CHAPTER 19
Rory studied his wife of three days as she cooked the hare he’d caught for their supper. Though she filled his nights with passion and his days with easy companionship, he kept watch for signs of her earlier reluctance to accept their marriage.
When Sybil looked up and caught his gaze on her, she gave him a bright smile that warmed him from the inside out.
“I had no notion that cooking could be so satisfying,” she said. “Imagining how horrified my brother Archie would be to see me makes it all the more enjoyable.”
The lass seemed determined to be cheerful and adapt to whatever life handed her—even being wedded to him. Despite her efforts, he suspected his clan would not accept his Lowlander wife easily, especially when she could not speak their language.
“’Tis time I began teaching ye Gaelic,” he said.
“I already know it,” she said, with a wicked gleam in her eye. “Tell me, do ye call all the lasses mo rùin?”
“Ye wee devil,” he said. “Why did ye not tell me?”
“Ye never asked,” she said.
This was yet another piece of information she had not trusted him with earlier, but he took it as a good sign that she shared it so readily now.
“I confess there are some gaps in my knowledge,” she said. “Ye used a number of curses I’d never heard before that I’d like ye to teach me.”
“Hmmph.” He held out his bowl for her to serve him a slice of the hare. “How did ye come to learn Gaelic?”
“Our last king learned it to help him win the hearts of you Highlanders,” she said as she sat down beside him. “Naturally, my grandfather thought it wise that we Douglas lasses learn it as well.”
“Why?” Rory asked around a mouthful of rabbit. It was only slightly burned this time, and he was hungry after another long day of travel, so it tasted delicious.
“To impress the king.” Sybil gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Grandfather had high hopes that one of us would bear a royal bastard.”
Rory choked on his food. The notion of Sybil’s innocence being used as bait for the king incensed him. “Did your father and mother not object to this?”
“Grandfather was chieftain for fifty years, and his orders were followed.” Sybil shrugged. “Besides, the other noble families did the same with their daughters.”
Rory was aware that many a Highland family was pleased when a daughter bore a chieftain’s child, but somehow that seemed different to him.
“My mother was deeply unhappy about it,” Sybil continued, “because her sister had an affair with the king when they were young, and it ended badly.”
“How badly?”
“She was murdered,” Sybil said.
“Murdered?” He nearly choked again.
“Powerful nobles in both the pro-French faction and the pro-English faction feared the young, lovesick king would marry my aunt instead of making a foreign alliance,” she said. “We never found out which side did it.”
“O shluagh,” Rory said, calling on the faeries for help. “After your aunt was murdered, your family was willing to put you in the same position?”
“There was no risk of the king wedding one of us, as he was already married by then to Margaret Tudor,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone and licked her fingers. “However, our blood tie to the king’s first love was viewed as a great advantage in the competition to become his mistress.”
“Luckily ye weren’t old enough to be anyone’s mistress before the king died.”
“My grandfather thought I was old enough,” she said. “But the Douglas’s hopes were really on Margaret. She’s the one with fair hair like our aunt’s.”
Jesu.
“Though we failed to entice the king,” Sybil said, “the queen knew about my grandfather’s plan. She holds it against me and my sisters.”
“The queen was jealous, even after the king was dead and she married your brother?”
“Archie’s infidelity only made it worse.” Sybil took Rory’s bowl from him and washed it as she discussed the queen of Scotland. “I’d wager she’s persuaded herself that all of us slept with the king.”
She faced other dangers with him, but at least she was safe from the queen.
Night had fallen while they ate their supper, and he was anxious to take his bride to bed. Sybil looked lovely in the glow of the firelight, and it seemed an awfully long time since they had made love that morning…
“I want to help ye fight your uncle Hector,” she said, fixing him with a dead-serious look.
“Now that ye carry a dirk,” he said, “you’re ready to learn to swing a sword for my cause?”
She rolled her eyes. “Not that kind of help.”
He twisted a strand of her curling black hair around his finger. “What is it ye want to do for me?”
Their gazes locked and heat sizzled between them, but then she got that determined expression on her face again. It was a very fetching look.
