Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  She averted her eyes. With his finger beneath her chin he brought her gaze back to his. "Answer me, Aileanna."

  "No . . . no, I don't want you to marry her. There, are you happy now?"

  He brushed his mouth over hers. "Aye. The banns wil be read, and we'l marry after we've met the MacDonald on the field."

  "I didn't say yes, Rory."

  "You wil ."

  She shook her head, arms folded across her chest. "You know, I have a hard time understanding this feud with the MacDonalds. Why can't you meet face-to-face and try to work it out?"

  He raised a brow and looked into her stormy eyes.

  "We've had this discussion before, Aileanna. You doona'understand."

  "That's right, I forgot--I'm just a woman. But I'm the same woman who wil be looking after al of you when you drag yourselves half-dead from the battlefield," she sputtered at him.

  "We'l no' be half-dead," he muttered.

  "You nearly died the last time, Rory." She blinked, and he saw moisture gather on her lashes. "The next time you might not be so lucky and I don't think I--" The last of her words came out on a choked sob. He buried his face in her hair, wishing he could take away her worries, wishing he could make her understand that in his time, this was the way of it. Nothing else to be done but stand up for what was right, and fight for what was yours.

  "Shh. I'l come home to you in one piece, mo chridhe, I promise."

  Aileanna slapped a hand to his chest. "You can't make promises like that." She frowned when he stood up.

  "Where do you think you're going? You can't just walk away from me when we're having a fight."

  Rory bit back a smile and shook his head. "I didna'think we were havin' a fight, mo chridhe, but someone approaches. Here, let me help you." He reached for her hand.

  "What are you talking about? There isn't--" She rol ed her eyes when Iain cal ed out to him. Rory laughed at her disgruntled expression. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tucked her to his side. "We'l continue our talk later, in yer room."

  "Talk?" She raised a perfectly arched brow. "I'm sure we wil ."

  "Aye, for a wee while we wil ." He nuzzled her neck.

  "Ouch." She grimaced, running a finger along the stubble on his jaw. "You're rough."

  "I'l see to it before I come to you." Their wee chat was putting Rory in the mood for more than talking, and he drew her in front of him to conceal the evidence as his brother came toward them.

  "Yer al right, Ali?" Iain asked, grinning at them both.

  "My brother hasna' been browbeatin' you into givin' him an answer?"

  "An answer?" She frowned.

  Iain looked from Aileanna to him. "He asked you to marry him didna' he?"

  With an unladylike snort, she said, "No. He told me I was marrying him."

  Iain gave a shout of laughter. "Wait until I tel Aidan this one--but I'm certain he'l no' be surprised. Mayhap we should have a wee chat after the evenin' meal, and we'l explain to you how it's done, Rory."

  "I think I ken how it's done, little brother."

  Aileanna leaned her head against his shoulder and looked up at him. "I don't know, Rory. I think it might be a good idea." She patted his thigh, and from the look in her eyes he could tel she knew why she stood in front of him.

  "Thanks fer the offer, but I have plans fer this evenin'."

  He tightened his hold on her. "Is there a reason you've come lookin' for me, Iain?"

  "Aye, and you'l no' be pleased. Cyril's back. Says he must speak to you. He's no' lookin' too wel ."

  Rory cursed under his breath. "Iain, help Aileanna get back to the keep fer me and I'l see to the mon." He kissed the top of her head. "And I'l see to you, later."

  " Promises, promises." She grinned at him as he walked away.

  "Aye, 'tis," he said over his shoulder. Anxious to be rid of MacLean so he could return to Aileanna, he sprinted along the path. As Rory neared the courtyard, he noted several of his men gathered at the doors to the keep.

  Cyril, in the middle of the crowd holding court, looked up at his approach. "Ah, here he is now. I'm certain 'tis a misunderstandin' that can be quickly put to rights."

  "Cyril, I doona' recal sendin' fer you," Rory said as his men parted to let him through, most unwil ing to look him in the eye.

  "I had word the MacDonald is on the move and kent you'd be anxious to sign the papers, so I--"

  "Bloody hel , what happened to you, mon?" Rory asked upon getting a closer look at Cyril. Three deep gouges slashed open the left side of his face.

  Cyril raised a hand to his cheek, his face flushed. "I . . . ah . . . a branch. I was ridin' and no' payin' attention to where I was goin'. Now enough aboot me--we must see to the contract."

