CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (33 page)

She was still in her night shift and brushing her hair when he entered their bedchamber. Her toes peeked out from under her white shift, making her look young and innocent, which she was not, but the sight somehow made him feel protective.

“When ye told me ye were married before, ye said there was more ye could tell me when I was ready to listen,” he said. “I’m ready to listen now.”

She was quiet for so long he did not know if she would speak.

“I was wed when I was thirteen,” she said.

Ach
, that was young to wed. Rory recalled his sister at thirteen. Though Sybil would have been far more sophisticated at that age than Catriona, it did not sit well with him.

“I was a young girl, happily spoiled by my parents and the servants,” she said. “I thought life was a joy and I was special. My husband taught me that was a lie.”

“Ye said he died after only a week.” Rory folded his arms. How much could she have suffered in a week with a feeble old man on death’s door? “I suppose ye had this elderly husband wrapped around your wee finger.”

“He was a strong and handsome young man.” Sybil fixed him with an unwavering gaze. “He was also an arrogant, unfeeling, selfish brute—both in and out of bed.”

Did Sybil lie to him now? His gut told him no. Her tale had the ring of truth.

“I can understand when a man must inflict harm on an enemy to protect himself or others,” she said. “But to take pleasure in being cruel and to do it simply because he can, well…”

Jesu.
Rory rubbed his hands through his hair.
“He hurt you?”

“After being sorely used and beaten by turns for a week,” she said, “I told him that if he ever touched me again, I would kill him.”

Where were the men of her family? In the Highlands, the lass’s family would come with their swords drawn. And if the bride was a member of the chieftain’s family, mistreating her could easily lead to a clan war.

“He laughed at my threat. Why wouldn’t he? I was just a weak, young girl.” Sybil turned to face him, and she had that determined look in her eyes. “But I would have killed him.”

Even at thirteen, she had expected to deal with a threat to her life on her own. His heart ached for that brave young lass.

“His horse threw him and broke his neck that very day,” she said. “That’s how God spared me from committing the sin of murder.”

Sybil was a survivor, and she did what she had to do.

Rory wished she had trusted him instead of deceiving him. He wished even more that she loved him. But if she was only trying to protect herself, he had judged harshly.

He started to reach for her hand when someone pounded on the door.

“Laird,” the man called through the door, “the men are ready to ride.”

“I must go now,” he told her. “But we’ll speak more when I return.”

Rory had much to think about, and the ride to Lovat’s and back would give him the time he needed.

CHAPTER 34

“How dare that weasel Hector of Gairloch call my sister a whore,” Lovat said as he paced in front of a giant portrait of himself. “I’ll tell the council this is an affront I’ll not tolerate.”

Rory was relieved Lovat was willing to go to the king’s council on his behalf, though Lovat was perhaps more motivated by the insult to Fraser honor than by his desire to see Rory’s claim to the chieftainship recognized by the crown.

“Of course, Hector can have no proof to support his despicable lie because there is none. No man knew my sister Agnes, before or after your father,” Lovat said. “But if you could find that papal bull, that would settle the matter for good.”

“If my mother had it at Killin, it was destroyed in the fire, and Alex has not been able to find the church’s record,” Rory said. “But I brought something else for ye to show to the council.”

Rory set the ledgers from Eilean Donan on the table. As Lovat looked through them, Rory explained the thievery Sybil had uncovered.

“These will be an enormous help in swaying the regent and council against Hector. As chieftains themselves, they will judge him most harshly for stealing from his laird,” Lovat said, which was exactly what Sybil had said. “Not only will I ask for a royal declaration that you are the rightful heir, but I’ll also petition for an order commanding Hector to relinquish Eilean Donan into your possession and to repay all that he’s stolen over the years.”

“I appreciate your going to Edinburgh to speak on my behalf,” Rory said as Lovat walked him out.

“Ye say it was Lady Sybil who uncovered the scheme?” Lovat said. “She’s a clever lass.”

“Aye.” Rory waited for Lovat to harp again about Sybil being the wrong wife for him. She may have won over Alex and Catriona, but Lovat was a cynical man of the world.

“I confess I made an error in judgment about your wife,” Lovat said with a smile. “She’ll watch your back, that one will.”

Rory thought of the times she had stepped in to support him, even when he did not know he needed the help, as with the Munro chieftain.

“Ach, what a queen she’d make,” Lovat said, shaking his head. “That lass understands the fine art of negotiation and how to gracefully apply the right pressure at the right time without engendering hard feelings.”

Rory was not sure he liked Lovat giving his wife extravagant compliments any more than he had appreciated him insulting her.

“Trust me,” Lovat said, putting his arm around Rory’s shoulder, “you’ll find these useful qualities in a chieftain’s wife.”

“How is it that ye came to learn all this about my wife?” Rory asked.

“Let’s just say the two of us reached an understanding.” An amused smile played on Lovat’s lips. “A remarkable woman. I wouldn’t want her for an enemy.”

Rory rode home as if the devil was chasing him. He had let his pride blind him. Sybil had learned to maneuver through court politics because her family required her to—and she had to in order to survive. Instead of criticizing her for it, he should appreciate the skills she gained, not the least of which were her quick and acute perceptions about the motives and true nature of others she met.

She had not set out to deceive him about the marriage contract or done it out of spite or cruelty, but because she was in fear for her life. She did not confess sooner because she had not trusted him enough to tell him. After how she had been abandoned by her friends and family, it was no wonder she was slow to trust. He was slow to trust himself, so he should have understood.

She could have kept the secret forever. Instead, when she finally did trust him, she told him the truth. And what had he done? He had shouted and berated her. Insulted and rebuffed her. Used her and made her weep.

