“Aye.”
“This is what ye need.” He poured a steaming liquid into a cup, added a large measure of whisky to it from his flask, and handed it to her. “’Tis the Highland cure for whatever ails ye.”
The first sip sent a welcome warmth all the way to her frozen toes. She smiled as she breathed in the steam and watched Rory over the top of the cup as he removed the rabbit from the fire. His unrelenting kindness was making it hard to protect her heart.
The rabbit was delicious, and the fire, food, and hot drink revived her. But no sooner had they finished eating than the wind picked up bringing with it a driving rain. Rory put his arm around her and pulled her farther back under the protection of the lean-to.
“We’ll have to sleep verra close together to stay warm tonight,” Rory said over the sound of rain pelting against the blanket overhead.
That sounded dangerous in a very appealing sort of way.
“We could get warmer still by not sleeping.” His tone was light, but the desire in his eyes warmed her more than the whisky had.
“Tell me more about your family,” she said quickly, and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Ye seem reluctant to speak of them, but I’ll have enough to learn about living in the Highlands without ye keeping me in the dark about your family.”
Rory heaved a sigh and turned to stare at the rain that was already forming puddles. “What do ye wish to know?”
“Let’s begin with this brother ye fret about,” she said.
“Warriors do not fret.”
Sybil snorted. “Then tell me about this brother ye don’t fret about.”
“Brian is my half-brother, older by six months,” he said. “He is the MacKenzie, the chieftain of our clan.”
Older by six months. Now that was interesting, but a bit delicate to ask about just yet. “What about the rest of your family?”
“I have a younger brother and sister.”
“And yet ye fret about the brother who is chieftain, not the younger ones?” That struck her as odd.
“My younger brother is a priest,” he said, “and my sister is a good and quiet lass who stays at home and out of trouble.”
Those two sounded dull as dirt. “Tell me more about Brian.”
“His mother was a MacDonald, the daughter of the Lord of the Isles,” he said. “Her marriage to my father was intended to end the strife between two great clans who were longtime enemies.”
“A political alliance, then,” Sybil said. “That’s the basis for most marriages among the Lowland nobility.”
“In the Highlands marriages between warring clans are common, despite the fact that they often have the opposite effect intended,” he said. “Here, enmities run deep and can last for generations—long past anyone’s memory of how they began.”
“Did your father’s marriage to his enemy’s daughter succeed where others failed?”
“Ach, no,” Rory said. “They despised each other from the start.”
“Apparently they put aside their differences long enough to conceive an heir.”
“Aye, they did their duty, but the marriage didn’t last long,” Rory said. “Soon after Brian was conceived, my father saw my mother, and that was that.”
“That was that?” Sybil raised her eyebrows.
“He set his MacDonald wife aside,” Rory said, “and sent her home to her father.”
“Set her aside?He petitioned the church for a divorce?”
“Highland marriage customs are more accommodating than the church’s, especially for chieftains,” Rory said. “Rome is a verra long way away, and many a chief has set aside one wife to take another—or kept them both—and later asked for dispensation from the church.”
Two wives at once?Sybil’s mouth gaped open. These Highlanders truly were heathens.