Chapter Twelve
Alex arose early the next morning in preparation for his journey. Once again, he packed up his meager belongings but this occasion was nothing like the last. He’d left Portmahomack reluctantly, feeling as if it were almost a banishment. Now, he couldn’t imagine returning to the monastery. He was not the same man he was. He would never be the same. Instinct told him, for better or worse, momentous things were about to happen.
As he had done before, Alex wrapped his psalter but, this time, with another intent. Alex then hesitated over the sword. ’T would be a conspicuous weapon in any circumstance, let alone carried by one professing to be a man of the cloth. Moreover, he had no training in how to use it. He had his easily concealable sgian-dubh should he need to defend himself. The sword, however, would be nothing but a liability. His identity would immediately come into question should anyone discover it. He couldn’t take that risk.
He briefly considered leaving it hidden under his mattress but then feared it might be accidentally found. Should he return it to the sepulcher? No, he could not. It was his now. He might never come forth with it, but he still would not give it up. The sword was a crucial connection, indeed his only connection, to his birthright. It must be protected. But what to with it? There was only one person he could trust—Sibylla.
Once packed, Alex retrieved his sgian-dubh from its sheath around his lower leg. With a sigh of resolution, he ran his thumb across the newly-sharpened blade. Like it or not, there was one last thing that must be done to ensure his safe passage.
“I am yer servant, Lord,” he murmured in prayer. “I will go as ye lead me.”
*
Sibylla was still awake and sitting by the window when the first rays of sun broke through the clouds. The events of last night had shaken her to the core. Domnall believed he needed the alliance. Had she destroyed it by rejecting Ranald?
“Sibylla?” Ailis sat up with a yawn. “Ye are already awake?”
“Aye,” Sibylla replied. The questions would be unending if she revealed to Ailis that she’d never even closed her eyes.
“I slept like the dead,” Ailis confessed, adding with a wrinkle of her nose, “too much mead I think. Did ye enjoy the feast?” she asked.
“Aye,” Sibylla replied absently. The bailey stirred to life below her window. The livestock had gathered at the feeding troughs, nudging and butting each other for first chance at the feed. The farm lads scurried forth with feed buckets. The sun had crested, but there was no sign of Ranald and his men. With any luck, he would keep his word and depart. She dearly hoped she would never lay eyes on him again.
“Aye?” Ailis frowned. “Is that all ye have to say?”
“What more do ye expect?” Sibylla asked. “Ye were there also.”
“But I was nae seated half the night with our guest of honor,” Ailis prodded. After a moment she asked, “What do ye think of Ranald?”
“I think he’s an arrogant ass,” Sibylla replied without hesitation.
Ailis smirked. “He is, indeed, verra full of himself… but perhaps he has good reason for conceit.”
“What reason?” Sibylla scoffed.
“He’s braw and handsome, has powerful connections, and has an obvious appreciation of music.”
It was Sibylla’s turn to frown. “Ye canna mean to say ye fancy him?”
“A lass could do far worse,” Ailis replied, absently loosening her plait.
Sibylla couldn’t understand why Ailis had suddenly become so keen on matrimony. “Ailis, if ’tis a husband ye seek, ye would do better to look elsewhere.”
Ailis’ gaze narrowed. “Ye want him for yerself, do ye?”
“Nae,” Sibylla replied. “I just think such a man would nae suit ye.”
“Why nae?” Ailis demanded.
“I dinna think him honorable.”
Ailis stood, hands on hips. “On what basis would ye judge a man’s honor after a mere day’s acquaintance?” she challenged.
Sibylla scrambled for an answer that would satisfy her cousin. Ailis was generally even-tempered but she had a will of steel. “Yesterday when I went spying, we met outside the great hall. He was verra forward in the belief I was a servant.”
“He tried to kiss ye?” Ailis snorted. “He wouldna be the first man to sample a servant’s favors.”
“Nae, Ailis. ’Twas more than that—.”
A commotion from below drew her attention back to the bailey. To her great relief, Somerled’s men were preparing to depart. Domnall was with them. He and Ranald stood away from the others, their heads dipped in what appeared to be a heated exchange. Her brother’s expression grew fierce.
