He pressed his big palm to her cheek and turned her to face him. His sky blue eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"The wee moon is there, my pet. There is no doubt, ye are my daughter."
Ali stared at him in shocked disbelief. She shook her head. Heart racing, she managed to say, "But I can't be. I'm not from--"
"Tel me, Aileanna. Tel me why ye canna' believe 'tis true."
"I can't." She bowed her head. Ali understood his frustration when so much of the evidence seemed to validate his claim that she was his daughter: the portrait of a woman who looked like her mother, had the same name, and now to learn she bore the identical birthmark as the daughter he had lost al those years ago. Good Lord, she'd almost believe it herself if not for the fact she was from the twentyfirst century. He moved to stand in front of her, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Aye, ye wil ." Jaw set, he skewered her with an unbending stare. Seeing the glimmer of moisture in Alasdair's eyes, Ali couldn't keep the truth from him any longer. To try to help him understand why there was no way she could be his daughter was the least she could do. She didn't want him to suffer more than he already had, and she knew he'd keep her secret. He'd never al ow anyone or anything to hurt her.
"Al right, I'l tel you, but I think you had better sit down and close the door."
He frowned, but did as she asked. Once he and Fiona had brought their chairs round to sit in front of her, she began her story. She told them everything she remembered of her mother and life growing up without her, without anyone. At times she depended on the memories of the old neighbor she'd tracked down on one of her many searches for her family, to fil in the blanks. It was how Ali learned about the man her mother married when Ali was too young to remember, a husband who had been abusive, and abandoned them less than a year after the marriage. Her mother had cleaned houses, barely managing to eke out a living. But most painful of al was the memory of the car accident that had taken Anna's life and left Ali an orphan. Alasdair sat stiffly in his chair, the expression on his face unreadable. Absently he handed Fiona his handkerchief.
Her aunt sniffed as she asked, "How is it ye came to be a Graham, Aileanna?"
Ali closed her eyes before answering. "After the accident I was put in foster care. Just before my seventh birthday, I was adopted. The family's name was Graham."
"But ye didna' remain with them?"
Ali shook her head, determined not to cry. She'd buried that particular hurt a long time ago. "No, Mrs. Graham died eighteen months after I was adopted, and Mr. Graham sent me back to foster care. He . . . he said he couldn't manage to care for another child, especial y as I wasn't his own. He hadn't wanted me in the first place."
"My poor wee poppet," Fiona cried.
Ali cleared her throat and told the rest of the story, about the fairy magic, and how she came to be at Dunvegan. She hesitated before she said to Alasdair, "Rory raised the fairy flag the day you took me from the trial. That's why I asked you to bring me to Armadale. I couldn't bear to be there waiting for the magic to take me away. And now when it does, I . . . I'm going to cause you more pain, and you don't deserve that."
"Nay, no one wil take ye away from me again," he said fiercely.
Ali gave him a sad smile. "I don't think there's any way to stop it, Alasdair. But now, despite al the coincidences, can you see how it's just not possible that I'm your daughter?"
"They aren't coincidences, my dear. Ye are Aileanna MacDonald. Think on what ye've told us. What Duncan Macintosh told ye that day at Dunvegan. The MacLeods raised the fairy flag in fifteen seventy and defeated the MacDonalds."
Fiona held her gaze with a gentle confidence.
"They won because yer mother and ye went missin', Aileanna. I was too busy searchin' fer ye to lead my men into battle."
"'Twas over twenty-seven years ago, Aileanna. How old are ye?" Fiona asked.
"Twenty . . . I'l be twenty-eight on my birthday."
Alasdair pul ed her from the chair and folded her into his warm, protective embrace. "Aileanna, ye can doubt it no longer. I'l no' let you go, my pet. They'l no' take ye from me."
Fiona and Alasdair were right. There was no denying the facts. The MacLeods' fairy flag had stolen Ali and her mother from their home over twenty-seven years ago, only to return Ali on the day Iain raised the flag to save Rory. It was true, al of it. She had a father, a family, and she didn't know what she'd do if the fairy magic took her away from them again.