  "Mayhap we should continue this in my study," Rory suggested, nudging the man forward, ignoring the grum bling at his back.

  "Ye may wish to set the men at ease first, Rory. They have taken a strange notion into their heads that yer plan nin' on marryin' that . . . that woman." He gave a dramatic shudder. "Where on earth they got such an idea, I canna'imagine. You, marryin' an accused thief." He gave a delicate snort and brought his handkerchief to his lips.

  "She's no thief, Cyril, and Lady Aileanna wil be my wife."

  "Ye canna' be serious. She stole from ye, and I've heard whispers she'd be a witch."

  He narrowed his gaze on the man. "Tread careful y, Cyril. The woman you slander is the future Lady of Dunvegan. Al charges against her have been proven false, to my satisfaction."

  "But what of my sister? What am I to tel her?" The man had a panicked look on his face and a death grip on Rory's arm.

  "'Twas no' a good match fer either of us."

  "No' a good match! Ye need us, mon, ye need us," the man shouted, looking wild-eyed. He pointed across the courtyard to where Iain assisted Aileanna across the cobblestones, screaming, "'Tis her! She has ye bewitched.

  'Twas the MacDonald's plan al along. She'l be the death of the MacLeods, mark my words. She'l be the death of al of ye." Chapter 19

  Gripped by an urge to choke the raving lunatic in the center of an ever-growing circle of onlookers, Rory clenched and unclenched his fists. He shoved open the doors of the keep and bel owed, "Aidan!"

  Grabbing Cyril by the col ar, Rory hauled him up the steps. "You'l shut yer mouth or I'l shut it fer you," he growled. Cyril struggled, his mouth opening and closing like an overgrown mackerel. Rory pushed him toward Aidan, who stood in the entranceway, brow quirked. "What's he doin' here?"

  Rory didn't answer. He sought out Aileanna over the heads of his men. She listened to something his brother was tel ing her, but it was obvious she took no reassurance from his words. "Give him some ale, then see him on his way."

  "I think I can manage that. Looks like he lit a fire under that lot," Aidan said before he led a sniveling Cyril away. Rory released a weary sigh and turned to face his men.

  "You listen to that mon, but mayhap you should consider why he's so anxious fer this match. And doona' think fer one moment he's concerned fer the clan's wel -being. He needs my coin is al , and if any of you question me on this matter I'l no' have you at my side in battle. Go to the MacLeans and see if you enjoy ridin' under that mon. Now see matter I'l no' have you at my side in battle. Go to the MacLeans and see if you enjoy ridin' under that mon. Now see to yer families. We leave four days hence."

  None too happy, the men dispersed. Rory knew some of what he said would eventual y sink in, at least with some of them. It was not his way to denigrate another, but Cyril left him no choice, and Rory spoke the truth. The MacLeans were in desperate need of his coin, thanks to Cyril's penchant for gambling. He strode across the courtyard to Aileanna's side. His bel y clenched at the look in her eyes. Unconcerned his affection for her would be witnessed, he wrapped her in his arms. "You wil na' listen to him, mo chridhe. The mon's mad."

  He met his brother's concerned gaze above her head.

  "Mayhap you can make her understand 'tis no' her fault,"

/>   Iain said.

  She leaned back to look Rory in the eye. "The man is as crazy as his sister, and I'm glad you won't be married to her, Rory. But you have to see, the clan wil hold me to blame if you lose this battle." She loosened his hold on her and attempted to walk away, cursing when inadvertently she put weight on her injured foot. Rory swung her up and into his arms. "Yer a stubborn wench, Aileanna Graham, and you have a mouth as wicked as a mon."

  Her slight smile turned into a frown when she looked toward Dunvegan. "I don't want to go inside, not if he's there."

  "I'l no' let him bother you, and he'l no' be here fer long."

  Iain squeezed her arm. "Doona' fret. I'l go in and distract him."

  "Iain," Rory cal ed after his brother, "I'l see Aileanna settled and then meet with you, Aidan, Cal um, and Fergus. We have much to discuss."

  "When do you leave?" she asked, plucking at the laces of his shirt.

  "In four days. We'l make our stand at Skeabost."

  "How long wil you be gone?"

  Rory entered the keep with an eye out for Cyril. He tightened his hold on Aileanna when he heard the man ranting in the hal . "I canna' say," he said, looking into her troubled eyes as he made his way up the stairs.

