Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  "When your brother was wounded you thought he was going to die, so you raised the fairy flag, and poof, here I am."

  She tried to make light of it.

  The three of them stared at her in stunned silence. Oh, my God, they think I'm crazy.Please, don't let anyone be recording this. Surrepti tiously, she searched for cameras in the crevices of the gray stone wal s.

  "How did you ken?" Iain asked.

  "Duncan Macintosh, Dunvegan's caretaker, he told me about the fairy flag when he took me on a tour of the castle this afternoon," she said absently, until she realized what Iain had asked. "What do you mean, how did I know? Are you trying to tel me that's what happened?"

  "Aye." Iain grimaced.

  She jumped off the bed. "Wel , wave it again and send me back."

  "We canna' do that. There's only one wish left," he explained, backing away as she strode toward him.

  "I'm tel ing you to do it, now." She stabbed a finger into his broad chest.

  "I'm sorry, lass, we canna'. We have to think of the clan," Fergus said quietly.

  "What about me? You expect me to stay here, stuck in the sixteenth century, never to go home?" She choked back a sob, determined not to cry.

  "Ah, lass, I didna' mean for this to happen. But I had no choice. I couldna' let my brother die."

  "'Tis no' the lad's fault. He only raised the flag and the fairies did the rest."

  Mrs. Mac, who had remained quiet the entire time, stepped forward. "Lass, do you have bairns you'd be leavin'behind?"

  "If by bairns you mean children, then no, I don't."

  "A man . . . a husband?"

  Ali shook her head. She didn't, not for the last five months. And Drew Sanderson was one person she wouldn't miss. He was a lying, disloyal slimebal , who not only broke her heart; he did a good job destroying her rep utation while he was at it.

  "Mother, father . . . a family of any kind?"

  "No," Ali snapped. She didn't need this woman toremind her how little she had left behind. "But I have a friend and my career." Now that just sounded pathetic.

  "You can make friends here, lass, and we're in need of a healer." The older woman gave her a sympathetic smile.

  "No . . . no, I can't stay here. I won't." Ali's chest tightened, panic inching toward hysteria. "Don't you understand? I'm not like you. For God's sake, I'm from the twenty-first century!" She closed her eyes to keep from crying. Memories of her childhood crowded in on her. The images tormented her. The fear and rejection she'd felt, being shipped from one foster home to another after her mother's death, mirrored the emotions that now threatened to overwhelm her. "I can't," she whispered. "Please, please, just send me home."

  Iain grabbed her by the arm. "Are you sayin' the fairies stole you from the future?" He didn't give her a chance to respond. "Fergus, can you believe it? She's from the future! Oh, Ali, there's so much I want to--"

  "Quit yer blatherin', lad. Can you no' see the lass is havin'a hard time of it?" Fergus said, watching her with concern.

  "Drink this, lass. Come on, there's a good girl." Mrs. Mac pressed a cup to her mouth. Ali took a deep swal ow. The liquid burned a path to her stomach, and her eyes watered. She swiped a hand across her mouth. "What the hel is that?"

  "Uisge na beatha." Fergus grinned. "Not many a lass can stomach it."

  "Why doona' you take a wee nap?" Mrs. Mac suggested, patting her shoulder.

  Ali shook her head. "No, I'l go and sit with Rory." She'd see to her patient, and after she reassured herself he would be al right, she'd work on a plan to get out of this nightmare.

  "Lass, you canna' tel my brother about the fairy flag."

  "Why not? Maybe he'l agree to use the flag to send me home."

  "Nay, I swear to you, he wouldna' do it. My brother puts the wel -being of the clan above al else. 'Tis why he canna'find out. He'd kil me if he kent what I did."

  "I'm sure he wouldn't, Iain." But the look on the faces of Mrs. Mac and Fergus reminded her she didn't know Rory MacLeod. The man was a warrior, very different from the men she knew. She'd been thrust into a time where brutal ity was an everyday occurrence. One more reason she had to find a way home. The fairy flag was the key, and if they weren't going to help her, she'd find it on her own.

  "Aye, lass, if he didna' kil me, for truth he'd never forgive me, and I canna' live with that."

  Ali sighed. How could she fault him when his only crime was that he loved his brother? She knew she wouldn't be able to make him suffer because of it. "I won't tel him, Iain, I promise. I know you were only trying to save him. It's not your fault those damn fairies picked me to do the honors."

