He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm, murmuring, "I'm sorry you suffered, and I doona' mean to make you suffer further, but I canna' send you back."
"You can . . . but you won't."
He stood at the side of the bed and looked down at her.
"Mayhap you'l feel better once you have something to eat. I'l have Mrs. Mac fix you a plate."
She was starved. But she wasn't a man, and if he thought he'd soften her up by feeding her, he was sadly mistaken.
"Aileanna." He gave her a pointed look, his hand on the handle of the door. "The flag is no longer in my room, but even if it was, lass, it would do you no good. The magic only works if a MacLeod waves the flag."
"You'd think someone could've told me that before," she muttered.
She heard his husky laughter as he left the room and threw a pil ow, hitting the back of the door instead of him. Ali swung her legs over the edge of the bed and cursed. Her foot--she'd forgotten. She brought the candle from the bedside table and held it so she could examine her leg, noticing her bloodied fingers as she did. Her ankle was swol en to twice its size. She blew out a frustrated breath. It was obvious she wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. At the end of Rory's bed she noted the linens piled on the battered wooden trunk. Unable to reach them, she grabbed ahold of the carved wooden post and groaned; every muscle ached, protesting the movement. Gritting her teeth, she hopped on one foot, then bent down to pick up the piece of cloth. Back in the comfort of Rory's big bed, Ali dipped the fabric in the pitcher of water. Wringing it out, she wrapped it around her ankle and propped her foot on a pil ow. Anxious to inspect her injuries, she hiked the chemise to her thighs to check on her knees. Obviously Mrs. Mac had cleaned her up as wel as changed her. Only a smal amount of dried blood was visible on her skinned knees.
Her stomach grumbled as she dabbed at the scrapes with the other cloth. Maybe she would feel better if she had something to eat, especial y if it was Mrs. Mac or Mari who kept her company instead of Rory. Looking up at the sound of metal clanging against metal, she saw Rory, framed in the door. The flickering light from the torches in the hal cast him in shadows--a hardened warrior, the man she'd fal en hopelessly in love with, a man who tore her heart from her chest and flung it aside. She was too tired, too vulnerable to deal with him.
"Thank you, you can leave it over there." She pointed to the table that stood by the fireplace. Rory hesitated before coming into the room, and she quickly realized what held his attention. Hastily, she pushed the shift over her knees.
He cleared his throat. "I doona' think 'tis a good idea fer you to be walkin' aboot," he said, jerking his head in the direction of her foot.
"No, it'l be fine. I'l --" She sent her eyes heavenward when he ignored her and strode to the bed. "Do you ever listen to what anyone says?"
"Nay." He smiled. "You ken I'm right, Aileanna. Yer in no condition to be leavin' the bed."
"I did just fine, thank you very much." She gestured to her foot. "I real y do appreciate you bringing me some thing to eat, but you can--"
The bed creaked under his weight when he sat beside her. He took the bowl and set it on his lap, dipping a wooden spoon into what looked like stew with dark gravy. Ali's eyes widened. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm feedin' you. Look at yer hands, lass. They're a mess. You'l no' be able to do it on your own." He brought the spoon to her mouth.
Glaring at him, she shook her head and pressed her lips together.
He frowned. "I doona' think I've met anyone as stubborn as you."
"I'm . . . ugh--" The second her mouth opened, he shoved the spoon inside.
"Yer a verra messy eater," he said as he dabbed at her chin with the edge of the linen.
"I wouldn't be if . . . Oh, my God, you are the most infuriating man I've ever met," she cried when he managed to get another spoonful into her mouth.
"You canna' win with me, so be a good lass and eat yer dinner."
Five minutes later, Rory gave her a satisfied smile.
"There, that wasna hard," he said as she finished the last of the stew.
"It was good. Thank you," she admitted grudgingly as he returned the bowl and spoon to the bedside table. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep."
"Aye, I'l leave you be in a moment. Mrs. Mac sent some salve fer yer bruises and to take the ache from yer muscles."
Ali narrowed her gaze on the smal pot he held in his big hand, recognizing the scent of fragrant herbs with a hint of animal fat as a formula she and Mrs. Mac had recently come up with. They had been combining their knowledge of herbs to create medicines for the clan, but it was difficult with no refrigeration, and the concoctions had to be made almost daily. "If you think I'm going to let you put that on me, you have a few screws loose."
