Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  "This is aboot as fast as it gets with Bessie."

  "Oh." Her lips curved into a wide smile that took Rory's breath away.

  Bessie stopped short and lowered her head. "Wha . . . what is she doing now?"

  Rory laughed. "Eatin'."

  Aileanna wrinkled her nose. "I think I could've walked faster to the Chisholms'."

  "Aye." He grinned. "But then you'd hurt yer feet."

  He saw the tension ease from her shoulders as she inhaled deeply of the heather-scented air. "It's so beautiful here." Her gaze wandered over their surroundings.

  "Aye, verra bonny." But it wasn't the scenery he referred to. Not the shimmering loch the golden eagle soared above, or the Cuil ens in the distance, wreathed in mist. For him, their attraction dimmed in comparison to the woman at his side.

  "I'd love to take a walk over there." She shifted careful y in the saddle, pointing toward the loch. "It looks so peace ful. I imagine heaven would be a little like that." She gave him a shy smile; a becoming flush bloomed in her cheeks.

  "That sounded sil y, didn't it?"

  "Nay." He returned her smile. "When yer feet have healed I'l take you there, Aileanna. 'Tis where I go when I need to think."

  She studied him for a long moment before she said, "It must be difficult to be responsible for al of this. To have so many depend upon you."

  Rory shrugged. "Nay, 'tis what I was raised to do." He paused and stroked Bessie's mane. "I only wish it were no'necessary to fight to hold on to what is ours."

  "Is that what your feud with the MacDonalds is about?"

  "Aye, and now the king draws us into yet another battle."

  She frowned. "What other battle?"

  "You doona' remember, lass? The adventurers who kidnapped you, they're bound for Lewis--and my cousin Aidan wil need our help to hold them back."

  "Of course, I'd forgotten." She turned away. He narrowed his gaze upon her, but before he could question her further, he heard his brother cal out. Iain's deep voice scattered the birds that moments before chirped happily in the branches overhead.

  His brother scrambled up the path toward them. He chuckled when he saw Aileanna's mount. "No wonder I had no difficulty catchin' up to you." He gave Bessie a pat and smiled up at Aileanna. Rory tamped down his annoyance at the interruption.

  "What is it?"

  Iain gave him a questioning look, then shrugged. "A messenger arrived. We're receivin' guests." He handed Rory a rol ed parchment.

  The paper crackled as Rory unraveled it. He scanned the missive. With a troubled sigh he looked out over the loch.

  "See Lady Aileanna to the Chisholms' fer me, Iain." His tone was brusque as he stalked off toward the castle with out a backward glance.

  Rory crumpled the parchment and cursed under his breath. His cousin Aidan now rode to Dunvegan accompa nied by Moira and Cyril MacLean. He knew Aidan wanted to assure himself that when the time came Rory would aid him in his fight against the adventurers. Rory couldn't refuse him, but with the ongoing feud against the MacDonald, he'd be hard-pressed to provide the men his cousin required. An al iance with the MacLeans would be the answer, and Aidan knew it as wel as Rory did. The MacLeans had the men they needed, but their price was steep. They wanted a match between Rory and Moira MacLean. Chapter 10

  "Mrs. Mac. I can't breathe," Ali protested. The corset sucked in her waist several inches smal er than it had the right to be, crushing her ribs in the effort. Her breasts pushed up to ungodly proportions.

  "Hush with yer complainin'. I'l no' have that viper ensnarin' my laird," the older woman muttered under her breath while she gave the laces at Ali's back another firm tug. Light-headed, Ali wrapped her fingers around the wooden post of the bed. "What viper? And what does it have to do with you stuffing me into this thing?"

  "Lady MacLean . . . Lady." She harrumphed. "Did you no' ken they'd arrived?"

  "Iain said something--" The rest of her response ended up buried beneath layers of plum colored satin. Arms flail ing, Ali pushed her way out, determined to get an answer from Mrs. Mac. The woman hadn't given her a moment's peace since she'd returned from the Chisholms'. Iain had mentioned the MacLeans and his cousin in an attempt to excuse his brother's abrupt departure and manner. He needn't have bothered. Ali was growing accus tomed to the Laird of Dunvegan's domineering behavior. Although she had to admit she had enjoyed their time together before Iain appeared on the scene and had been sorry to see it end, it was for the best. The more time she spent with the man the more she came to admire him, and that was not a good thing, especial y when she had every intention of finding the fairy flag.

