CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (5 page)

There was an obvious solution. Hector nodded to himself as a sense of certainty settled over him. The challenge would be to make certain the blame was not laid at his door.

But one way or another, Rory must die.

As the riders crossed the bridge to the castle, Hector went inside and waited for Big Duncan in the laird’s chamber, which was the largest in the castle and furnished with Flemish tapestries and heavy carved furniture. He had taken the chamber for his own use after his brother died and he was named Brian’s tutor. He had not given it up when Brian came of age. And why should he? He was still the man who ruled Clan MacKenzie, and everyone knew it.

Finally, the guard who stood outside the door opened it to admit Big Duncan, who looked as if he had ridden long and hard to reach the castle. The man was as ugly as he was large, and he had particular needs that Hector supplied to ensure his continued loyalty.

“What news of Rory?” Hector asked as soon as the door was closed.

“I split up the Gairloch men I took with me, and we searched everywhere,” Big Duncan said. “We couldn’t find him.”

“Couldn’t find him?” Hector drained his cup and threw it against the wall. “God damn that Rory.”

“No one has seen him in weeks,” Duncan said. “Not since that argument he had with Brian. Perhaps he’s gone for good.”

Rory had gone before, but he always returned like a bad-luck charm. He would come back to protect his brother. And when he did, Hector would be ready for him.

CHAPTER 4

“We should sleep,” the Highlander said, and stretched out on the blanket beside her.

Sybil felt uneasy with him lying prone so close to her. Though he had made no advances toward her yet, he certainly had looked at her as if he’d like to. Even if she was wrong about that—which she wasn’t—lying next to a man was bound to put ideas into his head. She had learned that at fourteen when she lay on her back watching the clouds with the blacksmith’s son.

“I’m in a verra weakened state with my injured leg,” the Highlander said, “so don’t try seducing me.”

She could not help smiling. She appreciated that he had read her fears and tried to calm them with a jest.
All the same, she intended to wait to lie down until he was sound asleep. She clutched her knees to her chest and tucked her chin into her cloak. With nightfall, the air had grown icy cold.

“Can we not have a fire?” she whispered.

“’Tis not safe,” the Highlander said. “Tomorrow we should be far enough away to risk a fire, but not now.”

“I thought we lost the queen’s men. Do ye think they’re still following us?” she asked, peering into the black night.

“I can’t say for certain that they’re not,” he said, his voice fading. “Go to sleep, Sybil. We must rise early, and we’ve a long journey ahead of us.”

Their journey together would end tomorrow. Oddly, she was growing rather fond of her Highlander.
Though she
was safe with him for tonight, she could not continue the pretense of being his contracted bride much longer. She needed a more lasting solution to her problem.

Before long, the Highlander’s steady breathing told her he had fallen asleep. She took down her hair, loosened the laces of her bodice, and gingerly lay down at the very edge of the blanket with her back to him.

Heavens, she would never sleep like this. Though she left as much space as possible between them, they were nearly touching. She could hear him breathe and feel the heat of his body.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the dark night clouds racing across the sky. What was she going to do? The tides of royal politics were bound to turn eventually. Until then, she needed a sanctuary, a place where she could wait out the queen’s wrath. Where could she go?

Small animals rustled through the grass, the wind blew overhead, and a lonely owl hooted in the distance. The unfamiliar sounds of the night made her suddenly feel very much alone. She had been uprooted, taken from everyone and everything she knew. She prepared herself for a long, sleepless night.

“Sybil.” The Highlander spoke her name in a low voice, heavy with sleep, and it gave her that odd, fluttery sensation in her stomach again.

“Aye?”

“Ye mustn’t worry that I brought no other men with me,” he said. “I promise I will keep ye safe.”

She knew better than to trust a man who promised that. Had her brothers not made the same pledge? And yet a deep calm settled over her as she listened to the Highlander’s steady breathing, and she drifted off to sleep.

***

Rory was roused from a deep sleep by misery and lust. The wound on his leg felt as if a blacksmith was pounding on it with a fiery axe, while Sybil’s soft rump pressed against his groin ignited another kind of flame.

Still fighting sleep, he buried his face in her midnight hair. It felt like silk against his cheek and smelled of summer flowers. Instinctively, he reached for heaven, gripping her hip and pulling her against his throbbing cock. Her shrieks jarred him to full wakefulness as she scrambled away, arms and legs flailing.

Oof!
Pain sparked across his vision as her heel landed squarely on his wound.

He opened his eyes to find Sybil staring down at him looking both furious and impossibly beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her hair tangled.

“What do ye think you’re doing?” she demanded.

Thinking had nothing to do with it, and what he had been doing was obvious, so he did not bother answering.
By the saints
, his leg hurt. He found the half-empty flask of whisky and drank deeply to take the edge off the pain. When he set the flask down, Sybil was still glaring at him.

“You’re drinking whisky before breakfast?” she said, asking another question she knew the answer to. “God help me, I’ve run away with a drunkard.”

One drink in the morning, and he was a drunkard. Lord, was she that kind of lass? If she was, he supposed he would not have to spend too much time with her out of bed. As he took another deep swallow, his gaze caught and held on her full, perfect breasts. Her bodice had become so loose in the night that the pink tips were nearly showing.

With a huff, she sat back and drew the blanket around her shoulders. Without the view of her breasts to distract him, Rory finally took note that the sky was light. How had he slept so late? His wound must have taken a greater toll on him than he realized.

“’Tis past dawn,” he said. “We must go.”

They should have been gone already. He gritted his teeth against the blinding pain as he got to his feet, then began packing up.