What were they saying? Surely Ranald had not confessed his actions of the night before. Perhaps he didn’t even remember it. As if reading her thoughts, he suddenly looked up at her window. Once more catching her spying, Ranald pierced her with a dark look that told her he remembered all too well.
Sibylla drew back with a shudder. She didn’t expect an apology to be forthcoming, but prayed he would not seek retaliation. She feared for Alexander. Last night, Ranald had been drunk and unarmed, but any other time Alexander would be no match for him. Her heart began beating again when he turned to mount his waiting horse. A few moments later, the men from the Isles departed through the castle gates.
Looking bewildered, Ailis appeared by her shoulder. “What is this?”
“Somerled’s men are leaving,” Sibylla answered.
“Nae!” Ailis gasped. This canna be!” Her visage had paled and her body shook.
Sibylla stared at Ailis in utter incomprehension. “What the de’il is wrong with ye?”
Ailis shut her eyes on a choked whisper. “He promised he would speak to MacAedh.”
“He?” Sibylla asked. “He who?”
“Ranald,” she answered.
Sibylla was so stunned she nearly swallowed her tongue. “Ye canna mean ye agreed to wed Ranald? Surely I dinna hear ye right.”
“Are ye daft?” Ailis asked. “’Tis exactly as I said. Last night at Cnoc Croit na Maoile we agreed to wed.”
“Last night?” Sibylla repeated reeling as if she had gone daft. How could this be so? Had Ranald gone to Ailis at Cnoc Croit na Maoile immediately after molesting Sibylla on the ramparts?
“Aye. At the banefire,” Ailis replied. “Are ye nae happy for me?”
“Happy? Nae, Cousin.” Sibylla vehemently shook her head. “I canna be happy. He is nae worthy of ye.”
Ailis’ brows pulled together in a frown. “Why do ye say such a thing?”
Sibylla bit her lip, wondering how she should reply. Should she tell Ailis what happened? She desperately needed Ailis to understand the kind of man he was. Last night, she’d vowed to maintain her silence as long as Ranald kept his promise to leave. But this changed everything. How could she remain silent and allow her cousin to wed such a callous brute?
“I canna be happy for ye because last night, Ranald tried to claim from me what is nae his to take.”
Ailis’ frown deepened. “I dinna understand. He laid hands on ye?”
“Aye, Ailis. After I left the feast. Ranald followed me up to the parapets… If Alexander hadna come along…”
“Nae!” Ailis violently shook her head. “I dinna believe ye! Ranald came to me last night at Cnoc Croit na Maoile.”
“Ye think I would lie to ye?”
“I dinna ken what to think, but I am promised to Ranald. We pledged ourselves last night.”
“Under the circumstances, ye need nae be bound to the promise,” Sibylla said. “We only need to tell Uncle what transpired.”
Ailis looked away. “I canna do that. It is already done, Sibylla.”
“Done? What do ye mean, it is done?” Understanding struck Sibylla like a slap in the face. “Ye canna mean ye already consummated?”
Ailis’ face flushed deep rose. “’Tis how we sealed the bargain.”
Sibylla shut her eyes on a shudder as the scene from the night before flashed before her eyes. Was this how Ranald had taken his revenge? By ravaging Ailis? Sibylla seized her cousin by the shoulders. “Did he force himself on ye?”
“Nae!” Ailis pushed her away. “He dinna force himself. Ranald would ne’er do such a thing!”
How could Ailis be so blind to his character? “How can ye judge a man’s honor on a mere day’s acquaintance,” Sibylla tossed Ailis’ own words back at her.
“The heart sees more than the eyes,” Ailis replied softly.
Was she so infatuated with Ranald that she would refuse to hear the truth?
“What of Domnall?” Sibylla asked. Only weeks ago, Ailis had confessed her secret feelings for him. “I thought ye loved him. I ne’er would have believed ye so fickle with yer affections.”
“I am nae fickle!” Ailis insisted. “I still love him,” she paused before adding softly. “But he doesna want me.”