  Not that her time with Iain had proven productive in that area. She hadn't managed to find out anything about the clan's revered treasure. She ignored the dul ache in her chest. No matter how she felt about Rory, any relationship between them was doomed. She didn't belong here, and if she had any doubts before, what happened to Mari put an end to them.

  Freed of the voluminous fabric, Ali tugged at the low, squared neckline her breasts threatened to pop out of. "You can't tel me this is considered acceptable." She faced Mrs. Mac and pointed to her chest. "If you so much as catch a glimpse of my ankles you have a fit, for God's sake, but this . . . this is okay?" she said in a low, aggravated voice. Even though she'd prefer to shout the words, she couldn't risk being overheard, and truthful y, she didn't think the straitjacket posing as underclothes would al ow anything above a whisper. Mrs. Mac had the nerve to grin. "Aye, 'tis acceptable, and I'm certain my laird wil think it verra acceptable indeed."

  Ali's gaze narrowed on her torturer. "What are you up to?"

  "Sit." With a firm hold on Ali's shoulders, Mrs. Mac guided her none too gently onto the most uncomfortable wooden stool Ali had ever sat on. The corset didn't help; her posture was perfect, and it was painful.

  "Ouch," Ali cried as Mrs. Mac tugged a comb through her hair. She glared at the woman over her shoulder. "You can fuss with me al you want, but I'm not leaving this room until you tel me what's going on."

  "'Tis as I was sayin'. That woman wants nothin' morethan to get her claws into my laird, and I wil no' stand fer her bein' Dunvegan's lady. Fer al her fancy ways she's a viper, just like I said."

  "Marry? You think she wants to marry Rory?" Ali stared at the dying embers in the fireplace as she absorbed what Mrs. Mac was saying.

  "Think, nay. I ken 'tis what she wants. She's always wanted him. When he married Lady Brianna the woman flew into a rage that lasted fer weeks, from what I've been told."

  Ali worked the words past the tightness in her throat.

  "But I didn't think Rory would marry again. He's stil in love with his wife."

  "Och, wel , that mon would do whatever he had to for his clan, and a match between the MacLeans and the MacLeods would serve us wel . Most would welcome the union, but no' I. It would be a disaster. He's too good fer the likes of her. He deserves better. His whole life he's sacrificed fer the clan, and 'tis aboot time he put himself first, if you ask me."

  "I'm sure he'l do what's best for everyone." Ali twisted her hands in her lap like her heart twisted in her chest, leaving a dul and familiar ache. It felt the same as when she found out about Drew and al the women he'd been un faithful with. But it was unfair to compare Rory to Drew. She and Rory hadn't exchanged words of love, or made a commitment. They'd shared nothing more than heated kisses. Yet, no matter what her head said, in her heart she felt betrayed.

  "Aye, wel , then she'd be it. But you mark my words, no good wil come of it. She'l be a hard taskmaster. Dunvegan wil no' be the same."

  The thought of Rory married to someone else was beyond painful. And at that moment, Ali realized she'd fal en a little bit in love with the man, despite that she couldn't compete with his dead wife, or win his clan's acceptance. For the loveof God, you're not from the same century . Ali cleared the emotion from her throat. "I'm sure it's difficult for you to think of anyone else taking Lady Bri anna's place."

  "Doona' get me wrong, L
ady Brianna was a sweet lass, but she never assumed the role of lady to Dunvegan. You ken she was no' strong, but what you may no' ken is she was verra shy and left the runnin' of the keep to me. The clan loved her fer it. Nay, 'twil no' be the same with the other one. I warrant we'l feel the lash of her tongue, if no' her hand as wel ."

  Ali stiffened. "You aren't implying she'd hit you?"

  "Och, aye, she has the reputation fer it."

  "There's no way Ro . . . Lord MacLeod would ever al ow that to happen, so you have nothing to worry about."

  "She's a sneaky one, she is. I warrant the men doona'see that side of her. She'd keep it wel hidden."

  "I'm beginning to think this wil be an interesting evening."

  "Aye, 'twil be that. And you be careful, Lady Aileanna. She wil na' take kindly to yer presence. Be wary of the lass."

