Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  He should leave before she saw him. Before he could no longer contain the raging heat unfurling in his bel y and kneel at her side to take those jutting nipples into his mouth. Cup her breasts in his hands, knead them, taste every sweet inch of her. His cock throbbed in the tight confines of his trews, begging to be released, to drive into her. He had to get out of there, but as he turned to go the door inexplicably slammed closed. Aileanna emerged from beneath the water, eyes squeezed shut. Her long hair formed a curtain over her breasts; only her nipples peeked through, pebbled, primed for his attention.

  "Oh, thank goodness, Mari, I've got soap in my eyes. Hand me a towel, please."

  Rory couldn't help himself. He was drawn to her, a pul too great to deny, like a raging thirst needing to be quenched. She rose from the tub and stood but a breath away, so beautiful, so ripe. He could touch her if he dared. Trail his finger alongside the bead of water that dripped from the tip of a rosy bud over her flat stomach to rest in the silky curls at the juncture of her thighs. His fingers itched to stroke her there, to dip inside her moist velvet heat and make her moan in pleasure. Soft sounds he had heard her murmur once before, and had never forgotten. His breathing grew ragged, and his hand hovered above his stiff cock. She reached out blindly and Rory picked up the towel ing from the floor and placed it in her outstretched hand.

  "Thank you," she said as she brought it to her face. "Tel me, has his highness stopped his ranting and raving?" Her words were muffled behind the toweling.

  "He has," he said, his voice thick and low. Ali squealed. Her feet slipped as she tried to leap from the tub holding the towel in front of her. The soap blurred her vision, but she didn't need her sight to know it was him. His deep smooth voice, his clean masculine scent, and the tingle of awareness she always felt whenever he was in the same room left her with no doubt it was Rory. Big hands, cal oused and strong, gripped her upper arms to steady her. "Let go." She pounded on his chest as he hauled her from the tub.

  "Shh, lass, you doona' want to draw a crowd." His heated breath caressed her ear.

  "Why? Because they'd find out their laird spies on women while they bathe?" Her face flamed with the knowledge he'd watched her. The huge bulge pressed tight against her stomach told her so.

  "How . . . how long were you standing there?"

  Rory exhaled a shaky breath. "Too long. Give me a moment, Aileanna, and I wil apologize as I should." He didn't let her go. He took several long, deep breaths and then released her. Taking a step back from her, he ran his fingers through his wavy black hair.

  "Close your eyes," she demanded. He locked his gaze with hers, and Ali's fingers tightened on the towel that barely covered her naked, damp body from the hunger that glittered in his heavy-lidded gaze.

  "Please," she groaned, afraid if he looked at her like that much longer she'd forget her earlier anger and drop the towel. Give in to the desire to feel his rough hands caress her naked flesh. With determination she pushed the image aside, reminding herself of the apology he'd demanded of her earlier, of the risk he took with her safety by not defending her against Moira MacLean's accusations, and most damning of al --the fact he intended to marry that woman. No matter how much she wanted him, it would never be enough. She would be nothing more than a means to slake his desire. Ali padded across the floor to the foot of the bed and slipped the delicate chemise she'd laid out before her bath over her head. She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned to face him. Her cheeks heated. "I asked you to close your eyes. Damn you, Rory. For once couldn't you behave like a gentleman?"

  "I told you, I'm no gentleman, lass." His voice was rough and he took a step toward her. "Sweet Jesu' but yer beautiful, Aileanna. I--"

  "No . . . no, don't say anything else. Please, just leave."

  She held up her hand to keep him at bay, her knees weakening at the look he raked her body with, wel aware the fine white fabric did little to conceal her from him. With a jerky nod of his head he turned away and strode toward the door.

  She cleared her throat. "Rory, what was it you wanted?"

  He leaned his forehead against the door and said, "I doona' remember." Chapter 13

  Moira's incessant chatter came to an abrupt end and Rory breathed a sigh of relief, until he saw what drew her attention from him. It was Aileanna, preparing to take her seat by his brother. The image of her in her bath as she rose from the water with pearls of moisture beaded on her luminescent skin, her lush curves, stirred his desire as fiercely as it had only hours before. He pul ed his gaze from her and drew a deep swal ow of his ale in an effort to quench his growing lust.

