Lord of the Isles
Page 7
"Why aren't the men doing anything?" she yel ed at Connor over her shoulder.
"'Tis on account of the priest. They wil na' stand against him," he panted, trying to keep up with her. When a young boy bent down to retrieve more rocks, Ali saw a flash of yel ow. "Oh, dear God," she groaned.
"Connor, you have to get Lord MacLeod," she begged, unable to contain the sob that bubbled up in her throat.
"'Tis Mari," he croaked. Without further pressure from Ali, he tore from the courtyard in the opposite direction.
"Stop it!" she cried, grabbing a young boy by the scruff of his neck as he resupplied his cache of ammunition. He looked up at Ali, and his mouth dropped. He released the edges of his grubby white shirt and the rocks tumbled to the ground. Ali shoved aside the children to reach Mari, who was crouched low to the ground, an arm raised to pro tect her face. Her beautiful gown was in tatters, leaving her half naked, her arms and chest smeared with dirt and blood.
"Mari," Ali whispered, dropping to her knees beside her.
She heard a whizzing sound, then a rock bounced off Ali's shoulder and grazed her cheek in a stinging blow. She turned to face the crowd that seemed to have doubled in size, like a dark, sinister shadow closing in on them. Furious, she rose to her feet and stared them down.
"Throw one more of those rocks and you'l answer to your laird. Do you hear me?" Ali prayed she was right and Rory would be as angry with what they'd done as she was. There was a rhythmic thud as one by one the rocks were released from their grimy fingers.
"Nay . . . nay, they answer to no one save their Lord our God."
Ali whirled on the speaker. The slight man was al but swal owed up by his gray robes. A thick wooden cross hung around his scrawny neck. A neck Ali was tempted to wring. His pasty white face was pul ed into a mask of hate while his black eyes blazed with self-righteous recrimination. She took a step toward him, trembling with rage. "Their God tel s them to do this?" She waved a hand at Mari. "To stone an innocent child to death?"
"She is no' innocent. The devil's spawn is what she is. Look at her," he screeched, reaching for Mari. Ali put herself between them. The man was a raving lunatic, but he held sway over those gathered at her back--a crowd she knew he could fan into an angry mob with his words. Afraid she would be unable to keep them at bay much longer, Ali backed away before turning to help Mari to her feet. She wrapped an arm around the young girl's waist to keep her upright. The priest's bony fingers dug into Ali's injured shoulder and she bit back a groan of pain.
"Get your hands off me," she growled low in her throat. Before she could stop him, he wrenched the cap from Mari's hair. The force of the motion jerked the young girl's head back and she whimpered in pain, a look of terror on her face.
"Tel me ye doona' see it now, the devil's mark--red hair and eyes of two colors." Spittle ran down his weak chin, and his eyes bulged.
"Don't touch her," Ali yel ed. Pul ing Mari out of his reach, she put up a hand to stop him from coming any closer. He took a step toward them, and his foot caught on the edge of his robe. The crowd gasped when he stumbled, fal ing to the ground with a resounding thud.
"Yer my witnesses," he cried from where he lay prone on the cobblestones, pointing a gnarled finger at Ali. "She struck me down in defense of a witch. In the name of the Lord, my Father, I demand ye seize them both."
Panic threatened to overwhelm her, but Ali forced it down with a vengeance. Fighting to keep Mari close to her side, she pushed past the menacing faces, but it was too late. The crowd came at them as one, sinking their claws into their exposed flesh, tearing at their clothes, their hair.
"No, stop! You have to stop!" she cried when someone wrenched Mari from her arms. A man loomed over her and everyone else, hauling her to his chest. It was the blond giant she'd saved from chok ing the night before, but from the look on his face she wasn't sure if he was friend or foe. He wrenched Mari free from two serving girls before he dragged Ali and her maid along with him. Their feet barely touched the ground.
"Doona' fret. Al wil be wel once the laird comes," he reassured them quietly. To the crowd he shouted, "Our laird wil hear of the priest's charges upon his return."
Helped to his feet, the priest brushed off his robes and bel owed his demands after them. "See you lock them away like the criminals they are. Justice wil be served this day."