"I don't want to leave, Alasdair. I can't tel you how much I want to stay. How can I go back when everyone I love is here?" Dear God, please don't let them take me. Idon't think I could bear it. He cupped her face between his hands and gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "Shh, yer no' goin' any where, and ye'l cal me Alasdair no more. Ye'l cal me father from now on, or da, whichever ye prefer."
Fiona gave an unladylike snort, swiping at her own tears. "And at times ye'l cal him an old goat like I do."
Ali laughed, then hiccupped. "That's what Rory cal s him."
A wave of intense pain arched through her body at the thought of Rory. She wanted nothing more than to go to him, but didn't have the strength to be ripped from his arms. It hadn't taken her long to come to the realization Rory raised the flag to save her. And she wouldn't make him suffer with the knowledge there'd been no need for him to do so. She'd managed to save herself. Although in the end, her father's presence had swayed the sheriff more than she ever could. In his attempt to save her life, Rory had destroyed their one chance for happiness.
"That one has a lot to answer fer, and the first question wil be what possessed him to raise the bloody flag in the first place. A man who professes to love ye then sends ye away to be lost to him forever," Alasdair growled, tighten ing his hold on her.
"'Tis because he loves her, Alasdair. Mayhap he thought'twas the only way to save her. Did ye no' say it was the last wish, Aileanna, and he'd no' send ye back because it was al his clan had left?" Fiona went on, not giving Ali a chance to respond. "I'd say the mon loves yer daughter above al else, wouldna' ye, Alasdair?"
He muttered something under his breath before he kissed Ali on the forehead. "Yer aunt wil show ye to yer chambers. Ye need yer rest, fer this night we celebrate my daughter's return." His eyes wel ed, and Ali's heart ached as she tried to imagine how he felt. He might have her back, but he'd lost his wife, and now, after finding Ali, he could turn around and she'd be gone again. But for now, she'd put the thought from her mind, and let them both enjoy what little time they had left together. Rory stood in the grand hal at Lewis and begrudgingly accepted the mug of ale his brother offered him, but refused to take a seat with them by the fire. Aidan released a weary sigh. "I ken yer in a bad way, cousin, but ye canna'solve anythin' by stayin' here and fightin' like a mon possessed."
"I'm no' in a bad way, and I thought by fightin' the adventurers I was helpin' you save yer home." Rory scowled at him.
"Brother, 'tis time fer us to leave. Aidan and Lachlan can handle those that survived, without our help. The men are anxious to return to Dunvegan and their families." Iain eyed him warily. "I miss her too, Rory. I ken no' as much as you, but I do miss her," he finished quietly. Rory glared at Iain, angry he talked of her. Since the day he had returned to Lewis after raising the fairy flag, he had al owed no mention of her in his presence. The pain hadn't subsided. If anything, it grew worse. Like a piece of him was being cut away each and every day, and soon there would be nothing left of him. The last place he wanted to be was Dunvegan, where the memories of her were bound to taunt and torture him.
His cousin Lachlan watched him careful y. Chewing on his bottom lip, he shot his brother Aidan a worried glance. The lad was the youngest of the MacLeods, but one day he would surpass them al in height and strength. "Rory, did ye think mayhap there was a way to contact the fairies and ask them to return yer lady to ye?"
With barely contained rage, Aidan glared at his brother.
"Are ye daft, Lan? The fairy flag was passed to the MacLeods c
enturies ago. 'Tis a myth, is al ."
"'Tis no myth. The fairies exist," the lad mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.
"Have ye gone mad, brother?" Aidan was angrier than Rory had ever seen him and he laid a hand on his cousin's shoulder to calm him. Although he knew better than anyone that the flag was no myth, he had a hard time believing the fairies stil existed in this time. But he wouldn't hurt the lad's feelings by saying so. For a fleeting moment he wanted to hold on to Lan's belief, but was quick to brush it aside as foolishness. The only magick that existed was in the flag, and without another wish, he had nothing. Lan flushed crimson. "I ken they do. I've heard them."
"When, Lan? When did you hear them?" Rory heard the desperation in his own voice, a slippery thread of excitement that vanished as soon as he saw the look of disbelief in the eyes of Fergus, Aidan, and Iain.
