Chapter Eleven
On the verge of tears, Sibylla fled the great hall. Why did she care so much for Alexander? She could make no sense of her feelings for a man who could not possibly love her as she loved him. If he did, he would go to her uncle and fight for her. But he seemed all too willing to just give up without even trying. How she could love such a weak man?
But deep down, she knew it was strength rather than weakness that drove his actions. Alexander was a man of integrity who would only be directed by his own moral code—and that was exactly why she loved him. She understood his need to confront his past, and desperately hoped that, once he had the answers he sought, he would make his way back to her.
Too distraught to return to her bedchamber, Sibylla climbed the staircase leading to the ramparts, her second favorite place when she needed solitude to sort out her thoughts. The sky was clear and black as onyx, making the countless stars appear as tiny explosions of light. Staring up at the heavens, she filled her lungs with the salt-tanged and heather-scented air, and gazed out at the glittering waters of the firth.
She wondered what would happen after Alexander left. Was she also destined to leave Kilmuir for places unknown? Would she soon be forced to wed the virtual stranger she’d entertained in the great hall? To share his life… and his bed?
Her stomach tightened at the notion. She’d given her heart to Alexander. She couldn’t bear the thought of giving her body to any other.
“Ah! How fortunate I am to find ye alone,” a deep, rumbling voice startled her out of her thoughts.
She spun with a gasp, her heart leaping until she realized it wasn’t Alexander. “Ranald? Did ye follow me?”
He flashed a wolfish smile. “Dinna ye want me to?”
“Nae. I only came up here for some fresh air, but I’m ready to go back now.”
“So soon?”
She sensed danger but tried not to show her unease. Her pulse sped as he moved closer and skirted a large, callused hand up her arm. The light touch made her shiver but it wasn’t pleasure that made her body react. She was beginning to fear.
“I will soon be missed,” she replied tightly.
“Nae until the feast ends,” he replied. “We have time to ken one another better.”
“There is little point when we will probably ne’er see each other again after this.”
“On the contrary. I have reason to believe we will be seeing a great deal of one another.”
“W-what do ye mean?”
“I came on my faither’s behest to negotiate a pact with yer brother but, having seen his sister, I am tempted to bind my own alliance…” He moved in to trap her body against the wall. “With ye.”
“I still dinna ken what ye are saying.” Sibylla struggled to think of a tactful way to extricate herself. She couldn’t afford to do anything that might alienate him from her brother.
“I told yer brother Somerled will look for a marriage to bind the pact between our clans. Surely ye understand how such things are arranged? Let us seal our bargain with a kiss.”
“There is no bargain.” She turned her face away as his hot drink-tainted breath assailed her nostrils. He was drunk and drunkenness had made him far too bold. “I’m already pledged to another,” she lied.
He pulled back with a frown. “Domnall said ye were free.”
“Domnall doesna ken everything,” she said. “’Tis a secret understanding.”
“Aye?” he challenged. “Then I would ken my rival’s name.”
Sibylla opened her mouth to answer but promptly realized she’d trapped herself. She couldn’t name Alexander. He had made no such promise.
“Ah,” he laughed. “’Tis but maidenly qualms.” He pressed his hardness against her as his mouth came down on hers. Unlike Alex, there was no tenderness in his kiss, not hesitancy when his tongue invaded her mouth. He had come to plunder and pillage, and Sibylla was powerless against him. “It only hurts the first time,” he said. “Ye will soon come to enjoy it.”
In seconds, he’d freed himself from his leather trews. She tried to scream but she could barely breathe. In other times, there might have been a sentry on these walls, but men were in short supply. Even if she could cry out, it was unlikely anyone would hear her. She squeezed her eyes shut on a whimper. There was no use fighting him. He would effortlessly overcome her.
Please, God, let it be quick.
*
Alex left the great hall shortly after Sibylla. Kenneth and the others had departed the castle with lit torches, bent on making the long trek to Cnoc Croit na Maoile to spend the next hours in Pagan revelry, but Alex was in no mood for any kind of celebration, let alone such undisguised devilry. And the very thought of returning to his room was suffocating. Instead, he sought to sort out his thoughts with a long, solitary walk on the ramparts.
Carefully navigating the narrow, stone stairs in the darkness, Alex seated himself on a parapet and watched the slow progress of flickering lights bound for Cnoc Croit na Maoile. Although he couldn’t approve of their celebration, deep down, he understood their need to hold to old Highland traditions. Much had been taken from the people of Kilmuir. Over the past weeks, he’d developed a kinship to this place and these people that he was reluctant to let go of. Could there ever be a permanent place for him here?
The chapel had no priest.
He’d told Sibylla that marriage was impossible but, in fact, only the Catholic Church forbade the marriage of priests. Many clergy in the Highlands ignored that particular restriction, believing ’twas better to wed than to burn with passion—and his passion for Sibylla burned as hotly as the distant banefire. Was this God’s will or the devil’s temptation? He knew not.
But he had no doubt that he loved her.
He would lay down his life for her without a second thought. Her stricken expression made him heartsick, and her harsh parting words in the great hall had nearly rent him in twain.
He’d convinced himself he could not make her a promise that he had no assurance that he could keep. Yet, he could have asked her to wait—at least a short while. Nevertheless, he’d told Sibylla that a future together was impossible while the truth was that he didn’t dare to torture himself with the hope of what might never be.
A strange noise caught his attention. A muffled cry followed by a deep throated grunt. The devil was surely doing his work this night! Keeping his gaze averted from the amorous pair, Alex crept stealthily along the ramparts toward the stairs, but paused as the moonlight shone down upon them. There was something disconcertingly familiar about the two forms joined in a lover’s kiss. His breath seized in the moment of recognition. Ranald and Sibylla?
