Chapter Nine

"It is your concern when your neighbor's wall is on fire."

Horace, 65–8 BC, Roman poet

Rap. Rap.

"Eliza, 'tis me, Sara." She gave Rory a stern look. "Don't frighten her," she said, her brows high and her eyes snapping.

Rory leaned over Sara, and her breath caught as his body pressed against her. He was warm and hard, dwarfing her with his masculinity. He smelled of clean linen and leather with a hint of something else, a spice.

He looked down at Sara as he spoke. "Eleri, ye can let us in. Lady Sara would like to meet ye."

"Eleri?" Sara asked but pivoted to the door when the key turned in the lock from the inside. It opened inward, and Rory lifted his gaze over her head.

"I apologize for waking ye, Eleri."

Sara's focus turned to the wide-eyed, pale face staring at her from the open door. "You're…Eleri?"

The girl looked exactly like her twelve-year-old sister, except this person was shorter and wore her long hair in a plait instead of wrapping it up in rags before bed to encourage curls in the morning. The girl's illuminated oval face floated in the darkness.

"I wasn't yet asleep," the girl said, pulling her braid over one shoulder to finger the ends. Her voice was similar to Eliza's but slightly lower in pitch.

She melted backward into the shadows of the room. Rory climbed past Sara and pulled her inside the tower room with him. It was the same square-shaped room as the one Sara had been given.

Rory strode to the hearth to kindle it, filling the room with more light. Under the earthy scent of herbs, the acrid tang of paints and mineral spirits loosened Sara's nose. She sniffed and rotated in a tight circle. The room was full of paintings; some hung on the walls, but many more leaned against them all the way around the space. An easel was set on spindly legs near the window, and a picture of Sara's tower sat upon it.

Sara set her lantern down and walked across a plush rug to stand before the girl. "You are not Eliza Macdonald." She could see that now, but the similarity was eerie. "Who are you?"

The girl smiled. "Eleri MacLeod." She tipped her head. "I saw you earlier in the window." She pointed at the wet canvas. "'Tis you. See?"

"The landscapes in my room," Sara said, bending to inspect her miniature portrait in the window on the easel, and glanced back at her. "You painted them?"

Eleri nodded. "Do you like them?"

Sara nodded back. "Very much. You're skillful." The little portrait had captured the highlights of sun on her cheeks and hair and the shadows in contrast.

Eleri beamed and clasped her hands together in obvious pleasure.

Sara looked between her and Rory. "Who are you?" And why did she look identical to her sister?

The girl walked over to Rory, and Sara saw her uneven gait. It was as if her legs weren't the same length, making her hobble. Eleri took hold of Rory's hand. He smiled at her and placed an arm over her shoulders like a protective cape of chainmail. Eleri smiled up at Rory. "I'm Rory's sister."

Sara's eyes opened wide. Sister? "I don't…understand," she said. "You look exactly like my younger sister, Eliza. How's that possible?"

"We're not siblings by blood," Rory said, but didn't remove his arm from the girl.

"I was a foundling," Eleri said. "My parents didn't want me because of my crooked spine." She said the words with a straightforward tone as if she spoke about a cottage that leaned instead of a child who'd been cruelly given away. "Chief MacLeod—Alasdair MacLeod," she corrected, "allowed me to live here." There was a coolness in her eyes as if the memory wasn't particularly warm.

She was so small next to the commander of the huge MacLeod army, but she didn't seem frightened of Rory, even with his scars. 'Twas like the lion and the lamb. A lion with the most interesting tawny gold eyes.

Eleri's hands came together as if in prayer before her lips. "Perhaps Lady Sara's sister is my sister," she said and looked up at him before turning her gaze back to Sara. "I would be your sister, too."

Could Eleri and Eliza be twins like their mother and Morag?

"We will ask Morag what she knows of this," Rory said.

"My aunt?" Sara asked, her brows pinching.

Eleri nodded, stifling a yawn. "She brought me here as a bairn."

Morag had never mentioned her to Sara. Why? Had Sara's mother known that her sister had taken Eleri away?

"We should let ye sleep, El." Rory led her back over to her bed, and in the firelight, Sara could see that one side of the girl's back protruded like a hump.

Eleri smiled with a look of tired excitement. "I'd like to hear about someone who might be my sister." She pulled her legs into the bed and looked at Rory. "Do you have your key to lock the door when you leave?"

"Aye." He kissed her forehead and lifted the covers up to her chin. "Sleep well."

"Can I come down for the morning meal?" Eleri asked, her words hesitant. "Or is Lady Mar still here?"

"Ye come down any time ye wish," he said. "And if Winnie is here, she'll be nursing Jamie."

