Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  "You met Lord MacLeod?"

  "Aye. He's the bonniest man I ever did see." The girl sighed.

  Ali wrinkled her nose. "I guess."

  "You doona' think he's bonny, my lady?"

  "Aye." Oh, for God's sake, now she was starting to talk like them. "I mean, yes, he's very handsome. But you know, Mari, it's more than good looks that make a man."

  "I ken it wel , my lady, but everyone kens the laird is a good man. He's kind and generous, and verra powerful. No one man can take our laird down."

  Ali snorted. "Wel , someone almost did."

  "Are ye talkin' aboot his wound? 'Twas five against one, my lady--no' a fair fight."

  Five . . . one man against five. Ali didn't know why she was surprised, not when she thought of his rippling mus cles and the strength of his hands--hands that could crush a man, or bring a woman to the edge with a gentle caress. Ali's stomach clenched at the memory, and she shot out of the chair. "Okay, perfect, that's wonderful, Mari."

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder, unwil ing to continue the conversation about Rory MacLeod's many attributes any further. "Thank you. Now I'd better see if Mrs. Mac needs me for anything. Would you like to spend some time out side? It's a lovely day."

  "Thank ye, my lady, but I'l see to yer gown."

  "Al right."

  Standing in the long narrow corridor outside her room, Ali contemplated her best course of action. Deciding to begin one floor at a time, she headed for the stairs and almost col ided with the laird himself when he slammed out of his chambers.

  "Lady Aileanna, I'm sorry." He reached out to steady her.

  "No harm done." She took a step backward, putting some distance between them. "You know, Lord MacLeod, just because you're feeling better doesn't mean you should resume your daily activities right away."

  He arched a brow; the corner of his mouth twitched.

  "And what do you consider my daily activities, lass?"

  She waved her hand. "Oh, I don't know--laird things."

  "Laird things?" He grinned. "I'l keep that in mind, Aileanna."

  He walked down the curved staircase beside her, matching his long stride with hers. "'Tis a verra bonny gown you have on, my lady. As bonny as the one you wore this morn."

  Ali stopped and stared at him. "I can't believe you just said that. It is not very gentlemanly of you to remind me of this morning," she muttered.

  He leaned into her. His heated breath fanned her cheek.

  "I'm no' a gentleman, Aileanna."

  "You're tel ing me," she huffed. Anxious to get away from him, she fairly flew down the stairs, catching her foot on the underskirt of her gown.

  "Lass, be careful you don--" His hand shot out, and he grabbed her before she tumbled headlong down the stairs.

  "Thank you," Ali murmured, feeling her cheeks flush.

  "I'm fine. You can let me go." She tried to pul away from him, but he held her firmly against his chest.

  "Mayhap I doona' want to, lass." Heat flared in moss green eyes that ensnared her. The sound of raised voices broke the spel , and she jerked her gaze from his. "Let me go."

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. "Aye, I wil , lass, as soon as you tel me where 'tis you'd be goin'."

  Ali's eyes widened, panic inching its way up her chest at the thought he knew what she was up to. "Why? I didn't realize I was your prisoner, Lord MacLeod."

  He arched a brow. "Yer my guest, Aileanna, and as such, under my protection. I only meant to suggest as yer unfa miliar with the lay of the land, Connor should accompany you. I would do it myself but I have things I must attend to."

  "No," she blurted out. "I mean, thank you, but I won't wander."

  "See that you don't, Aileanna." His voice held a warning, and Ali didn't want to think what he'd do to her if he knew what she planned. She felt his gaze fol ow her as they parted company at the bottom of the stairs. Two hours later, Ali abandoned her search. She'd managed to investigate only three rooms, spending most of her time in the drawing room where the flag had resided in her time. She searched every nook and cranny, but to no avail. It didn't help that Mrs. Mac kept popping in and out, and if not her, Connor seemed to show up at the most inopportune times.

  Frustrated, Ali closed the door of the drawing room with a little more force than she intended.

  "There you are, lass. I've been lookin' fer you. Dinner is bein' served." Mrs. Macpherson gestured for her to fol ow. Ali's stomach grumbled. She was starving, but after witnessing the filth of the kitchens, she'd been unable to eat anything for the past few days other than the freshly baked bread.

