Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  Iain guffawed. "Brother, you'd think yer own mother a spy if she was alive."

  Rory shrugged. "You canna' be too careful."

  Fergus cleared his throat. "She's no spy, lad. She'd been kidnapped by those bloody lowlanders on the account of her healin' abilities, but she escaped. I found her when I went back to the battlegrounds lookin' fer our wounded."

  Rory scrubbed his hands over his face, thinking on what Fergus told him.

  "I thought I told you to stay in your bed."

  He looked up. Aileanna Graham stood only a few feet from him, hands on her hips, more bonny than he remem bered. The tops of her milky white breasts fil ed the square neckline of a gown the color of heather. Reluctantly, he pul ed his gaze to her face. His hands twitched at the memory of how she'd felt in his arms. Bloody hel , if he didna' get his heated thoughts under control they would al have a verra good idea what he was thinkin'.

  His plaid would soon resemble a tent.

  He cleared his throat. "Lass, in case you hadna' noticed, I am the laird. I listen to no one."

  She arched a brow. "I know exactly who you are, Lord MacLeod. But you are also my patient, and until I decide you are no longer under my care, you will do as I say. Now get back into bed."

  He folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her.

  "I'l no' get into bed. I've been in there long enough."

  "I think I hear Mrs. Mac cal in' fer me." Iain rose from the stool and headed for the door with Fergus fast on his heels.

  "Fergus, Iain, I expect a ful update on the army's condition before evenin' meal," he yel ed, cursing when they shut the door firmly behind them without a word.

  "That hurt, didn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over and placed cool fingertips to his forehead. Rory shook his head, not certain he'd get the words out. His mouth had gone dry. He licked his lips. She was so close he felt the heat of her body; the scent of lavender enveloped him.

  "Let's get you into bed," she said, slipping her soft hand into his. "I want to make sure you haven't done any damage."

  "I told you, lass, I'm no' gettin' back in that bed."

  She sighed. "You're a stubborn man. Has anyone ever told you that?" Shaking her head, she knelt before him.

  "Aye, often." He bit back a groan when she tugged at his belt.

  "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" Eyes the color of sapphires, awash with concern, met his.

  "Nay," he muttered. Brushing her hands aside he undid his belt, dropping it to the floor. She inched his plaid lower, exposing the wound, exploring with a firm yet gentle touch. Meeting his eyes, she lowered hers quickly, and he wondered if she could see the desire in his. He didna' doubt it was there. He wanted her with aneed that surprised him. Closing his eyes, he imagined his wife, tiny and fragile, so slight and delicate. The memory of Brianna served to dampen his desire for the woman on her knees between his thighs.

  "Are you al right?" she asked, the timbre of her voice low and husky. She cleared her throat. "Lord MacLeod?"

  "I'm fine, lass," he said. "Are you finished with yer pokin'?"

  "Yes." She patted his knee and rose to her feet. "I'm surprised at how wel you've healed. It's quite amazing actual y. You'l be as good as new in no time. Now, if you don't mind, I had better get back to your men." She retrieved his belt and handed it to him.

  Rory adjusted his plaid. "I'd like a word with you first."

  He studied her, watching for a reaction.

  "Oh." She smoothed her hands over her gown. Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked at him.

  "Fergus tel s me you were abducted by the lowlanders."

  "Umhmm," she murmured, twisting the long length of her braided hair between her fingers.

  "Does it trouble you to speak of it?"

  "No."

  "They didna' hurt you, did they?"

  She shook her head, perfect white teeth worrying her ful bottom lip.

  "Lass, look at me." He stood up and tilted her chin, forcing her gaze to his. "You can tel me."

  "No one hurt me."

  He dropped his hand to his side. "How did you escape?"

  "I . . . I don't remember." She dipped her head. "I think I must have hit my head."

  Rory framed her face with his hands, searching her eyes. She sucked in a startled gasp when he ran his fingers through her hair, probing her scalp. Her braid came undone, and silken tresses slid between his fingers. "I canna' feel anythin'. Are you certain you hit yer head?"

  She nodded, steadying herself with a palm pressed to his chest. He could stop; he had explored every inch of her head, but he didn't want to, not when she felt so good leaning against him. He inhaled her soft, sweet fragrance, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in the delicate column of her neck. With a concerted effort, he brought his hands to rest on her shoulders.