Rory raised a brow at her. "Aidan was right--yer speech is verra interestin', but at least I ken why. Now, be a good lass and turn on yer side."
Ali crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him.
"You can't honestly expect me to believe Mrs. Mac suggested you were to put that on me."
He grinned. "Aye, she did. You canna' do it yerself, Aileanna. You have open wounds on yer hands. It wil sting."
"I'm tough." She motioned for him to give her the pot of cream.
His gaze softened. "Aye, you've told me that before."
She closed her eyes, damning the tears that threatened at the memory of when she'd said those exact words to him.
"Let me do this fer you. I promise, I'l be gentle."
That's what she was afraid of. "It's al right. Mrs. Mac can do it for me."
"They're al abed, lass," he murmured, scooping a smal amount of cream onto his fingers. Despite her protests he began to massage it into her arm. His hands were warm and strong. Holding the strap of her shift aside he worked his way from the top of her shoulder, down to her wrist. Careful y he lifted her hand and brought it into the light from the candle, his fingers tracing the bones. "The other night I hurt you when I grabbed you here." He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist, his eyes never leaving hers. Her mouth went dry and she didn't dare speak--she didn't think she could. Her heart hammered in her chest. He lowered her hand and scooped more of the salve onto his fingers to massage the other arm in a slow, sensual motion. Her eyes fluttered closed, his gentle touch a form of exquisite torture. She wanted to feel those powerful hands al over her. He pressed his lips to her other wrist and murmured an apology. She prayed he was finished as much as she prayed he'd just begun. Rory leaned over and lifted her hair away from her shoulders. "Rol on yer side, mo chridhe." His words came out deep and gravel y against her ear. She couldn't protest--it felt too good. He skimmed a knuckle along her cheek and down her arm. The bed creaked when he stood and gently cradled her foot with his hand while he urged heronto her side with the other. Placing another pil ow between her calves, he propped her injured foot on top. The weight of his body settled in behind her as the mattress dipped. His fingers worked at the delicate buttons at the back of her shift. Before she realized what he had done, the fabric drifted apart and the whole of her back was exposed to him. She felt naked and vulnerable, and she'd promised never to let herself feel that way with him again.
"Shh, 'tis al right, mo chridhe. I wil na' hurt you."
She gave a short, bitter laugh, wincing as she rol ed over to face him. Ali pressed her hands to his chest in an at tempt to push him away. "No, I won't let you do this to me. Not again. Do you remember what you said to me, Rory? Because I know I'l never forget."
He cupped her face between his roughened palms. "Aye, I remember. I was angry, angrier than I've ever been before. Can you no' understand what I felt?"
"What about me? I loved you. You're marrying another woman and I have to let you go, and not because I want to, but because I have no choice. Those damn fairies didn't give me a choice and neither did you."
He kissed the tears from her cheeks
. "I do love you, Aileanna, and I'm no' marryin' Moira. I wil na' go through with the betrothal, no' now."
"Don't . . . don't lie to me. Lust isn't love--that's what you said, didn't you? I won't come second to anyone, Rory, not even your dead wife. I deserve more."
He gave her a slight shake. "Stop. Why wil you no' try to understand? Aye, I desire you as I never have another, including Brianna. But I do love you, Aileanna, more than I should. And I canna' let you go. I wil na' let you go." A hard edge crept into his deep voice.
His words penetrated the anger and the hurt. She searched his face. "Did you just say you aren't marrying Moira?"
"Aye, 'tis what I said," he growled.
She hesitated before she asked, "And you love me?" She lowered her eyes and her cheeks flushed. "As much as you loved your wife?" Her voice was whisper soft.
"The love I feel fer you is no' the same as my love fer Brianna. How can it be when yer no' the same woman? Canna' you understand that?" He was angry now. She could hear it in his voice.
"Aye, I can."
