Page 128 of Claimed by a Highlander
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 faintclinkas 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.