“There’s blood running down your leg,” Sybil said. “We must see to your wound before we go anywhere.”

“Nay. We’re leaving now.” He picked her up off the blanket so he could roll it up. His leg hurt like hell, and his swollen cock did not help his mood. “If ye have needs to see to, do it quickly.”

“You’re a stubborn man,” she said.

“’Tis a good quality
in a man
,” he muttered under his breath as he picked up the saddle.

He looked up in time to see her turn in a swirl of skirts and flying locks. He could not help smiling as he paused to appreciate the sight as she stomped off in the direction of the burn. His bride was going to be a trial, but he did like her spirit.

While he waited for her, he kept an eye on the hills surrounding their camp. He did not know how persistent those royal guards were. If they were not reason enough to spur him on his way, his brother was. God only knew what their uncle Hector had persuaded him to do in Rory’s absence. Or done in Brian’s name.

Rory regretted the fight with his brother and leaving angry. Most of all, he regretted leaving Brian alone with Hector.

What in the hell was taking Sybil so long? His patience gone, he headed for the burn.

***

As Sybil walked along the burn looking for a spot that was not slippery with mud, she began to form a plan. Somehow she must persuade the Highlander to take her to one of her sisters. Though her brothers were a bitter disappointment, her sisters would do anything for her, just as she would for them. She felt uneasy about possibly adding to their danger, but all three had powerful husbands. And what else could she do? She had no one else to turn to.

How would she convince the Highlander to take her? She could not risk telling him the truth. He did not strike her as a man who would take learning he had been duped lightly. Nay, the stakes were too high. But once she reached her safe haven, she would reveal the truth to him.

She bit her thumbnail—a bad habit. How would he take it when she finally did tell him? His pride would be hurt. If he were one of the vain peacocks at court, she might be amused at his expense. But her Highlander was nothing like them. He had come for her out of a sense of honor—though why he waited eight years she had yet to find out—and he had risked his life to rescue her. There were not many men like that in the world, at least not in hers.

It did not sit well with her to mislead him, but it was not as if the Highlander truly wished to wed her. Nay, she was an obligation, a duty that must be borne. That should not irritate her, but it did.

Giving up on finding a dry spot to wash, she pushed through the brush and knelt on a patch of moss. She rubbed at a scratch on her face and thought of all the times she had laughed and talked with the maids while soaking in the steaming tub in her bedchamber at Tantallon Castle. Would she ever have that life again?

With a sigh, she leaned over to splash water on her face—and caught her reflection. By the saints, she looked like an ill-used tavern wench! Dirt streaked her face, and her hair was a mass of tangles. When she tried to smooth the dark curls with her fingers, she pulled out bits of leaves from her hair.
Leaves
.

She looked down at herself and surveyed the rest of the damage—her torn and filthy gown, mud-covered slippers, and blood-streaked sleeves. Her disheveled appearance was a small matter and by far the least of her problems. She knew it was foolish to care, and yet losing control of this one last aspect of her life was just too much. Intent on setting herself aright, she flung her hands into the burn and scrubbed her face in water so cold it made her gasp.

***

Rory quickened his steps. It did not seem possible the lass could have wandered off and gotten lost, but she was a Lowlander. He was relieved when he found her leaning over the burn, washing her face. For a long moment, he forgot his urgency and watched her. She looked as beguiling as a wood nymph kneeling amidst the greenery with her long, dark tresses trailing into the water. He regretted having to disrupt her.

“Sybil,” he said in a low voice so as not to startle her. “Are ye ready, lass?”

“My gown is a disaster.” She looked up at him with wide eyes and touched the mass of unbound, glossy black hair that fell in waves over her shoulders and breasts. “Is my hair as bad?”

She looked so beautiful that he had trouble breathing.

“Ye look…fine,” he managed to say. “And there’s no one to see ye but me.”

The look she gave him confirmed his answer had been a poor one indeed. He was usually better with women than that.

“We must go.” He looked around, his sense of urgency returning with the force of a fist to the chest. “Now, Sybil.”

“First let me tie a new bandage on that leg of yours.” She motioned for him to sit beside her and pulled the dirk he’d given her as if she’d done it a hundred times before. The lass was a quick learner, he would give her that.

“Not now.” He took her arm and pulled her to her feet. “We must put a few more miles between us and the queen’s men.”

“The bandage will take but a few moments,” she said.

Must the lass argue? Ach, she was stubborn. “We’re going
now
.”

Rory barely got the words out when he heard a twig snap behind him.

CHAPTER 5

Sybil’s throat went dry. The keen alertness radiating from the Highlander signaled that something was dreadfully wrong. When he put his finger to his lips and shifted his gaze to the side, she gave a slight nod to show she understood that someone was hiding in the foliage behind him.

“Ye look so lovely,” the Highlander said in an easy tone, and touched her cheek.

Evidently, he did not wish to alert whoever was creeping toward them that they were aware of his presence. She wiped the fear from her face and made herself keep her gaze on the Highlander’s face instead of darting glances into the brush.

“Ye must have had all the men at court following ye around like puppies,” he said in the same flirtatious tone.

Despite the danger they were in, she was struck by how easily compliments flowed from his tongue when he was under pressure.

“I would have preferred puppies,” she said, forcing a smile, “but the courtiers did make better dancing partners.”

The Highlander laughed. Then, in a startling blur of movement, he spun around and sent his dirk flying through the air. It found its target with a sickening
thunk,
followed by a man’s cry and the sound of something heavy falling into the brush.