“For better or for ill, I’ve lived my entire life around men vying for power,” she said. “Tell me about Hector, both his good and bad qualities.”
At the mention of his uncle, Rory’s mood turned dark. He tossed another stick onto the fire and watched it burn.
“Hector is much admired by the men of the clan as a strong warrior,” he told her. “He’s a bold and charismatic leader, the sort men are willing to follow into battle. He has won many victories for our clan over the years.”
“And his bad side?”
“He’s a conniving master of deception whose first concern is always himself,” Rory said. “The MacDonalds are our most powerful enemy. Yet Hector provokes neighboring clans, like the Munros and the Grants, who should be allies, with unwarranted attacks for no reason except to enhance his reputation as a great warrior. He endangers the clan to make himself, as the great war leader, seem indispensable.”
“If your uncle is so popular with your clansmen,” she said, “it will be a challenge to take your place as chieftain without alienating half your clan.”
“He’s been leading the clan for years now, and the men think they know him,” he said. “But they don’t know him like I do. The fight between us will be bloody, but I’ll not let him take my place and lead our clan to ruin.”
Fury burned in his belly as he imagined breaking down the barred gate at Eilean Donan.
“Surely it would be better,” Sybil said, tugging at his sleeve, “to find a way to gain the chieftainship without spilling the blood of your clansmen.”
“I don’t see a way to avoid it,” he said. “Hector will not go easily.”
“How strong is his support?”
“Strong, especially in the west, where he’s fought the MacDonalds for twenty years, and up in Gairloch in the northwest, where he has lands in his own right.” Rory took a deep breath. The task before him was daunting.
“If he is strong, then we’ll have to be quick and clever,” she said in cheerful tone. “A bit of trickery may be needed as well.”
“Ach, ye sound like a Highlander,” he said. “In Gaelic we say, an té nach mbíonn láidir ní folláir dó bheith glic.” He who is not strong must be cunning.
“A powerful ally would be helpful.” She tapped her finger against her chin, then gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t suppose ye have one of those?”
Rory heaved a sigh. “I may.”
“That’s good news,” she said. “Who is it?”
“My mother’s brother is the Fraser chieftain, Lord Lovat.”
“I’ve seen him at court,” she said.
“Lovat is a powerful man in his own right,” Rory said. “He’s also close to Lord Huntly, the crown’s deputy in the north.”
“Huntly, the so-called Cock of the North? Excellent!” she said. “But why don’t ye look pleased? Such powerful allies will help your cause considerably.”
“I know them too well,” Rory said. “If Lovat and Huntly help me, they’ll think they own me.”
“Then they don’t know ye very well, now do they?” Sybil said with a grin.
Rory cupped her cheek. Odd how this lass could make him feel that the obstacles that stood in his way were not so great and that he could overcome any challenge with her at his side.
“I must first go to Killin and gather support among my own clan,” Rory said. “But then we’ll pay a visit on Lord Lovat and ask for his help.”
***
Rory’s willingness to listen to her and take advice made Sybil flush with pleasure—until she realized the danger the visit to Lovat would put her in.
“What if Lord Lovat recognizes me?” Her hand went to her throat. “I can’t go with ye.”
“Ye needn’t fear the queen any longer,” Rory said. “The crown needs the MacKenzies to contain the MacDonalds. No matter what the queen might wish, the regent and King’s Council will not risk offending the new MacKenzie chieftain by attempting to arrest my wife.”
But she was not his wife, merely his lover. And how long would she be that once he was made chieftain?
“Ach, I can see that was poor reassurance,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, “after I’ve told ye the challenges I face to become chieftain.”
“Ye will succeed.” She was determined that he would.
“Whether I become chieftain or no, I’ll never let anyone take ye away from me.” Rory held her gaze as he spoke. “I would protect ye with my last breath.”
Sybil blinked back tears. Why did Rory have to go and say that? She tried her best not to think too much about her own future. She wanted to make the most of the time she had with him, not ruin it with worries about what would happen when it ended.
But her Highlander was going to break her heart for certain.