  "I doubt--" A light tap on the door to her chambers drew Ali from their conversation. "Come in," she cal ed out, surprised when Mari crossed the threshold. "Mari, it's so good to see you up and around. Mrs. Mac, give me a minute, please." Ali reached back and stil ed the older woman's hand before she gave her attention to her young maid. Other than bruises that would take some time to heal, Ali was pleased how wel Mari looked after her ordeal, but she couldn't completely brush aside her concern. "Is everything al right?"

  "Aye, my lady." Mari offered Ali a hesitant smile and tilted her head to the door. "Connor thought it best I come to ye."

  The young girl blushed prettily.

  With a rustle of silks, Ali went quickly to her side.

  "Why? What's happened?"

  "Lady Aileanna, you mustna' worry so." She patted Ali's arm.

  "I'm sorry, it's just . . . wel , you know. But there must be some reason Connor sent you to me, and please don't tel me it has anything to do with my hair."

  "Nay, but it might be best if it did." Mari smiled and reached up to pat a strand into place.

  "Och, now, I'm doin' the best I can. Sit back down here, Lady Aileanna, and Mari wil tel us what's brought her here."

  Mrs. Mac waved her over with the comb. "Hurry on, or you'l miss the evenin' meal."

  Once seated, Ali gave the girl a pointed look. "Mari?"

  "'Tis Lady MacLean is al . She's lookin' fer a maid to tend to her needs."

  "'Tis a canny lad our Connor is. You have enough bruises without her addin' to them. But why the woman didna' bring her own help is beyond me."

  "Oh, but she did, only from what I hear tel the maid ran off on the trek here."

  "You see, Lady Aileanna, 'tis as I said," Mrs. Mac huffed.

  "Wel , I can tel you right now she won't get away with that type of behavior while she's at Dunvegan. If Ror--Lord MacLeod doesn't deal with her, I wil ."

  Mrs. Mac and Mari exchanged what looked to be a conspiratorial smile, and Ali narrowed her gaze on them.

  "What?"

  Rory tried to focus on the woman at his side, but Aileanna's husky laugh coming from the far end of the table captured his attention. From the moment she'd entered the hal , he'd found himself unable to ignore her. The curve of her long neck beneath the elegant upsweep of her hair, and the creamy swel of her breasts fil ing the neckline of her beautiful gown, al conspired against him.

  "Yer brother seems much enamored of Lady Aileanna."

  Moira MacLean nodded in the direction of the two. An impish grin curved her tinted lips.

  "They're friends," he said, his tone more gruff than he intended. The muscle in his jaw twitched at the sight of Aileanna's hand on his brother's sleeve, their heads bent toward each other. He tightened his grip on the pewter mug before he brought it to his lips, taking a deep swal ow. An elegant brow lifted at his response, her fawn colored eyes intent. "I thought she was his betrothed, yet I've seen no sign of her chaperone, Rory. 'Tis no' proper to have a woman under yer roof without her kin."

  "She was injured when the adventurers kidnapped her and has no memory of her kin. Fer the moment she's under my protection, Moira. I await word from Angus Graham."

  Aidan, who sat on his left, halted his conversation with Fergus. "Ye didna' mention that earlier, Rory. Are ye cer tain she's no' a spy?" His cousin Aidan, who arrived late to the hal , had yet to meet Aileanna and now leaned back in his chair to cast a suspicious look her way. Rory had kept introductions to a minimum, comment ing little on Aileanna's presence even when he and his cousin had shut themselves away most of the day to strate gize. He hadn't realized it had been intentional, but obviously it had been, and Moira's comments of impropriety reminded him why.

  "You've only just arrived, Aidan, and we had other matters to discuss. Rest assured, Lady Aileanna is no spy."

  Moira walked her fingers along Rory's arm and tilted her head to gaze up at him. Her nut brown hair brushed his shoulder. "And what would those matters be?"

  Her brother Cyril, seated to her right, laughed, saving Rory from answering. Rory wasn't about to be pushed into the union. Even though he knew the match had merit, something held him back, and he was beginning to fear that something was at the moment chatting up his brother.

  "Ye must excuse my sister, Rory. She has never been known fer her patience." Cyril patted her hand with an in dulgent smile.

  "Cyril." Moira pouted prettily. "Ye wouldna' want Rory to think me spoiled, now would ye?"

  "Doona' fret, Moira, that wouldna' happen," Rory reassured her, looking up in time to catch Aileanna's stormy blue gaze upon him. Their eyes locked before she turned her back on him. It was then Rory noted Moira had entwined her fingers with his.

