Victoria Roberts - To Wed A Wicked Highlander

She picked up the first book and flipped through the pages. She was so frustrated that she wanted to scream. All of the books were simply that. Books. She ran her fingers behind the MacDonell crest and didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. At this rate, her search was going to take forever. She walked to the opposite wall and ran her hand behind the shield and swords, hastily pulling back her finger when a sharp blade cut her.

Damn! Sybella sat down in the chair behind the desk and looked for something to wrap her finger. Why were the smallest cuts always the worst? She placed her finger to her lips and rifled through Alex’s desk. What was this? She pulled out a flask and sniffed the contents. Her suspicion was correct. She briefly wondered if this was the infamous MacGregor ale that her husband had spoken about. There was only one way to find out.

She brought the liquid to her lips and let the fiery concoction burn its way down her throat. Plagued with a coughing fit, she replaced the ale in the drawer. Let the men have their drink. Her stomach could barely tolerate it. She pressed both hands over her eyes as if they stung with weariness. Praise the saints. What if she had overlooked something where she’d already searched? Her task was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Leaving Alexander’s study the way she had found it, Sybella walked out into the hall. Time was most definitely not on her side. It was almost time to sup, which meant Rosalia and Aunt Iseabail would be in the great hall. Sybella suddenly found the perfect opportunity to act like a thief in the night.

Sybella reached Rosalia’s room and knocked on the door. When no one answered, she ducked inside. Seeing Lachlann’s little tunics made Sybella cringe. What kind of person had she become to resort to this? She was not this type of woman, and guilt slowly crept back to plague her.

If she didn’t find the stone, Alexander would not be safe. Once she delivered the stone to her father, the man would have no choice but to call off his minions. She still found it hard to fathom that her sire had tried to kill her husband because she had yet to deliver the stone. With a steely resolve, she realized there was no question. She had to do this. Failure was not an option.

Following the same ritual as in Alex’s chamber, Sybella searched under the bed, checking for anything that moved or was out of place. She moved the table, checked behind the tapestry, examined the stone fireplace. Not a damn thing. With frustration mounting, Sybella opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

She jumped.

“What are ye doing in my chambers, Lady MacDonell?”

* * *

“It seems nae long ago when I rode by your side to free my cousin,” said Alex.

MacGregor rode up beside him. “I was thinking the same. Why do ye think these cowardly men target our women, MacDonell? The bastards have nay honor and donna fight like men. They hide behind the skirts of a lass and use our women as pawns.”

“Things arenae as they once were. I wonder if His Majesty will eventually send his men into the Highlands. The MacKenzie seems to think that if the MacLeods arenae brought to heel, the king’s guard will travel to Lewis. I donna understand how there can be peace when clans such as the MacLeods of Lewis and the bloody Campbells are about.”

“We are Highlanders. We administer justice the way we see fit. That is the way of it. And the MacLeod will be judged verra soon. The king cannae see fault with that.”

“I hope ye’re right. I grow tired of men who would do anything only for the purpose of political gain.”

MacGregor chuckled. “I donna think that will ever change. ’Tis verra much the way of it.”

As Alex rode to Kintail, his mind kept turning to Sybella. The woman was everything he’d desired in a wife, except the MacKenzie part, of course. She was kind, especially to Aunt Iseabail. And the lass was definitely not afraid to put him in his place. He found her honesty refreshing. Even when the MacLeod’s man had tried to harm her again, the woman hadn’t cowered in the corner in tears.

He was also particularly thankful that Sybella no longer counted sheep beneath him. In truth, he’d rather enjoyed their last couple of encounters. Who would’ve thought? He knew he had started to favor the lass, and perhaps his bonny wife was actually softening toward him as well.

John reined in his mount beside Alex. “The last time we dealt with the MacKenzie, ye shackled yourself with a wife. I cannae help but wonder what ye will bring home with ye this time, my laird.”

Alex glowered at his friend. “I like ye better when ye donna speak. I think ye forget your place. Mayhap I need to remind ye.”

John laughed. “Aye, I would love to see ye join us in our swordplay. Howbeit it seems ye have been practicing your swordplay more with your bonny wife than your own men.”

“Aunt Iseabail expects an heir.”

“Aye, but ye donna fool me for one minute, Alex. I see the way ye look at the lass as of late.”

“I looked at Doireann that way, too.”

“My apologies. What did ye say? I couldnae hear through your complete load of hogwash.”

Their conversation was quickly cut off as five MacKenzie men thundered toward them. When the men stopped, Alex recognized his wife’s brother.

“MacDonell, what are ye doing here?” asked Colin.

“I come to speak with your father.”

Colin nodded. “Then come. I will escort ye and your men.”

As the MacKenzie men escorted them to Kintail, Alex looked at the sight before him. With MacKenzies and MacDonells riding side by side, he realized that not long ago, swords would’ve been drawn and fights would’ve ensued. MacKenzie and MacDonell tartans would have been ripped to shreds, the men with even bigger scars of their own.

When they reached the castle, Alex dismounted and handed his mount to the stable hand. With MacGregor and John by his side, Alex followed the MacKenzie’s son into the great hall. The space was somewhat larger than what he had expected. And although he was hesitant to admit it, the room was more extravagant than Glengarry. Fine woven tapestries, as well as painted portraits of past MacKenzie lairds, hung on the walls. A large stone fireplace took up the center wall, and the MacKenzie clan crest was imbedded in the middle. Alex slowed his pace and read the words carved from stone.