"Aye," the man-at-arms muttered. Under his breath he said to Ali, "Emotions run high. 'Twil be safer and ap pease the old buzzard if I put ye in the dungeons. But doona' fret, my lady, I'l see to yer care myself."
"Thank you," she murmured, trying with difficulty to keep up with his long strides. Her feet ached, and she left a trail of bloody footprints on the unforgiving stone. But Mari's condition was worse. She was limp as a rag dol ; the man-atarms al but carried her. As though sensing Ali's concern, he reassured her. "As soon as we're out of their line of sight I'l carry her, my lady."
Ali appreciated his kindness, but she couldn't help but feel it had come too late. Mari could've died. With the thought, Ali's temper flared. "I can't believe Lord MacLeod would al ow his men to stand back while a child was being abused on his land."
With a furtive glance over his shoulder, he scooped Mari into his arms and turned to Ali. "He wouldna' al ow it, my lady."
"But the guards on the wal never did anything and you--"
"I wasna' here. I had returned to have my wound tended to when I came upon the mob."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know." Brow furrowed, she searched for his injury and found the place on his arm where blood stained the fabric just below his shoulder.
"Are you sure you can manage?"
"'Tis no' but a scratch." He crossed the slate floor, past the hal , barking orders at the servants who darted out of his way. "Bring whatever Lady Aileanna wil need to see to the wee lass." He unhooked a lantern from the wal beside a heavy wooden door and handed it to Ali. The thick oak creaked as he opened it and gestured for her to take the lead.
"Step careful y," he advised.
She did as he suggested, easing her way down the roughhewn stone steps. Cool, musty air enveloped her at the foot of the stairs, and she was unable to suppress the shiver that skittered down her spine. He nudged her forward from behind and something brushed the bottom of her gown. Ali screamed, nearly dropping the lantern. "What . . . what was that?" she croaked.
"Rats," he murmured. "I'l send for the cats. The laird should be on his way."
Ali nodded. She sure as hel hoped so, for both her and Mari's sake. The man-at-arms propped the girl against his side while he retrieved a key from a heavy iron ring. The barred metal door clanged open, and his mouth flattened as he ushered them inside the four-by-four-foot cel . He gently placed Mari on a rusty old cot. The girl hadn't made a sound and Ali was afraid she was in shock. "I'l need some blankets . . ."
"Cal um. I'l see to it, my lady. I wil na' be long."
Ali sat beside Mari, trying to ignore the grating sound of the key turning in the lock. She cupped the girl's face between her hands and looked into her eyes. "I won't let anyone else hurt you, Mari. I promise."
The young girl shuddered. A strangled sob escaped her pale lips, and she threw herself into Ali's arms.
"There . . . there, it wil be al right." Ali patted her back, relieved at least to get some sort of reaction from her. She pul ed away and rested her hands on Mari's shoulders. "Let's have a better look at you."
Mari tugged self-consciously at the tattered remnants of her beautiful gown. Ali came to her feet. Lifting the bottom of her own gown, she tugged the ruffled underskirt down and stepped out of it, careful not to get any blood on the snowy white flounces.
Mari gasped. "My lady, what are ye doin'?"
"Wel , in case Cal um has abandoned us, I won't have you sitting around half naked when Lord MacLeod arrives."
"Do ye think he'l come?"
"Of course I do. And when he does, it'l be that psychopathic priest who's down here, not us."
Mari shook he
r head. "Nay, 'twil no' happen."
Ali shrugged. "We'l see," she said as she ripped the underskirt in half and draped it over Mari's shoulders. "Now, do you think you've broken anything?" She knelt on the cold, damp floor, careful y running her hands over Mari's legs. Mari drew the shawl closed with hands that were scraped raw. "Nay, I hurt is al ," she whimpered. Ali blinked back tears and hugged Mari to her chest, knowing the young girl hurt as deeply in her heart as she did in her body. Ali vowed the priest would pay for what he'd done. Somehow she'd make sure of it.