  "Aileanna, you ken as laird to the MacLeod clan 'tis my duty to see to their protection."

  She took a steadying breath, her breasts rising within the confines of her gown. Pul ing his gaze back to her face, he sighed. "Look at me, Aileanna."

  She stiffened. Raising her chin, she took a step away from him. "I'm not a danger to you or your clan, Lord MacLeod, if that's what you're implying. In fact, quite the opposite. I think I've cared very wel for al of you." A flash of temper flared in her eyes as she held his gaze.

  "Aye, you have, and I thank you for that. I was remiss not to thank you earlier, but it seems someone decided to knock me out." He tilted his head, looking down at her. She rol ed her eyes. "So, Iain was right. He said you wouldn't be happy about that." She shrugged her shoulders. "I had no choice. You were thrashing about and other than tying you to the bedposts, which probably wouldn't have worked anyhow, it was my only option." Her gaze traveled the length of his body, a delicate flush of pink tint ing her cheeks.

  "No man likes to be drugged, lass, especial y a man responsible for others."

  She gave an unladylike snort. "And what do you think you could have done in the condition you were in?"

  "More than most," he answered truthful y.

  "Right--king of the castle and al that."

  He narrowed his gaze on her. "Yer speech is verra strange, lass."

  "So is yours," she grumbled, a stubborn set to her chin.

  "Are you finished with me now?"

  "You said you were a Graham?"

  "I did. What of it?"

  "There's no need to get prickly, lass."

  "I'm not prickly," she snapped. "I'm just tired of being treated as though I've done something wrong. I haven't."

  "Which Graham?" He fought back a smile, finding her temper amusing.

  "I'm from the borders," she said through clenched teeth, stabbing her finger into his chest. He wrapped his fingers around hers. "Now--" he began, frowning when he saw the raised welt on the palm of her hand. "What's this?"

  She tried to pul her hand from his. "Nothing."

  Rory tightened his hold on her. "'Tis from the dirk, isna' it?"

  "Yes. Now wil you please let me go?"

  Holding her gaze with his, he pressed her palm to his lips, trailing light kisses along the reddened mark. "I'm sorry you were hurt while you cared fer me."

  She swal owed, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "It was nothing compared to what I did to you." Her voice had gone soft and breathy.

  "Ah, but you meant to save me, Aileanna, no' hurt me,"

  he said into her palm.

  "Umhmm." Her eyes fluttered closed.

  He tugged her closer, pressing himself against her lush curves. "Aileanna, what were you doin' in my bed that night?"

  he whispered in her ear before lowering his lips to her neck.

  "Sleeping," she murmured. A soft moan of pleasure escaped from her parted lips. She tilted her head back, granting him access to a creamy expanse of skin. With a low chuckle, he accepted her invitation. Bending his head, he kissed his way across the top of her ful breasts, delving beneath the gown's fabric with his tongue. He tug
ged her neckline lower, ignoring the sound of the cloth tearing. He freed her breasts to his hungry gaze. Lust pounded in his veins.

  "Nay, you weren't sleeping, lass." He tweaked her nipple between his fingers before taking it into his mouth.

  "Dreaming . . . I thought I was dreaming." She moaned. Rory cupped her breasts, kneading, squeezing, watch ing the play of emotions on her angelic face. "'Twas no dream, lass. 'Tis no dream now," he said against her lips. He'd slowly maneuvered them toward the bed and careful y lowered Aileanna onto the mattress. Her eyes sprang open and she gasped, tugging at the bodice of her gown. He eased himself onto the bed. Lying down beside her, he stopped the frantic movements of her hands, pul ing her against him when she struggled to sit up.

  "Calm yerself, Aileanna." He stroked the hair from her face.

  "We . . . we can't do this," she stammered.

  "Why? We've done it before," he reminded her, trailing his finger along the soft swel of her breasts. He didn't want to talk. Al he wanted to do was feel her, warm and wil ing, beneath him.

  She shivered, stil ing his hand with hers.

  "I told you, I thought I was dreaming that night. And you . . . you thought I was your wife."

