Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  "Stand aside and let us pass," Cal um growled. Cyril rol ed his eyes and flicked a handkerchief at his two men. They moved off the path. The cold, condescending look he gave Ali was ful of malice, his upper lip curled in a sneer. His companions leered at her, and she quickly averted her gaze. One was almost as tal as Cal um, but without the muscles. He looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks; his shaggy, light brown hair fel wel past his shoulders, and his teeth when he smiled at her were rotten. Hissidekick's head was misshapen, and he barely met his friend's shoulder. The man licked his lips and palmed his crotch when Ali walked by. She held her breath, afraid their rancid smel would cause her to lose her breakfast.

  "Lady Aileanna," Cyril MacLean's high-pitched voice cal ed after them. "Are ye off fer a wee walk?"

  Ali gave a curt nod without looking at him.

  "Best have a care then. The woods can be a verra dangerous place and I'm certain Laird MacLeod wouldna'want anythin' to happen to ye."

  Her attention diverted, she tripped on a raised tree root and one of his men snickered. She heard Cal um's heavy footfal s and turned to see him step in front of them. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Cyril raised his hands defensively. "'Twas a friendly warnin' is al ."

  "Take yerself back to the keep and bring yer companions with ye."

  "Now, see here." Cyril puffed out his chest.

  "Laird MacLeod's hospitality to ye extends only so far, and if ye doona' want him to send ye packin', then I'd sug gest ye do as I say."

  Cyril blanched. Motioning for the two men to fol ow him, he headed in the direction of Dunvegan with a minc ing step.

  Cal um snorted. "The mon is a bloody peacock."

  "Who were the other two men with him, Cal um?" Ali asked, uncomfortable with how they made her feel. Cal um frowned. "I doona' ken, but I mean to find out once we get back to the keep. I didna' like the looks of them."

  Ali shuddered. "Me neither."

  "And I didna' like the smel of them," Connor quipped. They walked on in companionable silence. Weak sunlight filtered through the heavy shadows of the pines and the birds flitted happily overhead. Not far from the Chisholms', Cal um laid a heavy hand on Ali's shoulder. When she looked back at him, he put a finger to his lips and jerked his chin toward Connor. Ali tapped Connor on the shoulder and nodded to Cal um. A loud crack rent the air and Connor dove for Ali, pul ing her to the ground. She held up her injured foot, her bottom taking the brunt of her fal .

  "Halt," Cal um cal ed out, placing himself in front of her and Connor. She heard him curse before he said, "Jamie Cameron, ye get yerself out here now."

  Dragging his feet, the little boy emerged from behind a tree.

  Ali released a relieved sigh, al owing Connor to help her to her feet.

  "Sorry, my lady. I didna' hurt ye, did I?" Connor asked, his ears pink.

  "No, not at al ." She didn't want him to feel worse than he obviously did and refrained from rubbing her bruised behind.

  "Get yerself over here, lad. Ye'l remain with us until I can take ye to yer mam," Cal um bel owed at Jamie. The boy kicked a stone. "But I doona' want to."

  "And I doona' care. I'm thinkin' 'tis time yer mother tanned yer wee arse, and mayhap I'l be offerin' to do it fer her."

  Jamie's eyes widened.

  "Cal um, I'l be awhile. Why don't you take him to Janet?" she suggested quietly, feeling sorry for the little boy.

  "Connor and I wil be fine. You sent Cyril back to Dunvegan, and I think he's too afraid Rory wil send him home to Moira to be much of a threat."

  The big man looked unconvinced. Ali lowered her voice. "It might help if you spent some time with Jamie, Cal um. I'm sure Janet would appreciate it."

  "I doona' ken, my lady. The laird wil be none too happy if I leave ye on yer own."

  "I'm not on my own. I have Connor. Don't worry, I'l deal with Lord MacLeod."

  When Cal um hesitated, she said, "The biggest threat to my safety is Cyril, and since you sent him back to Dunve gan it might be best if that's where you were so you can keep an eye on him."

  Cal um looked at Connor, who shrugged his shoulders.

  "Go," Ali said, giving him a light push in Jamie's direction.

  "Aye, I'l go, but have a care."

  Ali smiled. "Don't worry about us. We'l be fine."