He blinked, then grinned. "I'l make a Scot of you yet, mo chridhe." His eyes darkened. "But now al I want is to make you mine." Chapter 17
Rory's low, gravel y voice, and the heated words he whispered against her ear, triggered a frisson of desire that left Ali weak and trembling. Heavy-lidded, passion-fil ed emerald eyes sought hers before he lowered his mouth. But the fierceness of his kiss brought with it the unwanted memories of the last time he had her at his mercy. As though sensing her withdrawal, he drew back, his gaze searching. "What is it, mo chridhe?"
She shook her head and tangled her fingers in his thick black hair, forcing his mouth to hers in an attempt to push the memories aside, and the words he'd earlier tried to explain away.
"Nay, Aileanna, you wil tel me what it is," he said, refusing to let her coax him back to passion. Ali's hand fel to her side, and she lay back amongst the pil ows. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she scanned the dimly lit room. "I keep thinking about the other night, and what you said to me. I--"
"I apologized, Aileanna, fer my words and actions."
Frustration laced Rory's voice.
She swal owed hard and lifted her gaze to his. "I know, but I'm having a difficult time getting past it. I stil don't understand why you didn't believe me." Torn between the desire to be embraced by the heat of his powerful body and needing distance from it, she careful y rol ed to her side.
"Mayhap because you had the flag in yer hands, and you didna' tel me the truth."
"And you know why." The pil ow muffled her voice.
"Aye." He lifted the heavy fal of her hair and pressed a tender kiss to her neck. "I do. There's no more I can say to you, Aileanna, other than I'm sorry. Mayhap 'tis too soon." The thin strap of the shift slipped from her shoul der, and his hot mouth moved down the curve of her neck to taste her there. "I want you, mo chridhe, but I'l wait."
His body tight to hers, she could feel the evidence of his desire, big and hard, pressed to the back of her thigh. Her breath shuddered as he emblazoned a fiery path of kisses along her spine. The feel of his tongue dipping into the two dimples at the smal of her back made her squirm. The shift gaped wider, and the strap slid farther down her arm. With a practiced hand, he slipped his fingers beneath the thin fabric, trailing them along the curve of her waist to her hip. "Do you want me to stop?" His deep voice vibrated against her heated flesh. Ali's breathing quickened, desire unfurling in her bel y.
"Yes . . . no, don't stop," she whimpered as his long fingers tweaked her puckered nipple. Rory gently rol ed her to her back, amusement glinted in his green eyes, and his mouth lifted at the corner in a knowing grin. "Are you certain?" he asked as he lowered the flimsy material inch by torturous inch, exposing her breasts ful y to his gaze. He devoured her with a heated look as he laved first one nipple and then the other. She arched her back, pressing her breasts to his lips, wanting him to suckle her deep into his hot, wet mouth. His laugh was low and husky. "That brings back a memory of the first time you were in my bed, mo chridhe."
Irritation penetrated the passion-fil ed haze that engulfed her. When she glared at him, he laughed harder. "If you were any kind of gentleman, Rory MacLeod, you wouldn't remind me of that night, especial y since you now know how it came about."
"Aileanna, have I no' told you I'm no gentleman when it comes to you. And I'm thinkin' I should thank the fairies fer deliverin' you to me naked."
"That wasn't the fairies' doing, it was yours. You had my T-shirt off of me the minute I landed in your bed." Heat tingled between her thighs at the memory, at the feel of him beside her.
"T-shirt? I doona' ken what that is, but I ken I want you naked in my bed now." Propping himself on an elbow, he skimmed his hand to the edge of her shift and slowly worked it over her hips, her breasts. She helped him as she had that first night, her arms trembling with eagerness as she raised them over her head. When she lay naked before him, he sucked in an appreciative breath. Ali's cheeks heated as his intense gaze raked over her, and she tugged at the sheets to cover herself. He stopped her. "Nay, let me look at you." He stroked his big, strong hand over her breasts to her bel y, the heat of his palm searing her to her core, fanning her desire. She had to see him--al of him--and ran her fingers along the front of his shirt. "It's your turn now," she mur mured as she tugged at the laces, revealing his broad, powerful y muscled chest. Trailing a finger along the puckered line of his scar, she lowered her head and pressed her lips to the mark she'd left on him. The banded muscles of his stomach contracted beneath her gentle kiss.
"Aileanna," he groaned as her fingers moved lower to the thick bulge in his pants. "Are you certain yer no' too sore? What aboot yer foot?"