Eleri turned toward the wall, snuggling down under her blankets. Sara noticed that the girl didn't ask about Jamie's health. And Winnie? Did the woman make Eleri feel unwelcome in her own home? Irritation itched inside Sara.

Sara followed Rory from the room. She remained silent as he produced a key and locked the girl inside. She held her breath as he slid past her, nearly touching her. Without a word, she followed him down and into the vacant corridor. When they reached her own tower steps, Sara's hand curled around his bicep. It was granite beneath her fingers. "The door is locked to help her feel safe at night," Sara said. "Not to keep her a prisoner."

He turned to face her, the wall sconce flickering light and shadow across his face. "Aye."

Sara's breath became shallow as her heart thumped. "They must be twins. They look exactly alike except for…the curve in her back."

"The bend was obvious at the time of her birth and has worsened over time," Rory said. "She prefers to stay hidden when Winnie's about, and my father encouraged it. Jamie, too." He frowned. "I do not."

Rory continued to stand directly before Sara, keeping her there between the wall and his body. But she didn't feel trapped. Sara knew that particular feeling well after living with her father and younger brother. No, this was a protected sensation, a warmth. "She was brought during the night as a newborn. The dark stump of a cord sat in her navel."

Sara cleared her throat. "Why would Morag take her from Dunscaith to bring her here?"

Rory breathed evenly, and she waited, feeling a flipping of her heart at his nearness. She'd never been with a man, standing against a wall in the dark, all alone. And she'd never known a man as mesmerizing as Rory MacLeod.

"I don't know." Rory's brows lowered and his nostrils flared. "But I won't let her return to Dunscaith regardless of her lineage."

…

Rory studied Sara's smooth features in the shadows where they stood at the base of the spiral stairs. The low light made her pupils take up her entire eyes. 'Twas disarming, the emotion she allowed him to see. Disarming in its honesty. Honesty or a good act . He'd been fooled before by a beautiful Macdonald lass.

"My aunt wouldn't steal away Eliza's twin." Sara's words tumbled out like a rockslide, fast and sharp. She lifted her hand from his sleeve to thump her palm against his chest, leaving it resting dangerously close to his heart.

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps the crow witch felt she could cure her back."

Sara frowned. "My aunt is not a witch." She thumped his chest. "And my mother would never have sent her bairn away, even if the child had a crooked spine."

"I wasn't privy to…the event. I was a lad of seventeen."

"And why would your mother take in another's child as her own?" Sara stared up at him with disbelieving eyes.

"My mother died when I was fifteen. She wasn't here."

Sara's gaze slid to the darkness behind him. "I was thirteen when Eliza was born," she said. "I remember…" She shook her head. "I wasn't in the room while my mother labored, because I was taking care of Gilbert who was dashing about in the great hall. Aunt Morag helped her through the birth. No one mentioned twins."

One of Sara's curls curved like a thin vine down her cheek. He knew she'd washed, and her hair had dried through the day into waves that fell down her back nearly to her hips. It was hair he could wrap around his hand, fisting it gently while he kissed her. He inhaled slowly, reaching for that slightly floral scent that seemed to emanate from her skin. Good bloody Lord. He shouldn't be thinking about how soft her lips looked, either. He forced his gaze to settle on the dark wall above her head.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Sara asked. "Morag and my mother are twins. It runs in families. Eliza and Eleri must be…" She thumped her palm against his chest again, barely taking a breath. "I have another sister," she whispered.

He frowned, leaning toward her. "But she was raised as a MacLeod, and like I said before, Dunvegan is where she will stay."

Sara blinked, but instead of leaning back or lowering her gaze like most people did when his tone grew dark, she leaned forward, staring hard into his eyes, eyes that were said to be unnatural. The closeness brought the floral scent to Rory's nose.

"I would never wish anyone to go to Dunscaith," she said. Even though the words were softly spoken, a steely conviction ran through them, anchoring them there as if she would never change her sentiment.

He nodded, accepting it as truth. Rory stepped away from Sara, so her palm dropped to her side. The withdrawal of the warm contact left a chill in its place. "Does Eliza have a crooked spine?"

Sara shook her head. "Not that I've noticed, although now I want to run my hand down her back to be sure." She followed him away from the wall. "We must bring Eliza here. She's unsafe at Dunscaith, especially since I'm gone."

"Kenan will care for her."

"Father sends him on campaigns and raids all the time, across Skye and onto the mainland."

Kenan Macdonald had been taught like Rory that everyone apart from his own clan were interlopers on Skye. But Kenan had worked with the other three Highlanders to help them all survive and escape England. A loyal brotherhood had formed from it. Rory rubbed a thumb absently across the scars on his palm.

