CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) Read online

  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.”

  “How did he pass me and my men without us seeing him?”

  “When he came to Loch Ness, he took the trail along the far shore through Fraser lands to avoid you.”

  Hector poured himself a cup of whisky from the decanter on the side table and drank it down. His worries about Rory paled in comparison to the prospect of Brian turning on him.

  “He must have come here to Eastern Ross to look for Rory,” Hector said. “But why now, weeks after Rory disappeared? And if Brian is not here at Castle Leod, where is he?”

  “He rode straight out to Killin to see his half-sister, Agnes’s daughter.”

  “I know whose damned daughter she is.” Hector poured himself another drink.
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  So the girl still lived at Killin, the farm Rory inherited from his mother. Killin was a humble abode compared to the MacKenzie castles, but it had always been Agnes’s favorite home. One day Hector would take it from Rory.

  In truth, he had forgotten about the girl, which was a waste of a valuable asset. She had been a useless child when Hector first gained control of the clan, but she would be of marriageable age now. If she had half her mother’s beauty, she would be valuable as a bride.

  “According to the servant we have at Killin,” Big Duncan said, “Brian told her he’d found something that proved Rory was right about everything.”

  “Curse him!” Hector pounded his fist on the table. This was getting worse and worse. “What did he find out?” It could be any of a number of things.

  “Brian refused to tell her. Said he feared it would endanger her.”

  “No matter what Brian thinks he knows, he won’t have the bollocks to act on it without Rory,” Hector said. “I’ll bring him back into the fold. I’ll fetch him from Killin myself.”

  Hector refilled his cup again and drained it. He had not entered that house, his brother’s wedding gift to Agnes, since the day she had refused him for the last time.

  “He’s not at Killin any longer,” Big Duncan said. “He left MacKenzie lands, headed south with his cousin Farquhar Mackintosh and a guard of only a half-dozen warriors.”

  “Christ!”

  Brian knew he would be in danger if he left MacKenzie lands. The last king held the sons of Highland chieftains in Edinburgh to ensure their fathers’ loyalty. After two years, Brian and his cousin escaped, a daring act that Hector suspected Rory organized.

  So long as Brian stayed on MacKenzie territory, the crown would not touch him. The MacKenzie clan was powerful, and the crown needed them to keep the ever-rebellious MacDonalds in check. Besides that, the king who issued the edict was dead, and the regent had far greater concerns now. Still, there was a warrant for Brian’s arrest, so why would he tempt fate by going to Edinburgh?

  What could be so important? A cold chill settled over Hector. His own support in the clan was so great that Brian could not remove him without royal backing.

  Hector reached inside his shirt to rub his thumb over the talisman he wore around his neck. The leathery skin of his brother’s ear served to remind him that he held the reins of the powerful MacKenzie clan, and he deserved to.

  “We must get our hands on the sister and find out what she knows,” he said. “Brian may have told her something that our spy failed to hear.”

  “He left a package of some sort with her,” Duncan said. “I’ll find that as well.”

  Hector drummed his fingers on the table. Perhaps Brian’s journey to Edinburgh was an opportunity in disguise. A sign. He smiled as a plan began to form in his mind.

  CHAPTER 9

  Sybil sighed as she examined Margaret, who sat on the stool in front of her wearing a headdress no woman under sixty should wear. Her sister’s expression in the looking glass grew uneasy as Sybil unpinned the headdress and loosened the knot in Margaret’s hair.

  “Though, as a married woman, ye must cover your hair,” Sybil said around the pin in her mouth as she reattached the headdress farther back to show off Margaret’s lovely golden hair, “there’s no need to look like a nun.”

  When Margaret attempted to tuck the strands Sybil had just artfully loosened around her face back under the headdress, Sybil batted her hand away.

  “Do ye think William will like it?” Margaret asked.

  “The devil take William. Do you like it?”

  “Ye mustn’t be so hard on my husband,” Margaret said. “I know he seemed unwelcoming the night ye arrived, but he never meant it. Hearing of our family’s new troubles gave him a shock, that’s all.”

  Sybil had to admit that William appeared to have reconciled himself to her presence in his household in the two days since her arrival. Of course, he still grumbled occasionally, but that was his nature.

  Sybil leaned down and rested her chin on her sister’s shoulder so that their images were side by side in the mirror. They were opposites. Sybil was dark-haired and rosy-cheeked, while Margaret’s hair was the color of sunlight and her skin the palest ivory.

  “You’re the prettiest of us Douglas lasses,” Sybil said.

  Margaret laughed, but Sybil wondered why her sister seemed to make an effort to hide her beauty.

  “’Tis wonderful to have ye here.” Margaret turned on the stool and looked up at Sybil with worry creasing her brow. “But I can see that parting with your Highlander still weighs heavy on your heart.”

