Captured by a Laird (39 page)

A shadow fell over her.
How did James find me out here?
She had not left the warmth of the hall and the safety of her uncle’s castle to sit under this tree on the frozen ground because she wanted company. Particularly his.

“I thought ye left, James,” she said, still keeping her hands over her eyes. “I told ye I won’t do it, so go.”

When she did not hear James walk away, Sybil was tempted to kick him. Exasperated, she dropped her hands—and sucked in her breath.

A huge Highland warrior stood over her. Her heart thumped wildly as she dragged her gaze from his giant sword, the tip of which rested mere inches from her foot, to the dirks and axe tucked in his belt, and then to his broad, muscular chest. She had not yet reached his face when he spoke in a deep voice that seemed to make the ground vibrate beneath her.

“My name is MacKenzie. I’ve come for ye.”

Come for her? Sweat prickled under her arms. The queen had found her.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said. “What are the charges against me?”

The Highlander merely grunted and held out his hand. She ignored it and forced herself to raise her gaze to his face. Despite the fierce hazel eyes that were locked on her like a cat who has found his prey, the wholly irrelevant thought that he was quite handsome sprang into her head. He had strong, masculine features, and she knew women at court who would kill to have that shade of auburn hair.

“We must go,” he said, jarring her back to the danger she was in.

“Do I not merit a full escort?” she asked, attempting to put on a brave front. No matter how formidable this MacKenzie was, it was odd that the queen would send one man to fetch her.

“’Tis easier to escape notice if we travel alone,” he said.

Her jaw dropped. “Escape?”

“Aye,” he said. “We must hurry, lass.”

“I thought everyone had deserted us.” Tears sprang to her eyes. So many had called her friend just a few weeks ago.

“Not everyone,” he said, still holding out his hand.

She was tempted to pick up her skirts and run away with this stranger, but she had learned as a young girl not to be so trusting.

“Did James send you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the tall Highlander.

“Who the hell is James?”

She waved off the question. “Just tell me who sent you.”

“No one sent me,” he said, sounding insulted. Then he dropped to one knee, and she received the full benefit of his face up close. He was dangerously handsome.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice coming out in a whisper.

“Your husband, Rory Alexander MacKenzie,” he said. “I’ve come to claim ye.”

This was all a mistake. He had not come for her after all. “A damned shame,” she murmured to herself.

“That’s foul language for a lady,” he snapped. “And whether ye like it or no, we have a marriage contract.”

Since couples sometimes did not meet until their wedding, Sybil was not shocked that the Highlander did not know his bride by sight. She was sorely tempted to take advantage of it and not reveal that he had the wrong lass until they were miles away. But when he learned the truth, he’d probably dump her by the side of the road.

“I fear you’ve made a mistake,” she told him.

“Most certainly,” he said in a clipped tone. “But I’m obligated all the same. A MacKenzie does not go back on his word.”

“That is refreshing in a man,” she said. “But what I meant was that I’m not who ye think I am.”

***

What in the hell was he doing here? He should have torn the marriage contract to pieces long ago. He had only been, what, fifteen when he signed it? Scottish kings renounced commitments they made in their minority all the time, so why shouldn’t he?

Rory’s gaze drifted over the lass again. Ach, but she was pretty. From the moment he first spied her sitting under the tree, he had known it was her—and she had taken his breath away. But then she had covered her startlingly lovely face with her hands, and he took in the jeweled fingers, delicate slippers, and rich velvet cloak. The last thing he needed was a Lowland court creature for a wife.

No doubt the Douglas chieftain had regretted making the agreement even more than he had. Many times over the last eight years, Rory had planned to make the long journey to the Douglas lands to advise Archibald that he was willing to set the agreement aside. But somehow the time had never seemed right. He had finally come to settle the matter because he needed to free himself to wed.

And now, he could not.
Damn it.
This threw off all his plans.

If only he had acted sooner. When Rory reached Stirling, he heard the news of the Douglases fall from grace and knew he had lost his chance. He could not desert the lass now that the men of her family had been charged with treason and fled the country.

