CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (12 page)

“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.

CHAPTER 12

You deserve a devoted wife who loves you with all her heart.
How in the hell did the lass think it was a comfort to tell a man that? It was just a long way of saying nay.

“Now that we have that settled, I’d better catch us some breakfast so we can be on our way.” Rory braced his hands on his thighs and got to his feet.

He’d be glad when they reached MacKenzie lands and could stop running. They had a fortnight of hard travel before they got there. That should give him time enough to change her mind about being his wife.

“Rest while ye can,” he said when Sybil got up and began rolling up the blanket. “We’ve a long day ahead of us, and many more after that.”

“I can’t have your clansmen thinking of me as a useless Lowlander lady, now can I?” Sybil planted a hand on her nicely rounded hip. “Before we reach your home, I intend to learn to help ye in all the ways a Highland lass would.”

“Such as?” The help he desperately needed involved unrolling that blanket—or backing her up against the nearest tree. His mouth practically watered as his gaze drifted up and down her enticing form.

“I don’t know.” Sybil gave an impatient wave of her hand. “Build a fire, cook.”

Rory raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Give me your flint,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ll have a fire roaring by the time you’re back.”

“Let me show ye how.”

“No need,” she said. “It can’t be that hard, and I’ve seen ye do it.”

Rory admired her confidence, but making a fire from damp moss and twigs was harder than it looked. And he’d had plenty of practice. But he left her to it.

When he returned with a trout, Sybil was coughing from the smoke. Rory sighed inwardly at her pitiful attempt at a fire. The lass was as helpless as a newborn babe. He reminded himself that she had other qualities that were more valuable to him in a wife than her skill at building a fire. Besides her obvious physical appeal, the lass was witty and bright.

When she looked up, he could not help smiling at the smudges and determined expression on her face—and he was sorely tempted to kiss her. Sybil was not one to give up easily, another attribute he admired, though in her case it verged toward stubbornness.

“All right,” she said. “Show me how.”

She paid close attention as he shared the secrets of building a fire on a damp day.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Sybil said later as she watched him clean the trout, “about me having the protection of your clan without us marrying.”

When he looked up, her expression was innocent, but something about the way she said it put him on his guard. Taking his time, he set the trout to cooking over the fire before saying, “Aye?”

“Well, it made me wonder,” she said, “aren’t your clansmen expecting ye to bring home a wife?”

“Nay.” Rory could not think of a good way to explain it to her, so he left it at that.

He felt her eyes drilling into him, and he did not believe it was because she was fascinated by his skill at cooking trout.

“Ye didn’t tell your clansmen the reason ye traveled all this way, did ye?” she said, resting her hand on her hip, which he was learning was not a good sign. “No one in your clan knows about the marriage contract.”

Rory turned the trout over while he tried to think of an explanation that would not offend her, but nothing came to him.

“Eight long years, and ye never showed it to a soul,” she said. “Why?”

***

Sybil had wondered why no one told Rory the marriage contract was signed by the wrong brother. Though Archie was the queen’s husband and the king’s stepfather, she had thought perhaps not everyone in that distant part of Scotland where Rory lived knew the Douglas chieftain’s name. Now she realized that no one told Rory the contract was faulty because he never shared it with anyone.

That did not explain, however, why he kept a marriage contract he believed was binding a secret.

“Why?” she repeated.

“As I told ye before, I expected your brother would find a way to avoid honoring the agreement,” Rory said. “I don’t like looking like a fool.”

“I think that when ye returned home,” she said, pinning him with a look, “ye realized ye wanted a wife who would fit into your Highland clan more than ye wanted my dowry.”

Rory shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now.”

His acknowledgment that she would make him an unsuitable wife hurt, though she had told herself as much. She recalled with grim amusement how not very long ago she had thought herself such a prize.

“What about the brother ye mentioned?” she asked. “Ye speak as if the two of ye are close. Surely ye at least told him.”

“Nay,” Rory said.

This struck her as odd indeed. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are ye already married?”

“Nay,” he said again, but this time she heard hesitation in his voice.

“You’d best tell me the truth.” She leaned in front of him and gripped his arm so that he would look at her instead of the damned fish.