  "Lady Aileanna, ye wil take a seat at one of the other tables. My kin wil be requirin' that one." Moira gave an imperious wave of her bejeweled hand. The hard edge in her usual y sweet tone took Rory aback as much as the request.

  Iain rose stiffly from his chair and gal antly offered Aileanna his arm. He led her from the dais, her cheeks stained a bright pink. His brother glared at him. Seconds later, he heard Fergus mutter under his breath before his chair scraped across the floor and he too strode from the table.

  "Oh my, I didna' mean for Iain and Fergus to leave as wel . I just couldna' constitute that woman sitting there as though it was her God given right, after what she said to me." Moira's tinted lips pinched into a thin line. Her gaze narrowed to where Iain seated Aileanna; then he and Fergus each took a place beside her. "I hope ye didna'mind, Rory." Patting his hand, she batted her lashes at him.

  "I do mind, Moira. 'Tis no' yer right to decide who is seated at my table and who is no'." Anger reverberated in his voice, and it took everything he had not to ask her to leave. To shout from the rafters that there would be no union --his clan be damned. But he couldn't do it; his loyalty, his sense of responsibility was too deeply ingrained. Moira squeezed her eyes shut and a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. "I've made ye angry. I didna' mean to upset ye, Rory, but ye must understand my reasons. I canna' believe ye expect me to have her at the same table after what she said." Her hand fluttered to her chest. "'Tis too much for me to abide." Her brother handed her a handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes, sniffling.

  "Doona' worry, pet, I'm certain the last thing Rory would want is to have ye upset." Cyril who sat on the other side of his sister looked at Rory over her bowed head and jerked his chin in her direction as though he expected him to offer her some measure of comfort, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He grew tired of pandering to her tender sensibilities.

  He brought the goblet to his lips, studying Aileanna over the rim. As though she sensed his perusal, she looked at him and held his gaze with hers. Strong and defiant, Aileanna would bend to no one, but she was mistaken if she thought he did not know that beneath her beautiful, tough exterior lay a heart that could be broken as easily as anyone else's. Rory offered her a silent salute with his goblet. Her mouth curved in a slight smile, and she tipped her own in his direction.

  "Rory, my aunt was askin' ye a question," Moira chided him.

  "I'm sorry, what was that, my lady?" He leaned forward and addressed the sharp-nosed female who sat beside Cyril.

  "I was just wonderin', Lord MacLeod, if the weddin'wil take place before Michaelmas. I have a verra busy social calendar and--"

  Rory was quick to cut her off. "I think settin' a date is premature considerin' yer niece and I are no' betrothed as yet."

  "But . . . but I thought--" the older woman sputtered, looking askance at her niece. "Moira, ye said--"

  Moira, face flushed, rounded on him. "How could ye . . . how could ye do this to me, Rory? Cyril, ye must speak to him. I wil na' be treated in such a manner."

  Her brother tugged at the col ar of his tunic. "Ah, Rory . . . I think mayhap ye owe Moira an apology."

  Rory sighed heavily. "The meal is bein' served, Cyril. I doona' ken aboot you, but I'm starvin'. We'l discuss the matter later."

  "Good . . . good. See, poppet, al wil be wel . Dry yer eyes now, that's a good lass."

  Rory thanke
d one of the serving girls who placed a platter of pork in front of him. He turned at his cousin's snort of laughter. "Got yerself in a fix now, cousin. 'Twil be in terestin' watchin' ye maneuver yer way out of this one."

  "There's no way out of it, Aidan, and you ken it as wel as I. We need their men." Rory kept his voice low so only his cousin would hear him. Not that Moira who sat beside him paid him any mind. At the moment she was too busy being coddled by her brother. Rory began to think the man would join them in their marriage bed given his druthers. Aidan rubbed his forehead. "I wil be the first to admit things would go easier if we were tied to the MacLeans, but I'l no' have ye sacrifice yerself to obtain it. I didna' ken ye had no interest in the lass, Rory. And if I had thought there was another, I wouldna' have pressed fer the match as I did."

  "There is no other," Rory said. As though to make a liar of him, his eyes sought out Aileanna, who conversed with one of the serving girls. He smiled as the two of them shared a laugh.

