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

guess,” Sybil said, and started for the door. “I’m putting a stop to this now.”
    She stormed down the stairs. She was furious. That foul William hoped to ingratiate himself with the victorious Hamiltons and rid himself of a troublesome sister-in-law all at once.
    Before she took two steps out of the circular stairwell, someone shoved her back inside and pressed her against the stone wall. The man who held her was none other than James Finnart himself.
    Her gaze went past him to Margaret, who stood on the bottom step with her hand over her mouth.
    “Release me at once,” Sybil said through her teeth. “You’re frightening my sister.”
    “She is wise to be frightened,” James said, his pale gray eyes intent on hers. “You should be too.”
    “I’m not frightened of you.” She tried to break free, but he had her arms pinned.
    “You’re as full of fire as ever,” he said, smiling. “I’ve waited a long time for you, but you’ll have me now.”
    Sybil rolled her eyes. “If I refused you before, what makes ye think I’d agree now?”
    “Because ye need a powerful man to protect you,” he said. “Ye need me .”
    “Ye think the wee bit of royal blood that runs in your veins makes one whit of difference to me?”
    “Despite your undeniable appeal,” he said, dropping his gaze to her breasts, “you’ll not find another man willing to take the risk of sheltering you. The queen’s fury with the Douglases is boundless.”
    “The queen has no cause to blame me for the acts of the men of my family.” Sybil’s voice faltered a bit in spite of herself.
    “You’re the only Douglas she can get her hands on—your brothers have fled, and your sisters have powerful husbands,” he said. “The queen is a hungry cat twitching her tail, and all the other birds are out of her reach.”
    “Drumlanrig is a baron,” she said. “He can protect me.”
    “William?” Finnart laughed. “To persuade him to risk his own interests for your sake, you’d need to provide him a greater incentive than devotion to your sister. And frankly, my dear, I would not trust him to uphold his end of the bargain.”
    That was one thing they agreed upon. William was a squirrel. At that moment, her brother-in-law appeared behind Finnart with a smirk on his face.
    “Traitor!” she shouted at him.
    “Sadly, that’s what they’re calling you, my lovely.” Finnart drew his brows together, feigning concern. “I suppose they’ll torture ye until ye confess.”
    “But I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said, struggling again to free herself.
    “We leave in the morning,” Finnart said. “’Tis your decision whether ye wish to travel as my guest to my home or as a prisoner to the queen.” He thrust her at William. “Lock her up.”
    “Ouch!” she cried out when William twisted her arm behind her back. “Let me go, you oaf!”
    “’Tis time to face the facts, my dear,” Finnart said, running his finger down her cheek. “I’m the only man who can protect you now.”
    Sybil swallowed hard. There was only one man she trusted to protect her.
    And she had sent him away.
    ***
    Sybil removed a pin from her hair and twisted and turned it in the keyhole again and again. When the lock would not budge, she kicked and pounded on the door.
    “Let me out! Let me out!”
    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