  She stepped aside to al ow the servants to pass into the dining hal . Their arms were laden with heavy trays con taining steaming platters. The smel of roasted meats made Ali's nostrils twitch. She fol owed Mrs. Mac into the cav ernous room lined with long wooden tables. Torches lit the interior, casting a golden hue on the tartan banners that hung from the gray stone wal s between the narrow windows. The room was crowded--at least twenty people hunkered down at each table, mostly men, and the servants scurried about trying to accommodate them al at once. At the table on the raised dais, she spotted Rory. He came to his feet when he saw her. The loud chatter quieted as the diners watched her walk by. Their curiosity was one of the reasons she'd taken to eating her meals in her chambers.

  "Mrs. Mac, maybe it's better if I eat in my room," Ali suggested, growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

  "Och, no, the laird wanted you to join him and so you shal ."

  "Of course, we wouldn't want to upset his lordship."

  Mrs. Macpherson shook her head, making her now familiar tsking sound.

  "I'm glad you've joined us, lass," Rory said when Ali reached them, indicating the vacant chair to his left, beside Iain.

  "I didn't think I had a choice," she muttered, nodding at Iain, Fergus, and Connor as she took her seat.

  "Ah, stil prickly I see."

  Before she could respond, two platters were placed on the table in front of her. She eyed them with trepidation; fish of some sort on one, lamb on the other. Relieved when a basket of fresh bread was placed to her left, she smiled at the girl who put it there.

  "Thank you."

  The girl bobbed her head.

  "You canna' live on bread alone, Aileanna," Rory said, with a hint of amusement in the low rumble of his voice.

  "Cook took yer suggestions to heart. I've checked on the kitchens myself. 'Tis safe to eat."

  Even if that was the case, Ali wasn't sure she could. She didn't know how. Not without a fork or a knife to cut the meat. There was only a spoon beside her wooden plate. She glanced surreptitiously down the tables to see how everyone else was managing. Iain, obviously aware of the problem, took his dirk and sliced off some mutton for her. Everyone was so busy eating they no longer watched her, and she took a tentative bite.

  "So, Aileanna, did you find what you were lookin' for?"

  Ali choked on the piece of meat and both Rory and Iain pounded her back simultaneously.

  "I'm al right," she managed, knowing if they didn't stop with their forceful slaps, she wouldn't be. She took a deep swal ow of wine from the goblet in front of her. Clearing her throat, she said, "I wasn't looking for anything in particular, Lord MacLeod. I just wanted to see more of Dunvegan, since I've spent most of my time caring for your men."

  "Did it meet with yer approval?" Goblet in hand, he swirled the liquid, looking at her over the rim.

  "Yes, it's lovely." She bent over her plate, pretending to be absorbed with her meal, ignoring the suspicious look Fergus shot at her across the table and the one she felt coming from Iain. Ali had a sneaking suspicion she would be watched closely from now on.

  She drained her wine.

  Rory refil ed it for her. "I'm sorry I didna' have the time to show you aboot myself."

  She shrugged. "You were busy."

  "Aye, and I've learned, thanks to you, Aileanna, that my men fared much better than I anticipated."

 
"Aye, and next time we meet the MacDonald, we'l be ready for the sneaky old bastard," Iain said. Men al along the tables heard his comment and pounded their fists against the scarred wood. A loud chorus of ayes fil ed the room. Ali couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Please, tel me you aren't serious. My God, you were almost kil ed. Several of your men died." An image of a battlefield like the one she'd seen on the tapestry the day she arrived flashed before her. Her stomach lurched at the thought of Rory in the midst of that slaughter. He shrugged. "'Tis the way of it, lass. We have no choice."

  "Of course you do. You always have a choice. Wasn't your wife a MacDonald?"

  Iain nudged her foot beneath the table, and she nudged him back. She wasn't about to keep quiet. It was too impor tant. She had to find a way to make Rory see reason--to stop the senseless loss of life.

  "Aye." Rory's expression turned fierce. Gone was the teasing man of earlier, replaced by someone she wouldn't want to meet in a dark al ey, or anywhere else for that matter.

  "Are the men you fight with not related to her, can't--?"

  "'Tis her father."

  "You both loved the same woman. Surely there's a way to settle your differences without bloodshed."

  "'Tis none of yer concern." His tone was dismissive.

  "You're right, it's not," she said, pushing back from the table. "Please, give Cook my compliments. Good night."

  Rory looked ready to say something, but instead he stood and offered her his arm. "I'l see you to yer room, Aileanna."