  "Thank ye, my lady," Jamie cal ed out to her, waving happily as he hurried after Cal um. Upon their approach to the Chisholms' thatched cottage, Ali pointed out a tree standing off from the stand of firs to Connor. "I won't be too long. Why don't you have a rest, and I'l ask Maureen for a tankard of ale for you."

  "Thank ye, my lady." Connor grinned.

  Ali spent an enjoyable hour with Maureen Chisholm and the baby. In their short time together she came to the conclusion women were no different in the sixteenth century than they were in the twenty-first. The important things remained the same: love, family, and friendship. And Ali felt as though she and Maureen were going to be good friends. It left her hopeful that other members of the clan would soon warm to her.

  When Maureen tried to stifle a yawn, Ali decided it was time to leave. With a promise to visit again soon, she headed out the door. She expected to find Connor napping under the tree, but he was nowhere to be found.

  "Connor," she cal ed out, scanning the area. Leaning on the stick, she limped to where she'd last seen him.

  "Connor, where--" A big hand clamped over her mouth.

  "Doona' make a sound or the lad dies." Chapter 20

  Gasping for air, Ali struggled to pul the dirt-encrusted hand from her mouth.

  "Did ye no' hear me?" He jerked her head back. "The lad gets it if ye doona' do as I say." Her captor ripped the walk ing stick from her hand and flung it against a tree. One half of it rol ed on the pine-needled forest floor to where Connor lay bound and gagged.

  The man with the misshapen head stood above him, dagger in hand. "Let's stick him, Gordie. He's of no use to us."

  Ali struggled, whimpering beneath her captor's hand. Her stomach roiled at his stench and her fear for Connor. "No .

  . . no." Her cries were muffled beneath his sweaty palm.

  "Nay, I'm thinkin' he'l make this wee piece behave."

  The man guarding Connor licked his thick lips. "Give 'er to me. I'l make 'er behave."

  "Nay, Mungo. Himself says the MacDonald wil pay fer her return, and I'l no' risk his anger by returnin' her to him sul ied by the likes of ye."

  Ali swal owed the bile that rose in her throat. The man that held her pushed her forward and she stumbled. A sharp pain arched up her leg. Her knees buckled, and Gordie sent her sprawling to the ground. She crawled to Connor, touching his pale face. He was unconscious and the hair at the back of his head was matted with blood.

  "What did you do to him?" she demanded, anger overcoming her fear.

  "Ah, Gordie, just a wee taste is al I want." Mungo groped at his crotch, leering at her.

  "Shut yer mouth, Mungo, and ye, too." He jerked Ali's hands behind her. The rope he bound her with cut into her wrists. He planted his foot on the smal of her back and shoved her, face first, into the ground, tying her ankles to gether. He stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth and hauled her to her feet. "Put him on yer horse and I'l take her."

  "Nay, I'l take her." Mungo lurched toward Ali. His tongue flicked out and he licked her cheek. Ali shuddered, turning her face. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed, but Gordie slapped his hands away.

  "Cut it out, Mungo. Yer wastin' time. Himself said to make fer Portree. 'Tis the direction the MacDonald was last seen headed fer. If we ride hard we can get us our coin before morn." Gordie shoved him back.

  "I doona' ken why ye won't let me have a bit of fun with'er," the man muttered, glaring at his friend.

  "I'm savin' yer neck, ye fool. Both the MacLeod and the MacDonald wil have yer head if ye touch her."

  A sense of hopelessness smothered Ali. She couldn't do anything to put Connor in danger. They'd kil him if she didn't do as they said. Her only chance
was to cooperate, and to stay as far away from Mungo as she could.

  "Help me," Mungo groaned as he tried to lift Connor.

  "Doona' move," Gordie ordered as he strode toward his companion. Together they tossed Connor over the back of the shaggy brown horse.

