CHAPTER 39
Rory was training the younger men in one of the fields outside the castle when he saw Malcolm and Alex riding toward them. He signaled to the others to continue their practice, sheathed his sword, and went to greet them.
“’Tis good to have ye back,” Rory said as he clasped arms with Malcolm in a warriors’ greeting. He squeezed his brother’s shoulders and asked, “How is your wife faring?”
“Grizel predicts another easy birth.”
“I hear ye had a visit from the Grants,” Malcolm said when they were out of earshot of the other men.
“Aye.” At least Rory could rely on Malcolm and his brother to take his side regarding Grant’s grandson.
“A bairn by another woman is not the sort of news a wife ever takes well,” Alex said. “But for Sybil to hear it from a stranger and in front of the entire household, ach, that could not be good.”
It was not. And the longer Grant’s grandson remained under Rory’s roof, the worse the tension between them became.
“Take advice from a man who’s been wed a long time,” Malcolm said, resting a hand on Rory’s shoulder. “Don’t let this trouble between the two of ye fester.”
“Did Grizel send ye out here to tell me that?”
“Aye,” Malcolm said with a smile twitching at his lips. “When we heard what happened and didn’t see Sybil in the castle, Grizel feared she’d left ye.”
Not yet. “She’s gone off for a picnic by the river with the Grant lad.”
“The Grant lad, is that what ye call him?” Alex said. “Folk are saying he’s your son.”
“Saying he is doesn’t make him so.”
“Hmmph.” Malcolm and Alex both gave noncommittal grunts.
“This isn’t just a brotherly visit,” Alex said. “My bishop sent me.”
“What could the bishop want with me?”
“He’s concerned that the dispute between you and Hector will end in violence and sweep in other clans as well,” Alex said. “He says it is his duty to act as an intermediary to reconcile the two of you before the whole region is awash in blood.”
Unfortunately, the bishop was right about the risk of bloodshed. “Tell your bishop that Hector can end this anytime he wants by coming to Castle Leod and pledging loyalty to his chieftain.”
“Perhaps God will surprise us with that miracle,” Alex said. “The bishop, however, invites you and Hector to meet at Fortrose Cathedral tomorrow, with each of ye guaranteeing safe passage to the other. Hector has already agreed.”
“I’d wager Hector is the one who asked for this meeting,” Malcolm said. “He’s up to something.”
“The bishop is not fond of either Rory or me,” Alex said, “but he’ll not allow bloodshed in his cathedral.”
“It could be useful to find out what Hector wants.” And if there was any chance of resolving this without MacKenzie bloodshed, Rory had to take it. “Tell the bishop I’ll come.”
“He’s waiting, so I’d best take my leave,” Alex said. “I’ll see ye at the cathedral.”
“Let’s ride out and join that picnic,” Malcolm said after Alex left. “I want to have a look at this Grant lad—and you need to make peace with your wife.”
Rory was about to say he had no time for a frivolous outing but thought better of it. Getting to know the lad would do no harm, and it would please Sybil. If it could help mend the breach between them, he was willing to do it. Nothing else had worked.
They had just mounted when Rory saw a line of horses galloping toward the castle. The first horse was several yards ahead of the others and had a small rider bouncing on his back.
“The lad’s horse has bolted,” Rory said, and spurred Curan.
Even from this distance he could see that the second rider was Sybil. Her hair streamed out behind her as she rode at a reckless pace. Sybil was rapidly closing the distance to the runaway horse while Rory and Malcolm raced toward it from the side. Rory cursed as Sybil caught up to the bolting horse, rode dangerously close side-by-side to it, and reached for its bridle.
Suddenly, the boy’s horse stumbled and went down, flinging the boy over its head. Sybil pulled her horse up hard and jumped down. Her anguished wails filled the air as she leaned over the lad on the ground.
Rory reached them a moment later, leaped off his horse, and knelt on the lad’s other side. When the boy opened his eyes, relief washed over him.
“I’m all right,” the lad said, and started to sit up.
“Wait.” Rory held him down while he ran his hands over the boy searching for broken bones or other injuries, then he signaled to Malcolm. “I don’t see anything serious, but take him back to the castle and have Grizel take a look at him just to be sure.”
