CHAPTER 11
Sybil managed to grab the candlestick from the table as Finnart backed her against the wall. When she raised her arm to strike him, he lurched backward and crashed to the floor. She stood still, holding her candlestick over her head as she stared down at Finnart’s body sprawled at her feet.
Slowly she looked up from his inert form and blinked at what surely was an apparition.
“Sybil.” Rory stepped over Finnart’s body and swept her into his arms.
“It’s really you.” She sagged against him and buried her face in his chest. Praise God! After so many others had deserted her with far less cause, she could hardly believe it.
Her Highlander had come back for her.
“We haven’t much time, mo chròi.” Rory turned to Margaret, who had hurried into the room behind him and closed the door. “Sybil will need a set of warmer clothes. We’ll be traveling through the mountains.”
“But how did—” Sybil began.
“We’ll talk later.” Rory held her face between his hands, and the intensity in his eyes silenced her. “Every moment ye remain in this castle, you’re in danger.”
“I keep some old winter clothes in here,” Margaret said from across the room, where she knelt before an open chest. She gathered a bundle of clothes, tied them together, and gave them to Sybil. “Ye must go quickly.”
“I hate leaving ye here.” Sybil embraced her sister. “I’ll worry about ye.”
“You’ll worry about me?” Margaret said. “You’re the one traveling through the wilds to God knows where.”
“Come with us.” Sybil turned to Rory. “We can take her, can’t we?”
When Rory nodded without hesitating, Sybil wanted to smother him in kisses.
“We’d have to steal a second horse,” he said, as if that was a small matter.
“I beg ye, come with us,” Sybil said, gripping her sister’s hands.
“My place is with my husband. Besides,” Margaret said, placing her palm on her abdomen, “I can’t travel with a babe coming.”
Sybil could not argue with that. Margaret had difficulty carrying a babe without riding for days, or perhaps weeks, through rough terrain.
“What about James?” Sybil nudged Finnart’s boot with her toe. “He’s not dead, is he?”
“Lucky for him, his death would cause us far too much trouble,” Rory said, sounding as if he regretted it. He turned to Margaret. “Once your husband and Finnart learn I was here tonight, they’re sure to guess that Sybil left with me. Tell them I’m a MacDonald from the Isle of Islay. That will send them a long way in the wrong direction if they attempt to follow us.”
“God go with you and keep you safe.” Margaret glanced over her shoulder at the door. “You’d best hurry.”
“I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.” Sybil flung her arms around her sister. They were both weeping. “I’ll send word when I can.”
“It will make my heart glad to know you’re far away from all this with your Highlander,” Margaret whispered in her ear. “I don’t want ye to have a life like mine.”
***
As they crept along the wall toward the outer door of the keep, Rory kept a close watch on the sleeping figures of warriors lying on benches or wrapped in cloaks on the floor of the hall. He did not like the odds here.
When he eased the door open, the wind whistled through the gap and the torches in the wall sconces flickered. Rory tensed, waiting for someone to sound the alarm. They slipped out quickly. After the door closed behind them, Rory drew in a deep breath, grateful for the cold rain and wind on his face.
Holding hands, he and Sybil hurried through the dark courtyard to the stable.
“Praise God ye found her,” Thomas greeted them. “You’re a good man, Highlander.”
Rory was pleased that Thomas had wrapped a foul-smelling poultice around Curan’s right front leg, which would lend credence to Rory’s story to the guards.
“God bless you,” Sybil said, and kissed Thomas on the cheek. “It’s a comfort to me to know there is one loyal Douglas at Drumlanrig Castle to keep watch over my sister.”
“I will,” Thomas said. “Take good care of our princess, Highlander.”
“How do ye plan to get me past the gate?” Sybil asked Rory. “The guards know me.”
“I’m going to roll ye up in the blanket behind my saddle.”
“What?”
“’Tis dark and blowing so hard the rain is coming down sideways,” Rory said. “The guards won’t leave the shelter of the gatehouse to take a closer look so long as they see what they expect to see—a lone man and a horse with an injured leg.”
“What if they do take a closer look?”
“They won’t,” Rory assured her. He exchanged a glance with Thomas and touched the dirk at his belt. One way or another, he would get Sybil past the gate.
***
The voices of the guards were muffled by the blanket, and Sybil could see nothing at all. She held her breath to keep from sneezing from the strong smell of horse in her face.
Curan came to a halt, and she heard the rumble of Rory’s voice but could not distinguish the words through the blanket. She thought she heard the gate creak, then the horse began to walk again, rocking her head against his side like a sack of oats. With her heart in her throat, she listened hard for the hue and cry that would erupt if her empty chamber was discovered, but she heard nothing but the wind.