  A look of relief lightened Iain's handsome features.

  "You'l forgive me then?" he asked, taking ahold of her hand.

  Ali nodded. "You, but not your fairies."

  He pressed her hand to his lips. "Thank you," he murmured.

  Mrs. Mac cuffed the back of his head. "There'l be none of that, Iain MacLeod."

  "Can I no' kiss the lass's hand?"

  The older woman folded her arms across her ample chest. "Nay, she'd no' be fer you, lad."

  Iain frowned. "And who would you be thinkin' she's fer?"

  Ali opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get a word out, the woman said, "The fairies sent her fer yer brother."

  "Now just a--" Ali began.

  Iain shook his head. "Mrs. Mac, you ken as wel as anyone my brother wil never take another. He loved only Brianna."

  Mrs. Macpherson shrugged.

  "Hel o, I'm right here." Ali waved her hands at the two of them, annoyed to be treated like a prize up for grabs.

  "Just so we're al straight on this, I have no interest in Rory MacLeod, or any other man for that matter."

  Fergus raised a bushy auburn brow. "You doona' like men, lass?"

  "Oh, for God's sake," she grumbled in frustration. "Yes, I like men, but I'l choose one on my own, thank you very much." Because you did such a good job the last time, the little voice in her head said. "Now, if we're finished here, I'd like to look in on Rory." She walked toward the door.

  "A moment, lass," Fergus cal ed out to her. Ali groaned. "I have a name, if any of you are inter ested. It's Ali."

  A frown furrowed Mrs. Mac's brow. "'Tis an odd name, lass."

  Ali rol ed her eyes. "You can cal me Aileanna if you'd prefer."

  "Aileanna. 'Tis better."

  She pressed her face into her hands, shaking her head before looking at Fergus. "What were you going to say?"

  "We need a story, la . . . Ali, to explain where you've come from."

  "Right. We wouldn't want to tel people the fairies sent me, now would we?"

  "Aileanna, 'tis no' somethin' to make light of. Folks might think yer a witch, and that would be a verra danger ous thing," Mrs. Mac said, her expression serious.

  "A witch?"

  "Aye, and there's a priest in these parts who has stirred up some trouble of late. 'Tis why our healer left," the woman explained.

  Ali rubbed her temples. This just gets better and better.

  "So, where am I supposed to have come from?"

  "You said yer last name is Graham and I'm thinkin' the laird wil have some memory of that. Do you ken any Graham that could slip us up, lad?" Fergus asked Iain.

  "Nay, but I canna' say for certain Rory doesna'."

  "We'l hope as no'." Fergus gave Ali an odd look. "I hate to say it, but I'm thinkin' we'l have to say she's English. It may goes a way to explainin' her strange way of speakin'."

  "'Tis a shame, Fergus, but you have the way of it," Mrs. Mac agreed.

  Ali frowned. "There's nothing strange about the way I speak, but what's the problem with saying I'm English?"

  "We canna' abide the English, lass."

  "We could say she's from the borders. Not so bad, aye?"

  Iain piped up.

  Fergus nodded, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin. "Aye, and because of her healin' abilities, those bloody Fife adventurers kidnap
ped her to take her on to Lewis. But she escaped and we gave her shelter."

  Mrs. Mac's eyes widened. "'Tis quite a tal tale to swallow."

  "Can you think of somethin' better?" Fergus grumbled.

  "Nay."

  "'Tis settled, and now I'l be off to get somethin' to eat,"

  Iain said, heading for the door.

  "I'l join you, lad. Doona' fret, Ali, we'l take good care of you," the older man promised.

  "Thank you." Despite everything, Ali was touched by his offer.

  "'Tis the truth, Ali. The clan is in yer debt fer savin'my brother. No one wil say a word against you."

  "That's good to hear."

  After the men left, Mrs. Mac turned to her. "Go to the laird, Aileanna, and I'l bring you somethin' to eat."

  "Thank you, but I'm not very hungry."

  "A wee bit of broth, then. And, lass, though I'm sorry fer yer troubles I'm glad 'twas you the fairies brought to us."

  Moisture gathered in Ali's eyes at the woman's kind words. Afraid she might cry, Ali nodded and opened the door to Rory's chambers.

