Page 3 of Claimed by a Highlander
“Do I not merit a full escort?” she asked, attempting to put on a brave front. No matter how formidable this MacKenzie was, it was odd that the queen would send a lone man to fetch her.
“’Tis easier to escape notice if we travel alone,” he said.
Her jaw dropped. “Escape?”
“Aye,” he said. “We must hurry, lass.”
“I thought everyone had deserted us.” Tears sprang to her eyes. So many had called her friend just a few weeks ago.
“Not everyone has,” he said, still holding out his hand.
She was tempted to pick up her skirts and run away with this stranger, but she had learned as a young girl not to be so trusting.
“Did James send you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the tall Highlander.
“Who the hell is James?”
She waved off the question. “Just tell me who sent you.”
“No one sent me,” he said, sounding insulted. Then he dropped to one knee, and she received the full benefit of his face up close. He was dangerously handsome.
“Who are you?” Her voice came out in a whisper.
“Your husband, Rory Ian Fraser MacKenzie,” he said. “I’ve come to claim ye.”
Alas, this Highlander had not come for her after all. “A damned shame,” she murmured to herself.
“That’s foul language for a lady,” he snapped. “And whether ye like it or no, we have a marriage contract.”
Since couples sometimes did not meet until their wedding, Sybil was not shocked that the Highlander did not know his bride by sight. She was sorely tempted not to reveal that he had the wrong lass until they were miles away. But when he learned the truth, he’d probably dump her by the side of the road.
“I fear you’ve made a mistake,” she told him.
“Most certainly,” he said in a clipped tone. “But I’m obligated all the same. A MacKenzie does not go back on his word.”
“That is refreshing in a man,” she said. “But what I meant is that I’m not who ye think I am.”
***
What in the hell was he doing here? He should have torn the marriage contract to pieces long ago. He was only, what, sixteen when he signed it? Scottish kings renounced commitments they made in their minority all the time, so why shouldn’t he?
Rory’s gaze drifted over the lass again.Ach, but she was bonny. From the moment he first spied her sitting under the tree, he had known it was his her, and she had taken his breath away. But then she had covered her lovely face, and he took in the jeweled fingers, delicate slippers, and rich velvet cloak. The last thing he needed was a Lowland court creature for a wife.
No doubt the Douglas chieftain had regretted making the agreement even more than he had. Many times over the last eight years Rory had planned to make the long journey to the Douglas lands to advise Archibald that he was willing to set their agreement aside. But somehow the time had never seemed right. He had finally come to settle the matter because he needed to free himself to wed.
And now, he could not.Damn it.This threw off all his plans.
If only he had acted sooner. When he reached Stirling, Rory heard the news of the Douglases’ fall from grace and knew he had lost his chance. He could not desert the lass now that the men of her family had been charged with treason and fled the country.
“Perhaps I can help,” she said, interrupting his sour thoughts. “Who is the lass you’re looking for?”
It annoyed him that his betrothed found it so difficult to believe he had come for her. Clearly, she thought him unworthy.
“My contracted bride is Lady Sybil Douglas,” he said, drawing her name out, “granddaughter of the famed Douglas, Bell the Cat, and sister of the present chieftain and earl, Archibald Douglas, who is also the widowed queen’s husband.”
When she stared at him with wide eyes the color of violets, Rory’s heart seized in his chest. Their vivid color contrasted with her midnight-black hair, ivory skin, and full red lips.
“You’re even prettier than before.” He never spoke without meaning to, and yet the words tumbled out of his mouth without passing through his head.
