Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  "Thank ye, Lady Aileanna. Thank ye fer al ye've done."

  Ali smiled and patted Maureen Chisholm's arm. "I didn't do a thing. You were the one who did al the work."

  "I was verra scared and ye took my fears away. I'l no'forget ye fer that."

  "It was my pleasure. Now I think his father's waited long enough, don't you? I'l tel him to come in and I'l see you first thing in the morning. Get some rest."

  As the door to the tiny thatched cottage squeaked open, two men straightened from where they leaned against an old, battered oak tree. A half moon hung overhead, cast ing a glimmer of light on the men's shadowed faces. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of Rory, her body's re sponse to him immediate. She tried to ignore the implications, to pretend her reaction was no different than any woman's would be to a man as powerful and as gorgeous as the Laird of Dunvegan. But she didn't need the voice in her head to tel her she was ful of it. Everything she'd witnessed in the hal earlier that day had proven to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was one man worthy of not only a woman's love, but her respect as wel . His strength of character, the fairness of his judgment--although she'd doubted it in the beginning--and the depth of loyalty he garnered from his clan al bore witness to that. She envied Brianna MacLeod more than she cared to admit. Envied the love they had shared--a love worthy of a romance novel, and she should know--she'd read enough of them.

  One day, if she was lucky enough to find her own hero, he'd be a very tarnished version of Rory MacLeod. They didn't make men like him anymore. Drew Sanderson, her slimebal of an ex-boyfriend, was proof of that. The man was nothing like Rory, nor were any of the others she'd dated before him. And that said a lot about what her love life would be like once she got back to the twenty-first century.

  She shoved her thoughts aside and took a step toward Robert Chisholm. "Your wife and son are waiting for you."

  A big grin creased his craggy face.

  Rory clapped a hand on his friend's back. "Go to Maureen and the bairn. I'l see you on the morrow."

  "Aye, I'l do that." Robert clasped Ali's hands with his.

  "I canna' thank ye enough, Lady Aileanna."

  "There's no need. Your wife did al the work. He'slovely, and they're both doing wel ," she reassured the proud father. "I told Maureen I'd stop by in the morning, so I'l see you then." A cry that sounded like a little lamb came from within the cottage and they laughed. "I think your son is impatient to meet you."

  With one more squeeze of her hands, Robert released her, ducking his head before entering the cottage. A breeze wafted off the loch, rustling the trees, tugging at the cap on Ali's head. She scratched beneath the stupid piece of fabric Mrs. Mac had insisted she wear. Damp and hot, her head itched after the hours she'd spent closed up in the cottage with the blazing fire Robert had insisted upon. The smoky scent of peat clung to her clothes. She heard Rory's chuckle rumble deep in his chest and looked over to where he stood watching her. "I'm sur prised yer stil wearin' the cap. I didna' think 'twas one of yer favorites."

  She snorted. "It's not, but Mrs. Mac didn't give me much choice in the matter."

  Rory pushed away from the tree and seemed to hesitate before he came to her side. He looked down at her.

  "You can take it off, Aileanna. The priest is gone," he said quietly.

  "Thank God. Mari wil be relieved." She grimaced, pul ing out the pins that dug into her scalp.

  "Aye, and you?" He lifted his hand as though to help her, but then let it drop to his side.

  "Of course. The man is crazy." The cap final y free, she tugged it from her head. "Uhmm, that feels so good," she murmured, closing her eyes as she combed her fingers through her hair. When she opened them, she saw that Rory watched her with a pained expression on his face. She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

  "Nay . . . nay. I'l see you home." His tone was gruff.

  "Oh, I didn't . . . you didn't have to come for me. It's light enough to make my way back on my own."

  "You were no' the only reason I came, Aileanna." Her name rol ed off his tongue in a low, smooth rumble that caused her toes to curl. "I thought I should be here fer Robert, in case . . ." He closed his mouth, his lips drawn in a thin, tight line. Tilting his head back, he squinted up at the stars that twinkled overhead. It took a moment for Ali to realize what he meant, and when she did her heart ached for him. "Oh, Rory." She squeezed his arm. "Maureen and the baby are fine. They were at very low risk for anything to go wrong."

  His eyes searched her face, and then he shrugged. "I ken it."