  "I can manage." She brushed past him, her attention drawn to a flurry of activity at the far end of the hal . Sev eral men surrounded a big, fair-haired man, pounding his back. Ali caught a glimpse of his face when the crowd parted and noted his coloring--the man was purple.

  "Stop that," she cal ed out. Lifting her skirts, she rushed toward them. When she reached the man, she wrapped her arms around him. Making a fist, Ali placed her other hand over it and gave a quick upward thrust to his abdomen, repeating the motion five times. On the last thrust, a smal bone shot out of his mouth and landed in the goblet of the man across from him.

  "Thank ye, thank ye, my lady," he gasped. "I couldna'breathe."

  Ali patted his arm. "That's what happens when you're about to choke to death. Next time you might not want to swal ow the bone along with the meat."

  "Aye," he said sheepishly, to the amusement of his friends.

  "It seems I'l be forever in yer debt where my men are concerned, Lady Aileanna." Rory took her arm, grabbed a torch from the wal , and led her from the hal .

  "Here, give me that." She reached for the torch. "I wouldn't want to take you away from your battle plans."

  Rory sighed, the grim lines of his face softening in the dim light. "Aileanna--" He stopped. A commotion at the castle's entrance drew his attention. The two men who entered were covered in grime and armed to the teeth. Rory indicated they were to wait, then stepped back into the hal and cal ed for Connor. When the lad appeared he said, "Take Lady Aileanna to her room."

  Just like that she was dismissed, and more annoyed than she knew was reasonable. After al , hadn't she been the one to tel him she didn't want him to see her to her room? Ah, but when you looked at that towering mountain of a man, and his beautiful green eyes, all you could think ofwas how his mouth would feel kissing you good-night, the little voice in her head said. Ali didn't bother issuing an objection. The stupid little voice was right.

  "Thank you, Connor," Ali said when they came to her room. The hal was damp and cold, and she was unable to contain a shiver.

  "I can see to yer fire, my lady," he offered with a shy smile.

  "I'd appreciate that. I'm not very good at it." She wasn't. On her second day at Dunvegan--if not for Fergus and Mrs. Macpherson coming to her rescue--she would've died from smoke inhalation after her first attempt. Ali opened the door to her chambers to find her young maid scouring the floor, a bucket of soapy water at her side. "Mari, what are you doing working at this hour? Have you had anything to eat?"

  "Nay, but I wil , my lady. I didna' realize the time, is al ,"

  the girl said, averting her eyes from Connor, who appeared to be doing the same.

  "Connor, have you met Mari?"

  His cheeks turned bright red. A lock of reddish brown hair fel across his forehead. "Aye . . . nay."

  "Mari, have you met Connor?"

  The girl shook her head. Her face flushed the same color as her hair.

  Ali held back a laugh. "Connor, Mari. Mari, Connor."

  They gave each other a brief nod, but while Connor busied himself with the fire, Ali saw him glance every so often in Mari's direction. And Mari peeked at him whenever she thought he wasn't looking.

  "Connor, when you're finished here would you mind taking Mari to get something to eat? She's new to Dunvegan."

  "Nay, my lady, 'tis fine, I . . ." Mari began to protest. With a sidelong look at Mari, Connor said, "Aye, my lady, I wil ."

  The young maid glared at her, and Ali suppressed a laugh, happy to see her spurt of temper. When Connor wasn't looking, Ali mouthed He's very cute. Mari's expres sion didn't change, but Ali thought she saw her lips twitch. Ali shut her eyes to the early morning sunlight stream ing through the open drapes on her window and snuggled deeper into the comfort of her feather bed. Now that was something she'd miss. Hah, you'll miss that beautiful hunkof a man next door, the voice in her head chimed in. Ali buried her head beneath the pil ow. That wasn't something she wanted to think about.

  "My lady?"

  Ali removed the pil ow from her head and blinked. "Oh, Mari, sorry, I didn't see you there. I--" She sat up and stared at her maid. The girl stood before her, resplendent in the bright yel ow gown, twisting her hands in front of her.

  "Mari, you look wonderful." Noting the girl's frightened expression, she said, "Something's the matter. What is it?"

  "He's here, my lady." Her eyes fil ed with tears. Ali got out of bed and pul ed the trembling girl into her arms. "Who's here?"

  "The priest. The one who wanted to put me to the stake."