Concentrating on freeing him from the confines of his pants, she barely registered his concern. Only when he took her hand to press her palm to his lips did she look up. He drew away from her to sit on the edge of the bed. She groaned in frustration. "What are you doing?"
Rory laughed as he tugged off his boots, dropping them to the floor. "I'm no' leavin' you, lass, of that you can be certain. I thought I might make a faster go of sheddin' my clothes is al ." He stood, towering over her, the flickering flame of the candle accentuating the chiseled planes of his face. Rory looked terrifyingly big and powerful as he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it onto the trunk at the end of the bed. Mesmerized, she watched as he peeled off his pants. He was huge and hard, and her experience was limited. It had been important for her to wait until the right man came along. She thought she had. There had been only Drew, but he was nothing compared to Rory. She regretted not having waited, because the only man who would ever be right for her stood before her now in al his rugged, naked glory. Entranced by his beauty, Ali couldn't pul her eyes away, not until she heard a low rumble of laughter. She lifted her gaze to his, and his emerald eyes gleamed with amuse ment. Ali grabbed a pil ow and threw it at him. "You're so ful of yourself."
Laughing, Rory caught the pil ow, then lay down at her side, his amusement fading as he crushed her soft body to his. His cock, pressed to the curve of her bel y, throbbed. He shuddered when her long, delicate fingers encircled him. "Careful, lass, or this wil na' last long."
"No?" She smiled, sliding her hand along his shaft.
"Nay." Rory could barely rasp the word out before he slanted his mouth over her soft pliant lips. He fil ed her mouth with his tongue. Teasing, tasting, he kissed her with a growing urgency. He struggled to hold back his need to take her, to claim her with one savage thrust.
Ali increased her rhythmic stroking of his cock, and he groaned, certain he would spil his seed like an untried lad if she continued. He stil ed her hand, nudging her thighs apart with his knee. She whimpered. He raised his head, concerned by the soft, desperate sound. "Did I hurt you, Aileanna?"
Passion-glazed violet eyes focused on him. "No . . . no, I want . . . I need you to touch me."
"You want me to touch you, mo chridhe, like this?" He stro
ked the silky curls at the juncture of her thighs. She raised her hips. "Yes," she moaned. "More."
Her passionate response enflamed his desire. Aileanna was everything and more than he had imagined. He watched the play of emotions on her beautiful face as he stroked her moist core, dipping his fingers into her velvet heat, the desire to taste every glorious inch of her lithe body outweighed by his al -consuming need to be inside her, to make her his.
She writhed beneath him. "Rory, now, please," she gasped.
Careful y he entered her, his restraint causing the muscles of his arms to quiver in protest as he held himself above her. Her eyes slid closed, her head tipped back, and soft moans of pleasure escaped her parted lips when he thrust inside. At the sound of her wanton cries his cock swel ed even more. He fil ed her to the hilt, savoring the feel of her inner muscles tightening around him. He moved inside her tight, wet sheath with slow, deep thrusts. The wanton look upon her face, her lush curves and puckered nipples rubbing against his chest, brought him to the edge of his control. No longer able to take it slow and easy like he wanted, he plunged in and out of her, hard and fast. Certain he could withstand it no longer, he reached between them and touched her swol en nub, stroking. She bucked beneath him, crying out at the same time he found his release and fil ed her with his seed. Rory smothered her cries with his mouth, deepening the kiss as he rol ed careful y to his side, shifting his weight from her body. His cock jerked inside her and he cupped her firm behind with his hands, pressing her against him to thrust one last time. "The next time we'l take it slow, mo chridhe," he murmured against her lips, brushing her tangled hair from her face. She snuggled into his chest, and nodded her assent. "I doona' think I wil ever get enough of you, Aileanna. You've bewitched me." Something inside of him froze at the truth of the words that slipped unbidden past his lips. Fear skirted the edge of his consciousness. The depth of emotion he felt for her was dangerous. He needed to temper his desire for her, control his love, or al would be lost. He would not al ow himself to become consumed by her as his father had been by his mother, at the expense of al else. It would bring nothing but heartache, possibly death. And because of Aileanna, Rory had already put the clan at risk.
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