  "I'm sure it's difficult for you. Would it help to talk about it?"

  "Nay, it wil na' do any good. I canna' bring her back."

  "No, but sometimes talking can help." Her voice trailed off. His beautiful face was set in hard, razor-sharp edges. She thought she'd pushed too far and was surprised when his deep voice fil ed the silence.

  "'Twas my fault. I should never have al owed her to get with child in the first place. She was too fragile, too smal ."

  "Rory, don't blame yourself. Women of al shapes and sizes have babies al the time. Sometimes these things just happen, and it doesn't matter whether a woman is delicate or not."

  "Nay, Brianna was no' like you. She--"

  Ali couldn't help but feel a pinch of hurt at his words.

  "Yes, I know, you've mentioned that before." It was difficult being compared to his wife and found wanting. A woman he loved even now. Not that it should bother her. She didn't love him, didn't want him to love her. She smothered the little voice in her head before it could cal her a liar and make her face things she had no intention of facing.

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

  "Nay, you misunderstand me, Aileanna. Yer strong and healthy. Brianna never was. She wanted to give me a bairn and I couldna' refuse her. I should have. I had a physician come from Edinburgh, but he could do nothin'.

  'Twas her heart that gave way. Neither she nor the bairn had a chance."

  Ali blinked back the moisture that gathered in her eyes. Even after two years, his pain was palpable. It lay thick and heavy between them. She cleared the emotion from her throat. "I'm sorry."

  "Come." He held out his hand. "You'l catch a chil ."

  She hesitated before placing her hand into the warmth of his. He captured her fingers in his firm grip. They were rough and cal oused, and she remembered how they felt skimming over her body when he'd caressed her that first night. When he thought you were his wife, she reminded herself. A poor substitute for the woman he adored. Preoc cupied, she forgot to pay attention as they walked along the path to Dunvegan and stepped on a sharp-edged rock that pierced her slippers and her stil -sore feet. She stifled a cry of pain. Rory, as though sensing her distress, turned to look at her. "It's nothing. I'm fine . . . go." She jerked her head in the direction of the castle. He cursed under his breath when he noticed her limp ing. "Yer a stubborn one, Aileanna Graham. Enough," he said as she tried to push past him and continue down the path. With little effort, he reached over and scooped her into his arms.

  "No, Rory, put me down. You'l hurt yourself." She twisted in his arms, but it only caused him to tighten his hold on her. His hand brushed the underside of her breast, and the hard muscle of his arms flexed just below her bottom. He was more of a man than she'd ever known, and she wanted him. And he wanted his wife.

  "You wil na' hurt me, Aileanna." His voice was husky, his breath hot against her ear. Maybe not, but she knew, without a doubt, he could hurt her. Chapter 8

  The air whooshed from Ali's lungs when Rory dumped her unceremoniously onto her bed with a muttered curse.

  "Did you have to cause such a bloody commotion down below?" He glowered at her, hands on his hips, his hair and clothes dripping with ale. He smel ed like a brewery.

  "Me? It wasn't me who caused a scene--it was you. There was no reason to carry me once we arrived home. I didn't know the girl was behind me when I tried to get out of your arms." Truly, she hadn't meant to kick
the maid car rying the ful jug of ale, and certainly hadn't meant for it to land on Rory's head. Remembering his stunned expression, the helpless giggle she could no longer contain turned into an al -out bel y laugh. Ali fel back onto the satin comforter, clutching her sides.

  Rory leaned over, bracing a hand on either side of her head. The muscles in his arms rippled beneath the fine lawn of his white shirt. His emerald eyes gleamed with amusement, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "I think you ken exactly what you were doin', Aileanna. You doona' take orders wel , lass."

  His gaze fastened on her mouth and the laughter died in her throat. The feel of his thick, powerful legs pressed between her thighs sent a surge of heat to her core. She curled her fingers into the starched fabric of her gown, re sisting the urge to trace his ful , sensuous lips, and the shadow that darkened his jaw. Slowly he drew his gaze to hers. How easily he ensnared her with his powerful body and the heat of desire she saw there, desire that mirrored her own. She wondered if he knew how easily she'd succumb to his passion. How she longed to feel his mouth on hers, his fingers stroking between her thighs. She swal owed a frustrated groan when he pul ed away. Without a word, he crouched before her.