Was it a lover’s tryst? What was she doing? How could Sibylla profess love to him and then throw herself into another man’s arms? Feelings of betrayal and confusion struck him simultaneously. Had she only played with Alex or had she done this just to punish him? His pulse roared in his ears as he tried to make sense of what his eyes had revealed. Whether by deceit or by design, she was here with Ranald.
Jealous rage had his pulse roaring in his ears.
Fearing what he might do if he stayed, Alex spun to leave. He was on the top stair when a frantic whimper called him back. Once more, he froze. Was Sibylla unwilling?
There was only one way to find out.
Alex was on them in three strides. Taking his sgian-dubh in one hand, he grabbed her assailant’s ballocks with the other. “Release her, or I’ll slice them off. Nod if ye understand me.”
Ranald’s head bobbed vigorously. He let her go so abruptly that Sibylla collapsed against the wall. “Ye interfere where ye have no business,” Ranald hissed.
“I would say ye have no business with this lady,” Alex replied. “Sibylla, would ye care to do the honors? Or would ye have me take care of it?” It was all he could do to refrain from emasculating her would-be rapist on the spot. Given the word, he would not hesitate, nor would he grieve his actions.
“Just let him go,” Sibylla responded in a choked voice. “’Tis all a grave misunderstanding.”
“Let him go?” Alex repeated. Was he mistaken? Had he read it all wrong? He’d acted to protect her, but had he really just made a great ass of himself? In confusion, he stepped back, but certainty of reprisal from Ranald kept his weapon hand at the ready.
Eying Alex with disdain, Ranald jerked up his trews. “I am taking Sibylla to wife.”
“To wife?” Alex repeated dumbly. Was it true? His throat constricted as his gaze darted between them. Sibylla appeared ashen and her body shook with tremors. Though he had little experience with women, he did know Sibylla. To his eyes, she had not the look of a willing woman. “Is it so, Sibylla?” he asked softly. “Do ye intend to take this man as yer husband?”
“Nae,” she whispered. “I would nae have such a man were he king of the world.”
“Then why did ye come here with him?” Alex demanded.
“I didna come with him. He followed me.”
“And assaulted ye?” Alex held his gaze on Ranald. He never would have believed himself capable of taking a life, but he suddenly understood the meaning of bloodlust. He shook with it. Alex’s heart pounded in anticipation of a fight. Knowing he was not Ranald’s equal in size, strength, or experience, didn’t matter. He would defend Sibylla with his life.
“He is drunk and kens nae what he does.”
“’Tis no excuse,” Alex replied. “The man must be held accountable for his actions.”
“Nae, Alexander.” She laid her hand on his arm. “There is no harm done. I would let this matter go. Please,” she begged.
Alexander turned back to Ranald. “Ye will depart Kilmuir at sunup or MacAedh will be informed how eagerly ye wooed his niece.”
“Her brother and I have an understanding,” Ranald replied.
“My brother had nae right to speak for me,” Sibylla said. “But if ye feel ill-used, ye can always appeal to my uncle.”
Knowing himself in the wrong, Ranald must have recognized no good could come of it. Ranald’s behavior would be deemed not just an insult to Sibylla, but an act of utter disrespect for the Thane of Kilmuir. MacAedh would have no choice but to answer the insult with his sword.
“Ye are far too much trouble,” Ranald tossed over his shoulder with a glare. “I willna take ye to wife.”
Once he’d skulked off into the shadows, Sibylla collapsed against Alex.
“Thank ye, Alexander,” Sibylla whispered, her body quivering with aftershocks as he held her tightly against his chest. “I begin to think ye my guardian angel. ’Tis the third time ye saved me.”
He took her face in his hands and titled her chin upward. “Because ye canna be trusted to take care of yerself. I begin to think ye need looking after.”
“Aye? But who is there to do it?” she asked. “Ye’ve broken my heart, Alexander.”
She reached down for his hand and placed it on her left breast. “It aches here since ye said ye were leaving.”
“Aye?” Mirroring her actions, he reached for her other hand, and placed it over his own heart. “And mine began aching almost the moment I laid eyes on ye.”
It only took a moment for Alex to realize their hearts were beating in synchrony.
Her widened gaze said she felt it, too.
“Do ye believe in fate, Alexander?” she asked breathlessly.
“I believe in Providence,” he replied. “I believe in the Divine will of God. And I believe He sent me here for a purpose. But ’twas nae for yer brother that I came. He sent me to ye.”
As if reading his mind, Sibylla entwined her arms around his neck. “Are ye saying ye’ve changed yer mind about leaving?”
“Nae. I must go, Sibylla. Please understand that I’ve no choice in the matter. I couldna live with myself if I dinna do this. But I will come back.” He took her face in his hands and softly kissed her lips.
“Will ye speak to my uncle?” she asked.
He nodded. “As soon as the time is right.” He vowed to make his interest in Sibylla known. Come what may. “I promise ye now that if there is any way for us to be together, I will find it.”
Even as he spoke, Sibylla’s grandmother’s prophetic words rang a warning in his mind. From yer loins will spring two sons and many daughters. They will sire two great clans that will spread across the Highlands from east to west… but with this blessing also comes a curse—for yer son’s sons will ever be at odds. Relentlessly, they will make war upon one another—until the verra last drop of blood is shed.
Had the old woman’s madness overtaken him? Or could it all be true? If so, did it matter? Did knowledge of the future change how he felt? It did not. Passion rarely existed without pain. If it meant a future with Sibylla, he’d unhesitatingly accept the one in order to embrace the other.