CHAPTER 22
Sybil awoke falling into a night lit by fire.
“Oof!” She landed with a hard thump, her fall cushioned by Rory’s body beneath her. Rory scrambled to his feet while she remained on the ground, coughing and hacking, trying to clear her burning lungs.
Through watering eyes, she saw him, backlit by the flames, standing between her and the darkness. He was naked except for his boots and brandishing his sword as if he expected demons from hell to emerge from the darkness. When none immediately appeared to challenge him, he dropped to one knee.
“We must move now,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the darkness. “Can ye walk?”
“Aye,” she said, though she felt woozy, her eyes were streaming, and she could not stop coughing.
All at once she understood that someone had intentionally set the house on fire and that they could still be in danger. When Rory lifted her to her feet and took her hand, she held on for dear life and ran.
He helped her over a stone fence, and they crouched behind it. The entire roof of the house was ablaze now, and flames were shooting out the upstairs windows. She wiped her eyes and held her cloak over her mouth to stifle the sound of her coughing.
Rory was still for a long time, his gaze sweeping the house and the field surrounding them. “He’s gone.”
“Are ye certain?” she whispered.
"Aye,” Rory said. “If Duncan of the Axe was here, he would have attacked us the moment we hit the ground.”
***
“You’re the finest horse in all of Scotland,” Rory said, rubbing Curan’s nose after the horse trotted out of the darkness. “Ye saved us tonight.”
Rory retrieved their saddle, rolled blankets, and extra oats for Curan from the barn, and they slept in the open field.
At least Sybil slept, showing more trust than Rory deserved. He lay awake, furious with himself for putting Sybil in danger. In his pride, he’d been confident he could protect her, but he had misjudged the risk. They had survived the fire only because Duncan had also made a misjudgment by not staying to make certain they died in the fire.
He pondered Duncan’s lapse as he stared at the black sky. Most people assumed Duncan was dimwitted because of his size and reputation for brute force, but Hector’s henchman was clever and excruciatingly thorough in the execution of his dark deeds.
Perhaps Duncan had searched elsewhere, still not found what he was looking for, and returned to torch the house on the chance it was hidden there. If he came in the night, he might not even have realized they were there.
Whether Duncan meant to murder them or not, the fire brought home to Rory that his pursuit of the chieftainship put Sybil in danger. The one thing she needed from him after what her brothers had done was to feel safe, and he’d failed her.
Dawn was just breaking when he saw the silhouettes of a dozen Highland warriors—and one priest—riding toward them. He kissed Sybil’s brow to wake her.
“Mo Leannain,” my sweetheart, he said, and kissed Sybil’s brow. “Malcolm and the others are here.”
After some ribbing about his state of undress, one of the men lent him some extra clothes, and Rory told them about the fire.
“Is sleamhainn leac doras an taigh mhòir,” the chief’s house has a slippery doorstep, one of the older men said with a nod toward the smoldering house. “So long as Hector wants to take your place, ye must watch your back.”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
They moved into the barn, leaving two men outside to keep watch. Though the hour was early, someone had brought whisky to facilitate the discussion.
“Tonight the fires will be lit on hilltops all across MacKenzie lands to call the clan to the gathering at Castle Leod,” Malcolm said. “My sons have seen to that, and they’ll arrive over the next few days with many clansmen to support you.”
“Good,” Rory said, nodding his thanks.
“The clan has a week to travel to the gathering to select the new chieftain,” Malcolm continued. “If we’re lucky, Hector won’t learn of Brian’s death until he sees the fires, but I expect he already knows.”
“Then he’s on his way to Castle Leod to make his claim for the chieftainship.” Rory lifted his cup. “But I’ll be there first. I’ll not have him bar the damned gates to me as he did at Eilean Donan.”
The men clanked their cups together and drank.
“I know I’ll have my supporters, but our clansmen are accustomed to following Hector,” Rory said. “He’s led the clan in my brother’s name for many years.”
“And deceived them even longer,” Alex said.
“Hector always saw ye as a threat,” one of the other men said. “The clan knows your reputation as a warrior, but Hector made damned sure ye were never allowed to lead a battle or sit on the council.”