  When she entered the room, a young girl popped out of the chair beside the bed. Her mouth dropped open as Ali came closer. "My lady," she stammered, bobbing a curtsy. Ali waved off the formality. "Please don't do that. I'm not a lady. I mean, I am a lady, just not the kind of lady you mean." She blew out an exasperated breath. It was obvious the girl didn't know what she was talking about. "Has Lord MacLeod awakened yet?"

  "Nay," the young girl said, her eyes downcast.

  "Wel , thank you for watching over him. I'l sit with him now if you have somewhere else you need to be."

  The girl bobbed another curtsy and scurried from the room with one last look at Ali. Taking a seat on the hard wooden chair the girl had vacated, Ali looked at Rory. She smiled at the unruly wave of thick black hair that fel across his forehead, smoothing it from his face, pleased the skin beneath her hand was neither hot nor clammy. Without thinking, she al owed her fingers to trail along his cheekbones, to his strong jaw. He stirred. Guiltily she looked up, but his eyes remained closed. Long lashes rested against sun-bronzed skin, with no sign of his previous pal or. When her fingers grazed his ful lips they twitched, curving into a smile. Butterflies quickened in her stomach.

  Ali pul ed her hand away, shaking her head at her foolishness. This was no time to be weaving fantasies about the man, no matter how beautiful he was. She needed to come up with a plan to get home. The sixteenth century was no place for her. Wearily she stood and eased back the bedding to get a better look at her handiwork. She winced. The wound was fiery red and swol en. Her gaze wandered over his broad chest, the hard muscles beneath the taut skin of his bel y. The man was in amazing condition. Muscles stiff, she lowered herself in the chair only to find Rory MacLeod looking at her. Or at least she thought he was, until she heard him say, "Brianna."

  He reached out to stroke his long, cal oused fingers along her cheek in a gentle caress. He smiled, then closed his eyes. His arm dropped back to the bed. Ali groaned. She had to find that damn flag.

  Chapter 4

  "What are you doin' tiptoein' aboot, lad?" Rory grumbled. Gritting his teeth, he pul ed himself upright in bed. The young lad ducked his head. "Sorry, my laird, I didna'mean to disturb you."

  "Disturb me?" Rory jerked his chin toward the light filtering into the room. "From the looks of it you've awakened me none too soon. Where are my brother and Fergus? Breakin' their fast, are they?"

  "Nay," the lad said, shuffling from one foot to the other. Rory let out an exasperated breath. "Connor, I canna'read minds, so you'd best tel me what's on yers."

  "'Tis just that we've no' eaten, Laird MacLeod. No' since yester eve."

  Rory frowned. "And why would that be?"

  "Cook quit."

  "Nay, lad, you must be mistaken. Cook wouldna' do that."

  "'Tis the truth, my laird. He did."

  Rory cursed. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his muscles rebel ed at the action. He stifled a groan at the wrenching pain in his side as he rose to his feet. Gingerly, he touched the site of his wound--the red, puckered flesh--and he thought of the woman who'd put it there. With the memory of her soft hands and their gentle touch on his heated skin, he felt himself harden. Sky blue eyes fil ed with concern, in a face as bonny as his wife's. He shook the image of her from his head. No matter that the lass had the look of Brianna; no one could take his wife's place. He was loyal to her memory. Swiving was one thing--a man had his needs--but love--nay, never again.

  "Aye, Laird MacLeod." The lad bobbed his head, eyeing Rory's wound. "'Tis her that did it."

  "Aye, lad, the lass made a fair job of it, she did."

  "Nay . . . I mean aye, she did, but 'tis no' what I meant.

  'Tis on account of Lady Aileanna that Cook quit."

  "Nay, lad, she could no' have managed that. She was seein' to my needs yester eve."

  Connor's mouth fel open; the tips of his ears pinked.

  "Fer the love of God, 'tis no' those needs I was talkin'aboot. 'Twas my wound she saw to." Rory began to think the boy meant to drive him daft.

  "But . . . but, my lord, 'tis been seven days since we carried ye home."

  "Yer tel in' me I've been lyin' abed for seven days!" he bel owed, holding his side.

  "Aye," the lad squeaked.

  "Get the woman and bring her to me, Connor." Rory clenched his teeth as he reached for his plaid at the foot of the bed.

  "She's seein' to the men that were injured. Mayhap ye should wait until--"

  "Connor, you ken me wel . I've given you an order, lad, and I expect it to be carried out. Bring the lady to me now."