  "Of course no', I can see that." Aidan grinned. "Ye make a poor liar, Rory." He brought his ale to his lips, shaking his head. "I'd no' give up on that one so easily if I were ye."

  He tipped his chin in Aileanna's direction. "Like the highlands, she is. Wild and passionate, strong and brave. Like us. She'd be yer match, Rory Mor. Mark my words."

  His cousin's sentiments rang true, and a dul ache built in his chest. Aidan spoke as though Rory had a choice. But if he did not do everything in his power to provide al they needed to battle the MacDonald and the adventurers, his clan's blood would stain the ground and turn the waters red. And that he could not live with.

  "How much ale have you imbibed? Was it no' you who accused her of bein' a spy?"

  "Nay." His cousin waved him off. "She's no more a spy than ye or me."

  Moira tugged on his sleeve to gain his attention and Aidan waggled his brows at him. "I've missed ye, cousin. I'd forgotten how amusin' life is at Dunvegan."

  "I'm glad we're keepin' you entertained," Rory drawled as he turned to the woman at his side. "What is it, Moira?"

  She looked surprised by his tone. "I . . . I only thought mayhap ye have a toast to make."

  "Aye, I'l do that now." He banged his empty goblet on the table to gain the crowd's attention and rose to his feet.

  "'Tis time fer a toast, my friends." Rory noted the smiles that greeted his words and the knot in his gut tightened. They expected an announcement he was not yet prepared to deliver. His gaze shifted to Aileanna, and her face paled as she stared up at him. If she wanted him as much as he did her, and his eventual decision would hurt her, it would tear him apart. He closed his mind to the thought, unwil ing to entertain the idea.

  "First, a toast to Cook and the lasses who provided us with such a fine meal." Metal clanged and cheers resonated through the hal , but al Rory could see was Aileanna smiling at him, a beautiful wide smile that could bring a man to his knees.

  "And to Mrs. Mac and the lasses fer al their hard work. The keep is a-shinin' thanks to you ladies." Rory was tempted to include Aileanna for al that she'd done, but didn't think he could cope with Moira's hysterics if he did. And there were those who would condemn Aileanna for her actions, and she'd suffered enough for one day. Cyril cleared his throat. The third time he did so, Rory turned to offer him a drink, but the man once again jerked his head toward his sister. Oh, for the love of God. "And to Lady MacLean, who did such a fine job overseein' everythin'." The crowd hesitated before breaking into their cheers, obviously expecting more. Rory sat down heavily, his duty done for the night.

  Moira's aunt leaned across her nephew in an attempt to catch his eye. "Laird MacLeod . . . Laird MacLeod." She raised her voice when Rory continued to ignore her. He sighed and turned his attention to her.

  "With al my niece has accomplished, ye must think she'd make a fine lady of Dunvegan."

  "I'm certain she would." He offered the woman a tight smile, leaning back in his chair so Mrs. Mac could refil his mug. Bending over him, she tipped the pitcher and the ale splashed into his lap. Mrs. Mac clapped a hand to her mouth.

  Rory cursed.

  She tsked. "Och, now, look what I've gone and done.

  'Tis sorry I am, my laird. My only excuse bein' I'm a wee bit tired." She fought back a smile.

  His cousin was having a mighty fine laugh at his expense, as were Iain, Fergus, and Aileanna. Rory grabbed the linen before Mrs. Mac could dab at his lap. "I can see to it on my own, thank you," he said while he tried to sop up the ale.

  "You doona' have to be fashed, Laird MacLeod. I was only tryin' to help." She sniffed and walked away, head held high.

  "I'm certain you were," Rory muttered under his breath.

  "Rory, ye shouldna' al ow yer help to speak to ye that manner. When I . . ."

  Moira let the last of her statement trail off, and Rory wasn't about to fol ow up on it. He'd had enough of emo tional women for one day.

  A ful moon shone down from the clear night sky. The luminous bal lit Ali's way along the path Cal um had told her led to the loch. She glanced over her shoulder. In the distance, lights twinkled at Dunvegan, giving the castle a fairy-tale appeal, but at the moment Ali didn't care; she was simply glad her absence had gone unnoticed. As she came closer to the loch the sweet cloverlike scent was replaced by the salty tang of sea air. A cool breeze drifted off the water to lift the hair from her shoulders. A deep sense of peace washed over Ali, and she quickened her pace, eager to sit at the water's edge, to be lul ed by the gentle ebb and flow of the tide.