  Ali rubbed her maid's back, remembering what Mrs. Mac had told her the day she brought Mari to her. Know ing what she did, Ali could wel imagine the young girl's terror. "Shh, now, how do you know he's here?"

  "The maids were talkin' aboot it. The laird's men brought him in yester eve."

  "Did they say why?"

  "Aye, he's demanding an audience with the laird." The last of her words came out on a sob.

  "Don't worry, Mari. Lord MacLeod won't let anyone hurt you, and neither wil I. You trust me, don't you?"

  "Aye, my lady." She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  "You'l stay in my room. I'l find you some mending and you can sit by the fire for the day. How does that sound?"

  "Verra good."

  "I have to check on Mrs. Chisholm, but after that I'l come back and sit with you. I'l talk to Lord MacLeod as soon as I get dressed." Ali didn't trust herself to confront the priest, not with the look of terror he'd put on Mari's face. She was afraid she'd put him to the stake herself.

  "He's not here, my lady."

  "What do you mean, he's not here?"

  "He and his men are trainin' in the glen this morn. He's to meet with the priest later."

  "Training?"

  "Aye, for battle."

  "For God's sake, does the man have no brains? He was ondeath's door less than a week ago and now he's running--"

  She cursed.

  Mari clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as saucers.

  Ali grimaced. "Don't repeat that."

  There was a sharp rap on the door to her chambers and Mari jumped.

  "'Tis only me, my lady," Mrs. Mac said, peeking around the door. Stepping into the room, the older woman's eyes widened. "Och, now, would you look at that." She smiled at Mari. "You look bonny, lass."

  "Thank ye." Mari bobbed her head shyly.

  Mrs. Macpherson squinted, looking at the girl more closely
. "Ah, I see you've heard."

  "About the priest? Yes. I've told Mari to stay in my room until I can speak to Lord MacLeod. Which I gather won't be for some time since the fool's off playing war games with his men."

  "Lady Aileanna, 'tis no way to speak of yer laird," the older woman chided. Ali curled her lip. "He's not my laird."

  Mrs. Macpherson gave her an odd look before bustling about the room, setting out Ali's toilette. "I'm goin' to the vil age, but the laird has left Connor to see to you, my lady."

  Spy on her more likely, Ali thought. "I have to check on Mrs. Chisholm, but other than that I'l be staying with Mari."

  "Aye, Maureen's time is drawin' near. I'l leave you to get aboot my business. Remember, my lady, if you need anythin', yer to ask Connor." Mrs. Macpherson leveled a pointed look at her before closing the door. Leaving Ali in no doubt the older woman knew exactly what she was up to. Chapter 6

  On the short walk back from Mrs. Chisholm's with Connor, Ali savored the warmth of sunshine on her face. With her days spent caring for the wounded, she'd had little time to take advantage of the beautiful scenery Dunvegan's grounds provided. She inhaled the salty tang of sea air and knew if it wasn't for Mari, shut up in her room, frightened and alone, Ali would have been unable to resist the urge to scramble over the rocky banks to the aquamarine loch where the gul s now played. The birds' noisy serenade faded into the distance as they came closer to Dunvegan and another sound--a low, ominous chant--reverberated through the air. Ali stood at the center of the wel -worn path, straining to make out the words. "Connor, do you hear that?"

  "Nay, I . . . aye, my lady." His expression tensed. The sound seemed to be coming from the inner courtyard of the castle. "What are they saying?"

  "Witch."

  Mari.

  A feeling of dread tightened in Ali's chest. She grabbed the boy's arm. "Connor, you have to get Lord MacLeod. Now!" Not waiting for a response, she took off at a run, cursing when she stumbled on the loose stones beneath her slippered feet. Unable to get enough traction, she bent down and yanked off the impractical shoes. Connor was looking at her as though she'd lost her mind. "I canna' do that. I'm to look after ye, my lady," he said, fol owing close on her heels.

  Frustrated at his unwil ingness to go against his laird's directive, Ali bit back a curse, but she had no time to waste arguing with him. She heard the plaintive wail of a young girl and her heart pounded in her ears. Her throat tight ened, making breathing painful as she raced toward the courtyard, past the men lining the wal s. Several young children and three serving girls were gathered in a circle, hurling rocks. A faint, pitiful cry was drowned out by their abusive taunts. A short, middle-aged man in voluminous gray robes encouraged them from the sidelines.