  "Could you not at least try to speak to the MacDonald?"

  "Aileanna, there's no talkin' to the mon. He's a stubborn old fool who wil na' listen to reason. He disputes our claim to Trotternish. 'Tis a long-standing feud that only ended when Brianna and I married and he used it as part of her dowry, but it was no' his to begin with. Now he means to have it back." He shook his head--the man was as mad as the one seated in his hal .

  "How much property do you need? Aren't the lives of your men more important than a useless stretch of land?"

  she muttered as he opened the door to her chambers. Laying her on the bed, he set a hand on either side of her head and lowered his face to hers. "Do you no' think if there was a way out of this I wouldna' have found it? You doona' ken me if you believe I'd put anythin' above the lives of my clan."

  "I know you don't," she whispered. "Not even me."

  He narrowed his gaze on her. "Aileanna . . . What? " he bel owed at whoever was rapping on the chamber door. Aidan entered the room with a surreptitious glance at Aileanna. "Sorry to disturb ye, cousin, but I think ye should come to the hal ."

  Rory rubbed his hand along his jaw. "Aye, I'l come."

  He hesitated before leaving Aileanna, troubled by her words. He wanted to make her understand why he did what he did, but he was needed elsewhere. Touching her cheek, he said, "Rest."

  "How's yer lady?" Aidan asked when Rory joined him in the corridor outside her room.

  "No' verra happy with me. She thinks I should find a way to make peace with the MacDonald."

  Aidan shook his head. "Women, they doona' ken the way of it."

  "Aye." And Aileanna less than most. But how could she understand when she was not from their time? Rory feared she never would. "What's goin' on in the hal ?"

  "I doona' think we're goin' to get rid of MacLean so easily. The mon's terrified to face his sister, and I wouldna'be surprised to learn 'twas her who marked him."

  Rory frowned. "I didna' consider that."

  "I ken the mark a woman leaves, and it has the look of it."

  "Familiar with it, are you?" He grinned. His cousin's exploits with the ladies were legendary.

  Aidan's gray eyes glinted with humor. "Aye, but of a different kind--on the back, ye ken."

  Rory ignored his cousin's quip, wondering how he'd been blind to what Moira MacLean had become. He shud dered to think he'd almost married her. But then again, she'd been a means to an end, a way for him to protect his clan. Now with the match out of the question, it was up to him to find a way to win the battle with the least amount of lives lost. "I'm thinkin' I'm wel rid of that one."

  "Aye, I ken ye are, especial y considerin' the woman yer replacin' her with."

  Ali sat on her bed and wrapped the strips of linen around her foot, wincing when she pul ed too tight. She was deter mined to get to know the people of Dunvegan, and it wasn't going to happen if she stayed shut up in her room. She had to go out amongst the people and somehow gain their trust. Ignoring the age-old fear of rejection that knotted herstomach, she prepared for a visit with Maureen Chisholm and anyone else who would let her see to them. Consider ing Cyril MacLean's ranting on the front step of the keep yesterday, she doubted there would be many. She brushed the thought aside, wishing she'd asked Mari when she'd brought her breakfast if Cyril remained at Dunvegan. Ali looked up when the door to her chambers creaked open to see Rory standing there. He looked tired, and the dark shadow on his jaw heightened his dangerous good looks. She shivered. He was dangerous--not someone you'd want to cross--but she didn't fear him. He wouldn't hurt her physical y, at least not intentional y, but he could break her heart.

  "You're tired," she said, watching as he prowled toward her. The white shirt he wore contrasted with his deeply tanned skin, accentuating his powerful broad shoulders and the corded muscles beneath. He sat beside her. "Aye, 'twas a long night and promises to be a longer day. I'm sorry I wasna' able to come to you last eve. 'Twas late, and I didna' wish to disturb yer sleep."

  His heavy hand came to rest on her thigh. She'd missed him, and tried not to resent the time he spent away from her.

  "That's al right. I don't expect you to spend al of your time with me. I know you're busy."

  Her voice sounded petulant, even though she hadn't meant it to. Ali didn't add playing at your war games, however tempted she was. It wasn't the time. This was no game, and she couldn't make light of it. His reaction was fierce and swift. He had her backed against her pil ows before she had time to blink. "Do you no' think I'd rather be with you?" He speared his long fingers through her hair, trapping her with his body. His muscles rippled beneath the fine fabric of his shirt.