  "Uhmm, Rory, what . . . what are you doing?" she stammered, pushing herself into an upright position. She fisted her hands into the maroon comforter. He didn't look at her. Instead, he bent his head, his long fingers leaving a heated trail along her too-sensitive skin as, inch by inch, he rol ed the stocking down her left leg. She winced as he gently tugged the silk from where the blood adhered the fabric to the sole of her foot. Encircling her ankle in a firm grip, he examined her foot, then raised his eyes to meet hers. "Yer a healer, lass. You shoulda' taken care of this."

  Did he expect a response? She could barely think, let alone speak, as he turned his attention to her other leg. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she bit her lower lip to keep from begging him for more. Ali slowly lifted her lids when he removed the other stocking. From the look he gave her, she could tel he had watched her the entire time, had seen the play of emotions on her face, and knew what she wanted from him. And al he'd done was see to her needs with gentleness and consideration. She felt the color rush to her cheeks. How stupid could she be? He stood, abruptly turning away from her. "I'l send Mrs.

  Mac to see to you. Mari needs time to heal before resumin'her duties."

  Ali blinked, startled by the underlying anger she heard in his voice. "Of course, I didn't expect her--" She might as wel have saved her breath. Her words ricocheted off the barrier of the oak door he slammed between them. Ali pressed her fingers to her temples. She had to leave Dunvegan before she made a bigger fool of herself than she already had. Not that her powerful attraction to their laird--an attraction that wasn't returned--was her only reason for finding the flag--far from it. She wanted to go home. To the life she left behind. The man destroyed her equilibrium, her common sense. He was every woman's ideal of a dream lover, and that was the problem. She was living a dream, or as today had proven--a nightmare. The fairy flag was her only way out, away from Rory and the pain of wanting more from him than he was wil ing to give. She rose to her feet and grimaced.

  "Och, now, sit yerself down," Mrs. Mac said as she bustled into the room, linens draped over one arm, a pail of steaming water looped over the other. She set the pail onto the slate floor and water sloshed over the rim. "So what did you do to put the laird in such a temper?"

  Ali shrugged. "Nothing." She hadn't. It wasn't like she'd asked him to make love to her. And now that she thought about it, she doubted he even knew what his heated touch had done to her. Mrs. Mac gave her a considering look. "'Tis probably his wound botherin' him. Iain spoke of it earlier."

  "He never said anything." He'd been in pain and now she'd made it worse. Ali shot a nervous glance at the ad joining door. "I should check on him." She pushed off the bed and rose on her heels to protect her sore feet.

  "Nay." Mrs. Mac gave her a gentle nudge, forcing her to sit back down. "Iain has already suggested he let you tend him, but he refused."

  "Oh." Once again she felt the heat rise to her face. He didn't want her anywhere near him. Aware of what he could do to her with just a look, a touch, she thought maybe it was for the best.

  "Och, now, doona' fash yerself, lass. He doesna' doubt yer abilities. 'Tis on account he doesna' like to be fussed over is al ."

  Ali returned her attention to Mrs. Mac and waved off her explanation. "That's fine. I understand how he feels."

  She raised a brow to make her point.

  "Och, yer two of a kind." She held out the linens to Ali.

  "If you doona' need me I'l see to Mari."

  "Why? What's happened?" Gingerly, Ali hopped off the bed.

  Mrs. Mac shook her head. Steel gray curls bounced as she pointed to Ali's feet. "If you doona' stay off those fer a while, they'l never heal. As fer Mari, there's nothin' time and a little kindness wil na' cure."

  "Of course, I'l do whatever I can. I stil can't believe what they did to her. I don't think it's something I'l ever forget."

  She shuddered. Mari was the one reason she'd delayed her search for the flag. She had to be sure her maid would be al right before she left.

  "I'm thinkin' we should be a mite careful with the type of kindness we give her from now on."

  Ali's gaze narrowed on Mrs. Mac, certain the woman held something back. "What do you mean?"

  Mrs. Mac released a weary sigh. "I'm hearin' the lasses turned her over to the priest on account of the yel ow gown. They thought she was reachin' above her station and were a wee bit jealous."