The men contemplated their whisky in silence for a time.
“If ye want your clansmen to see ye as a chieftain,” Sybil said, “then ye must look and act like one.”
From the way all the men turned to look at her, it was apparent they had either forgotten she was there or never expected her to speak. She took a deep breath and forged ahead.
“Rory should ride through the gates on the last day accompanied by two hundred warriors,” she said, spreading her arms, “and all the people shouting his name!”
Rory laughed, and the others stared at her as if she were daft. In the long, awkward silence that followed, she thought they all had dismissed her advice.
Malcolm pulled out his pipe and chewed on the stem.
“There’s something to be said for the lass’s plan,” he said after a long pause. “Hector goes nowhere without a guard of twenty, as if he’s been chieftain all along. He sleeps in the chieftain’s bedchamber and sits in the chieftain’s chair too.”
“Hmmph,” Rory grunted. “Sitting in the chieftain’s chair doesn’t make a man worthy to lead.”
“If ye don’t believe appearances matter, consider my bishop. Dress that fool in his white and gold robes and pointy hat, and people believe he’s a font of wisdom,” Alex said, then grinned and added, “Not that you’re a fool.”
“The point is,” another man said, “’tis easy for folk to see Hector as chieftain because he’s played the part for years. As the lass says, ye can help your cause by doing a bit of that yourself.”
She could see that this went against the grain for Rory. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “In time, your clansmen will come to admire ye for the qualities that will make ye the great chieftain I know you’ll be,” she told him. “But ye only have a week. Help them see the chieftain you’ll become.”
“Ach, you’ll give my brother a swollen head,” Alex said, but he gave her a nod when Rory was not looking.
“I can’t risk Hector arriving at Castle Leod before me and barring the gates.”
“I’ll go and hold it for ye until ye come,” Malcolm said. “I trained most of the senior men at the castle. They won’t take orders from Hector now that he’s not giving them in Brian’s name.”
The men spoke at length about the men of influence in the clan that Rory ought to meet with in the coming days. Then they stood as if ready to depart but made no move to go.
“What is it ye need to say?” Rory asked.
The men all shifted their gazes to Malcolm.
“Ye can’t have the lass with ye when ye travel about to meet with the men,” Malcolm said. “It isn’t done.”
“Ye know I like Sybil, but Malcolm is right,” Alex put in. “She’s not only a lass, but a Lowlander as well. They won’t like it.”
Sybil’s heart raced as panic set in at the thought of being separated from Rory. She could not let him leave her behind.
“Once you’re chieftain, ye can do what ye like,” Malcolm said. “But now ye must persuade the clan that you’re wiser than Hector. Bringing along your mistress—and a traitor’s sister at that—is not likely to persuade them.”
“Sybil is more than that,” Rory said through clenched teeth.
“Of course she is,” Alex, the peacemaker, said. “But you’ve already dragged her across most of Scotland, and in winter yet. For God’s sake, let the poor lass rest at Lovat’s for a few days.”
“I intend to do that,” Rory snapped, “but only because she’ll be safer there.”
Sybil waited until the men mounted their horses and left before voicing her objections.
“You’re not leaving me anywhere,” she said. “I’m staying with you.”
“The course I am embarked upon is dangerous—it nearly killed ye last night.” He cupped the back of her neck and rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “You’ll be safe with Lovat behind the strong walls of Fraser Castle.”
“I won’t feel safe with anyone but you,” she said, shaking her head violently. Even people she’d known her whole life who called themselves her friends refused to help her when she was desperate. She tried to calm herself, but her chest felt too tight to breathe.
“I don’t know where my sister is or if she’s safe,” Rory said, his tone turning angry. “I’ll not let something happen to you as well.”
“I won’t go.” She couldn’t. He was sure to forget her and never return. That’s what her brothers had done. “You said you’d protect me with your last breath.”
“Protecting you is what I’m doing,” Rory said, closing the subject like a slamming door. “I’m not arguing about this. You’ll stay at Lovat’s out of harm’s way until I can bring ye to Castle Leod.”