He spurred Curan to a gallop. He needed to get home to Sybil and try to make things right.

***

Hector drank down another whisky. He was going to skin his clerk at Eilean Donan and then boil him in oil for letting those ledgers out of his hands. As both Catriona and the ledgers had arrived safely at Castle Leod, Duncan had failed to burn them with the house at Killin.

Even if Rory had the ledgers, how in the hell had he figured out the theft Hector had successfully hidden for so many years? Now half of Hector’s own men were eyeing him with questions in their eyes.

He took another drink. The ledgers did not matter. His plans were set in motion. When he was done with Rory, no one in Clan MacKenzie would remember the theft.

It was long after midnight when the bishop, of all people, arrived at his door and interrupted his drinking. Hector eyed the churchman. He was a squirrelly man, physically weak and pompous.

“Good evening to ye,” Hector said. “What brings ye out to see me at such a late hour?”

The bishop smoothed his robes with his long, slender hands. Christ, what man did that?

“I’ve found something I believe will interest you.”

“A young virgin with parents desperate for coin?” Hector laughed.

“I believe you’ll find what I have is far more valuable.” The bishop paused. “I assume you heard of your brother’s request for a papal bull declaring his marriage to Lovat’s daughter valid and the children of the marriage legitimate.”

The bishop had his full attention now. “What do ye know about this papal bull?”

“The request was supported by my predecessor to our cardinal, who, in turn, forwarded it to Rome.”

“Did the pope act on it?”

“He most certainly did,” the bishop said with a thin smile. “The Holy Father granted your brother’s request in all regards.”

“Goddamn it to hell.” Hector slammed his fist on the table. This was the last thing he needed now. It could ruin all his plans. “Do you have it?”

Rory surely did not have it. If he did, he would have waved it from the tower of Castle Leod when he heard the lies Hector spread about not being his father’s true son.

“The papal bull arrived shortly after your brother’s death,” the bishop said. “I delivered it personally to his widow, Lady Agnes, who destroyed it.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She confided in me that she feared it would put her son Rory’s life in greater jeopardy.” The bishop laced his long fingers together. “To be blunt, she believed you’d have him murdered.”

Agnes was as clever as she was beautiful. Hector gulped down the rest of his whisky to dull the old, familiar pain. She should have been his. If she had been, her sons would have been his and they would not have been at cross-purposes.

“She said she would destroy it, and she begged me never to disclose that the petition was ever granted.”

“How much did ye make her pay for your secrecy?” Hector asked.

“The emerald ring was a generous gift to the church,” the bishop said, admiring the glinting stone on his pinky. “That could not, of course, dissuade me from performing my duty to keep meticulous records for the church.”

The bishop was finally getting to the point of his visit.

“’Tis not every day we receive a document from the Holy Father himself,” the bishop said. “Only the original document had the pope’s leaden seal, but I made a copy for our records.”

“So you’ve come to ask what I’ll pay ye to destroy these records.”

When the bishop gave him a smug smile, Hector took hold of the front of his robes and backed him into the wall.

“If ye believe I’d murder Rory, who is my own flesh and blood,” Hector said, “what makes ye think I won’t slice the throat of a churchman who threatens me?”

“I’m not threatening you,” the bishop said in a calm voice. “I’m offering a service you need. After the unfortunate news about the theft at Eilean Donan, the value is even greater than before. Tsk, tsk. Such a shame about those ledgers.”

“Once I’m chieftain,” Hector said, “I’ll donate a grand sum to the church for ye to use as ye see fit.”

“I’d prefer something now.”

Hector laughed. The bishop had ice in his veins and was driven by greed and ambition. They could no doubt work together. When he tossed a bag of coin on the table, the bishop nodded in agreement and pulled a rolled sheaf of parchment from his sleeve.

“You’re certain this is the only evidence this bull was issued?” Hector asked.

“There will be a record in Rome, but it could take years to obtain confirmation from the Holy See.”

Hector held the copy of the papal bull over the candle and watched it burn until there was nothing left but a few black cinders on the table. That was one less obstacle.

“There’s something else I’ll need ye to do for me,” Hector told the bishop. “I’ll get word to ye.”

“I find being of service most rewarding,” the bishop said, and took his leave.

“Fetch the old woman,” Hector shouted to the guard who stood outside his door. Thinking she might need encouragement, he added, “And bring her granddaughter up from the dungeon.”

When the time came, the old woman would say and do exactly what he told her to.

***

“There are visitors riding up to the gate, Lady Sybil,” the guard told her. “The MacKenzie is not back yet."

“Who are they?”

“Members of the Grant clan, including their chieftain and”—he paused and cleared his throat—“his family.”

“The Grants are friends of Clan MacKenzie, are they not?”

“’Tis hard to say,” he said, scratching his neck. “They used to be.”

The Highland custom of showing hospitality to all guests, friend or foe, was practically sacred, so she wondered why he was so uneasy.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll come out to the courtyard to greet them.”

“I’d best ride out to meet the laird,” he said. “He’s expected soon, and he’ll want to know the Grants are here.”

After tidying a loose curl that had escaped and brushing her gown with her palms, Sybil hurried outside. She was waiting at the top of the steps to the keep when the gate creaked open to admit a large party of riders. The gray-haired warrior who led them was the Grant chief, judging by his air of authority and the jeweled pin that fastened his plaid on his shoulder.

On either side of the chief rode two men who shared his strong features and hard expressions. They were an intimidating trio, and behind them rode thirty Highland warriors armed with claymores, axes, and dirks. Sybil put on a bright smile and started down the steps.