Luceo non uro. I shine, not burn.

If MacGregor was surprised by the MacKenzie’s apparent wealth, he didn’t say so, not that Alex thought he would. They continued into the MacKenzie’s study where the man looked up from behind his desk in surprise. The room was filled with dark furnishings, and two bookcases lined the stone walls. Two broadswords were mounted above one bookcase and a shield on the opposite side. When the MacKenzie turned his head and looked at MacGregor with further uncertainty, Alex spoke.

“Laird Ciaran MacGregor of Glenorchy, my cousin’s husband.”

The MacKenzie gestured the men to the chairs as Colin stood again by his father’s side. “Please sit. Ye are a long way from Glenorchy, are ye nae?”

“My wife visits with her seanmhair.”

“Ye are also the one who killed the hand of the king.”

MacGregor’s eyes darkened. “It was naught that wasnae deserved.”

The MacKenzie quickly turned his attention to Alex. “Laird MacDonell. And how fares my bonny daughter?”

“Sybella is the reason for my visit.”

The MacKenzie turned around and pulled ale from the shelf. “Can I offer ye and MacGregor a drink?”

“Nay, we will return to Glengarry.”

“Verra well.” The MacKenzie sat back casually in his chair. “I know my daughter is willful and rarely minds her tongue, but if ye give her time to adjust—”

“The MacLeod tried to kill her. Twice,” Alex blurted out.

The MacKenzie sat forward and folded his fingers on his desk. “What do ye mean?”

Alex continued. “The first time was when we walked in the forest. An archer took aim at her head and barely missed. I had my most experienced tracker search the trail, and it was if the man had simply disappeared. The man was good and left nay trace. I confined Sybella within the walls of the castle and there were nay other attempts.”

“But ye said there were two attempts,” said the MacKenzie.

“Sybella and I stood upon the parapet, and the archer—”

“God’s teeth!” The MacKenzie pounded his fists on the desk. “What are ye doing to protect my daughter? I placed her in your ca—”

Alex interrupted the MacKenzie’s words vehemently. “We found the man.”

The MacKenzie’s face clouded with uneasiness. “Ye did?”

“Aye. He wore the MacLeod tartan but wouldnae speak.”

“Where is he? Ye let me speak to him.”

“He is dead,” Alex simply said. “I donna know all of what went on between ye and the MacLeod of Lewis, but now the man has attempted to kill my wife. I demand justice.”

“What do ye propose?” asked the MacKenzie.

“I will travel to Lewis with some of my men. I will either bring the MacLeod before King James to pay for his crimes or dispense my own Highland justice—sword against sword, man against man. I havenae yet decided. One way or the other, I will have the man’s head.”

The MacKenzie nodded. “Give me three days to arrange your passage to Lewis. I will have a few of my own men at your disposal as well. After all, the man attempted to kill my own daughter. We shall place his head on a pike together.”

Alex stood. “I will return within three days.”

MacGregor and John stood, following Alex to the door. Damn. Alex had almost forgotten and turned in midstride.

“Colin.”

Sybella’s brother looked at Alex in surprise.

“My wife wanted me to tell ye that she will do as ye ask.” For an instant, Colin’s gaze sharpened. Alex added, “Ye asked her to make something for Anabel.”

“Aye. Thank ye for letting me know.”

* * *

As soon as the door closed, Colin attempted to speak but his father held up his hand to silence him. The MacKenzie stood from the chair and disappeared into the hall for a moment. When he walked back into the study, he closed the door behind him.

He chuckled with a dry and cynical sound. “Och, the MacDonell is naught but a daft fool.”

“What do ye mean?”

“The MacLeod archer was my own man, Fearghas MacKenzie. ’Tis a shame I lost a good man, but he accomplished what he set out to do, unlike ye. By the time the MacDonell figures out what is afoot, it will be too late.”

Colin started to pace and ran his fingers through his hair. “Father, what the hell are ye talking about?”

“Fearghas took the first shot at Sybella in the woods. And just as I figured he would, MacDonell confined her within the walls of Glengarry. Had ye done as ye were told, your sister would have already found the stone and it would already be back where it belongs.”

Colin was breathless with rage. “Ye had a MacKenzie take aim at Sybella? Ye could have killed her! What if he had missed? ’Tis one thing to use your daughter to hunt for the stone and entirely another to take aim at the lass’s head! When I talked with her and she told me about the archer, I didnae realize the man was our own kin! Ye didnae even give her time. She would have found the stone.”

“Colin, spare me your excuses. Ye do your tasks at one pace, always have. By the time my stone is returned, I will be an old man. I told ye I need that stone before the king’s men travel to Lewis.”

“I donna understand. The MacDonell said two shots were made. If the MacDonell kept her within the walls, why would ye have Fearghas take another shot?”

His father’s response held a response of impatience. “Fearghas obviously missed. The second shot was meant for the MacDonell.”

“When the bloody hell did ye decide to kill the MacDonell?”

His father shook his head and waved Colin off. “It doesnae matter now. Sybella searches for the stone. Things couldnae have worked out more perfectly, if I say so myself. Now I just have to simply sit back and donna have to do a damn thing. The MacDonell will take care of our problem on Lewis by killing that blasted MacLeod, and King James will nay longer bother us. ’Tis only a matter of time before we MacKenzies rule Lewis.”

Sybella fumbled for a plausible explanation and her voice broke miserably. “Rosalia…I was searching for ye. I thought mayhap ye were trying to put Lachlann to sleep so I opened the door.”