Sibylla saw all too well the pain in Ailis eyes. “I dinna ken my brother’s heart,” Sibylla said, “But perhaps he is just nae ready.”
“But I am ready!” Ailis insisted. “I canna wait for what might ne’er be. Ranald will be a fine husband and the marriage can only help Domnall. Do ye nae see? It is as much for Domnall as it is for myself that I agreed to this.” Her eyes took on a lost expression as she gazed out the window. “I dinna understand why Ranald has gone.”
“Ye have been ill-used, Cousin. I fear ye were simply a convenient tool of vengeance. ’Twas his way of getting back at me for rejecting him. We must go to Uncle at once.”
Pulling on her arm, Sibylla steered Ailis toward the door.
“Nae!” Ailis jerked back out of her grasp. “Uncle must ken nothing of this!”
“But we canna let that fiend get away with it!”
“What do ye suppose will transpire if we tell MacAedh?” Ailis asked.
“MacAedh will go after him, of course.”
“And much bloodshed will follow. I canna allow it!”
Ailis was right that no good could come of it. “Are ye verra certain of this, Ailis,” Sibylla asked.
“Aye. I wouldna have a war over a lost maidenhead… nae when it was my own fault.”
“’Twas nae yer fault,” Sibylla insisted. “He purposely set out to seduce ye.”
“I feel like such a fool. I believed he wanted me,” Ailis stifled a sob.
“Ye must nae weep.” Sibylla added fiercely, “He is nae worth a single tear.” Pulling Ailis into a tight embrace, she held Ailis until the sobs subsided.
“What if he got me with child?” Ailis asked between hiccups.
“Then ye have nae choice,” Sibylla said. “Ye canna hold yer silence and let the world shun ye as a wanton. I willna allow it. If ye are with child, ye will have to go to Uncle and ask that he seek recompense on yer behalf.”
Ailis licked her lips. “Please, Sibylla,” she pleaded, desperation shining in her eyes. “Swear ye’ll say nothing of this.”
“I canna like it,” Sibylla answered. “But I promise I will say nothing so long as ye are nae breeding.”
*
Drawing his cloak closely over his head, Alex exited the castle only to enter a scene of orchestrated chaos and the pungent smell of fresh manure. Amongst the dissonant choir of bleating sheep and lowing cattle that had been penned for the drive to Inverness, he found MacAedh conferring with Fergus, Kenneth, and a few youths. Domnall was also present, but Somerled’s men were nowhere in sight.
Had Ranald heeded his threat from the night before? He hoped so.
As Alex crossed the bailey to join the group, Domnall was apparently making one more appeal to accompany MacAedh, but the thane’s word prevailed.
“And who will be in charge in my absence?” MacAedh asked.
“Fergus could stay behind,” Domnall suggested.
“Nae,” MacAedh answered, “as my tanist, it is for ye to see to things in my absence.”
“See to what?” Domnall scoffed. “There is no one left here but the women and children.”
MacAedh shook his head with a sigh. “Ye still have much to learn, Nephew. The safety and welfare of the women and children is no small responsibility. Whether chief or king, yer people should always be yer primary concern.”
MacAedh was saying that this was, in essence, a test of his nephew’s leadership, but Domnall refused to see it that way. There was still a spirit of rebellion in him that had not been completely quenched. Alex hoped the rift between uncle and nephew would not widen in MacAedh’s absence.
Noting Alex’s arrival, MacAedh nodded to a sway-backed gelding amongst the line of tethered horses that pawed and snorted their impatience to depart. “Alexander, that one is for ye.”
Perhaps another man may have taken affront at being so poorly mounted, but Alex was thankful to have been assigned the oldest, slowest nag in the stables. It wasn’t that he feared horses, he’d just never learned how to ride, a deficiency that would soon be rectified.
“Where are Somerled’s men?” Alex asked.
“They departed an hour past,” Domnall replied tersely.
Was Domnall aware of the incident of last evening? If so, he volunteered nothing. Since Ranald was gone, Alex decided it best to count his blessings and speak no more of it.
