He tugged the swath of fabric from her shoulder. She slapped his hands away. "You're too rough. You'l rip it."
He shrugged, watching as she careful y unraveled the plaid. "I doona' care--you'l no' be wearin' it again."
"Yes, I wil . I like the colors. They're pretty."
"They may be pretty, but they're the MacDonalds' colors no' the MacLeods'."
She laid the plaid on the end of her bed, standing before him in only a sheer linen tunic. Her nipples puckered be neath the fabric, ripe for his attention. "I'm not a MacLeod, Rory, and I can wear whatever I want," she countered with a stubborn jut to her chin.
"Yer mine, and you will be a MacLeod." He held her in his arms and lifted her off the floor. "Do you ken yer mine, mo chridhe? That I'l never let you go?" Through the light weight fabric he suckled her taut nipple.
"Yes . . . yes, I know I'm yours," she groaned, wrapping her legs around his waist. He could feel her warm, wet core through the fabric of his tunic and his cock throbbed. She pressed her breasts tight to his mouth. He fought with his trews while he held her with one hand, needing to be inside her. A sharp rap on the door stayed his hand, and he cursed when he recognized the deep voice cal ing through her door. "Lass, can I have a moment of yer time?"
A look of panic came upon Aileanna's face and she struggled to get out of his arms. "Put me down . . . put me down,"
she whispered fervently.
"Mayhap I would if you'd unwind yer legs from my waist," he whispered back, his voice laden with sarcasm. She glared at him, then cleared her throat. "Give me a minute, Alasdair. I'm not quite decent."
"That's the truth," Rory muttered.
She grabbed the plaid from the end of her bed and hastily tried to wrap herself in it. "Hide," she hissed at him.
"I'm no' hidin' in my own keep," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
"He was your wife's father, and I'm not going to flaunt that we're together like . . . like this." She waved an arm at the bed before her gaze frantical y searched the room.
"Bed . . . under the bed."
"Coming, Alasdair," she cal ed out sweetly as she shoved him toward the bed and tugged at the plaid to cover the wet spot on her tunic.
"You would've and so would've I," he muttered to himself as he crawled beneath the bed.
"Shh!"
He heard her pad across the floor and the door creak open. He couldn't believe he was hiding from Alasdair MacDonald like a wee lad, but Aileanna was right. He'd not rub the mon's nose in their relationship.
"Sorry fer disturbin' ye, my pet, but there's somethin'been weighin' on my mind since we arrived."
"Come in." Rory heard the door close and Alasdair's heavy footfal s as he came into the room.
"Has someone said anything to make you feel unwelcome, because if they--"
Rory rol ed his eyes. Now she protected his enemy.
"Nay . . . nay, 'tis no' to do with the MacLeods. Get into yer bed. Ye must rest yer wee foot."
The bed creaked and the toes of Alasdair's boots stared Rory in the face. He barely resisted the urge to hit them.
"Alasdair, I'm fine," he heard Aileanna laughingly protest. Rory's fist came within an inch of the old man's foot. "Now tel me what's bothering you. You look upset."
"Ye ken when I first saw ye I was no' myself and ye introduced yerself as Ali Graham." She must have nodded because Alasdair continued. "But upon our arrival I heard Rory refer to ye as Aileanna. Why is that?"
"That's my name. Ali is short for Aileanna. Alasdair . . . Alasdair, what is it?"
The man staggered and Aileanna must have made him sit down because the bed dipped, and Rory now faced the heels of Alasdair's boots.
"Ye remember how I told ye Brianna had a sister, a twin? Her name was Aileanna. Nay, doona' look at me like that. Ye ken wel enough how much ye look like Brianna, but evenmore ye have the look of my wife. Ye have her ways, too, and yer name--'tis too much to be only a coincidence."
Rory sucked in a pained breath and nearly choked on the dust beneath the bed. He brought his hand to his mouth. Alasdair MacDonald had his faults, but he'd lost much and handled it better than most. Rory didn't wish him to suffer further, and he knew how difficult it would be on Aileanna. But she wouldn't lie to the man, even if it was to ease his pain. She was honest and compassionate, and somehow he knew Aileanna would find a way to re lieve Alasdair's disappointment.
