Page 86 of Claimed by a Highlander
Rory shook his head.
“Do ye know who I am?”
“You’re the Douglas chieftain who married our widowed queen,” Rory said.
“If ye know that,” the Douglas said with an amused smile, “then ye know I’m good for the loan.”
“What I know,” Rory replied, “is that enforcing payment against a man with your connections would be difficult.”
The Douglas laughed and poured them both another drink. “You’re wise beyond your years.”
Rory could hold his whisky, but they had been playing cards and drinking steadily since his meager supper. His head felt thick, and the whisky no longer dulled the throbbing pain in his leg.
“Come, Highlander, one more hand,” the Douglas said, tilting his head.
“I would if ye had anything left to put on the table.”
Though the Douglas was so wealthy he would not miss the money he’d lost, it was clear he was not accustomed to losing. Tonight, however, luck was with Rory and not the Douglas. It was a damn shame the man had run out of money.
“’Tis late,” Rory said, and stood up. “Thank ye for a fine game.”
“Damn. What else have I got that I could wager?” the Douglas said, patting his tunic. He looked up with a grin and raised his finger. “I know! I’ll give ye one of my sisters.”
Rory blinked. “You’ll wager your sister?”
“Aye, in a marriage contract,” the Douglas said. He turned to one of his companions, who was slumped in a chair, and shook him. “Tell him what a Douglas lass is worth.”
“The dowry of one of his sisters is worth many times the coins you’ve won tonight,” the friend said. “Ask anyone.”
Rory did not want to be bound to a Lowlander lass, no matter how great her dowry. And yet he could not help recalling the time he’d seen the Douglas sisters ride by. The image of the black-haired Douglas lass with laughter in her eyes filled his head, and the question tumbled out of his mouth.
“Which sister?”
“Which one do ye want?” The Douglas’s satisfied smile showed he knew he’d offered an inducement that tempted Rory.
“Sybil.” One of the other girls had called her name, and it had stuck in Rory’s memory like a burr. When he spoke it aloud, it felt like spiced wine on his lips.
“Ye made a good choice, since the two older ones are already wed,” the Douglas said with good humor. “Not that it will matter, as you’ll lose this last game.”
“Ye must think me a fool.” Rory was annoyed with himself for nearly agreeing. “I won’t play for a promise of a marriage contract any more than I’d rely on coin ye don’t have in hand. You’ll wake up sober tomorrow and forget the debt.”
“I’ll write the contract myself right now and sign it.” He pointed to one of his friends. “Give me that letter ye received today. I’ll write the marriage contract on the back.”
The friend produced the parchment, and the Douglas began writing with a fluid hand.
“I, Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, chieftain of the Douglas clan, and guardian of my sister Lady Sybil Elizabeth Douglas, do hereby enter into binding marriage contract on her behalf…”
He read the words out loud as he scrawled them across the page. Rory listened carefully as he named the properties, as well as the silver and jewels that comprised her dowry. When the Douglas was finished, he signed it with a flourish, then slid the parchment across the table.
“You sign here.” He pointed as he handed Rory the quill. “Then my friends will sign as witnesses.”
If Rory won, he could borrow against her dowry for the rest of what he needed to get home. And years from now when they wed, he’d be a wealthy man. He told himself those were the reasons he sat back down at the table.
“If ye win, I’ll give this parchment to ye,” the Douglas said. “If ye lose, I’ll tear it up and take every last one of your coins.”
Rory studied the man. “Why would ye make such a wager?”
“A wild Highlander would suit my sister Sybil, wouldn’t ye say?” he said, turning to his friends, and they all laughed. He turned back to Rory. “But it will never happen because you’ll lose. Fair warning—I always win the last hand.”