Some of the women of Kilmuir soon appeared with provisions for their journey. Alex’s heart lightened at the sight of Sibylla. She was, once more, dressed in a plain tunic of homespun and bore a basket on her arm. With her hair shining red-gold in the early morning light, she reminded him of an angel. For a moment, he indulged in the desire simply to look upon her. He wished he could have sketched her likeness in that moment, but he had to suffice with memorizing this image of her.
As if feeling his eyes upon her, she glanced in his direction. His heart beat a little faster when her mouth curved into a warm, welcoming smile.
Taking a bundle from her basket, she came briskly toward him. “Alexander! I have something for ye.” She held a finely woven plaid in her arms that she offered to him with a shy smile. “Ailis did the weaving, but I combed all the wool.”
“Thank ye.” He accepted it with a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment that she’d noticed how threadbare his clothing was.
“Alexander?” She peered at him more closely and drew back his hood. He cringed at her look of shock upon revealing the crescent shaved from the front of his head. He’d never cared very much for his appearance in the past, but many things had altered since he left the monastery.
“What did ye do to yerself?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Ye’ve changed yer mind,” her voice quivered. “Ye will take the vows?”
“Nae, Sibylla.” He shook his newly-shorn head. “I am tonsured, but I havena changed my mind. I pledge ye upon my solemn word that I will come back.”
“Then why have ye done this?” she asked with a puzzled look.
“There is much I canna explain yet, but please trust me.”
“I do trust ye,” she whispered. “I have already trusted ye with my heart.”
“And ye with mine,” he replied softly. He then reached into his tunic and withdrew the linen-wrapped package. “I also have something for ye.”
Sibylla opened the cloth with a look of incomprehension. “Yer psalter? But I canna read it.”
“Yet,” he corrected her. “Please accept it along with my promise to teach ye when I return.”
“I will hold ye to yer word this time, Alexander, on both accounts—that ye will return and that ye will teach me.”
“I expected no less,” he replied with a chuckle. “Sibylla, there is something I would ask of ye. Something of great importance to me.”
“Aye?” her gaze widened. “And what is that?”
He dipped his head close to murmur in her ear. “There is an object hidden under the mattress in my chamber. ’Tis something I value above all things.”
She drew back with a wrinkled brow. “What is it?”
“’Tis a family heirloom. I need ye to keep it safe for me.”
“I will,” she promised. “But ye will, indeed, have much to answer for when ye return.” She added softly, “I hope ’twill be soon.”
“Aye,” he replied, holding her gaze. “’Tis also my wish.”
“Godspeed, Alexander,” she whispered.
He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and place a long and lingering parting kiss on her sweet lips, but forced himself to turn away before he could give in to the temptation. Soon, he told himself. He would soon speak to MacAedh about his feelings for Sibylla.
*
With a hollow ache in her chest, Sibylla watched the slow procession of drovers and livestock until they were nothing more than a cloud of dust on the distant horizon. She wondered what the future would hold for them. So many questions with no apparent answers. Would Alexander find what he was seeking? Would he keep his promise and come back to Kilmuir to stay? He’d made her a vow but hearts were oft broken by un-kept promises.
She turned away with a sigh only to face Domnall crossing the bailey with long, angry strides. “Sibylla!” he called out. “What the de’il did ye do to vex Ranald? Last eve he was ready to take ye to wife, but this morn he said he would have none of ye!”
“Ye might better ask what he did to vex me!” she retorted with a jut of her chin.
“What do ye mean?”
“He conducted himself last night like a drunken lout,” she replied.
“’Twas a feast,” Domnall said with a shrug. “Most of the men were drunken louts. What in particular gave ye offense?”
“He dinna like it when I told him I am promised to another,” she countered.
Domnall’s expression darkened. “Ye are nae promised to anyone but Ranald.”
Sibylla raised her chin. “I willna have him. I would go to the convent of Iona first.”
“We already had this discussion, Sibylla. ’Tis nae yer choice. Ye will make peace with him. Everything depends upon it.”
“Everything?” She arched a brow. “Ye have no faith that Uncle will succeed with the king?”