He glanced over his shoulder at the empty corridor and stairs leading down and then pointed up the spiral staircase. "I'd not have people overhear and gossip. 'Twould hurt Eleri."

Sara spun around, took the lantern he'd set on the floor, and climbed. Rory reached around her to take it. "I don't want ye to trip and barrel me down the stairs," he said.

"I doubt I could knock down a mountain." She looked back but let him take the light.

Did she think him invincible? No man was, and this strange warmth that her touch had kindled in him made him feel weaker. Perhaps Sara had inherited some of Morag's unnatural powers. He frowned, holding the light high so she could see where to place her slippered foot. At the top of the stairs, they paused outside her room on the small landing.

"My door…" she said and cleared her throat as she pushed it open. "I managed to work the lock open with my hair pins."

He stared at the back of her head as she walked inside. Was she lying to save Reid? Or did she tend to lie? Sara didn't know Rory had told the man to leave her door unlocked so Rory could follow her if she chose to escape her room.

"Now," she said, pacing across the floor, "why would Morag give Eleri to Clan MacLeod?"

Rory walked past her to the hearth and crouched to add more peat to her fire. "The curve was evident at birth. Perhaps yer mother thought Walter Macdonald might order the bairn left to die if he saw her deformity."

He set the poker down and straightened, turning to lean back against the wall. "Morag brought her here, and since my mother was already passed, Margaret, the lady ye helped out from under the church, raised her."

Sara shook her head. "But why would your father allow that? Taking in a Macdonald, especially a girl and one with…a medical concern."

Rory crossed his arms, his hands in his armpits. "I don't know. My father wasn't kind." Like a chief, he was firm in his convictions, and his hatred of the Macdonalds ran like molten rock. "'Tis possible my father realized whose child she was and thought he could use Eleri against yer father."

"My father doesn't know of Eleri's existence." Her eyes glittered in the flamelight. "I need to ask my aunt about her. Morag doesn't provide information unless asked. I just never knew to ask."

"Ye can ask Margaret, too. She may know something."

Sara sat on the bed. "Jamie," she said softly and tilted her face up to Rory. "How does he fare?"

Did she care for his brother? The man didn't deserve her tender thoughts. "A beam grazed his head as it fell," Rory said, "which is why he's unconscious. There's a deep cut and large bump on the side of his head. He also suffered a lot of smoke in his lungs, which he isn't clearing with coughs. There's a definite wheezing sound when he breathes."

Sara blinked, her face tight with sadness or regret. He couldn't tell which.

"Hamish says he could die or live. 'Tis up to God now," Rory said, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

"Should I go care for him? Try to get him to drink or clean him? Like a wife would."

The thought of Sara hovering over Jamie, washing his body and murmuring prayers for his recovery, twisted inside Rory. The woman had no idea what type of person she'd wed. How he didn't deserve her prayers and certainly not her tears.

"Nay," Rory said. "Ye'll stay away from my brother."

Her face hardened, her large eyes narrowing. "Because you believe I was privy to my father's plot." She stood up from the bed, her hands fisting at her sides as she paced toward him. "That I will kill someone unconscious, even after I helped pull him out from under a bonfire."

Except for Eleri, who was always mild, and Margaret, who held her tongue more than most, Rory had no experience dealing with lasses, at least not ones who challenged him. Sara had no aversion to staring him in the eye and almost snarling. Passion, that's what Sara Macdonald was, a tangled ball of restrained passion. What would happen if he cut the twine holding her together? Would she explode?

"Perhaps ye decided not to condemn yer soul by killing innocents in a house of God," he said, "but have since realized that Jamie MacLeod deserves to die."

Her fist struck out at him, but he caught it. His earlier injured eye winced as if remembering her pointy knuckles. They stared at each other for a moment. "Ye're easily provoked."

"And you insult as easily as blinking." She yanked her hand back from his grasp and crossed her arms. "I would not murder a man I swore to live with before God. And I don't go along with vicious plans to kill innocent people." She flung her other hand out toward the door. "I am done discussing anything with you."

Rory sucked in a large breath through his nose. Her reaction seemed genuine. Madeline seemed genuine, too. He pushed the thought away . "I'll send paper and ink up in the morn. Ye can write to your brother or father, whichever ye think will release Eliza to be yer lady here at Dunvegan."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she sat on the edge of her bed, suddenly looking tired. The anger leaked from her, leaving the lovely woman he'd met by the sea. He wanted to pull her into a hug and assure her that both sisters would be safe.

Don't be tricked by a bonny lass. They're the most dangerous.

His father's words were echoed by Jamie and Jok and any of the warriors who'd witnessed the treachery behind a woman's smile.

Nay. Rory would never fall for that kind of subterfuge again.