CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) (42 page)

“And you, lass?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “Why does Hector have you here?”

“I’m Brighde, the wise woman’s granddaughter,” she said. “He’s told my grandmother he’ll give me to Big Duncan of the Axe unless she does what he says. But I believe he’ll do it no matter what she does.”

Nay, Sybil would not let this poor girl fall into Duncan’s hands. Nor would she let Malcolm’s grandson die here. It was time to stop wallowing in despair.

“The three of us are going to escape,” she said. “We just need a plan.”

***

“Quick, Brighde!” Sybil said when she heard the grate of the iron lock turning. “Help me retie my hands.”

Her heart pounded in her ears as she fumbled in the dark to find the longest piece of the cut rope. A shaft of light appeared at the top of the stairs. Somehow, the two of them got it tied, but she hoped her captors would not notice that the rope was shorter than before.

In the light from the guard’s torch as he came down the steps, Sybil saw the girl’s face for the first time and her heart clenched. The girl was young, not more than fourteen, and fair and pretty.

“We will get out,” Sybil whispered to give the girl hope just before the guard yanked her feet. Hope was a dangerous thing to lose.

A short time later, she stood alone in a room with Hector and Big Duncan. She squinted against the bright light of day as she took in the exquisite tapestries and French furniture.

Hector came toward her with his dirk pointed at her belly. She gasped as he flicked his wrist and the rope fell from her hands. After waving her into a chair, he handed her a cup of wine.

“Go ahead and drink,” he said. “I’m not a subtle man. If I decide to kill ye, it won’t be by poison.”

“How reassuring,” she said, and took a tiny sip.

“Tell me how it is that instead of Rory,” Hector said, leaning back in his chair, “I find his lovely Douglas bride dressed in rags and protected by just that tired old warrior Rory was so fond of.”

She swallowed at his mention of Malcolm, but she could not think about his death now. She needed to keep her wits sharp and decide how she would play this.

“Ye know I caught your messenger, so I know Rory planned to deliver Grant’s grandson at Beauly,” he said. “Why wasn’t he there?”

“One way or another,” Duncan said when she was slow to answer, “you’re going to tell Hector what he wants to know.”

“Sadly, the lad drowned in the river yesterday,” she said. “Rory made me write that message saying he was still alive to buy time to prepare for an attack.”

If Duncan had found Kenneth and Grizel, they would know she was lying. She held her breath for a moment, half expecting to be cut down on the spot, then took a sip of wine to cover her pause.

“Then this morning,” she continued, “Rory rode off without a word to me.”

“Ha, I knew he would charge off to try to save the Munros,” Hector said. “I sent one of my men to make confession to Alex—when it was too late, of course.”

“We were already chopping off heads by then,” Duncan said, running his hand over his axe handle.

“On the chance I misjudged Rory, we rode to Beauly after our victory in hope of catching him off guard,” Hector said. “Which brings us back to the mystery of why we found you there.”

“There is really no mystery to it.” She turned her head to the side and blinked back tears. “They say we women are fickle, but it’s men who pledge their hearts and then cast us aside.”

“I’m not fond of riddles,” Hector said. “Speak plainly, lass.”

“Rory wed me because he was desperate to have me in his bed,” she said in a bitter tone. “Now that his lust has waned, he wants a marriage alliance with a powerful Highland clan more than he wants me. I know he intends to set me aside, so I’ve left him.”

She hoped her performance was persuasive. When she mentioned Rory, the tear that slipped down her cheek was real enough.

“Most women are foolish, but I hear you’re a clever one.” Hector leaned forward, his cold eyes piercing her like shards of ice. “I know you’re lying because I know who ye are and that you’ve no place to go.”

For the first time since the mysterious priest brought it to her, she remembered the message from her family and realized she could offer Hector proof for her false story.

“My family got word to me that they arranged passage for me on a ship bound for France, where my brothers are in exile,” she said. “You can ask at Inverness if the French ship
La Fleur
anchored there. It would have set sail this morning for Calais.”

She hoped that giving him details that he could easily check would convince him. Hector narrowed his eyes at her for a long moment, then finally nodded.

She shrieked in pain as Big Duncan lifted her out of her chair by her hair.

“Since Rory doesn’t want her, are ye done with her?” he asked Hector.

“She’s still a valuable asset,” Hector said. “Returning a Douglas traitor for justice could make the crown more inclined to recognize me as chieftain. Or I can sell her to James Hamilton of Finnart, son of the Earl of Arran.”

Finnart? How did Hector know about Finnart?

“I can see I surprised ye,” Hector said with a satisfied smile. “Once I heard that Rory had wed Lady Sybil Douglas, I made it a point to find out all I could about ye. Turns out, you’re a rather famous lass.”

***

When the hall door opened, Rory looked up expecting to see Sybil. Despite the evidence to the contrary, his heart could not accept that she had left him.

Instead of his wife, one of Malcolm’s sons came through the door.

“Has your father returned yet?” Rory asked.

“Nay,” the man said. “Neither has my son Lùcas, the one ye sent to Urquhart Castle.”

Rory wondered if the Grants were holding his messenger hostage until Kenneth was delivered. That would be a common precaution.

“I started to ride to Urquhart Castle to ask after my son,” the man continued, “but I had to turn around to tell ye what I saw.”

Rory could see from his face that it was more bad news.

“The Grants have set bonfires on their hilltops to call their men to battle,” he said. “I’d wager we have two days at most before they’re ready to attack.”

Please, God, not this too.
Rory’s one comfort had been the knowledge that his son was safe with the Grants. The Grants’ call to battle could only mean they believed Kenneth was dead.

If the Grants did not have Kenneth, where was he?

