“I have news that’s best discussed in private,” Rory said.
Without a word, Lovat turned and led them through a hidden doorway at the back of the hall that was disguised as a panel and into a windowless room. Lovat made frequent use of this private domain, judging by the glowing brazier, which thankfully kept it warmer than the hall, the lighted lamps, and the table on which rested several parchments as well as a flagon and cups.
Lovat gestured for them to sit, poured whisky for each of them, then took the third chair and fixed his gaze on Sybil.
“I know you.” It sounded like an accusation. “You’re Archibald Douglas’s sister.”
“She’s a MacDonald now,” Rory said. “Lady Sybil is my wife.”
Lovat’s face flushed in unbecoming blotches. Ignoring his uncle’s obvious displeasure, Rory proceeded to tell him about his brother’s death.
“Brian had no Fraser blood in him,” Lovat said. “If he had, he wouldn’t have let Hector of Gairloch use him like a puppet on a string.”
Sybil refrained from mentioning that Brian had the blood of the MacDonalds, who were famed for their warriors and unrelenting rebellion.
“He would have made a good chieftain in time,” Rory said. “Don’t speak ill of him to me.”
“Ye always had a soft spot for that MacDonald spawn,” Lovat said.
When Rory looked as if he wanted to punch Lovat, Sybil gave his arm a gentle squeeze to remind him this would not help his cause.
Rory told Lovat what happened at Eilean Donan.
“Guidh mallachd air.”A curse on him. Lovat downed his drink and pointed a finger at Rory. “That Hector is no fool. He always knew you were the real threat to his power.”
“He’s sure to challenge me for the chieftainship,” Rory said.
“You have the better claim, as both Brian’s heir and as your father’s eldest living son,” Lovat said, “while Hector’s claim goes back to your grandfather.”
“Hector has chieftain’s blood,” Rory said. “That’s all that’s required if the clan wants him.”
“By Highland custom that is true, but the crown will only recognize you as the heir under the king’s law,” Lovat said, lifting his cup to Rory. “The MacKenzies would be fools to choose a man the crown won’t recognize. Your clan has gained half its territory from royal grants of lands forfeited by the MacDonalds and other rebels. There will be no such grants to a chief the crown does not recognize.”
“You and I know the crown’s recognition is important, but it will not weigh heavily on the minds of most of my clansmen,” Rory said. “What will matter is whether our powerful neighboring clan, the Frasers, will be a strong ally if I am chieftain.”
“Your father should have named ye heir in the first place, rather than his son by the MacDonald woman,” Lovat said. “You’re my only sister’s son. Of course I will support ye.”
***
Sybil tossed and turned, alone in the big bed, waiting for Rory. How quickly she had become accustomed to going to sleep with his arms about her. She wrapped one of the blankets around her shoulders and went to look for him.
On her way down the circular stairwell, she saw a thin line of lamplight beneath the door to the chamber below theirs. Sybil started to tiptoe past when she heard the low rumble of Rory’s voice and the high-pitched tones of Lovat’s through the door.
Since they were having this conversation in Lovat’s chamber rather than in the hall, she assumed they did not want to be overheard. She had been taught by her family that this was precisely the kind of conversation that was the most fruitful to listen to. On the other hand, she wanted to believe Rory would tell her anything they discussed of importance, and he surely would be offended if he knew she’d eavesdropped on his private talk with his uncle.
With a sigh, she turned to go back up the stairs—but then she heard her name. Lovat spat it out as if it was spoiled food. No woman could be expected to walk away after hearing that. She put her ear to the door.
“Lady Sybil is a beauty to be sure,” Lovat said in his nasal voice, “but she’s a Douglas, for God’s sake.”
“Aye,” Rory said, “that she is.”
“No matter how high and mighty her brother was,” Lovat continued, “he’s in exile now, and her family is branded as traitors.”
“They are,” Rory said in the same calm tone, which seemed to agitate his uncle further.
“Ye couldn’t have made a more unfavorable match if ye tried,” Lovat said. “Why not just bring a lass from an Edinburgh whorehouse home to be your wife?”
A chair scraped against the floor. A moment later, Sybil jumped as something thudded against the wall. Desperate to see what was going on inside the room, she pressed her face to the crack and peered through it with one eye.