Being trussed and hung over a horse’s back like a goat was uncomfortable. The blood went to her head and feet, the pressure on her stomach was painful, and the motion made her nauseated. Finally, the rocking stopped.
“Let me get ye out of there,” Rory said.
After the long silence, the sound of his voice was reassuring. Still blinded by the blanket, Sybil felt herself lifted up and then gently laid on the ground.
“Time to unwrap the princess.” Rory slowly unrolled her from the blanket until she tumbled out and lay at his feet. He smiled down at her. “I’m going to remember this.”
She forgave him for being amused at her expense because he had saved her. Again. She could forgive him almost anything now. His amusement was brief. Dawn had broken, gray and damp, and he peered through the mist as he picked up the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“We need to keep moving,” he said. “Ye can sleep as we ride.”
Exhausted after the long night and her ordeal, she dozed on and off while they rode for what seemed like hours. Rory stopped twice to let her stretch her legs and to rest the horse, but he did not rest himself. They ate the bread and cheese Thomas had packed for them while they rode. As the day wore on, the wind grew sharp and the landscape forbidding.
Sybil stared at the empty hills and valleys as they rode mile after mile. All her thoughts until now had been on escape, not their destination. Now she was keenly aware that she was headed into the unknown—with a man she had met only a few days before and still knew very little about. The farther they traveled from everything and everyone she knew, the more she realized that she was dependent upon Rory MacKenzie for her very survival.
For the first time, it occurred to her that she might actually end up married to him.
How had this happened? For years, she had successfully thwarted her brother’s efforts to marry her off—and she had planned to continue thwarting him for a long time to come. Quite to her surprise, she did not find the idea of Rory as a husband wholly objectionable. He was forthright and steadfast, uncommon qualities among the men she knew. She enjoyed his company and felt closer to him than the court friends she had known for years.
And then there were those kisses. They had led to wicked thoughts of what it would be like to share a bed with her handsome Highlander.
In truth, if she ever did want a husband—which she most definitely did not—Rory would be a better choice than most.
The prospect of living the rest of her life in the wilderness amidst his wild heathen clansmen, however, sent chills up her spine. From what she’d heard, even highborn Highlanders lived in hovels with nothing to eat all winter but soggy oatcakes.
She imagined herself trapped in a life that was so foreign to her forever. Nay, that could not be her fate. She had to believe that one day it would be safe for her to return to her home and her own life. Until that day came, she would have to survive whatever came.
God help her.
***
Rory stared bleary-eyed into the small campfire he’d built after they ate the trout he had caught and cooked for their supper. He was tired as hell, and his injured leg throbbed. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes to savor the burn of the whisky down his throat. After riding through the night to retrieve Sybil from Drumlanrig and then riding hard all day, he hoped the drink would revive him for the talk he needed to have with her.
“I wouldn’t mind a drink of that, if you’re willing to share,” Sybil said.
He poured her a cup from his flask. After taking a surprisingly long pull, she coughed and choked until her eyes watered. Rory started to reach for the cup, but she pulled it away and gulped down another long drink. This time she barely coughed at all.
He leaned back on his elbow and watched his bride as she made a determined effort to get roaring drunk. Knowing that the prospect of being bound to him for life was what drove her to drink did not sit well with him, but at least he need not worry about his wife criticizing him for taking a nip now and again.
“So tell me,” she said, weaving a bit, “why did ye come back for me?”
“I was wrong to leave ye there in the first place,” Rory said. “I should have known that a man who treats his wife the way William Douglas of Drumlanrig does would have no qualms about putting a kinswoman in harm’s way.”
“That doesn’t answer it,” she said. “Why are ye still willing to claim me after I…after I…”
“After ye made up your mind to set aside our marriage contract and part ways with me?”
She dropped her gaze. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
“I understand it’s hard for ye to leave all ye know for an uncertain future with a stranger.” This bit of wisdom had been slow to come to him. He patted his chest, where their marriage contract was tucked under his tunic for safekeeping. “I didn’t destroy the contract, so we’re still bound.”
“I expect my dowry has been forfeited to the crown, along with my family’s other properties,” she said. “On that ground alone, ye could abandon any obligation ye may have to me.”
“What kind of man would I be if I abandoned my bride when she most needed my protection?” Rory brushed his knuckle against her cheek. “Ye must trust that I’d never do that.”
“Then I fear your Highland pride has gained you a useless bride,” Sybil said, lifting her cup to him. After tossing back the contents, she held it out for more.
“I wouldn’t say useless,” he said, fighting a smile as he poured her a tiny measure. “Ye told me yourself you’ve planned twelve-course feasts for three hundred guests.”
“Aye, I know who to sit next to whom,” she said, slurring her words a bit, “because I also know who pretends to have power and who really does, and who is sleeping with whose wife.”
