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 is 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.
Was there no escape for her?
She slid down to the cold stone floor and sat with her back against the door. Even if she somehow managed to get out of this chamber, through the castle and out the gate with no one seeing, what good would it do her? She would die of cold and starvation wandering the hills alone, if bandits did not murder her first.
She did not, however, like her chances of surviving the queen’s wrath much better.
The only sensible choice left to her was to submit to James Finnart. She brushed a tear from her cheek, annoyed at herself for giving in to self-pity. She certainly would not be the first woman to exchange her body for protection. Women were forced to make that choice all the time. What had ever made her think she could escape that fate?
Sybil’s hand went to the black onyx pendant at her throat. Her mother had given each of her daughters a similar pendant, cut from a large stone that she believed held magical protective power. Sybil ran her thumb over the smooth, glossy surface. She did not believe it was magical—she was, after all, captive in a locked room—but it gave her some comfort.
As she held it and squeezed her eyes shut, Rory’s face filled her mind’s eye. Her reasons for not going with him had been good ones, but she wished with all her heart that she was with him now.
Wishing never did a lass any good. She sniffed and brushed a tear away. She must find her own way out of this trouble. She was strong. She could survive being Finnart’s mistress. It would not be as bad as marriage because she could leave him when the political winds changed.
Though she knew she had no other choice but to accept Finnart’s offer, she could not persuade herself to agree to it. Not yet.
Soon, perhaps. But not yet.