"I'l have to wait until Cal um comes back before I can see to your cuts." Scanning the dimly lit dungeon, she was thankful the lantern provided as little light as it did. She could hear the unmistakable sound of rats scurrying in the dark corners. Ali pushed herself to her feet and took a seat beside Mari. She pul ed the young girl into a tight embrace and leaned against the wal . She tried to ignore the slimy dampness that seeped through the fabric of her gown. Ali longed for the comfort and safety of her cozy apartment, the chance to curl up on her couch with a good book and a cup of coffee after a long, hot shower. She swal owed a heartfelt moan. If only she'd found that damn fairy flag. But then you wouldn't have been there to protectMari, the voice in her head reminded her. Ali shuddered, not want ing to think about what might have happened if she hadn't been there to intervene. The sound of feet thudding on the floor above their heads and a familiar deep voice issuing orders caused Ali's heart to quicken. She squeezed Mari's hand. "It'l be al right now."
She heard the door leading to the dungeon crash open and the thunder of footsteps on the stone steps. And then he was there, standing in front of her, big and powerful. His raven black hair was slicked back from his handsome face. His white shirt was open almost to his waist. Sweat beaded on his sun-bronzed chest. She drew her eyes back to his face, to where a muscle pulsated in his clenched jaw.
"Open the bloody door," he shouted over his shoulder. From amongst the men crowded behind Rory--Fergus, Iain, and Connor included--Cal um stepped forward and ducked his head. He fumbled with the key as he tried to fit it into the lock. Ali wanted to tel Rory not to be angry at the blond giant. If not for him, she didn't know what would have happened to her and Mari. But the look in Rory's eyes when they met hers stopped her cold. Anger reverberated from him as he strode into the cel , and Ali shrank away from him. He crouched in front of Mari and quickly took in her condition. "Let's get you out of here." He tucked the lacy fabric around her. Brow furrowed, he slanted a look at Ali, and something flickered in his piercing green eyes. He reached out and skimmed his knuckle along Ali's cheek.
"Yer al right?" he asked, his voice gruff. Their eyes locked, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Her throat went dry, and she was unable to draw her gaze from his.
Rory quickly lowered his hand to his side, resisting the urge to take Aileanna into his arms, to run his hands over her soft, sweet-smel ing skin and see how badly she had been injured.
He scooped Mari into his arms and strode from the cel . He caught Iain's eye and jerked his head toward Aileanna. Iain nodded and along with Fergus, escorted her from the cel , each taking a firm hold of her. Rory wasn't certain if he did it to protect her, or the priest. Both Connor and Cal um had told him how she'd leaped into the fray in order to protect the young maid, without regard for her own safety. His admiration for her only served to inflame the desire he tried so hard to deny.
But it would be difficult to defend her against the priest's charges if she went after him again, and Rory had no doubt that was exactly what would happen if the two crossed paths before he could intervene. He understood her anger. He'd been hard-pressed when he encountered the man not to beat him to a bloody pulp. Mari stiffened in his arms when the bel ows of the priest, coming from the tower above them, reached her ears. "Shh, he canna' hurt you, Mari. I wil na' al ow it," he soothed the young girl. She seemed to relax, but his words didn't have the same effect on the woman cursing behind him. He shook his head. Aileanna Graham was like no woman he'd ever known--more of a warrior than many of his own men. He only wished she hadn't seen fit to strike the priest. She'd put Rory in an unenviable position. He had to find a way for al to save face. Somehow he would prove Mari was no witch, but was at a loss as to what to do with Aileanna. The priest demanded she be lashed, or at the very least sent to a nunnery to atone for her sins.
For a brief moment Rory had been tempted to send her away. After al , he stil had his suspicions where she was concerned, and the wel -being of his clan was his first priority. But if he was honest, he'd admit what disturbed him most was her ability to stir him in a way no other woman had, not since he'd lost Brianna. Her resemblance to his wife was uncanny, and at first he was able to put his desire for her down to that, but no longer. Aileanna was as different from Brianna as night was to day.
He glanced over his shoulder and caught the angry flash in her blue eyes and the stubborn set of her chin as she argued with Iain and Fergus.
"Aileanna," he said firmly. She looked up at him, a chal enge in her expression. "You'l have yer say, but no'until you've calmed yerself."
