Page 21 of Claimed by a Highlander
“Even if your sister’s husband can be trusted,” Rory said as he took her elbow, “ye cannot vouch for every member of this household. Ye cannot tell anyone here who I am or where we’re going.”
She gave him a furtive sideways glance that made him wonder again what she was not telling him, but he did not have time to dwell on that now.
As they entered the castle’s hall, Rory scanned the room for danger. A finely dressed young woman sat by the hearth stitching. When she saw them, she leaped to her feet, spilling her embroidery to the floor.
“Margaret!” Sybil squealed, and she would have run across the hall to meet her sister if Rory had not kept a firm grip on her elbow.
Sybil cast him an impatient look, but he intended to remain near the door where they had a chance of escaping if need be.
Sybil’s eyes shone as her sister glided toward them. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Her sister was golden-haired, willowy, and contained, in marked contrast to Sybil’s black hair, voluptuous curves, and exuberant sensuality. Margaret was indeed a beauty, but she did not stir his blood like Sybil did.
***
“What a happy surprise!” Margaret said as they threw their arms around each other.
“I can feel your bones,” Sybil said, leaning back to her sister. “Have ye been ill?”
“I’m with child,” Margaret said, a smile lighting her eyes.
Sybil’s throat felt tight. Margaret had lost her last babe, and she so wanted a child.
“I’m happy for ye,” Sybil said, hugging her sister again.
“Who’s this handsome man ye brought with ye?” Margaret whispered in her ear, then she released her and turned to Rory. “Welcome to our home, sir.”
“This is Rory—” Sybil began.
“MacDonald,” he said, and bowed. “Rory MacDonald.”
Margaret would never be rude, but she shifted her gaze to Sybil, clearly expecting to be told more about her guest than his name.
“I was forced to leave our uncle’s house in haste,” Sybil said. “Rory helped me escape.”
“Escape?” Margaret’s hand went to her throat. “What’s happened?”
“The charges of treason against our brothers and uncle have not been dropped, as we had hoped,” Sybil said, attempting to break the news gently.
“God help us, they’ve been charged with treason?” Margaret’s face went white.
“They were charged months ago.” As Sybil had suspected, Margaret’s husband had told her nothing of it. The hateful man treated Margaret as if she was a child. “We expected the trouble to pass, as it did the last time, but it did not.”
“This is because of the battle in Edinburgh, isn’t it?” Margaret shuddered. “That was a terrible day. The streets were littered with bodies.”
Sybil had forgotten that Margaret had been caught in the city when the enmity between the Douglas and Hamilton factions exploded into the street fight. That was when Margaret had miscarried. Sybil took her sister’s hand and squeezed it.
“What about the Hamiltons?” Margaret asked. “They were equally responsible for what happened that day.”
“I expect Regent Albany chastised them in private for their role,” Sybil said. “But publicly, he laid the blame squarely on the Douglases.”
“But why?” Margaret’s puzzled expression reminded Sybil that her sister knew little of court politics.
“’Tis the queen’s influence,” Sybil said.
“She’s that angry with Archie?”
“Oh, aye,” Sybil said with a laugh. “She utterly loathes him. Her brother, King Henry of England, only made it worse by sending letters—and then a priest—to lecture her on her duty to be a loyal wife. That was pouring salt on her wounded pride.”