  He heard his cousin's sharp intake of breath. "Sweet Jesu', she has the look of Brianna." His mouth gaped. "Are ye certain she has no' turned yer head because of it, cousin? Mayhap ye should let me question her."

  Before Rory could respond, Fergus cut in. "'Tis I who found the lass, Aidan, and if it wasna' for her, our laird would be dead."

  Aidan's head swiveled between Rory and Fergus. "Ye were wounded and ye didna' tel me?"

  Rory shot Fergus a look of reproach. "'Twas nothin', I'm fine now."

  "Oh my, Rory, ye were wounded?" Moira clasped a hand to the slight curve of her breast and blinked back tears. "I could swoon at the thought," she said breathlessly, the color draining from her face.

  "Doona' distress yerself, Moira. I'm fine." He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Cyril held a mug of ale to his sister's lips. "There . . . there, love, take a sip. She's a wee bit emotional," her brother confided to Rory while he stroked the curls from his sister's face.

  Aileanna's gaze fel on them. With a rol of her eyes she shared a laugh with his brother. A smal measure of anger flared in Rory at her reaction. He didn't think it fair she con demn the lass on account of her tender feelings. Most women did not have Aileanna's strength. "Lady Aileanna, Lady MacLean is feelin' faint. Mayhap you could see to her."

  She passed a cursory glance over Moira before she returned her gaze to his. "I'm sure she'l be just fine. Besides, you're doing such a good job, I wouldn't want to interfere." She dropped her eyes meaningful y to where his hand laid on Moira's back.

  Moira rewarded him with a wan smile. "She's right, Rory. I'm feelin' much improved. Ye have a calming touch."

  "Mayhap it would be best if ye retire for the evenin', Moira. 'Twas a long ride and yer a bit peaked," her brother commiserated.

  She nodded. Peeking at Rory from beneath her long lashes, she placed a dainty hand upon his arm. "Would it be too much to ask fer ye to see me to my room?"

  "'Twould be my pleasure." Rory offered his arm. Moira politely bid the table and those gathered in the hal good eve. Rory could feel the scrutiny of the many eyes upon his back as he left the hal . His clan was hopeful that he'd agree to the match and give them a fighting chance against the MacDonald. And Aileanna, he wondered, what was it he'd see in her eyes? More than curious, he glanced over his shoulder, but her gaze did not fol ow him. She was too busy listening to some tale his brother told. He cursed under his breath.

  "Did ye say
somethin', Rory?" Moira enquired sweetly.

  "Nay." He looked down at the petite brunette at his side. She reminded him of Brianna in her nature, but she had her health and wouldn't take to her bed as his wife had. The match would benefit his clan, of that he had no doubt, and they al but begged him to comply. It would be no hardship on his part. She was bonny and would know his expectations, not question him or demand more than he was wil ing to give. Then why had he not yet signed his name to the contract? They climbed the stairs in companionable silence until they reached the upper hal and his rooms. Moira stopped in front of his chamber door and ran her finger along its smooth planes. "This is yer chambers, Rory, is it no'?"

  Something in the look she gave him made him uncomfortable and he scrubbed a hand along the stubble on his jaw. "Aye." He al but croaked the word out. She closed the distance between them and dropped her voice. "Would ye no' like to show me yer rooms, Rory?"

  She pressed her palm to his chest.

  He gently removed her hand and said, "Nay, 'tis no'proper, Moira."

  "Then place me in the room adjoinin' ye and no one would have to ken. 'Twould be good fer us to spend some private time together, doona' ye think?"

  "I canna' do that. Lady Aileanna already occupies the room."

  "The room beside yers-- she resides there?" Her voice grew shril , her face pinched.

  "Aye. It grows late, Moira. I'l see you to yer chambers,"

  he said, his words clipped.

  "Ye had best remove her from that room, Rory MacLeod, or I wil no' al ow my brother to sign the be trothal papers. I wil na' have ye sleepin' with yer leman while I'm under the same roof."

  Rory bit back a sharp response until he got his anger under control. He took a firm hold of her elbow and guided her none too gently down the dimly lit corridor. As they were about to round the corner, he heard the rustle of silks and the resounding click of a door in the direction from whence they'd come. He knew who it was without looking and had no doubt she'd heard what Moira said.