CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (21 page)

Sybil merely raised an eyebrow.

“Catriona left ye a message,” Ewan said.

“A message?”

“She said that if ye came, I’m to tell ye not to worry, that she’s gone somewhere safe.” The lad scrunched his face up again with the effort to recite the message. “She’ll come find ye at Castle Leod once she hears you’ve returned.”

“
Somewhere safe
,” Rory bit out. “What kind of message is that?”

“Ye did a fine job remembering all that,” Sybil said to Ewan, then she took Rory’s arm and started walking him back toward Curan. “Your sister has lived here most of her life, has she not?”

“Aye,” he snapped.

“Then she would know where she would be safe,” Sybil said. “Or would ye say she’s prone to foolishness?”

“Not before this,” he said. “She’s always seemed a sensible lass. Wise beyond her years.”

“Then try to have some faith in her judgment,” Sybil said, patting his arm. “I doubt she’s changed since ye last saw her.”

“She’s my responsibility,” he said. “Brian is dead because I failed him. I
cannot
fail my sister as well.”

“Ye didn’t fail your brother.”

“I did.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to take my anger out on you.”

“You’re a good man to care so much for your sister,” she said. “Not all brothers do.”

“I wish I knew what made Catriona so afraid to be at Killin that she would send the servants away and flee,” he said. “It was always safe here.”

“Someone else came looking for her right after she left,” Ewan piped up behind them.

Rory spun around to face him. “Who was it?”

“I didn’t know him, so I stayed hidden behind the cowshed.”

“That was wise.” Rory rested his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Did ye get a look at him?”

“Aye. He was huge,” Ewan said, rising on his toes and stretching his arm up. “And he was marked by the devil.”

“Marked by the devil?” A wave of cold fear for his sister ran through Rory, but he kept his voice even. “Ye mean he was pockmarked?”

“Aye,” Ewan said.

“That was Duncan of the Axe.” Praise God Catriona was gone before he came. What was Hector’s henchman searching for? “Has anyone else come?”

“I’ve kept watch on the house,” Ewan said. “No one’s come since him, except for you.”

“I appreciate ye keeping watch, but I don’t want ye here alone,” Rory said, leaning down to look Ewan in the eye. “Take the sheep into the hills and stay there until the others return to the farm.”

“Can we still stay here tonight?” Sybil asked. “I admit I was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed.”

“Duncan did a thorough search, so I don’t believe he’ll come back.”
And Rory sure as hell was not going to be chased from his own home by one man.

Dusk, the shadowy time between day and night, had fallen. Rory scanned the fields in the valley and hills that surrounded the farm and saw nothing to worry him.

***

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Rory held his shield up to protect himself from English arrows flying at him. The smell of smoke filled his nose, and he heard the crackle and snap of flames. Good God, the English had set the field on fire.

He was back in the Battle of Flodden, but through the fog of his dream something nagged at him. There had been no fire in the battle… Curan’s frantic neighs pierced the air, and Rory bolted upright, wide awake to find the bedchamber filled with smoke.

“Sybil!” Rory shook her by the shoulders, but she would not wake up.

He pulled her to the floor where the smoke was not as thick. He reached for the basin of water and drying cloth on the side table and splashed water on her face.

“Is that fire?” she asked in a weak voice.

“Aye, we must get out quickly.” Praise God she was awake. He soaked the cloth in the water and pressed it to her face. “Keep this over your mouth.”

Sybil attempted to rise, but she was too groggy from the smoke. He pulled his boots on, slung his sword over his shoulder, and picked her up. When he opened the chamber door, the blast of heat knocked him backward.

As he lay sprawled on his back still holding Sybil, the thatched roof overhead exploded into a fireball, dropping flames to the wooden floor. He got to his feet again.

“We’ll have to jump.” The smoke was growing thicker by the moment, and the heat from the floor burned the soles of his feet.

Sybil was limp in his arms as he carried her to the window. He had no time to lose. Coughing against the smoke filling his lungs, he unhooked the shutters with one hand and rammed his shoulder against them. They did not budge. He rammed them again.

God damn it, the shutters were nailed shut from the outside. Someone was trying to burn them alive.

Fury blazed inside him brighter than the flames. Coughing and hacking and blinded by tears from the smoke, he kicked at the shutters again and again and again.

With a
crack
, they finally broke. Rory grabbed Sybil’s cloak from the floor and wrapped it around her for what little protection that would offer from the fall. Holding her across his chest, he flung one leg over the windowsill. Flames shot up through the floor as he pivoted on the sill and brought his other leg through.

He hoped to hell whoever was trying to kill them was not waiting below.

O shluagh
, it was a long drop. With the fire scorching his back, his instincts screamed
jump, jump!
He shifted Sybil to one arm so that he could hang from the window to ease their fall.

As he reached for the windowsill with his free hand, the fire burst through the chamber door with a force that sent him flying through the night sky in a spray of sparks.

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.