“And ye can read and write,” Rory pointed out. “That’s impressive.”
“Ahhh, those are necessary for sending and receiving secret missives,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. She leaned against him, her soft warmth sending a shot of desire through him, and spoke in a loud whisper. “I was taught all the languages spoken at court and to listen for the hidden meanings and unspoken motives behind the words.”
“Your family taught ye all that.” Rory kept his tone light, but he thought it damned shameful the way her family tossed the lass in the snake pit of court politics to serve their interests and then failed to protect her.
“Oh, aye, I know a great many useless things.” She took his flask and drained it, then gave him a broad wink. “But I can pick a lock with the right tool, and that’s something.”
Rory admired how Sybil managed to keep her sense of humor. He was, however, losing his. His bride could not drink enough to cope with having to follow through on their marriage.
Until her plans went awry at Drumlanrig, Sybil had never intended to honor their marriage contract and become his wife. She had used him, just as her family had used her. He told himself that she had only done as she had been taught. And yet it stung.
He’d be a fool to ever trust her.
Exhaustion and whisky were a poor mix, and she sank against his chest with a sigh. That talk he needed to have with her would have to wait until morning. He closed his eyes as he enfolded her in his arms and kissed her hair. Though this Lowlander lass was wrong for him in so many ways, she felt exactly right.
***
Sybil awoke with her head throbbing. She squinted up at the gray, rain-laden sky and wondered why she was sleeping outside…then everything came back in a rush. She was penniless and homeless and on her way to an uncertain life in the wild Highlands.
“How’s your head this morning?” Rory gave her a reassuring smile as he sat beside her and handed her a cup. “Drink this down. It will help.”
As she drank the foul-tasting mixture, she debated whether it would be rude to ask him if they would share his cottage with his cow.
“I know ye came with me because you’re frightened,” Rory said, taking her hand, “and ye have no one else to turn to.”
Sybil lowered her gaze, embarrassed that her circumstances had sunk so low.
“I saw what ye meant about your sister’s husband crushing her spirit,” Rory continued. “I don’t want a wife who feels caged like Margaret does.”
What was he trying to tell her? Was this an excuse for leaving her? If he realized he did not want such an unsuitable wife after all, what would she do now? Though she did not relish the idea of living in a tiny cottage with a cow, she did want to live.
“On MacKenzie lands,” Rory said, “I’ll be able to keep ye safe.”
She swallowed and closed her eyes against the flood of relief that poured through her. He did not mean to desert her after all. In a weak voice, she managed to say, “Thank you.”
“I can do that without our being man and wife,” Rory said.
Sybil snapped her eyes open. She should have known he would disappoint her. Men never acted selflessly.
“If not your wife, just what would I be to ye?” she said. “Your mistress?”
“Ach, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” Rory fixed his gaze on the horizon. “My clan will take ye in and protect ye as my guest for as long as ye need. When the winds shift at court and your brother returns from exile, I’ll return ye to your home. If that’s what ye wish.”
Sybil was too overwhelmed to speak. Why would he do this for her?
“I don’t want ye to be my wife only because ye must to be safe,” he said.
She never cried, and yet tears flooded her eyes. When Rory turned and caught her wiping them away with her hands, his brows shot up.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head and choked out, “This is kind of you.”
“Nay, ’tis not kindness, but selfishness.” He lifted the corner of his plaid and dried her cheeks. “I flatter myself that I deserve a wife who wants me for her husband.”
As she watched him through watery eyes, Sybil was tempted to tell him that she was that woman, that she wanted him for her husband. But she reminded herself that Rory felt honor-bound to protect her only because he had signed his name to a piece of parchment. She could not accept him as her husband without first telling him that it was all a lie, that he owed her nothing. She could not risk that.
“You deserve a devoted wife who loves you with all her heart,” she said.
That kind of love took trust, did it not? Sybil doubted she was capable of it. Time and again, the men closest to her had put their interests before hers.
Nay, she would never let herself trust like that. Even now, despite all Rory had done for her, she was waiting for the moment when the cost of caring for her well-being became too high and he decided to sacrifice her.
When that moment came, she feared it would hurt her even more than her brothers’ betrayal had. It would be a grave mistake to let herself be trapped forever in marriage to a man who could hurt her that much, time and again.
As she faced an unknown future fraught with peril, Sybil was certain of only two things. If she married Rory, she would lose her chance of ever returning home.
And she wanted to go home, to her life as it was before.
She had no notion how many months or years it would take, but her family would eventually return to power. The Douglases always did. Until then, she would do her best to adapt and survive in a harsh land among strangers.
She must also steel herself against the day that would inevitably come when Rory would fail her, and she would have no one to rely on but herself.