CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (19 page)

“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.

CHAPTER 20

“How long before we reach Killin?” she asked, though what she really wanted to know was how much more time she would have with him.

“We should arrive tomorrow.”

Sybil sighed and rested her head against Rory’s back as they rode. How she would miss this! Her former friends at court would be amazed that she could tolerate, much less enjoy, spending every hour of so many days and nights with just one person. She surprised herself.

She had persuaded herself not to ruin the present by fretting about the future. Now the future was fast approaching, and she would pay the price.

“I’ve decided to stop at Beauly Priory on our way,” Rory said. “I expect it’s too soon, but I need to find out if my brother’s body has been brought there yet.”

She tightened her hold around his waist to comfort him. Most of the time he hid his grief, but she knew his brother’s death weighed heavy on his heart.

In late afternoon they reached a large body of water.

“This is a firth, an inlet from the sea,” Rory said. “Ye can sail from Beauly at one end of it to Inverness at the other, and from Inverness, ye can sail to anywhere in the world.”

Not long after, she saw a large stone building next to a river that emptied into the Firth.

“That’s Beauly Priory,” Rory said. “It was sacked when I was a boy. My father funded the repairs, which were made under the direction of my uncle, who was the bishop at the time. They are both buried here.”

It was growing dark by the time they dismounted at the priory gate and rang the bell. When a monk appeared, Sybil expected they would be turned away until morning. But Rory’s family was an important benefactor of the priory, and his name and his wish to visit his father’s tomb was sufficient to gain them entry.

Without a word, the monk led them across the grounds to a side entrance to the church. When the monk left them, Rory appeared in no hurry to go inside. She and Rory stood side by side, gazing up at the angled roof, which was designed to draw the eye upward to heaven. Sybil found the tranquil strength of the building soothing and hoped Rory did too.

Finally, Rory pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the church was eerily empty, lit only by flickering candles and the remaining light of the day that filtered through the intricately designed stained glass window at the far end. Rory dipped his fingers in the font of holy water next to the door, made the sign of the cross, and waited while Sybil did the same.

Like all great churches, it was built in the shape of the cross. Rory took her hand and led her down the long nave and past the monk’s choir to where the two parts of the cross met. On either side, an elaborately carved tomb was set into the wall at the entrance to the transepts.

Rory paused before the tomb on the right, which had an effigy of a churchman, and made the sign of the cross again. “My uncle the bishop lies here.”

The tomb on the other side, at the entrance to the north transept, had a life-sized effigy of a warrior in armor. Rory did not need to tell her whose tomb it was. When Rory dropped to his knees and rested his forehead against the engraved border of the crypt, she stepped back to give him some privacy. He murmured prayers for his father, then raised his voice.

“Dear God, why did ye take my brother and leave me?” Rory clenched his fist against the tomb. “Brian had such goodness in him.”

“That he did.”

Startled by the voice behind her, Sybil whirled around to find a large figure in priest’s robes. He carried a lantern, but his face was hidden by his hood.

“Goodness never ensured a long life, particularly here in the Highlands,” the priest said, and rested his hand on Rory’s shoulder. “But Brian is sure to have a place in heaven.”

Rory stood and the two men embraced.

“We lost him before he had a chance to be the chieftain we hoped he could be,” the priest said. “Now it falls to you, Rory.”

“How did ye know I was here?” Rory asked.

“I’ve been keeping watch for ye,” the priest said. “I thought you’d come here once ye heard of our brother’s death.”

“This is my younger brother, Alexander,” Rory said, turning to Sybil. “The priest of Avoch.”

Alexander pushed his hood back, revealing a young and handsome face. He gave her an appraisal that was most un-priestly and a warm smile. He struck her as unsuited to his calling, but a younger son often went to the church regardless.

“Come, let’s go to the tavern in the village where we can talk,” Alexander said.

They left Curan grazing outside the priory wall and walked along the river to the tiny village that consisted of a handful of cottages and the tavern. Several small boats rested upside down along the bank.

The tavern had a dank, musky smell from the river and nearby firth. They sat in a dim corner, where they were served ale by the surly tavern keeper in cups that Sybil doubted were clean.

“Any more troubles with the bishop over your wife?” Rory asked once they were settled.

Sybil thought she must have heard wrong.

“No trouble at all, thanks to you,” Alexander said, raising his cup.

“Ye have a wife?” Sybil blurted out.

“Aye, and two pretty babes,” he said. “My wife is near her time with our third.”

Rory smiled when he saw the shock on her face. “We’ve too few priests in the Highlands to cast a good one aside for a wee infraction.”

A wee infraction?
And they wondered why Lowlanders called them heathens? Sybil quit worrying about the cleanliness of the cup and took a big gulp of her ale.

“God wouldn’t be so unreasonable as to expect a Highlander to be celibate,” Alex said, and jabbed his elbow into his brother’s side. “Especially a MacKenzie, aye?”

One of Sybil’s uncles was a bishop and another an abbot, and they both had mistresses. She supposed having a wife was no worse and certainly more honest.

“Ach, the new bishop is a sour man,” Alex said. “He fails to see that women are God’s gift to men.”

“He says lasses are the devil’s tool,” Rory said, giving Sybil a wink.

“He threatened to have me defrocked if I didn’t put my wife and our two wee babes out.” Alex put his hand on Rory’s shoulder. “Until my brother here persuaded him to turn a blind eye to my marriage.”

“I did nothing,” Rory said. “I simply accompanied ye when ye went to discuss the matter with him.”

“My big brother has quite a reputation as a warrior,” Alex said. “If ye don’t know it, he can look rather fierce when he puts his mind to it.”

“I’ve seen that look,” Sybil said.

“I tell ye, he frightened the piss out of my bishop,” Alex said.

“I believe the sword showing beneath your robes caught the bishop’s notice as well,” Rory said.

Sybil downed the rest of her ale while the two men had a laugh reliving how they had terrorized the bishop.

“We must speak of serious matters now.” Rory spoke in a low voice and motioned for Alex to lean closer. “Even here, Hector may have spies.”

Sybil realized now that the backslapping and laughs had been for the benefit of the few other men in the tavern, who by now had drifted back to their own conversations. Alex listened intently while Rory told him what happened at Eilean Donan and what Malcolm had shared about Brian.