  The boy rushed headlong from the room, almost bowling over Iain and Fergus as they entered his chambers.

  "What's got you riled, brother? We heard you bel ow from down below," Iain asked after he'd righted the lad. Rory folded his arms over his chest, eyeing the twomen. "Which one of you would care to explain how 'tis I've been abed fer seven days?"

  The two men looked at each other, then shrugged.

  "Why doona' I take a guess--would it be Lady Aileanna's doin'?"

  "Aye, but 'twas fer yer own good, brother. You were restless, and she didna' want you to rip open yer wound."

  "So you let her drug me? 'Tis too bad she didna' have the means to render me unconscious when she closed my wound." Anger reverberated in his voice and it had nothing to do with being awake when she had laid the blade to his side. Times were difficult, what with the MacDonald renewing the feud and King James sending the lowlanders to Lewis. It was no time for the clan's laird to be laid out flat, and by a lass he didna' ken.

  Iain flushed under his scrutiny. "I brought the physician's notes to her, the one you had see to Brianna. 'Twas there she found the herbs listed."

  "Now, lad--" Fergus began, then turned to the young maid who'd entered Rory's chambers. Her fiery red hair was tucked neatly beneath a cap. "Leave it on the table. That's a good lass." Fergus laid a hand on the girl's shoulder as she was about to leave. "Mari, this would be yer laird."

  The girl bobbed a curtsy and gave Rory a shy smile. He nodded, masking his shock when the lass looked at him, one eye blue, the other green. "Welcome to Dunvegan, Mari."

  "Thank ye, my lord." She bobbed again, then looked to Fergus for direction. He nodded, waiting until the girl left the room before he explained. "Her mother brought her to us on account of that bloody priest. He's been up to his tricks again, rantin'aboot the lass on account of her mismatched eyes and red hair. Claiming she's a witch, he is. He wanted to put her to the stake."

  Rory sighed, lowering himself into the chair by the fire.

  "The last thing I'd be needin' right now is trouble with the Kirk, but if I hear he's put anyone to the stake on MacLeod land I'l send him to hel myself."

  "Aye, I thought that's how you'd feel. I've sent a couple of men into the vil ages to keep an eye on him," Fergus in formed him.

  "Eat yer parritch,
brother." Iain gestured to the bowl the lass had left, and pul ed up a stool alongside him.

  "And how is it I have parritch? I was under the impression Cook quit."

  "Aye, he did, but I managed to smooth his ruffled feathers."

  "And who would it be that ruffled his feathers in the first place--Lady Aileanna?" Rory asked, raising a brow.

  "Aye, but--"

  He interrupted his brother with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just tel me what she did."

  "'Twas more what she said." Iain glanced at him, then sighed. "She told Cook his kitchens were no better than a pigsty, and she was surprised he hadna' kil ed anyone as yet."

  Rory snorted. It was something he himself had meant to do, and he wasn't at al certain that no one had died. But before he could admit as much, Connor returned.

  "I thought I told you to bring Lady Aileanna to me."

  "I tried, but the lady says she's busy and wil come when she gets the chance." The lad, head bowed, twisted his hands in front of him.

  hands in front of him.

  "She wil , wil she?" Rory muttered, rising to his feet.

  "And . . . and she said I was to tel you you'd better damn wel be in bed when she does," Connor stammered, obviously quoting the lady verbatim.

  Fergus covered a snort of laughter with a cough, shrugging when Rory shot him a quel ing look.

  "That'l be al , Connor."

  "Rory, she's lookin' to the men who were wounded inthe battle with the MacDonald. There are a fair number of them."

  "Yer quick to her defense, brother." Rory narrowed his gaze on Iain. The lad had a reputation with the ladies, and he wondered if he'd charmed his way into Lady Aileanna's affections--a thought that didn't sit wel with Rory, not with the memory of her naked in his arms and her passionate response to his touch. Fists clenched at his sides, he reined in the spurt of jealousy. An emotion he had no right or reason to feel, he reminded himself.

  "Nay." His brother gave an adamant shake of his head.

  "'Tis no' like that."

  He ignored Iain. Lowering himself into the chair, he leaned back. "I appreciate the lass seein' to the men's care, but what I'd be needin' to ken is where she's from. Is there a chance she could be a spy sent by the MacDonald?"