"Alasdair, you have to believe me when I tel you there is nothing I'd like more than to be your daughter, but I'm afraid I'm not." She paused, and Rory could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she planned out her wee story. It was not as if she could tel him the fairies had stolen her from her own time. "I told you I never met my father, and that's the truth, but my mother spoke of him often. She said he was from . . . from England, and he had . . . red hair . .
. red like an apple, and . . ."
Bloody hell, Rory thought. She's rambling again.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Alasdair." Rory heard the raw emotion in her voice and he thought she was just as disappointed as Alasdair, even though she'd know there was no way the old man could be her father. Rory had sensed when she spoke to him about her life that she'd missed out on having a family, and it had left her deeply scarred. It was something he hoped to rectify by making her his wife, part of his clan.
"Nay, 'twas only the hopes of an old man. I'm sorry, Aileanna. Ye get some rest now, lass, and I'l see ye later."
He heard Aileanna sniff, and groaned inwardly. There was nothing he hated more than when she cried.
"Now, I didna' mean to make ye weep. Dry yer eyes--there ye go. Doona' worry, my pet, I'l be fine. I'l see myself out."
At the sound of the door closing, Rory began dragging himself from beneath the bed. When it slowly creaked open again, he cursed inwardly and scrambled back to his hiding place, cracking his head on the rail as he did.
"Aileanna?"
"Yes?" She sniffed.
"I'm thinkin' yer in need of a father, seein' as how yer tangled up with the MacLeods. And since ye have the look and name of one of my own, I'm goin' to be lookin' to ye as though ye are. If that'd be al right with ye."
"Yes . . . yes, that would be wonderful."
No . . . no, it won't! Rory silently banged his head on the floor.
"Good, 'tis settled then. And, Aileanna, tel the lad I ken he's under the bed and I expect to see him in the salon mo mentarily." With that said, the old meddler slammed the door. Rory stood, rubbing his head. "What do you think yer doin' tel in' him he can stand in fer yer father? Do ye no'ken what that mon wil put me through?"
She shrugged. "It made him happy, and I think it wil be nice to have someone stand up for me."
He snorted. "As if you canna' stand up fer yerself. And if you couldna', Fergus, Iain, and Mrs. Mac would be quick to do so."
"I know, and now I have Alasdair, too. It won't be so bad, Rory. Can't you humor him, just a little?"
He looked at Aileanna, her bonny eyes shining, and thought if it pleased her, the least he could do was try. If she could bring a little joy to the MacDonald's life, so be it. "I'l no' make any promises, but fer now we'l let it be, as long as you remember yer no' a MacDonald, yer a MacLeod."
"Not yet I'm not." She grinned.
"Aye. Yer mine, and wel you ken it." He threaded his fingers through her hair and took her lips in a deep, slow kiss, savoring the taste of her.
"Rory," she said against his mouth. He pul ed back to look at her. "I don't think Alasdair . . . my father wil be too happy if you don't join him in the salon." He heard the laughter in her voice, saw the mischievous light in her eyes. He gave her one last hard kiss. "Yer as stubborn as he is. I shouldna' be surprised if you truly are his kin."
"Rory," she cal ed to him as he strode to the door. "I'm glad to be home."
Her words touched Rory deeply, and it made him more determined than ever to make her his wife. "No more than I am, mo chridhe."
Ali took her pl
ace on the dais between Rory and Alasdair, saying hel o to Aidan, Fergus, and Iain, who looked like they shared a good joke no one else was privy to. She narrowed her gaze on them, and looked to the two men on either side of her. "Is there something I should know?"
"Nay . . . nay, my pet, everythin's fine. Shal I fix yer plate fer ye?"
Rory scrubbed his hands over his face and the other three men laughed into their mugs. Ali patted Alasdair's hand. "I can manage, but thank you for the offer." She nudged Rory and he raised a brow, looking down his nose at her. Fergus said something to Alasdair and drew his attention from her.
She leaned into Rory and asked, "What's put you in such a bad mood?"
He took a deep swal ow of his ale before he answered.
"You'l find out soon enough, and you have only yerself to blame."
"What are you talking about? Blame for what?"