“Perhaps I can help,” she said, interrupting his sour thoughts. “Who is the lass you’re looking for?”

It annoyed him that his betrothed found it so difficult to believe he had come for her. Clearly, she thought him unworthy.

“Sybil Douglas,” he said, drawing her name out, “granddaughter of Bell the Cat and sister of the present chieftain, Archibald Douglas, who is the queen’s husband.”

When she stared at him with wide eyes the color of violets, Rory’s heart seized in his chest. Their vivid color contrasted with her midnight-black hair, ivory skin, and full, red lips. He never spoke without meaning to, and yet the words tumbled out of his mouth without passing through his head.

“You’re even prettier than before.”

“I’m certain we’ve never met,” she said in an arch tone.

They had not met, but he had seen her once a long time ago. She was not that young girl anymore. Rory tried and failed to keep his gaze from drifting to her lush breasts and the round curve of her hips. She was a woman who could fill a man’s hands. The kind he liked.

“If we were betrothed,” she said, “I would have been told.”

No doubt he was not the husband she expected. His boots and plaid were muddy from the long journey in the winter rains. Even without the mud, he was nothing like the Lowland courtiers she was accustomed to have fawning over her.

“Here’s the marriage contract with your brother’s signature.” He pulled out the parchment he’d carried inside his shirt all the way from Kintail, thrust it into her hands, and tapped his finger on the sprawling signature at the bottom.

When her eyes began moving from line to line, Rory realized the lass could read and was impressed. Her mouth fell open as her gaze traveled down the page. Ach, every move the lass made was seductive. When she finished reading, she fixed those violet eyes on him again.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “How did ye get my brother to sign this?”

“We were gambling, and he ran out of coin.”

“Gambling?” she said, her voice rising. “My brother gave me away in a card game?”

Rory shrugged. “He didn’t expect to lose.”

The lass opened her mouth but words seemed to fail her for a time. Finally, she said, “But he never loses.”

“He did that time.”

“I don’t believe you. When did this happen?” she fired at him, then returned her gaze to the parchment. Her eyes flew back to him. “Eight years ago?”

“Aye,” Rory said. “’Twas not long after Flodden.”

“You signed a contract to marry me,” she said, her voice steadily rising in volume and pitch, “and waited
eight years
to claim me?”

“Your brother said ye were too young, and I should wait a bit,” he said.

“I’ve been grown up for some time,” she bit out. “In any case, I will not be your wife. This marriage contract is—”

“Look, lass, we can decide later whether we wish to abandon the agreement, so long as we haven’t yet consummated the marriage…” As he said the words, his gaze fell to her breasts again, and he lost track of what he meant to say. He gave his head a shake. This was no time to let himself become distracted, but with all the blood rushing to his cock, he couldn’t think.

“You’re telling me that I’m to put my life in the hands of a complete stranger, a wild Highlander at that,” she said, “and we’ll sort things out later?”

“The royal guard is coming for ye,” he said. “If ye wish to escape, we must leave
now
.”

Sybil leapt to her feet. When Rory saw that all the color had drained from her face, he regretted his bluntness. But, finally, she appeared to understand the urgency of her situation, and she made her decision quickly.

“I’ll have the servants pack my trunks at once,” she said. “How large is your carriage?”

“Carriage? There are no roads where we’re going, lass,” he said. “And we’ve no time for ye to fetch your things.”

“But…I can’t just disappear!” Sybil, who had questioned him so coolly before, looked frantic now. “My little cousin will worry. I must tell her where I’m going.”

“You’ll tell no one,” he said. “Someone in this household sent word to the queen that ye were here.”

“That would be my uncle’s wife,” Sybil said between tight lips, then she took a deep breath. “I’ll use my drawing paper to write her a note so my cousin won’t fret.”

Rory tamped down his impatience while he scanned the hills in the direction of Edinburgh. Sybil came up behind him. By the saints, the first his wife touched him was to use his back as a damned table.

“I have been rescued,” she said aloud as her quill moved across his back. “Tell my sisters not to worry. Will send word when I am able. Love always, B.”