"When I was a bairn I heard them. They came to me in my dreams." Lan flushed to the roots of his fair hair. His forehead beaded with sweat. Rory felt sorry for the lad. The only reason his cousin had made mention of the fairies was to offer Rory some hope, risking ridicule to do so. Aidan slammed his hand on the arm of his chair. "'Tis the old crone that looked after ye when ye were a bairn that turned yer head. No more talk of fairies, brother, or I'l lock ye away."
"You send fer me if he does, Lan, and I'l bring you back to Dunvegan with me. I appreciate yer tel in' me aboot the fairies. If you hear them again, be sure to make mention of . . ." He hesitated, not certain he could say her name aloud without unleashing the emotions he'd locked away. He swal owed hard. "Aileanna." He ruffled his young cousin's hair when he nodded shyly. Rory looked at Fergus. "Tel the men we leave on the morrow."
Rory bowed his head as the boats approached the shores of Dunvegan, unable to look upon the flag that fluttered on top of the tower. Emotions warred within him, and he battled an urge to set sail in the opposite direction, but he couldn't--not yet. The excited chatter of his men grew the closer they got to Dunvegan. Rory felt a twinge of guilt for keeping them away as long as he had. It hadn't been warranted. They could've returned weeks ago, and he should've sent Fergus and Iain back to Dunvegan with the men. But they refused to leave him, too afraid he'd go too far in battle, risk too much. Maybe they were right. Maybe he would have.
"Are you al right, brother?" Iain asked from where he sat in the boat behind Rory. Both Iain and Fergus had cut him a wide berth on the way back. He didn't blame them. He wasn't fit for company. A sorry lot they must have looked as they left the boats on shore and walked along the path to the keep. Lord knew they should be bel owing out their triumph. They'd pushed the adventurers back to lick their wounds, and the MacLeods had lost no one to the enemy's swords.
"I'l be fine, Iain, but I'm thinkin' of goin' to court fer a time. Mayhap I can do some good there fer Aidan and Lachlan, and it would no' hurt our cause either."
"Aye . . . aye, if that's what you need to do."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the look his brother shared with Fergus. He ignored them. The emotional tur moil of coming home was taking its tol , and he was anxious for his bed.
He looked up to see Mrs. Mac cross the courtyard to greet them. She was flanked by Janet, Maureen, Mari, and old lady Cameron. The women looked none too happy. Rory sighed. It would be awhile before he saw his bed. He glanced at Fergus and Iain. "Bloody hel , what have we come home to?"
"I doona' ken, but they look plenty fashed at you, lad,"
Fergus said, watching as the women drew near.
"Ladies, is there a problem?" They crossed their arms and glared at him. "Since I've just come home, I doona'ken what I coulda' done wrong."
"Why did you no' bring our lady home?"
Rory blanched, a tight pressure building in his chest.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mac. I didna' make it back in time."
"Och, and what does that have to do with it? Al this time her bein' at Armadale and no' with us. 'Tis no' right. Get yer horse and go and get her."
The emotion was so thick in his throat he could barely get the words out. "Mrs. Mac, she's no' at Armadale." He pul ed her aside and lowered his voice. "Did you no' see the fairy flag? I had to send her back. I was too late to save her. There was no other way."
Mrs. Mac ducked her head. "'Twas no' the fairy flag you raised." Chapter 27
Ali sat up in bed, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Not again," she groaned into her palm. The wave of nausea passed, and she flopped onto the down-fil ed pil ows. A long, drawn-out creak drew her attention, and she cracked one eye open to see her aunt peek around the door.
"Oh, poppet, yer il again this morn." Fiona swept into the room. Her royal blue silk skirts swished over the stone floor as she made her way to Ali's bedside, a look of concern in her kind eyes. "Mayhap we should have someone see to ye. I havena' said a word to yer father. I didna' want to worry him, ye ken, and ye always perk up by midday, but real y, my pet, this has gone on too long." The bed dipped when she sat to stroke the hair from Ali's clammy forehead.
"Aunt Fiona, I think you've forgotten I am a doctor. I'm quite capable of seeing to my own care, more competent than most of the heal . . . oh, good Lord." Maybe not so competent after al . Ali felt like giving herself a couple of knocks on the head, but didn't, afraid it wouldn't have the desired effect. Instead of knocking some sense into her, she'd probably throw up--again.