"Aileanna, eat before yer meal grows cold," Alasdair chided.
"But I--"
"Nay, eat, and then we'l talk," Alasdair said firmly, tapping his spoon against her plate.
She heard Rory's low chuckle and turned to him. He shrugged. "'Tis yer own fault."
After her third mouthful, Ali couldn't take it anymore.
"Is someone going to tel me if you came to an agreement or not?"
Alasdair leaned around her to look at Rory. "Wil ye tel her, or shal I?"
Rory tipped his mug at the man at her side. "By al means, do the honors."
"Aileanna, we've agreed to a truce."
"Oh, thank God." She blinked back tears, placing a hand over her heart. A deep sense of relief flooded through her.
"You might no' want to thank him just yet," Rory muttered.
"Aye, I've signed Trotternish over to ye, Aileanna, as part of yer dowry when ye wed Rory." Chapter 24
"But . . . I'm not . . ." Oh, dear Lord, what has Alasdair done? "Here." Rory wrapped her hand around a goblet of ale.
"Drink."
She took a deep swal ow and turned to him. "I don't understand why you're not happier about this. I thought it's what you wanted."
"Aye, I want to wed you, but no' like this. I'l no' have you forced."
"Oh." Relief loosened her tense muscles--he stil wanted her. For a minute there, she'd thought he'd changed his mind. And now, Alasdair had put her in a position where her decision would affect the lives of Rory's clan--again. It would be so easy just to agree to the marriage. She loved Rory, more than she'd thought possible, but she didn't want to always wonder if he felt forced into the marriage, obligated to offer her his name and his protection because of the fairies. And now the matter had been complicated further. If Rory didn't marry her, they would battle over Trotternish, risking the lives of him and his clan. But if she did marry him, how would she ever know for certain what truly was in his heart? Ali pushed her chair from the table. "Alasdair, I need to have a word with you."
"Aye." He rose slowly and took Ali by the elbow, a look of confusion in his bright blue eyes.
"Use my study," Rory suggested, watching her closely.
"Aileanna," Alasdair said as they left the hal , "I thought'twould make ye happy."
She squeezed his hand, opening the door to Rory's study. "I know, and it was a lovely gesture, but--" She sighed. "If I tel you something, wil you promise not to say a word to Rory?"
"Aye, on my honor." They entered the study and he took the chair opposite her.
"I love Rory," she said, then grimaced. "I'm sorry, he was married to Brianna and--"
He patted her hand. "Doona' worry aboot it, my pet. Say what ye wil ."
"I know he loves me, but when he spoke of marrying me he didn't say anything about love, only obligation and responsibility."
"That doesna' sound so bad to me, lass."
She blew out a frustrated breath. Were al highlanders the same? "Maybe not, but I need more. I don't want to be just another responsibility to him . . . like his clan. Remember how you said Brianna felt Rory would never be able to put her first? Wel , that's how I feel, and it's not good enough."
Alasdair grinned. "Yer more like my wife than I first suspected. I made matters worse, didna' I?"
"A little," she admitted.
"Tel me this--when ye feel certain of the lad's commitment to ye, and he comes around to askin' in the manner ye hoped, wil ye say aye?"
Ali snorted. "He didn't ask me, he told me." She narrowed her gaze at the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
"Don't you dare laugh, but the answer to your question is yes. He's the only man I'l ever want."
"Al right then, here's what we'l do. I'm goin' to gift Trotternish to ye, and ye can do with it what ye wil . I ken I shouldna' have revoked Brianna's dowry. 'Twas no' right, and she wouldna' be happy with me fer doin' it, but you canna' tel the lad."
"No, I won't tel him," Ali said, rising to her feet at the same time he did. "And I was about to refuse your gift as too generous, but seeing as how you're using me to save face, I won't." She tapped her finger on his broad chest.
"Yer as canny as ye are bonny, my pet. Truly a frightenin' combination in a woman. I almost feel sorry fer the lad." He chuckled, taking her by the arm. "Shal we share the news with the clans?"
