Page 44 of Claimed by a Highlander
The bastard had coldly calculated how to put Brian and his men at ease.
“After the MacKenzies went to bed, the Buchanans returned and surrounded the house,” Malcolm continued. “They demanded that your brother and Farquhar surrender.”
“Surrender? Ye said Brian was killed.” Rory’s throat was so tight he could barely get out the words. “What happened?”
“Brian came out of the house brandishing his claymore, and he was cut down.” Malcolm swallowed. “Your cousin Farquhar surrendered after that, and Buchanan took him to Edinburgh to be imprisoned.”
“Your grandson saw Brian fall, but perhaps he was only wounded.” Desperation made Rory grasp at straws. “He could be imprisoned with Farquhar.”
“While my grandson rode here, the others in Brian’s party started for Beauly Priory with Brian’s body, so that he may be buried with your father.”
Rory sank down on the stool and covered his face with his hands. He could not deny the truth. His brother was gone.
“I wish to God I didn’t have to tell ye this last part,” Malcolm said, “but ’tis better that ye hear it from me.”
When Rory looked up and saw tears glistening in the tough old warrior’s eyes, he felt as if a hole had opened in the floor beneath him.
“As proof for the pardon Buchanan sought”—Malcolm paused, struggling to get the words out—“he took your brother’s head to Edinburgh.”
***
Sybil clutched at her skirts. She was at a loss as to what she could do or say to ease Rory’s pain in the face of losing his brother to such a wretched death. His eyes were filled with horror, as if he was watching his brother die and could not stop it.
“I should have been there,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I could have prevented this. I know I could have.”
In his grief, Rory kept repeating the same words, over and over.
Sybil went to stand beside him and rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“’Tis my fault he’s dead,” he said. “I failed him.”
“You’re not to blame. He was a grown man,” she said, attempting to soothe him. “He made his own decisions.”
“Ye don’t understand.” Rory turned fierce eyes on her and thumped his fist against his chest as he said, “It wasmyduty to protect him.”
He got up and stormed out of the cottage. When Sybil started to follow him, Grizel held her arm in a surprisingly strong grip.
“Give the lad a bit of time,” Grizel said. “He’s had a bad shock.”
“Trust my wife on this, lass,” Malcolm said, nodding. “We’ve known Rory since he was a babe.”
“We didn’t give the lad a chance to tell us anything about you.” Grizel eyed Sybil up and down. “So who are ye to our Rory?”
“I’m…I’m…” Sybil hesitated, not sure how to describe herself in a way that would explain her traveling alone with Rory.
She could see from Grizel’s sour expression that the woman’s opinion of her was sinking lower the longer Sybil failed to answer. Though Sybil normally could spout white lies when the situation called for it, she found herself unable to lie to this old couple who were obviously very fond of Rory.
Finally she settled on, “Rory signed a marriage contract to wed me.”
That was true as far as it went. She could not very well tell them the full truth—that the contract was a fraud and Rory did not know it.
“You’re Rory’s bride?” Malcolm said.
Again, Sybil could not bring herself to lie outright, so she smiled and let them draw their own conclusions.
“Well then, Rory won’t have to sleep with the cow tonight after all,” his wife said. “The two of ye can share the loft.”
“They won’t be staying the night,” Malcolm said. “Rory will want to be on his way to Castle Leod.”