She folded the parchment and set a rock on top of it at the base of the tree.

“We’ve tarried too long,” Rory said and lifted her onto his horse.

He was going to regret this. He already did. Yet, when he swung up behind Sybil and pulled her tight against him, his heart raced.

And it had nothing to do with the twenty riders who had just crested the hill.

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Excerpt: THE GUARDIAN

The Return of the Highlanders #1

by Margaret Mallory

There was something very familiar about this lovely, green-eyed lass, but Ian could not place her.

“Ian.” Alex jabbed him in the ribs.

Ian knew he should stop staring at her, but he couldn’t help himself. And why should he, when the lass was staring right back at him? He wondered vaguely if the man at her side was her husband—and hoped he wasn’t.

“Hmmph,” Alex grunted as he pushed past Ian. He strode across the room and greeted the young woman with a kiss on her cheek, as if he knew her well.

“Ach, you are a sight to behold,” Alex said, standing back and holding her hands. “If I were your husband, Sìleas, ye can be sure I wouldn’t have kept ye waiting a single day.”

Sìleas? Ian shook his head. Nay, this could not be. The young woman was nothing like the scrawny thirteen-year-old he remembered. Instead of gawky limbs and pointed elbows, she had graceful lines and rounded curves that made his throat go dry.

And yet…that was Sìleas’s up-turned nose. And he supposed that glorious mass of curling red hair could be hers, if it were brushed and combed—a state he’d never seen it in before.

“Welcome home,” the young woman said to Alex in the kind of throaty voice a man wanted to hear in the dark.

Sìleas never had one of those high-pitched little girl voices …but this beauty could not truly be her.

“Ye two must be hungry after your travels. Come, Sìleas, let us get these men fed,” his mother said, taking the lass by the arm. His mother gave him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder, the kind she used to give him when he was a lad and had committed some grievous error in front of company.

When he started to follow the two women to the table, Alex hauled him back. “Are ye an idiot?” Alex hissed in his face. “Ye didn’t even greet Sìleas. What’s the matter with ye?”

“Are ye sure that’s Sìleas?” Ian said, leaning to the side so he could see past Alex to the red-haired lass.

“Of course it is, ye fool,” Alex said. “Did ye no hear your mam just say her name?”

Ian had to tear his gaze away from her when Niall and the other man joined them. Now that he took a good look at the man, he saw it was their neighbor, Gòrdan Graumach MacDonald.

“Ian, Alex,” Gòrdan said, giving them each a curt nod.

Ian met the man’s stubborn hazel eyes. “Gòrdan.”

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Gòrdan said, sounding as though Ian could not be gone long enough to make him happy. “A good deal has changed here in your absence.”

“Has it now?” Ian said, knowing a challenge when he heard one. “Well, ye can expect it all to change again, now that I’m back.”

Gòrdan scowled at him before turning on his heel to join the women, who were busy setting food on the table on the other side of the room.

“Thank ye kindly for supper,” Gòrdan said to them.

“Ye are always welcome to join us. ’Tis small thanks for all you’ve done for us,” his mother said, beaming at Gòrdan. “’Twas kind of ye to take Sìleas out for a stroll today.”

What in the name of all the saints was his mother doing, thanking that conniving Gòrdan?

“If ye need me for…for anything at all,” Gòrdan said to Sìleas in a low voice, “ye know where to find me.” Gòrdan touched her arm as he spoke to her, and an unaccountable surge of anger rose in Ian’s chest, choking him.

If Sìleas answered, Ian didn’t hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. Just what was going on between Sìleas and Gòrdan Graumach MacDonald? He was about to help Gòrdan out the door when the man showed the good sense to leave.

“Ye won’t have far to look to find a man to replace ye,” Alex said in Ian’s ear. “That is what ye wanted, no?”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll let Gòrdan make a cuckold of me,” Ian ground out through his teeth.

Ian didn’t know whether to regret drinking so much whiskey—or to wish he had drunk a good deal more. After traveling half the world, he felt disoriented in his own home. Everyone had changed—his brother, his mother. And most of all, Sìleas. He still could not quite believe it was her.