In her flight from the queen’s men with Rory, she had lost the lock pick that she always carried with her, hidden in her headdress, her bodice, or the small leather pouch on her belt.
She had acquired that useful tool in exchange for a kiss with the blacksmith’s son when she was fourteen, and she had made good use of it many times since. How else was she to learn Archie’s schemes to marry her off except to read the letters he locked in the secret chest in his chamber? She checked her bodice again, but the lock pick was gone.
Was there no escape for her?
She slid down to the cold stone floor and sat with her back against the door.Even if she somehow managed to get out of this chamber, throughthe castle and out the gate with no one seeing, what good would it do her? She would die of cold and starvation wandering the hills alone, if bandits did not murder her first.
She did not, however, like her chances of surviving the queen’s wrath much better.
The only sensible choice left to her was to submit to James Finnart. She brushed a tear from her cheek, annoyed at herself for giving in to self-pity. She certainly would not be the first woman to exchange her body for protection. Women were forced to make that choice all the time. What had ever made her think she could escape that fate?
Sybil’s hand went to the black onyx pendant at her throat. Her mother had given each of her daughters a similar pendant, cut from a large stone that she believed held magical protective power. Sybil ran her thumb over the smooth, glossy surface. She did not believe it was magical—she was, after all, captive in a locked room—but it gave her some comfort.
As she held it and squeezed her eyes shut, Rory’s face filled her mind’s eye. Her reasons for not going with him had been good ones, but she wished with all her heart that she was with him now.
Wishing never did a lass any good. She sniffed and brushed a tear away. She must find her own way out of this trouble.She was strong. She could survive being Finnart’s mistress. It would not be as bad as marriage because she could leave him when the political winds changed.
Though she knew she had no other choice but to accept Finnart’s offer, she could not persuade herself to agree to it. Not yet.
Soon, perhaps. But not yet.
CHAPTER 10
Rory galloped through the storm with rain streaming into his eyes and a growing sense of urgency gnawing at his gut. Lightning cracked, briefly lighting the rain-drenched road before plunging him into darkness again. He would feel like a damned fool returning to Drumlanrig Castle. Yet he could not shake the feeling that Sybil was in danger and needed him.
For two days he ignored that feeling and rode away from her and Drumlanrig. He told himself that Sybil had made her choice, and it was better for both of them. But the unease that crept up his spine would not listen to reason, and he finally gave in and turned around.
How had she gotten under his skin in such a short time and when he’d done no more than kiss her? She had deceived and made a fool of him, and yet he would have taken her with him in a heartbeat.
And now he was going back for her.
It was deep in the night when Rory finally reached the castle. He dismounted and patted Curan’s shoulder, which was slick with rain and sweat. Curan had a big heart. Another horse could not have done that ride for him.
He walked to the gate and hoped the guards would remember him.
“Surprised to see you back here,” one of the two sleepy guards greeted him.
“My horse fell lame.” Rory gave the only pretext he could think of to explain his return and get inside. If it failed to work, he would have to silence the men quickly. “Your man Thomas has a gift for healing horses, or so he told me.”
“That he does,” the other guard said. “But you’ve been gone two or three days. Why would ye ride all the way back here on a lame horse?”
“He stepped in a hole not two miles north of here. I made camp and stayed put, hoping rest alone would heal it, but he still favors that leg.” Rory stroked Curan’s neck. “He’s a horse in a thousand. I don’t want to lose him.”
The guard grunted and eyed both Rory and the horse. “The laird has an important guest and won’t like being disturbed.”
“No need to trouble him,” Rory said. “I’ll just go see Thomas in the stable.”
The other guard jerked his head to the side. “Go ahead, then.”
Relieved he would not have to kill them, Rory returned the blade he held up his sleeve to the sheath on his belt. When he reached the stable, he woke Thomas and explained as best he could why he’d returned. He did not really understand it himself.
“’Tis pleased I am to see ye,” Thomas said. “Ye have cause to fear for the lass.”
“What’s happened to her?” Rory said, gripping the front of the old man’s shirt.
“Perhaps nothing, but the laird let those damn Hamiltons into the castle.” Thomas spit on the ground. “I haven’t seen Lady Sybil since they arrived. That Finnart has always had his eye on her.”
“Finnart is here?” Blood pounded in Rory’s head. “I’m fetching her now.”