CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (24 page)

“Ye came back for me.”
Thank God
. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest.

“I told ye I would,” he said.

A part of her had doubted him, despite his promise and what she’d overheard him say to Lovat. Trust was so hard after how she was deserted by her brothers and all her friends.

“You’re my wife,” Rory said. “I’ll always come back for ye.”

She felt like a thief, knowing the loyalty he gave her was based on a lie. If Rory knew she was not truly his wife, would he still return?

The final leg of their journey was far different from the rest. Sybil had her own horse, and they were accompanied by Lovat and a large number of MacKenzie warriors, with more joining them with every mile. This was much like she used to travel in her old life, but she missed riding with just her and Rory on Curan.

“Your meetings with your clansmen must have gone well,” she said, turning to look at the long line of MacKenzie warriors riding behind them.

“Aye, but I missed you,” he said with a wink.

She felt a warm glow of happiness. After a time, she asked, “Did ye find your sister?”

“I asked everywhere I went.” Rory’s jaw tightened. “No one has seen or heard a word about her.”

“She said she’d come to ye at Castle Leod, so I’m sure you’ll see her soon.” Sybil prayed it was true, but Rory did not look convinced. “What will happen when we get to the castle?”

“I’ll make my claim,” Rory said, “and Hector will either swear his loyalty to me or he’ll challenge me.”

“What happens if he challenges you?”

“Then the men of the clan will decide between us,” Rory said. “The one not chosen must swear an oath of loyalty to the new chieftain, as will every man present, or be executed.”

Executed?
Sybil prayed even harder that Rory would prevail.

“If Hector does challenge me,” Rory continued, “it could take several days for the men of the clan to come to agreement on who should be the new chieftain.”

“And if they don’t agree?”

“The clan will be divided,” he said, “and there will be bloodshed until one of us concedes, dies, or emerges as the victor.”

Sybil prayed that it would not come to that. Her heart beat fast as she got her first view of Castle Leod. The large L-shaped tower house was built of beautiful rose-tinged stone and set on a rise amidst gently rolling hills of fertile fields and forest. It looked deceptively peaceful.

As they approached, she watched the gates, remembering what happened at Eilean Donan, and willed them to open. Suddenly, a horn sounded, loud and clear. The gates opened, and the sound of cheering reached them.

When they rode into the castle, the courtyard was filled with well-wishers shouting Rory’s name. Tears stung at the back of Sybil’s eyes. This boisterous welcome was better than anything she had dared hope for.

Rory waved to the crowd and dismounted, leaving her on her horse. She felt the speculative stares of three hundred MacKenzies when he took her horse’s reins and led her through the crowd to the keep, pausing every few feet to grip a man’s arm in greeting or slap his back. She was sure he only meant to keep her from getting lost in the crush, but he was drawing more attention to her than he ought.

When they reached the keep, Rory lifted her down from the horse, took her hand, and climbed the steps. She paused at the entrance to the castle’s great hall. The hall had no windows, and though it was lit by torches, candles, and the fire in the enormous stone hearth, crossing the threshold was like traveling from day into night.

Sybil felt as if she was crossing another kind of threshold, one she could not cross back once she stepped through.

The walls of the large, cavernous room were covered with shields, axes, and various other weapons and seemed to serve as warning to anyone challenging MacKenzie power. Antlers of impressive size hung in the few spaces that did not hold weapons. More intimidating than the weapons were the scores of brawny MacKenzie warriors.

The crowd parted for Rory, creating an opening down the length of the hall to a raised platform at the far end that held a single chair. Sybil knew without being told that it was the chieftain’s chair. This was Rory’s moment, a day that would be remembered in songs and stories that told the history of his clan.

“I’ll wait here,” she told him.

“Nay. I want ye at the front with Alex where he can watch over ye,” he said, then turned to his brother, who had appeared out of nowhere. “Ye know what to do.”

Rory strode ahead of them through the parted MacKenzies like Moses through the Red Sea and climbed onto the raised platform. Alex gave Sybil a wink as he took her arm, then proceeded to follow Rory, stopping just short of the raised platform.

From her vantage point at the front of the crowd, she was able to see the details of the chieftain’s ornately carved chair, which appeared to be very old. The arms were carved wolves with bared teeth, and the legs were wild boar with wicked tusks. An image of a stag was carved on the chair’s back. On the wall above the chair, mirroring the antlers on the stag in the carving, was the most massive set of antlers she had ever seen.

“The stag’s head is the symbol of the MacKenzie chieftain,” Alex said in her ear.

The crowd pressed against her and grew noisy.

She looked back over her shoulder at the sunlit doorway at the opposite end of the dusky hall. Though she did not understand why, she could not shake the premonition that her life was about to change again and that nothing would ever be the same.

CHAPTER 25

Where in the bloody hell was Hector?

Rory scanned the hall again. Hector would not give up this easily. If he came and lost, Hector would have had to swear his allegiance and this fight would be over. He must have decided the risk was too great. Though he may have conceded the battle today, that did not mean Hector had given up the war. This would not be settled until Hector swore his allegiance to Rory—or one of them was dead.

But today belonged to Rory.

He stood on the dais, mindful of the legacy of the MacKenzie chieftains who had come before him, particularly his grandfather, Alexander the Upright, and his father, Brian of the Battle. Now more than ever, his people needed a man of strength and fortitude to lead them.

Rory must be that man, and he would be for them.

He raised his arms, and the noise in the hall died.

“I am Rory Ian Fraser MacKenzie,” he said in a loud voice. “I am the brother, son, and grandson of MacKenzie chieftains, and their rightful heir.”