  Rory didn't stop her when she struggled to rise from the bed. She was right. He had thought she was Brianna, but not now. He knew who she was, and he wanted her more than he thought he'd ever want a woman again. He scrubbed hishands over his face. Bloody hel , what was wrong with him? What had Aileanna Graham done to him? "Did I . . . did I hurt you?" She stood at the end of the bed, clutching the front of her gown, her hair spil ing over her shoulders in wild abandon.

  "Nay." He winced as he sat up.

  "Good." She gave a brisk nod of her head, then turned to walk away.

  "Where are you goin', Aileanna?"

  "To my room." She hesitated, her hand on the latch to the room that adjoined his. His wife's room. She looked at him over her shoulder. "It's where I've been staying. Mrs. Mac put me in there. If you'd prefer, I can take a room elsewhere."

  He stood, adjusting his plaid. "Nay, that'l be fine, lass. Aileanna, I'm--"

  She shook her head, closing the door firmly behind her. Rory cursed. He ignored the burning pain in his side as he wrenched the door to his chambers open. He barely acknowledged the greetings of his men gathered at the bottom of the staircase as he made his way to the study. Once inside, he rummaged through the desk for a piece of parchment and his quil . Finding what he required, he sat down to compose a letter to Angus Graham inquiring into the identity of one Aileanna Graham. Chapter 5

  Ali rested her forehead against the rough wood-planked door, softly cursing the man on the other side and her reac tion to him. His tender kisses and heated caresses had turned her into a quivering mass of boneless desire. Her brain had stopped working, and she was lucky he hadn't prodded further with his questions. She slapped a hand to the door, pretending it was his broad, muscular, and total y gorgeous chest. Typical man; seducing her with his tempting kisses only to get the answers he wanted. It would serve him right if she told him the truth. But Ali couldn't, not without breaking her promise to Iain, and his only crime was that he loved his brother. She envied them that. No, she wouldn't reveal his secret. She'd find the fairy flag on her own and no one would be the wiser. Until theMacLeods are indanger and need the fairies' help, the an noying voice in her head reminded her. Ali grimaced at the thought of the MacLeods' suffering because of what she planned to do. But it couldn't be helped. She had to find a way home. To what? Charges that could ruin your career,and all because a man you thought you loved made a mistake that cost a young mother her life and left you to take the blame, the voice in her head taunted. A man who professedto love you while he slept with how many otherwomen? Al right, so her personal and professional lives were a mess. But at least she'd be back where she belonged. Belong? When have you ever belonged, Aileanna Graham? " Would you just shut up," Ali muttered.

  "My lady?"

  Ali whirled around to face Mari, who hesitated in the doorway to her room, a wary expression on the young maid's face. "Ah, hi. I didn't hear you come in."

  The young girl dipped her head. "I'm sorry, my lady. I didna' mean to disturb ye."

  Ali waved off her apology, hoping Mari hadn't been there long enough to witness her hitting the door and talk ing to herself. "You didn't." She smiled in an attempt to ease the young girl's discomfort. Mrs. Macpherson had persuaded Ali to take Mari on as her maid. She'd resisted at first; she didn't have any idea what she was supposed to do with a lady's maid and didn't plan on being here long enough to find out. But the older woman was nothing if not tenacious. And Ali had given in, once Mrs. Mac explained that because of Mari's appear ance, and the clan's superstitious tendencies, the girl would have a difficult time of it if she didn't. Ali knew how it felt to be on the outside looking in, and she wasn't about to al ow Mari to suffer the same fate. Not if she could help it.

  "Come in, Mari. Is Mrs. Mac looking for me?"

  "Nay, she said to tel ye the last of the men have been seen to and ye can have yerself a wee rest."

  "Wel , I don't know about taking a nap." She wouldn't. Now was the perfect opportunity to search the castle. Too busy during the last week seeing to the men of Dunvegan, Ali hadn't had a chance to look for the fairy flag. With Mrs. Mac occupied, and Rory MacLeod tucked away in his room, she could search at her leisure.

  "My lady, what have ye done?"

  Ali fol owed the direction of Mari's stricken gaze. "Ah, this?" She touched the tear in her gown. Her face flushed, remembering who put it there. "I caught it on . . . on the chair when I was seeing to Lord MacLeod. Do you know how to sew, Mari?"