Sybil appeared to have taken the fall much harder than the boy. She was shaking and pale as death.
“You’re riding with me.” He took her arm and helped her to her feet. “I’m sure the lad will be fine.”
An hour after he left her with Grizel and the boy in one of the upstairs chambers, he returned to find the two women alone.
“Where’s the lad?” he asked.
“He was only bruised, so I let him go,” Grizel said. “Lucky for him, he’s blessed with a hard head, like his father.”
Rory let that pass. “He’s all right, then?”
“Oh, aye,” she said. “If he’s anything like you were, he’ll get himself into more trouble in no time.”
Why did everyone assume the lad was his?
“How many times did I bind your wounds?” Grizel shook her head and started for the door. “I’d best refresh my supplies now that he’s living here.”
Sybil still looked shaken.
“Grizel is a good healer,” Rory said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “If she says the lad is all right, he is.”
“That’s not what concerns me,” Sybil said. “What about the next time?”
“I’ll make certain he has a gentler pony until he learns to ride better.”
“Kenneth is a good rider,” Sybil said, “and there’s nothing wrong with that pony.”
“Nothing wrong with it? The men guarding you told me it reared and spun, trying to toss the lad off before it bolted.”
“I know horses,” she said. “That pony is sweet-tempered. Something made him go mad.”
“Anything could have spooked him.” Rory shrugged. “Perhaps a hare jumped in front of him.”
“A hare would not make the pony behave like that,” she said.
“Speak plainly.” There was something more to this, something she was not saying. “What do ye believe it was?”
“What I don’t believe is that it was an accident,” she said. “Someone wanted to harm Kenneth.”
“I selected the men who were guarding the two of ye myself,” Rory said. “If ye accuse them, ye accuse me.”
“Of course I don’t believe ye would hurt a child,” she said. “At least not on purpose.”
“Hmmph.” She seemed determined to insult him.
“You’ve made it clear to your men that ye never intend to claim Kenneth and that ye don’t want him here,” she said. “Perhaps one of them hoped to gain your favor by solving the problem for ye.”
“They would never do that.”
“I’m not saying it was one of them, but don’t underestimate the power ye wield as chieftain,” she said, clenching her fists. “For young Kenneth’s safety, show your men that you accept him as your son. At the very least, behave as if ye might do it.”
“I am chief of the great Clan MacKenzie,” he said. “I’ll not allow the Grants to coerce me into claiming that lad as my son and heir.”
“For God’s sake, forget your damned pride,” she said. “The lad needs you. Ye must protect him.”
“He fell off his horse,” Rory said, throwing his hands up. “Every lad does that.”
“I’m telling ye,” she said, “Kenneth is your son, and he’s in danger.”
“He is my guest,” Rory said, getting a wee bit angry himself. “And I will ensure his safety, as I would for any guest.”
She stamped her foot. “There’s too much at stake for ye to be so damned stubborn!”
“Aye, there is a great deal at stake.” He took her hand. “Our son should be my heir and the next chieftain of Clan MacKenzie. Don’t ye want that too?”
“Nay, I don’t,” she said, and jerked her hand away. “I wouldn’t have my son be a thief and take it from the rightful heir. He’d be no better than Hector.”
Rory tried to hold on to his temper and failed. “Do not compare any son of mine to that man.”
“You’ve let your pride blind ye to the truth,” she said with fire snapping in her eyes.
“And what truth is that?” he bit out.
“Kenneth is the very image of you,” she said. “Your blood runs through that lad’s veins. As I see it, ye have a duty to him, and ’tis high time ye accepted it.”
“So the lad has red hair,” Rory said, spreading his arms out. “Half the men in Scotland could be his father.”
“One of the reasons I loved you—or thought I did—was that ye always chose to do the right thing, no matter the consequences,” she said. “But you’re not the man I thought ye were.”
Though she was being wholly unjust, her words were like a blade she thrust straight into his heart.
“Power has made ye like every other man I’ve known,” she said. “I liked ye better, Rory MacKenzie, when ye were just a warrior.”
Having delivered her final stab to his heart and twisted the knife, she spun on her heel and left him without a backward glance.