  “He was never my Highlander,” Sybil said, and stifled a sigh.

  “He could have been,” Margaret said. “I’ve yet to see a man who could resist you.”

  “Ha! This one left without a backward glance.” Not that Sybil blamed him. “He’s gone, so there’s no sense in giving him another thought.”

  And yet Rory was in her thoughts all the time. Fussing with her sister’s headdress was just another attempt to divert herself, and it worked no better than the others. She should not miss him this much.

  Sybil sniffed. How ridiculous. She was going to weep if they did not stop talking about him.

  She heard the loud creak of the castle gate opening, and she imagined Rory riding in. Though she knew it was not possible, she raced to the window, her heart beating fast. Margaret joined her as twenty armored men on fine horses rode into the castle.

  The queen has found me. Fear swept through her body and her limbs went weak before she noticed that the riders did not carry the royal banner.

  She was so relieved that it took her an extra moment to recognize the banner flapping in the wind. Nay, it could not be. The lead rider dismounted and stood with his hands on his hips, scanning the castle yard as if looking for someone. She groaned aloud.

  “What is James Finnart doing here?” Sybil asked.

  “I’ve no notion,” Margaret said.

  “Your wretched husband must have sent for him.” That explained why William had ceased threatening to throw her out.

  “Why would he send for Finnart when the Hamiltons are our worst enemies?”

  “I have a good guess,” Sybil said, and started for the door. “I’m putting a stop to this now.”

  She stormed down the stairs. She was furious. That foul William hoped to ingratiate himself with the victorious Hamiltons and rid himself of a troublesome sister-in-law all at once.

  Before she took two steps out of the circular stairwell, someone shoved her back inside and pressed her against the stone wall. The man who held her was none other than James Finnart himself.

  Her gaze went past him to Margaret, who stood on the bottom step with her hand over her mouth.

  “Release me at once,” Sybil said through her teeth. “You’re frightening my sister.”

  “She is wise to be frightened,” James said, his pale gray eyes intent on hers. “You should be too.”

  “I’m not frightened of you.” She tried to break free, but he had her arms pinned.

  “You’re as full of fire as ever,” he said, smiling. “I’ve waited a long time for you, but you’ll have me now.”

  Sybil rolled her eyes. “If I refused you before, what makes ye think I’d agree now?”

  “Because ye need a powerful man to protect you,” he said. “Ye need me.”

  “Ye think the wee bit of royal blood that runs in your veins makes one whit of difference to me?”

  “Despite your undeniable appeal,” he said, dropping his gaze to her breasts, “you’ll not find another man willing to take the risk of sheltering you. The queen’s fury with the Douglases is boundless.”

  “The queen has no cause to blame me for the acts of the men of my family.” Sybil’s voice faltered a bit in spite of herself.

  “You’re the only Douglas she can get her hands on—your brothers have fled, and your sisters have powerful husbands,” he said. “The queen i
s a hungry cat twitching her tail, and all the other birds are out of her reach.”

  “Drumlanrig is a baron,” she said. “He can protect me.”

  “William?” Finnart laughed. “To persuade him to risk his own interests for your sake, you’d need to provide him a greater incentive than devotion to your sister. And frankly, my dear, I would not trust him to uphold his end of the bargain.”

  That was one thing they agreed upon. William was a squirrel. At that moment, her brother-in-law appeared behind Finnart with a smirk on his face.

  “Traitor!” she shouted at him.

  “Sadly, that’s what they’re calling you, my lovely.” Finnart drew his brows together, feigning concern. “I suppose they’ll torture ye until ye confess.”

  “But I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said, struggling again to free herself.

  “We leave in the morning,” Finnart said. “’Tis your decision whether ye wish to travel as my guest to my home or as a prisoner to the queen.” He thrust her at William. “Lock her up.”

  “Ouch!” she cried out when William twisted her arm behind her back. “Let me go, you oaf!”

  “’Tis time to face the facts, my dear,” Finnart said, running his finger down her cheek. “I’m the only man who can protect you now.”

  Sybil swallowed hard. There was only one man she trusted to protect her.

  And she had sent him away.

  ***

  Sybil removed a pin from her hair and twisted and turned it in the keyhole again and again. When the lock would not budge, she kicked and pounded on the door.

  “Let me out! Let me out!”

  In her flight from the queen’s men with Rory, she had lost the lock pick that she always carried with her, hidden in her headdress, her bodice, or the small leather pouch on her belt.

  She had acquired that useful tool in exchange for a kiss with the blacksmith’s son when she was fourteen, and she had made good use of it many times since. How else was she to learn Archie’s schemes to marry her off except to read the letters he locked in the secret chest in his chamber? She checked her bodice again, but the lock pick was gone.