Several men shouted their approval.

“I hereby claim, as my right and duty,” he said, letting the words that his father and grandfather had spoken before him ring out through the hall, “my place as chieftain of the great Clan MacKenzie!”

The hall burst into thunderous applause. The crowd shouted and clapped and stamped their feet until the floors and walls shook. Rory raised his hands for quiet again.

“As your new chieftain,” Rory shouted, “I demand, as is our custom from ancient times, that every man of our clan swear his oath of loyalty to me.”

Every head turned toward the back of the hall to see who Rory had chosen for the honor of being first to swear the oath. Malcolm, who had fought many a battle at his grandfather’s right hand, stood in the open doorway holding a claymore sword across the flat of his palms. With slow, measured steps, Malcolm crossed the hall.

When he reached the dais, he knelt and held out the blade with outstretched arms. Rory recognized it at once from the carved stag on the hilt that was worn smooth from use. He had not expected to see this sword again.

“This sword belonged to two great chieftains, your grandfather and your father,” Malcolm said, speaking in a booming voice that could be heard throughout the hall. “It rightfully belongs to you now.”

The sword had disappeared when his father fell in battle. The story was that it was stolen by the enemy that day, but Malcolm must have saved the sword and hidden it away.

Rory swallowed against a surge of emotion as he accepted the blade.

“Rory Ian Fraser MacKenzie, the 9
th
of Kintail,” Malcolm called out, giving him the MacKenzie chieftain’s title, “I swear before our Lord Jesus Christ and every member of my clan that I shall give you my fealty and loyalty. My sword and my life are yours to command, and may God strike me dead should I ever break my oath to you.”

One after another, the men knelt before him, kissed the blade, and pledged their loyalty. Rory felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders as he accepted each man’s pledge. The fate of these good men and their families depended upon his ability to lead.

Deep in his soul, he sensed that this was his destiny, the role he’d always been meant to play. He prayed to God that he would do honor to the memory of the chieftains that came before him and become the chieftain his clan needed him to be in the troubled times ahead.

***

Sybil’s heart swelled with pride on Rory’s behalf, and she joined in the noisemaking, raising her hands and shouting with the best of them.

Though she understood the dangers and difficulties he faced, she knew in her heart that he would make a great chieftain. He certainly looked the part, strong and commanding, as he looked out over his people from the dais.

When Rory raised his arms, signaling for silence yet again, she looked around, wondering what came next in the ceremony. She hoped there would not be a lot of long speeches.

“We will bear the challenges ahead and fight the battles we must,” Rory said, “but we will share our joys as well. As to the joys…”

Rory shed his solemn expression, and his eyes flashed with good humor. It was good to see him enjoying this momentous event.

“…I know you’re all wondering about the lovely lass I brought home with me,” Rory continued. “As my first act as your new chieftain, I invite you all to bear witness to our marriage vows on the morrow and celebrate with three days of feasting!”

Sybil was too stunned to move. When Rory held out his hand for her to join him, she gaped at him. What had he done? With Alex pushing her from behind, she stumbled forward. Rory clasped her hand, pulled her onto the dais, and held her against his side. She looked out at the sea of shocked faces. They could not be more surprised than she was herself.

Alex and a few others began clapping. After an uncomfortable delay, others joined in. Eventually, all the MacKenzies applauded, but with noticeably less enthusiasm than before. Beneath the cheers, she heard the low rumble of objection.

The new chieftain’s first act was unpopular, and Sybil feared it was also unwise. Questions whirled through her head at lightning speed. Why had Rory acted so precipitously?

And what, in heaven’s name, would she do now? Rory believed the ceremony was just a formality, but she knew it would be an end to the pretense, an end to their false marriage.

If she said those vows tomorrow, she would be good and truly wed.

***

Rory tucked Sybil’s hand in his elbow and began moving through the crowd of his clansmen.

“Ye should have forewarned me,” Sybil said beneath the noise of the hall.

“My clansmen must see you from the start as the chieftain’s wife, not my mistress, or they’ll never accord ye the proper respect.”

He’d been counseled against the match too many times already, and he decided to act before most of his clansmen had time to form an opinion. Now they would have no choice but to accept Sybil, and at the wedding celebration every last one of them would swear to protect her.

“This group gathered by the hearth are all well respected men in the clan,” he said as he guided her toward them. “Others will be guided by their opinion.”

“You’re Uilleam Mòr, are ye not?” she said with a winning smile before Rory could give her the first man’s name. “I remember your name from when ye took your oath.”

She gave each man a heavenly smile and flattered him by remembering his name, as if he were special, when in truth she apparently had memorized nearly every one.

“How do ye do it?” Rory whispered as they moved to another group.

“Douglas training,” she said, humor lighting her eyes.

“I can see that it was not just your beauty that made ye a success at court.”

“And I can see that your clansmen are verra pleased with their new chieftain,” she said.

“Not all of them are pleased,” he said. “None of the Gairloch MacKenzies came to swear their oath, and many others stayed home as well. They’re waiting to see what Hector will do.”

Whatever Hector’s next move was, Rory had to be ready.

***

Sybil was exhausted from the strain of greeting so many strangers, all of whom were suspicious of her and prepared to judge her harshly. She would not care so much about winning them over, except that if she fell short it would reflect poorly on Rory.

“My face hurts from smiling so much,” she whispered to Rory.

“You were wonderful,” Rory said.

Late that evening, while everyone else was still celebrating, Rory brought her with him to meet with Malcolm, Alex, and Lovat in the chieftain’s private room behind the hall, similar to the one at Frazer Castle.