Page 31 of Claimed by a Highlander
“What about James?” Sybil nudged Finnart’s boot with her toe. “He’s not dead, is he?”
“Lucky for him, his death would cause us far too much trouble,” Rory said, sounding as if he regretted it. He turned to Margaret. “Once your husband and Finnart learn I was here tonight, they’re sure to guess that Sybil left with me. Tell them I’m a MacDonald from the Isle of Islay. That will send them a long way in the wrong direction if they attempt to follow us.”
“God go with you and keep you safe.” Margaret glanced over her shoulder at the door. “You’d best hurry.”
“I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.” Sybil flung her arms around her sister. They were both weeping. “I’ll send word when I can.”
“It will make my heart glad to know you’re far away from all this with your Highlander,” Margaret whispered in her ear. “I don’t want ye to have a life like mine.”
***
As they crept along the wall toward the outer door of the keep, Rory kept a close watch on the sleeping figures of warriors lying on benches or wrapped in cloaks on the floor of the hall. He did not like the odds here.
When he eased the door open, the wind whistled through the gap and the torches in the wall sconces flickered. Rory tensed, waiting for someone to sound the alarm. They slipped out quickly. After the door closed behind them, Rory drew in a deep breath, grateful for the cold rain and wind on his face.
Holding hands, he and Sybil hurried through the dark courtyard to the stable.
“Praise God ye found her,” Thomas greeted them. “You’re a good man, Highlander.”
Rory was pleased that Thomas had wrapped a foul-smelling poultice around Curan’s right front leg, which would lend credence to Rory’s story to the guards.
“God bless you,” Sybil said, and kissed Thomas on the cheek. “It’s a comfort to me to know there is one loyal Douglas at Drumlanrig Castle to keep watch over my sister.”
“I will,” Thomas said. “Take good care of our princess, Highlander.”
“How do ye plan to get me past the gate?” Sybil asked Rory. “The guards know me.”
“I’m going to roll ye up in the blanket behind my saddle.”
“What?”
“’Tis dark and blowing so hard the rain is coming down sideways,” Rory said. “The guards won’t leave the shelter of the gatehouse to take a closer look so long as they see what they expect to see—a lone man and a horse with an injured leg.”
“What if they do take a closer look?”
“They won’t,” Rory assured her. He exchanged a glance with Thomas and touched the dirk at his belt. One way or another, he would get Sybil past the gate.
***
The voices of the guards were muffled by the blanket, and Sybil could see nothing at all. She held her breath to keep from sneezing from the strong smell of horse in her face.
Curan came to a halt, and she heard the rumble of Rory’s voice but could not distinguish the words through the blanket. She thought she heard the gate creak, then the horse began to walk again, rocking her head against his side like a sack of oats. With her heart in her throat, she listened hard for the hue and cry that would erupt if her empty chamber was discovered, but she heard nothing but the wind.
Being trussed and hung over a horse’s back like a goat was uncomfortable. The blood went to her head and feet, the pressure on her stomach was painful, and the motion made her nauseated. Finally, the rocking stopped.
“Let me get ye out of there,” Rory said.
After the long silence, the sound of his voice was reassuring. Still blinded by the blanket, Sybil felt herself lifted up and then gently laid on the ground.
“Time to unwrap the princess.” Rory slowly unrolled her from the blanket until she tumbled out and lay at his feet. He smiled down at her. “I’m going to remember this.”
She forgave him for being amused at her expense because he had saved her. Again. She could forgive him almost anything now. His amusement was brief. Dawn had broken, gray and damp, and he peered through the mist as he picked up the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“We need to keep moving,” he said. “Ye can sleep as we ride.”
Exhausted after the long night and her ordeal, she dozed on and off while they rode for what seemed like hours. Rory stopped twice to let her stretch her legs and to rest the horse, but he did not rest himself. They ate the bread and cheese Thomas had packed for them while they rode. As the day wore on, the wind grew sharp and the landscape forbidding.
Sybil stared at the empty hills and valleys as they rode mile after mile. All her thoughts until now had been on escape, not their destination. Now she was keenly aware that she was headed into the unknown—with a man she had met only a few days before and still knew very little about. The farther they traveled from everything and everyone she knew, the more she realized that she was dependent upon Rory MacKenzie for her very survival.
