ease with him, she touched him often without seeming to notice that she did or the effect it had on him.

“This is a bonny spot,” he said. “Almost as bonny as MacKenzie lands.”

“How long before we reach them?” she asked.

“A few days or more, depending on the weather,” he said. “MacKenzie lands are vast, stretching from sea to sea in the shape of a giant wedge of cheese, with the wide part in the west and the narrow point in the east.”

Sybil laughed and leaned against him. “To which part of the cheese are we going?”

“The west.”

The route east to the MacKenzie strongholds near Inverness would be easier than the mountainous journey west, for they could travel through the Great Divide, an endless valley and chain of lochs that ran at a diagonal across the Highlands. That route, however, would take them through Grant lands and directly past Urquhart Castle, the Grant chieftain’s fortress on Loch Ness. Rory intended to avoid the Grants until after he and Sybil were wed.

“We go west to Eilean Donan Castle,” he said. “My brother, our chieftain, should be there.”

Rory was anxious to make things right between him and Brian. And they needed to discuss how to mollify the Grants now that there would be no marriage between Rory and the Grant chieftain’s daughter to heal the breach between their clans.

As Rory turned Curan westward into the mountains, an uneasy sensation passed through him. His grandmother would say someone had walked on his grave. He thought he heard a voice chanting, but there was not another soul in sight on the barren, windswept hillsides.

“What’s wrong?” Sybil asked.

“Nothing at all,” he said to reassure her, but he
kept a sharp lookout. As a warrior, he knew better than to ignore the unease that pricked like an itch on the back of his neck. Curan was on edge too.

A lone raven flew across the sky and cawed three times. The old folk said that was an omen of death.

***

Sybil
tucked her chin down against the wind whipping at her face and pressed more tightly against Rory’s back as they rode. The plaid he’d wrapped around them kept most of the rain from penetrating her clothing, but the damp cold still seemed to seep into her bones.
Ever since they turned westward, the journey grew harder each day.

By the time they finally stopped for the night, she could not feel her hands and feet.

“Ach, you’re shaking.” Rory enfolded her in his arms and rubbed her back. “I should have stopped sooner. Why did ye not tell me ye were frozen?”

“I didn’t want ye to think me weak,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“You’ve too much pride by half,” he said, and kissed her hair.

After bundling her in a blanket, he quickly set about building a fire and preparing their dinner. Sybil felt too worn out from fending off the cold to make even a feeble offer to help.

“Rain’s coming tonight,” he said, glancing up at the sky.

Coming?
It had been drizzling all day. Rory set up a makeshift lean-to with a wool blanket that had been treated with some kind of fat to shed the rain. She crawled under it and must have dozed off, for she awoke to the delicious smell of the rabbit cooking on a spit over the fire.

“Feeling any better?” Rory asked.

“Aye.”

“This is what ye need.” He poured a steaming liquid into a cup, added a large measure of whisky to it from his flask, and handed it to her. “’Tis the Highland cure for whatever ails ye.”

The first sip sent a welcome warmth all the way to her frozen toes. She smiled as she breathed in the steam and watched Rory over the top of the cup as he removed the rabbit from the fire. His unrelenting kindness was making it hard to protect her heart.

The rabbit was delicious, and the fire, food, and hot drink revived her. But no sooner had they finished eating than the wind picked up bringing with it a driving rain. Rory put his arm around her and pulled her farther back under the protection of the lean-to.

“We’ll have to sleep verra close together to stay warm tonight,” Rory said over the sound of rain pelting against the blanket overhead.

That sounded dangerous in a very appealing sort of way.

“We could get warmer still by not sleeping.” His tone was light, but the desire in his eyes warmed her more than the whisky had.