His hand clamped tightly on her arm. “And what would ye ken of that? He told no one he goes to the king.”
Sibylla licked her lips. “I overheard—”
“Ye bluidy well spied!” he accused.
“I have every right,” she insisted. “Given I’m part of yer plan.”
“What did ye hear?” he demanded.
“Enough. I ken that Somerled offers an alliance. I also ken that Uncle and Alexander go to petition the king for ye.”
His mouth compressed to a flat line. “I will nae be appeased.”
“Ye should trust Uncle’s judgement,” Sibylla said. “He has been through all this before.”
“MacAedh would negotiate for a regency, but I want what is mine by right.”
“A regency?” Sibylla asked. “What does that mean?”
“MacAedh thinks to convince the king to appoint me as regent over Prince Malcolm until he comes of age.”
“And ye would refuse this honor?” she asked.
“He will ne’er agree to it,” Domnall said. “If he does, I still canna trust him. Do ye recall how he appeased Wimund with lands in Cumbria? Nae one believes ’twas the Cumbrians who put out Wimund’s eyes and cut off his manhood.”
Sibylla shuddered. She’d never met her bastard half-brother, who’d demanded his birthright from the king, but the gruesome story had spread like a wildfire through the Highlands. If Domnall was bent on taking up his own cause, he had good reason to mistrust the king.
“If the king refuses to acknowledge me as his heir, ’twill surely come to blood,” Domnall said. “And that is why ye must wed Ranald.”
“Given that he left this morn, ’tis a moot point,” Sibylla argued.
“He agreed to give ye time to come around. He said he will be back in a month to claim his bride.”
His bride? But which one? Did he intend to take Sibylla or Ailis? She dared not ask. To do so would only reveal Ailis’ disgrace. Nevertheless, Domnall had given voice to Sibylla’s greatest fear. If he would not be moved by her appeal to reason, it was time to tell him the truth, or at least the truth in part.
“Ye canna trust Ranald either, Domnall. He is nae an honorable man.”
“Why would ye say so?” Domnall demanded.
“Because… because last night he tried to rape me!” Sibylla blurted.
Domnall looked stunned. “Tried?”
“Aye. He dinna succeed only because Alexander came along.”
“If ’tis true, why the de’il did ye nae speak of it before he left?”
“Because Ranald was drunk and likely dinna ken what he was about… I wouldna have a clan war over it.”
“Drunk or nae, Ranald dishonors us all with his actions. Does Uncle ken of this?”
“Nae,” Sibylla replied. “Please, Domnall,” she pleaded. “There was no real harm done.” Searching his eyes, she softly added, “But do ye now ken why I willna have Ranald?”
His hand tightened painfully, before he abruptly released it. “Aye. I willna force the marriage.”
Sibylla felt as if a great weight had dropped from her shoulders. She didn’t know what she would have done had Domnall continued to press the issue.
But her relief was short lived.
“Mayhap there is another way.” Domnall’s eyes had taken on a calculating gleam.
“Another way for what?”
“Another way to bind an alliance,” Domnall said. “By the hand of fate, Ranald has given me all that I need to ensure Somerled’s support.”
“I dinna understand,” Sibylla said. “What are ye saying?”
Ignoring her question, Domnall strode to the paddock where the remaining few horses munched on their hay. Sibylla’s stomach churned as Domnall led one of the horses out by the halter and tethered it to a post. He then disappeared into the tackle shed and reemerged a moment later with a saddle and bridle slung over his shoulder.
“Where are ye going?” she asked.
“Where do ye think? I go west to Kintyre.”
“Ye should await Uncle’s return,” Sibylla insisted.
“I will nae,” Domnall replied defiantly. “To do so would only forfeit my advantage. I must confront Somerled now, before Ranald has an opportunity to tell his version of the story.”
“What if he doesna believe ye?” Sibylla asked.
“’Tis a risk I am willing to take. Ranald has brought disgrace to his family name.” He lifted a booted foot to the stirrup. “And Somerled’s honor will demand that he make reparation for it.”