Free CLAIMED BY A HIGHLANDER (THE DOUGLAS LEGACY Book 2) by Margaret Mallory

to the wisdom of the match. He had plenty. Sybil was the wrong sort of wife for him. She was a Lowlander, for God’s sake, and unsuited to the life she would have had with him. She had no dowry, no connections of value to him or his clan.
    And yet it made no difference to him what heartache or trouble lay ahead. Now that they were parting, he realized that Sybil was the woman—the only woman—he wanted for his wife.
    Curan snorted and stamped his foot, showing his displeasure at being ignored. Rory patted the horse’s neck and rubbed his nose.
    “Ach, the lass used and made a fool of me.” Rory rested his forehead against Curan’s. “I know, I vowed I’d never let that happen again.”
    This was a hard thing for a man to forgive. But as his anger cooled, he understood why Sybil had done it. After she was betrayed by her own brothers, men she had known and loved her whole life, it was no wonder that she was unwilling to entrust her fate to a man she barely knew. And how could he blame her for not wanting to be separated from the rest of her family?
    Or for not wanting him.
    ***
    Sybil left the hall as soon as she could get away and hurried to the stable. She had almost reached it when a figure stepped out of the darkness.
    “Thomas!” she said, when she realized it was the old stable master. “Ye nearly frightened me to death.”
    “You’ll need your courage if you’re going in there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “He’s calmed down, but I’d mind my step, lassie.”
    Sybil swallowed.
    “Just approach him slow and easy,” Thomas advised, “like ye would a wild horse that’s stopped rearing but is still rolling his eyes and pawing at the ground.”
    “Thank you, Thomas,” Sybil said, because he meant well.
    Her heart was beating so fast that she felt lightheaded as she paused outside the stable door. She had to face Rory. She owed him that, so she stepped inside.
    Her breath caught when she saw him at the far end of the stable brushing Curan in the glow of a lantern. With each sweep of his arm, the muscles of his back rippled beneath his shirt, and the light caught in glints of red and gold in his hair.
    She sensed he knew she was there, but he took his time saddling Curan. When he finally turned around, she found she could not meet his gaze and fixed hers on the straw that covered the dirt floor as he crossed the stable to her.
    He stood before her, waiting. Now that it was time to tell Rory that she was not going with him to be his wife because the contract was false, she could not summon the words to say it.
    “Look at me,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. “I know what ye want.”
    What she wanted and what was the wise course were two different things. “I… I—”
    “Shh, you’ve no need to tell me lies or make excuses,” he said, touching his finger to her lips. “’Tis a simple matter. Ye want to be released from our marriage contract. Ye don’t wish to be my wife.”
    Rory kissed her forehead, a gesture so tender that it made her eyes sting.
    She reminded herself of the many reasons it would be foolish to go with him. Rory must see as many obstacles as she did. He had waited eight years to claim her for a reason.
    Rory had only come for her out of a sense of obligation. Admirable as it was for a man to honor his obligations in these challenging times, he had won her at a game of cards, not chosen her because he felt a bond of affection.
    The obligation he thought he had to her was a lie. It would be wrong to hold him to it.
    A tear slipped down her cheek. He caught it with his finger.
    “I thank ye for that wee bit of regret,” he said, with a heartbreaking smile.
    He accepted that she would not be his wife. She saw no point in hurting his pride further by telling him he had been duped by her brothers.
    “I hope ye find a more suitable lass,” she said. “One who can make ye happy.”
    “The prospects for that don’t look bright,” he said.