  "Aye, my lady. I'l take care of it fer ye. I'l find ye another gown," the girl said. She bent over the trunk and pul ed out a gown of robin's egg blue. "'Twil look bonny on ye, my lady." Mari held up the dress, a wistful expression on her young face.

  Ali's heart clenched. She couldn't help but notice the sharp contrast between the beautiful gown Mari held out to her, and the threadbare brown woolen dress the girl wore.

  "I don't know, I think the color would be perfect on you, Mari. Why don't you try it on?"

  Mari gasped. "Nay, my lady. I canna' do that. 'Tis no'right."

  "Don't be sil y. Mrs. Mac said you're my maid, so there's no reason you can't wear what I want you to."

  "'Tis verra kind of ye, my lady, but 'tis no' my place."

  Ali took the dress from the girl's trembling fingers.

  "Let's just see . . ." She frowned. "I guess I'm quite a bit tal er than you, and . . ." Looking at Mari's slight frame, she remembered the comments about how tiny the laird's wife had been. "I have an idea. I'l be right back."

  Returning after a brief conversation with Mrs. Mac, Ali smiled at Mari. "Wel , it's al settled. Mrs. Mac has agreed, so no argument from you."

  The girl watched her warily from where she knelt rearranging the contents of the trunk.

  Ali opened the wardrobe and pul ed out a lemon yel ow gown, holding it up for Mari. "Come and try it on."

  The girl hesitated before rising to her feet. "Are ye certain?"

  "Of course I am."

  Mari looked at Ali; moisture clung to the girl's auburntipped lashes as she gently caressed the fabric. "'Tis bonny, my lady," she whispered reverently.

  "It is. You'l look beautiful, Mari. The color wil show off your gorgeous red hair."

  Mari lowered her hand, shaking her head. "I doona' think I can accept it, my lady, but I thank ye fer yer kindness."

  "Don't be sil y--of course you can. Mrs. Mac said it was fine."

  "Aye, but folk might think I doona' ken my place."

  Ali blew out a frustrated breath. "Who cares what anyone else thinks?"

  "I do, my lady," she said softly.

  "I'm sorry, Mari, of course you do. I understand how you feel." And she did, only too wel . "I shouldn't have pushed."

  "I ken what yer tryin' to do, and I appreciate it. 'Tis just wit
h my eyes and my hair, I stick out enough as 'tis."

  "You're very pretty, Mari. You'l always stand out from the others."

  The young girl giggled. "Yer verra funny, my lady. Pretty." She repeated the word and laughed again, shaking her head.

  "It's true, Mari, whether you believe me or not. Now, I want you to take the dress and try it on later, when you're on your own. Maybe you'l change your mind. No arguments."

  She wagged her finger at the girl, placing the gown in her arms despite her protests. Mari looked up at Ali with a shy smile. "My lady, once ye've changed gowns ye must let me see to yer hair. 'Tis a bit of a fright if ye doona' mind me sayin'."

  Ali shrugged, self-consciously touching her head. "I forgot to comb it after--" She let the rest of her sentence drop. It's not like she could say after the laird ran his fingersthrough my hair to the girl. With her young maid's help, Ali changed into the robin's egg blue gown. Her poking and prodding complete, Mari held out a chair for Ali. She took a seat and Mari began combing the tangles from Ali's hair.

  "Sorry," she apologized when Ali cried out, the comb catching on another knot. When al the tangles were combed through, Ali leaned back in the chair. "Mari, do you like it here?"

  "Aye, my lady, 'tis blessed I am to be yer maid."

  Ali snorted. "I'm sure."

  "'Tis true. Yer verra kind to me."

  "Thank you, but I've been worried you might be missing your mother."

  "My mam's verra busy with the others. There are eleven in my family, my lady."

  Eleven. Ali shuddered. "What about friends?"

  "I doona' have friends. I'm too busy helpin' me mam."

  "You'l have time to make friends here at Dunvegan. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ali asked, turning side ways in the chair to look at Mari.

  "Aye." The girl sighed, a wistful expression on her face. Ali reached back and patted her hand. "I'm going to make sure you do." And she meant it. Something about the young girl touched her deeply. Perhaps Mari reminded Ali of herself a long time ago, a time when she wished someone had been there for her. She promised herself before she left Dunvegan, she'd see that Mari was safe and happy.

  "Mrs. Macpherson and Fergus have been verra kind--the laird, too."