  "Rory, I--" He crushed her protest with a demanding kiss. Heat spiraled through her, pooling between her thighs.

  His tongue probed between her lips, dueling with hers for supremacy. Her breathing quickened, and she clutched at his shoulders.

  Rory lifted his mouth from hers. "I want you now, mo chridhe, but this time I wil na' be rushed." He chuckled when she moaned in frustration, giving her a hard, fast kiss. "This night I'l love you long and wel ."

  She brought her palm to his roughened jaw. "I'l hold you to that."

  He gave her a lecherous grin before his gaze went to her wrapped foot. "Mayhap 'twould be best if you stayed abed, Aileanna."

  "Why, is Cyril stil here?"

  "Aye. The mon is no' in a hurry to take his leave."

  "I can't say I blame him. But I don't want him here, Rory. There's enough bad feelings over me without him adding to it."

  He sighed. "You doona' understand, lass. I canna' just toss him out. 'Tis no' a highlander's way. I'l keep an eye on him and you'l take Cal um and Connor with you if you'l no' stay in yer room."

  "Is it so bad I have to take both of them?"

  "Fer now, but 'twil pass." His gaze softened as though he sensed how difficult it was for her to have so many of his people despise her.

  "No, it won't, Rory, not if you lose men in the battle. It'l just get worse, and I don't think I'l be able to . . ." He didn't understand how hard it was for her to know she would be held to blame, distrusted and disliked. He couldn't know the painful memories it resurrected.

  "Aileanna, we go nowhere with this, and I wil na' discuss the battle with you."

  "Because you won't listen, you--" Once more he silenced her with a hard kiss.

  "Nay, I won't, so save yer breath. I have much to do and wil na' see you until later this eve."

  "Busy planning your war strategies, are you?" As soon as Ali said it she knew she shouldn't have, but his easy dis missal of her made her angry.

  "Aileanna." His voice was rough, tempered steel.

  "Wel , maybe I'l be busy, too. If I'm not in my room . . ."

  H
er tone was flippant, and she raised a shoulder to make her point. "I'l see you tomorrow."

  Before she could stop him, he had his hand beneath her gown. She gasped when he shoved aside the heavy layers of fabric. "What do you think you're doing?" she sputtered, but it didn't take the heated look in his eyes to tel her what he meant to do, and stil , her struggles were half hearted. Her anger melted along with the rest of her as his fingers caressed the inside of her thigh, grazing her where she was swol en and throbbing for his touch. He teased her. Over and over again, he stroked her slick folds only to trail his fingers back down her thighs. Groaning in frustration, she fisted her hands in the sheets, tilting her hips toward him, her body begging for more. He watched her through heavy-lidded eyes. "Nay, mo chridhe, you'l be here waitin' fer me, of that I'm certain."

  His deep voice caressed her ear, and he twirled his tongue in the delicate whorls. When he plunged his strong fingers deep inside, her hips rose from the bed. "Yer so hot, and wet." His words brought her to the brink as much as his touch. She bucked against his hand as he increased the tempo of his stroke. "Come fer me, mo chridhe," he rasped against her ear, putting pressure on her swol en nub. Under his passion-fil ed gaze she shattered, and he swal owed her moans of pleasure.

  "Aye, I think you'l be here, doona' you?" he murmured against her lips before he rose from the bed.

  Ali's face heated. "You're such a conceited ass, do you know that?"

  Rory grinned as he headed for the door. "I doona' think you've cal ed me that one before." He ducked when she flung a pil ow at him.

  Cal um and Connor trailed behind Ali while she hobbled along the narrow path, leaning on the stick they had provided for her when she insisted on walking instead of riding Bessie. Even with a sprained ankle she was faster than the horse; not that it mattered. It wasn't like she had any pressing engagements, unless she counted Rory and his promise to love her long and hard tonight. Muscles low in her stomach tightened at the thought, and no matter how much she denied it, she knew she wouldn't make him wait. It wouldn't be fair--to her.

  Connor took the lead and Cal um brought up the rear. Lost in thoughts of Rory, Ali hadn't noticed the three men blocking the path until Connor stopped short and she slammed into him. She fought back the urge to run. She wouldn't get very far, and she'd be damned if she'd let Cyril MacLean think he frightened her. Cal um and Connor wouldn't let him near her, but the man didn't need to physical y touch her to hurt her. His words did enough damage on their own.