Could Sybil have taken his son with her? Could she be that cruel to leave him and also take his son?

He went up to their bedchamber. He hardly knew why. As soon as he opened the door, he was flooded with images of Sybil. He saw her brushing her midnight hair by the window, heard her irresistible laughter that always lightened his burdens, and imagined her eyes dancing with amusement as she teased him.

He could not avoid looking at the bed, though those memories gave him the most pain. Unable to help himself, he lifted the pillow and buried his face in it to breathe in her scent. What a sentimental fool he had become.

He pounded his fist against the bed. How could she leave him when he needed her so much? If she had left before when he refused to trust her, he would understand. But why leave now? She had seemed so sincere when she said she forgave him and loved him still. And when they made love, she made him believe it with every touch and sigh.

He still believed it. She had not deceived him, not this time. What had he missed? An uneasy feeling that Sybil was in trouble settled in the pit of his stomach.

He heard a faint
clink
as something fell off the bed and hit the floor. Without knowing why he bothered, he dropped to his knees to see what it was. Just under the edge of the bed, a glossy black stone caught the light.

Sybil’s pendant.

In that moment he knew for certain that Sybil intended to return. She never would have left the pendant behind if she meant to leave for good.

He rubbed his thumb over the stone’s smooth surface, as he had seen her do a hundred times. She had left it on the bed as a message for him. If she did not intend to disappear, where was she?

Gripping the stone, he pressed his fists against his forehead. Perhaps the stone did have magical protective powers, for she’d never been without it before, and she had survived so many dangers with him.

And he knew in the depths of his soul that his beloved was in danger now.
Damn him!
His mistrust of her feelings for him had prevented him from realizing it sooner. He could almost hear her calling to him.

If he was wrong about Sybil leaving on that ship for France, then he was wrong about Malcolm looking for her and everything else.

He broke out in a cold sweat as the certainty swept over him that all four of them—Sybil, Kenneth, Malcolm and Grizel—were in grave danger. As he ran from the room, he prayed to God and all that was holy that he was not too late to save them.

Rory rode hard for Beauly with a score of MacKenzie warriors. If Sybil and the others had been captured, he would find the trail at Beauly and follow it until he found them. If they were killed…he would not let himself think of that.

They were only a mile from Castle Leod and rounding a curve when Curan whinnied and danced sideways to slow his pace. Ahead of them, a small figure appeared in the middle of the path. Rory’s heart slammed against his chest.

“Halt! Halt!” He held up his hand to signal the riders behind him and leaped off Curan’s back.

He ran to his son and swept him up into his arms.

“Praise God,” he said as he held him against his chest. Then he leaned back to examine him. Kenneth looked tired and dirty, but unharmed. “How did ye get here? It’s ten miles from Beauly.”

“I walked,” Kenneth said. “Grizel sent me.”

Rory’s joy at finding his son was swept away in a wave of fear. “What’s happened?”

“You’ve got to come,” Kenneth said, fighting tears. “Malcolm is hurt bad.”

“What about Sybil?” Rory could not breathe. “Is she hurt as well?”

“I don’t know,” Kenneth said. “Grizel and I had to hide in the reeds in the river for a long time, so I didn’t see what happened to her. When we came back to help Malcolm, Sybil was gone. Grizel thinks they took her.”

“Who took her?” Rory asked, gripping his son’s shoulders. “Who?”

“Grizel said to tell you it was Hector and his men,” Kenneth said. “And she says to hurry or Malcolm won’t make it.”

The ride to Beauly seemed to take an eternity. On the trail to the village, Rory drew Curan to a halt beside the dark patch of blood where Malcolm had fallen. Kenneth led him from there to the thicket where Grizel waited with Malcolm.

Rory’s heart fell to his feet when he saw his old friend covered in blood and lying motionless with his head in his wife’s lap. Rory had never seen Grizel shed a tear before, but her face was wet with them now.

Malcolm’s eyes flickered open when Rory took his hand.

“Don’t let me die here,” Malcolm whispered.

“I won’t,” Rory promised. “I’ll get ye back to Castle Leod.”

***

Malcolm still clung to life by a thread when they reached the castle. Rory carried him upstairs to his own bedchamber and laid him gently on the bed. He left him and Kenneth in the care of Grizel and the other women, with instructions to call him if Malcolm woke again.

Then he set his sorrow aside. He had to protect his son and rescue his wife. He posted half a dozen men at the chamber door and ordered that no one be allowed to enter except at Grizel’s request, then he went down to the hall.

Everyone except the men who had gone with him to Beauly was whispering about the dead boy come to life and making signs of the cross. Clearly, it was too late to maintain the pretense that the lad was dead.

“Kenneth is my son,” he shouted over their voices, “and he was never dead.”

When the room quieted, he explained the reason for the hoax.

“The person who attempted to harm him may be in this castle,” he said. “Kenneth is my heir and your future chieftain, so I charge every one of you to protect him.”

He could not risk Hector hearing from one of his spies that Kenneth was alive.

“No one leaves the castle until I return,” he said. “If anyone attempts to, they will be executed at once.”

There was a general intake of breath. He had no time to discuss it further. He called his senior men to his private room behind the hall.

“While ye were gone, we learned that the Munro chieftain survived the ambush,” one of the men reported.

Here, at least, was one piece of good news. “How do we know?”

“He led raids on two MacKenzie villages along our shared border.”

Rory rubbed his forehead. “Anything else?”

“The MacDonalds have burned MacKenzie boats in Gairloch Bay and attacked villages all along our seacoast in the west,” another man reported.

“A’ phlàigh oirbh MacDonalds!” A plague on the MacDonalds
, several of the men said in unison.