  Fol owing the moon's path, Ali paid little attention until a hulking shadow rose up from beside the rocky outcrop that lined the loch, dark and menacing, like the monsters from her childhood nightmares. A panicked scream cur dled in her throat, but before she could let it loose, a familiar voice said, "Aileanna, what are you doin', lass?"

  She let out a relieved sigh. "Rory?" She squinted, and he stepped from the shadows. His hair was as dark as the night sky and his face as beautiful. More like a fairy-tale prince than a monster. Rory looked up at her, his white linen shirt bil owing in the breeze, dark brown suede pants molded to his thick, muscular thighs. "Let me help you." He placed his hands at her waist and lifted her easily over the rocks to his side. His gaze focused on her, he said, "You didna' answer my question, Aileanna. What is it yer doin' down here on yer own?"

  She shrugged. "It was noisy and hot, and I wanted to go somewhere quiet." Realizing she had invaded his privacy, she grimaced. "I'm sorry, that's why you're here, isn't it? And now I've disturbed you. I'l just--"

  "Nay, 'tis al right. And I did promise to bring you here, but as I remember it was to be after yer feet healed." He raised a brow.

  "They're as good as new." She lifted her foot and smiled at him.

  The corner of his mouth twitched, and his gaze softened. "The stones are not as smooth here. Why doona' you let me carry you? 'Tis just beyond the bend where I mean to take you."

  Moonlight shimmering over the loch and the man of her dreams were a lethal combination. Afraid if he took her in his arms she'd never be able to let him go, Ali shook her head. "I'm fine."

  "Give me yer hand at least," he said quietly. Ali hesitated, then slid her hand into the warmth of his. She drew her gaze from their entwined fingers and met his.

  "I'm glad you came, Aileanna. There's somethin' I wanted to talk to you aboot."

  "Oh no," she groaned. "Can't we cal a truce, just for one night? You won't yel at me, and I won't yel at you."

  Rory laughed and squeezed her hand. "Aye, a truce, but first you must let me apologize to you fer this afternoon. Sit here," he said, leading her to a big, smooth-faced rock.

  "Thank you." She smiled at him as he sat down beside her.

  "To tel you the truth, I real y couldn't understand how you expected me to apologize to that woman in the first place. I know you're going to marry her, but after what she did--"

  Ali shook her head. "It surprised me, it real y did. You always seemed fair, but this time . . ."
At his silence she looked at him. "What?" she asked when she spied his incredulous expression.

  "Aileanna, 'twas no' what I was apologizin' fer. 'Twas fer later, when I--" He cleared his throat. "Interrupted yer bath."

  Ali felt the heat rise to her face at the memory. He looked down at his hands and shrugged his broad shoulders. "I ken there's no excuse, but you took my breath away, and I'm thinkin' my brains as wel . Yer a verra bonny woman, Aileanna, and I canna' deny I've wanted you from the first time I saw you."

  "Only because I remind you of your wife." She forced the words past the lump in her throat.

  "Mayhap in the beginning, but no longer."

  "Why are you tel ing me this now? Nothing can come of it." Her heart hammered in her chest. Could it? What if he told her he loved her, that he wanted her to be his wife and not Moira? Would she agree? No matter how hard she'd tried not to fal in love with this man, she had. He was everything she wanted. But could she stay here, in a time where she didn't belong? Yes, yes, yes, the little voice in her head shouted. Lifting her eyes to his, seeing the ten derness there, she knew she had to try. To give them a chance. If she didn't, she'd regret it for the rest of her life. He ran his knuckles along her cheek. "I ken that, but I need you to ken that I wish things were different. I have to do this fer the clan, Aileanna. Too many lives depend on the union."

  Ali felt like crawling under the rock. How could she have been so foolish as to al ow herself a glimmer of hope? Rory was too loyal, too honorable to do anything other than what he had decided to do, and it was one of the reasons she loved him. She struggled to keep her emotions in check and looked away so he would not see how painful his words were for her to hear.