  Ali's gaze darted through the shadows of the forest, but there was no one in sight. They wouldn't be looking for her, not for a long time yet. Rory, Fergus, and Iain were too busy preparing for battle--battle with a man who would in al likelihood hold her as his prisoner. A pawn to be used against the MacLeods. What would Rory do if the MacDonald offered her in exchange for the rights to the land? Ali blinked back tears, certain she knew the answer. Gordie dragged her along behind him. Her foot throbbed as she tried unsuccessful y to keep her weight off it. She bounced when he threw her onto the horse. The saddle dug into her stomach, and the breath she sucked in pul ed the cloth deeper into her mouth. Panicked, Ali worked on it with her tongue, determined not to die. If she did, Connor didn't stand a chance, and she couldn't let that happen. It was because of her he'd gotten caught up in this mess. With each jarring movement, her stomach was pummeled by the stiff saddle. Rory, she cried inwardly. She needed him and his powerful arms wrapped around her to give her strength. How could she live without him? Keep sucking that cloth into your throat and you won'thave to worry about it. That thought alone was enough to make her try again. She pushed, prodded, and then breathed out as hard as she could until a smal edge of the cloth dan gled from her mouth. Ali turned her head into the saddle and caught the rag on a jagged piece of leather. She wrenched her head in one direction and then the other. The cloth fel to the ground and she sucked in deep gulps of air. Tilting her head back, she fil ed her lungs, ready to let loose a cry for help, until she remembered Connor. The scream died in her throat. She couldn't risk his life in the hopes someone would hear her pitiful cries. The towers of Dunvegan had already faded in the distance. Blood pooled in her head, and she felt like she faded in and out of consciousness. She was unaware of where they were, or the landscape that sped by. Al she saw were the horse's hooves as they pounded on, the ground blurring beneath them. Gravel and dust kicked up behind them. For the most part she kept her eyes closed, overwhelmed with dizziness when she didn't.

  "Mungo," Gordie cal ed to the man who fol owed behind them. "The horses need to be watered and rested. We'l stop at that copse of trees over yonder. I ken there's a loch nearby and we'l be wel hidden."

  Ali almost groaned with relief, but her relief was quickly replaced by dread when she realized her captors would see she was no longer gagged.

  They reined in the horses and Gordie dragged her from the saddle. He tried to stand her upright, but she sank to her knees. Her muscles cramped. She had never felt such pain in so many places. Her ankles and wrists were chafed by the ropes. "Untie me. I won't run away. I wouldn't leave Connor," she croaked. Gordie swept his unkempt hair from his face and glared down at her. "When did ye get rid of the gag?"

  "What does it matter? I didn't scream, did I?"

  "Nay, ye didna'." He narrowed his gaze on her. With what little strength she had, she jerked her head to her hands. "If you want coin from the MacDonald, I'd suggest you don't bring me to him like this." There was no way they could escape, not with Connor wounded. She'd come to realize her only hope lay with Rory's enemy. Gordie drew a wicked-looking blade from his boot and laughed at what must have been the look of terror on her face. "If I was goin' to stick ye, I would've done it back there." He sawed through the rope that bound her ankles and wrists. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. The fibers burned, cutting into her already abraded skin.

  "Why have ye let her go?" Mungo slid from his horse, pul ing Connor down after him, letting him drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  Final y free, Ali rose unsteadily to her feet. Gordie grabbed her arm. "I didna' say ye could go anywheres."

  "I have to check on Connor. He works for the MacDonald, too. He's . . . he's his nephew."

  Gordie dropped her arm, staring at Connor. "MacLean didna' say anythin' aboot that."

  Ali snorted. "Why would he? Al he cared about was getting rid of me." The knowledge Cyril was behind her abduction didn't surprise her. She only wished she'd suspected just how far he would go to get rid of her. Had she known, she would've stayed in her room like Rory had wanted her to. Waited for him to come to her, to hold her, to make love to her. Fresh tears clouded her vision as she stumbled toward Connor. "Untie him," she demanded.

  "His uncle wil have your head if he's harmed."

  "Why did ye no' say somethin' before?" Gordie asked, taking the knife to Connor's ropes.

  "It's a little hard to speak when you have a rag stuffed down your throat."

  He didn't say another word. Ali knelt at Connor's side, checking for a pulse. She felt Mungo watching her and suppressed a shudder.

  "She lies," Mungo said. Coming up behind her, he tangled his fingers in her hair and jerked her head back. Her pained cry choked off when he pressed the tip of his dagger to her throat. "Why did she fight us afore?"

  Ali swal owed careful y. "I . . . I thought you were going to kil us. I didn't know where you were taking us." Her heart hammered in her chest, the beat pounding in her head.

  "Let her go. Do ye no' want the coin?" Gordie yel ed at the man.