"Calm? You expect me to be calm after what that . . . that,"
she sputtered.
Rory sighed. "You'l see to Mari and yerself, and then we'l talk."
Before she could say anything else Mrs. Mac hurried toward them, a hand pressed to her mouth. "You poor wee thing. What have they done to you? When I get me hands on that lot I'l --"
Rory rol ed his eyes. God save me from vengeful women.
"Mrs. Mac, you wil let me deal with the matter and help Lady Aileanna see to Mari." He ignored her exasperated harrumph and continued up the stairs. When he reached the landing, he cal ed down to his man-at-arms. "Cal um, you'l stand guard outside Lady Aileanna's room." The big man nodded, a smile lightening his rough-hewn features. Rory knew his choice was a good one. Cal um had withstood the brunt of his anger when he'd informed Rory that he'd placed Aileanna and Mari in the dungeons. Cal um had meant to protect the women, but when Rory had seen them huddled together in the cel it was al he could do to keep his hands from the big man's throat.
"As wil I, my lord," Connor said, coming up behind him. The lad's ears pinked at Rory's perusal. Connor had been beside himself when he reached Rory on the field. He sensed the boy's concern had been not only for Aileanna, but for the young maid as wel . Rory nodded his assent. Once he saw Mari settled and did his best to reassure her there was nothing for her to fear, he took his leave. He hadn't realized Aileanna fol owed him until she stopped him with a tentative touch to his arm.
"You won't let him hurt her, wil you?"
"Nay, Aileanna, he wil na' harm either you or Mari ever again." He couldn't stop himself. He stroked her bruised cheek with a gentle caress.
"Thank you." Her heated breath whispered across his palm. He dropped his hand. Clenching his fist, he gathered what little control he had left. Chapter 7
White-hot pain lanced through Rory's side as he shrugged into the clean linen. He clenched his teeth, determined his brother would not witness his discomfort. Taking a slow, shal ow breath, he rode it out.
"What?" he rasped at the look of concern on Iain's face.
"You canna' hide it from me, Rory. I ken yer wound is troublin' you. I'l get Aileanna." His brother rose from where he sat by the fire and made to leave Rory's chamber.
"Nay, she's seein' to Mari. Leave it be, Iain." The last thing he wanted was to feel those soft, gentle hands of hers touching his bare skin, or her sharp tongue cursing him for being a fool. She'd be right. He shouldn't have gone with his men. It was too soon. But he hadn't had a choice. The MacDonald, knowing Rory had been wounded, would press his advantage. Ever since his year of mourning his daughter had passed, the old man had been relentless. Belting his plaid, Rory took the mug of whiskey Iain held out to him and shot the amber liquid back. He eased himself into the chair opposite his brother and sucked in a harsh breath as his side rebel ed. "Did you get the answers I asked fer?"
"Yer right. Best I deal with this now. I wanted to give Aileanna and the lass some time, but 'tis no' playin' out as I hoped." He sighed wearily and placed the mug on the table at his side. "Has Fergus returned with the sheriff ?"
"No' that I ken. Mayhap 'tis no' a bad thing, Rory. 'Tis yer word that is law, no' his."
"Aye. Be that as it may, I've heard he's put a stop to the priest on two separate occasions these past months while we fought the MacDonald. He's a fair man fer al that he was appointed by James."
Iain snorted in disgust at the mention of the king. "Aye, and 'tis James who stirred up this hornet's nest."
"Aye, wel , we'l deal with it as best we can, brother. Now, give me some time before you bring Aileanna and Mari to the hal . 'Twould be best if you stand by them--Cal um and Connor as wel ."
His brother gave him a knowing look. "Ah, so you think Aileanna might cause a spot of trouble, do you?"
Rory's mouth twisted in a grin. "Aye, I'm certain of it. Mind you keep yer hand at the ready to cover that mouth of hers."
Iain waggled his brows and rose from the chair. "I can think of another much more enjoyable way to cover that delectable mouth of hers."
"Hold yer tongue, Iain," he growled, his body's response to his brother's words primal. Iain's eyes widened. "You want her." He let out a low whistle. "After Brianna, I didna' think--"