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
"Nay, 'tis I who should thank ye," Alasdair said as they left the study and returned to the hal . Alasdair careful y settled her into the chair beside Rory, but remained standing. Rory frowned, looking to Ali as though she had the answer. The older man banged his goblet on the trestle table. "If yer laird wil permit me, I have an announcement to make."
Rory gave a brief nod and waved him on. "As ye al must be aware, yer laird and I have been tryin' to come to an agreement over Trotternish as a means to avoid further bloodshed between our clans. I am pleased to tel ye, there wil be no feud." Cheers broke out through the hal . It was pandemonium. Both men and women wept, and Ali took the handkerchief Rory offered her, sniffing her thanks. "I no longer hold Trotternish. It belongs to Lady Aileanna."
Table after table fel into stunned silence. Alasdair nudged her, and she realized he expected her to say something. She rose uncomfortably to her feet. "I'd like to propose a toast to Alasdair MacDonald for gifting me with Trotternish. I'm honored." If not for the men on the dais taking up her toast, Ali thought it would have died a slow and painful death--just like her.
Once the crowd quieted, she turned to Rory. "And, for my part, I'd like to gift Trotternish to the MacLeods. To you, Rory," she said softly.
This time the celebratory cheers were so loud they shook the timbers of the hal . Rory stood and took her hands in his. "Are you certain?"
She nodded. "Aye."
Rory grinned, his goblet held high. "To the verra bonny Lady Aileanna, soon to be Lady of Dunvegan."
He laughed when he heard her mutter to Alasdair, "You see."
Rory watched as Fergus, Iain, and Aidan took turns sweeping her into their arms. The clan, not about to miss out on the opportunity to honor her, swarmed the dais. Over their heads he raised a silent toast to Alasdair. The man held his goblet aloft and tilted it toward Rory. He looked as if he was about to say something to him when Cal um swung Aileanna into his arms. Alasdair banged his goblet on the table. "Now see here, mind her wee foot."
Tables were pushed up against the wal s, and several men took up their fiddles. Rory lost sight of Aileanna in the chaotic swirl of activity. His gaze scanned the hal for a second time, coming to rest on her sitting on a bench with Janet, Maureen, and old lady Cameron. She held a babe in her arms. His chest swel ed. One day it would be their bairn she held. As soon as the thought entered his head, he panicked. He reminded himself she was strong, a healer, but stil , a part of him rebel ed at the thought of getting her with child. Then he remembered, she had yet to agree to marry him. Content to watch the clan pay homage to Aileanna, he settled back in his chair.
"Ye love her, doona' ye?" Alasdair asked. Rory nodded. He didn't know what he could say with
out hurting the man, without taking away from his union with Alasdair's daughter.
"Ye doona' have to worry, lad. I ken 'tis different with her. Ye doona' have to feel bad. What ye had with my Brianna was stil better than most. I doona' fault ye in that."
Rory was taken aback. It was no secret Alasdair had held him to blame for Brianna's death. He hadn't resented the fact. How could he fault her father when he himself wondered the same? Before he could respond, Alasdair pushed back his chair. "I have a long ride on the morrow, and I'm no' as young as I used to be. If you'l excuse me, I'l be retirin' now."
Rory extended his hand and Alasdair took it in a firm grip. "Thank you," Rory said, and he meant it, more than the man would ever know.
"Ye may wish to hold yer thanks. I mean to have a say where it concerns Aileanna."
Rory groaned and Alasdair laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "'Twil no' be that bad."
Aye, it will, Rory thought. He'd never be rid of the old goat.
"It seems ye get yerself a new wife, only to keep yer old father-by-marriage--an interestin' turn of events," his cousin said as together they watched Alasdair weave his way toward Aileanna.
"Interestin' is no' the word I'd choose," Rory grunted. They were sitting in companionable silence when Aidan shot from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. The ale Rory had been drinking spil ed from his mug onto his lap.
"Bloody hel , Aidan, what is it?"
"My men," his cousin said, jerking his head at the two men-at-arms who stood in the entrance to the hal . "Lewis must be under attack."
Together they fought their way through the crowd.
Fergus and Iain, obviously noting their hasty retreat, were soon at their sides.
"They've come, Laird Aidan. The adventurers attacked, setting fire to the vil age on the south side of the island."
Lord of the Isles Page 24