  Ali cried out when the dagger pierced her skin. A drop of blood glistened on the steel point. Gordie grabbed his arm. "Ye crazy bastard, get away from her. Are ye mad? 'Twil al be for naught if ye kil her."

  Mungo turned on Gordie, pointing the blade at her. "Fer now she lives, but ye'l no' tel me what I should or should na' do. If I want 'er. I'l take 'er. She's a spy. What could the old mon say if I did?"

  "Think of the coin, mon."

  Mungo lowered the dagger. "Aye," he grunted, but he didn't take his eyes off Ali.

  "Water the horses. 'Twil no' be long before night fal s."

  The big man watched his friend reluctantly fol ow his orders, grumbling under his breath as he did. "See to the lad,"

  Gordie told her. Without a backward glance, he followed Mungo.

  "Connor . . . Connor, please wake up," she cried, patting his colorless cheek. He moaned weakly, but at least he'd made a sound. She gently turned his head to examine him. A knot the size of an egg formed at the site of the wound. Although he'd bled quite a bit, it didn't look as bad as she first thought. She expel ed a shaky breath. Connor would be okay. If they could survive Mungo and his threats, they would be al right. At least until they had to face the MacDonald. Ali heard a horse whinny and looked up to see Gordie approach. He led both horses back with him. He stopped and withdrew a piece of linen from the pack attached to his saddle. Wiping his hands, his gaze met Ali's. "He'l no'threaten ye again."

  Her eyes widened. Streaks of crimson stained the cloth. Staggering to her feet, she limped through the low brush and emptied her stomach.

  "'Tis time to be on our way," Gordie said from behind her. She nodded, and brought the hem of her gown to her mouth. A tremor rocked her body. Mungo was dead. Murdered. She reminded herself it could've just as easily been her or Connor. Gathering what little strength she had left, she fol owed Gordie.

  "The lad wil be riding with me. Doona' get any ideas."

  Ali gave a nervous nod, clutching the reins when he helped her onto the saddle. He careful y placed Connor on the front of his mount, then swung up behind him. They rode in silence over hil s covered in heather, past meander ing streams. Her mind a whirlpool of emotions, Ali didn't see the beauty that surrounded them. She jerked her attention to Gordie when he cal ed out to her, "The lad's awake." Ali tapped her heels against the horse's flanks, urging her mount forward. She had to get to Connor before he gave them away. Coming alongside of them, she took Connor's hand in hers. He turned to her, a dazed look in his eyes. "Lady Aileanna, what happened?"

  She held his gaze, trying to convey everything she couldn't say out loud. "It's al right, Connor. Gordie's taking us to your u
ncle, Lord MacDonald. It wil be al right." She squeezed his hand, her nails biting into his palm. His eyes widened. "Aye . . . aye," he mumbled. She looked up at Gordie. "Is it much farther?"

  "Nay, but we'l no' have much light left. We should set up camp fer the night."

  "No." She shook her head. "No, let's keep going." If they stopped, Ali didn't think she'd be able to get back on the horse. There wasn't an inch of her that didn't ache. And her fear of facing Lord MacDonald would only intensify, the more time she had to dwel on the meeting. Hours later, Ali questioned her decision. They could barely see ten feet in front of them. But just as she was about to suggest they go no farther, she saw bal s of light glowing in the distance.

  "Gordie, what's that?" she cal ed out to him.

  "'Tis the MacDonald's camp."

  Dread tied her stomach in knots. As they drew closer the campfires were clearly visible. Men dotted the landscape like ants at a picnic. Dread unraveled into a ful -fledged panic attack, and she gulped in the damp night air.

  "The MacLeods doona' stand a chance," Gordie muttered, shaking his head.

  Ali squeezed her eyes shut as an image of Rory, wounded and bleeding, came to her, just like that first night. She wanted to find the MacDonald and get down on her hands and knees to beg him to end the battle before it began.

  "Halt." Two men strode through the shadows toward them, swords drawn. "State yer business."

  "I'm returnin' the MacDonald's nephew and his spy to him," Gordie said in a tone that suggested he expected to be held in some esteem for what he'd done. Ali knew better.

  The men looked at one another and appeared ready to send them on their way. It was then Ali brought her horse alongside Gordie. The older man's jaw dropped, and his companion gasped, fal ing to one knee. "Lady MacDonald."