  Ali pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her cry of dismay. "It's my fault. Everything she suffered was because of me." Remembering the scene in the courtyard, bile rose in Ali's throat. She felt dizzy, overcome with guilt. "My God, look at what I've done. I can't stay here any longer, Mrs. Mac. Please, you have to help me," she pleaded. The older woman patted her shoulder. "Hush now. You ken I canna' do that, Lady Aileanna."

  "Lady!" Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "I'm no lady. You know who I am. I don't belong here. I never know what to do, what to say, and now look--someone almost died because of it." Mari. Sweet, innocent Mari had nearly died because of her. The connecting door flew open and Rory stood framed within it, fil ing the entryway with his broad shoulders.

  "What the bloody hel is goin' on in here?"

  Mrs. Mac quickly placed herself between the two of them. "There's nothin' goin' on, my laird. Lady Aileanna is a mite overwrought is al ." She waved him off. "No need to trouble yerself. I'l see to her." Mrs. Mac sent a plead ing look over her shoulder to Ali when Rory strode toward them like a panther stalking his prey. Ali could barely raise the effort to care. Al she wanted to do was crawl in the bed, bury her head, and pray the night mare would end. She'd wake up in New York and everything would be okay. Other than the malpractice suit and thefactyou could lose your job, you're right--everything will be justpeachy, the voice in her head jeered. Ali didn't think she could take much more. What had she done to deserve this? Waves of despair threatened to drown her and her anguish broke free. Body-quaking sobs racked through her body.

  Rory tried to step around Mrs. Mac to reach Aileanna, but the woman placed herself in front of him, putting her hands up. "Nay, 'tis no' proper. I'l see to her." Determination marked her stance.

  He moved to the left and once more Mrs. Mac blocked his advance. Rory growled in frustration, lifting her bodily out of his way. "I doona' give a damn if 'tis proper or no'."

  Before he could take the crying woman into his arms, Mrs. Mac whispered urgently in her ear. Whatever she said caused Aileanna's sobs to intensify. Rory drew her toward him. He was at a loss as to what had broken the woman he cradled in his arms. She hadn't shed a tear during her ordeal with the priest. Yet now, she soaked his tunic with her tears.

  "Leave us be," he ordered Mrs. Mac, ignoring her dire warnings as she closed the door behind her with a resound ing click.

  "Shh." Rory st
roked hair the color of moonbeams from her bonny face. His fingers combed through the silken tresses he'd denied himself the pleasure of touching earlier, for fear he'd be unable to stop himself from going further. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the bed. Unwil ing to release her, he sat with her on his lap, al the while trying to quiet her with words of comfort. Her gown had worked its way over her thigh, revealing long, shapely, bare legs. She was pure temptation; the reason he'd left her to Mrs. Mac's care. The memory of her heavylidded, passion-fil ed eyes sent a bolt of heat to his shaft, and it jerked against the soft curve of her behind. She shifted, and the friction made him throb.

  "Al right now. You wil tel me what has upset you, Aileanna," he said, his voice gruff with pent-up frustration.

  "I wan . . . I want to go home," she sobbed. Rory buried his face in her honeysuckle-scented hair.

  "Aye, Aileanna, we'l find a way to get you home." It was a decision he'd come to only moments before he'd walked from her room. So why now did he feel a hol ow, empty ache at the thought of her leaving Dunvegan? She sniffed and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. Rory patted the far end of the bed and found the linens he saw there earlier. He handed the cloth to her.

  "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse.

  "Is that why yer cryin', Aileanna? You miss yer home?"

  "No . . . yes." She hiccupped.

  Rory held her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. Eyes the color of the loch after a storm met his. "Which is it, lass?" With tenderness, he stroked his knuckles over her tearstained cheek.

  "It was my fault, Rory. Oh, God, I didn't know."

  "Aileanna, I doona' ken what yer talkin' aboot."

  "Mari." She clutched at his shirt. "Don't you see? It was my fault the girls gave her to the priest." She burrowed her face into his neck, sniffing back fresh tears.

  "No, I doona' understand, Aileanna. Tel me."

  She murmured her answer into his neck. The feel of her soft lips moving against his skin and the warmth of her breath fanned the flame of his desire. He bit back a groan.