How stupid could she be? Pregnant. She was pregnant. It certainly explained why she'd been so tired of late. A symptom she'd ascribed to lack of sleep when she'd been too afraid to close her eyes in case the fairies stole her away. Missing her period and her overwrought emotions, she'd put down to stress--stress and missing Rory.
"What is it, Aileanna? Is it serious, poppet?" Her aunt's eyes fil ed and she twisted her hands in her lap. Ali drew Fiona into a reassuring hug. In the few short weeks she'd been at Armadale her aunt had loved and cared for her like a mother. "No, it's nothing. I mean, it's not nothing, it's just that, wel , I'm pregnant." Ali gri maced, not sure how her aunt would take the news. Lying back, Ali rested her hand on her stil flat stomach. She smiled, fil ed with an excited bubble of wonder and joy. She was having a baby--Rory's baby. A man she hadn't seen in weeks. A tiny bit of her happiness dissipated. He hadn't responded to her letters and the little niggling of doubt was getting harder to ignore. Fiona's mouth dropped. "A bairn . . . yer havin' a bairn?"
Ali chewed on her bottom lip. "Umhmm. Rory's baby."
"Laird MacLeod. Of course--good, that's good." Her aunt's brow furrowed and she tapped a finger on her lightlylined cheek. "Wel , there's no time to waste, then," she said after a moment of silence, flipping the covers off Ali. Ali arched a brow. "If you don't mind, Auntie, it might be best if I lie here for a little longer."
"Oh, of course, I didna' think. I'm sorry, poppet." She patted the coverlet into place and resumed her seat. "Now, 'tis most important we get in touch with Laird MacLeod."
Ali sighed. "I tried. As soon as I knew the fairies' magic wasn't going to work I sent him a letter--more than one actual y. He hasn't responded, and it's been a couple of weeks now." Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Ali plucked at the satin comforter. Fiona's brow furrowed. "I didna' ken ye sent a letter. Did yer father?"
Ali nodded. "I didn't know how to send it without his help." And Alasdair had fought her tooth and nail, until the tears. When Ali had begun to cry, he gave in. Her usual y mild-mannered aunt cursed under her breath. "That mon, sometimes I'd like to shake him. Aileanna, I doubt verra much yer father sent yer missive. He's no' relented aboot yer seein' the MacLeod, no matter what he's led ye to believe. 'Tis what the gatherin' this night is aboot. There are plenty of potential suitors on the guest list."
Ali groaned. "Aunt Fiona, you have to make him stop. The only man I want is Rory, and that's not going to change, especial y now." She patted her stomach to make her point.
"I've tried, but he's a stubborn old goat. 'Tis like talkin'to a wal --a big, thick one." Her aunt
gestured just how thick with her hands. "Mayhap 'twould be best if ye doona'mention the bairn."
"I didn't plan on tel ing either the father or the grandfather, at least not for a while."
"I understand ye no' tel in' yer father. He's liable to cal the lad out, but why would ye no' be tel in' Laird MacLeod?"
Ali rol ed her eyes. "Thanks for that comforting thought, Auntie. As for Rory, I refuse to let him marry me just because I'm having his baby. And as soon as he finds out, that's exactly what he'l expect. Not that there's much chance he'l find out anytime soon." She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. "He must know I'm here, Aunt Fiona. I'm worried he's having second thoughts about us, that he regrets using the clan's last wish, espe cial y since it didn't work." There was something else, something she herself had a difficult time thinking about. How would Rory feel when he found out he was in love with his late wife's sister? Her aunt smoothed Ali's hair over her shoulder. "That's nonsense, and ye ken it as wel as I do. From what ye've told me, the lad loves ye, and I ken ye love him. Which leaves me to wonder why ye'd no' want him to marry ye even if it was on account of the bairn."
Ali released a frustrated breath. "Auntie, I've told you before. I'l not have Rory MacLeod marry me out of a sense of duty. I want him to marry me because he loves me, because he doesn't want to live without me. And I won't have him bul y me into it, which is exactly what he'd do if he found out I was pregnant."
Fiona chuckled and patted her knee. "Wel , poppet, I'd say we have our work cut out fer us."
Ali blinked back tears at the sight of her father and aunt waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The look of love and the pride in their eyes made her heart swel . In the short time she'd been with them, she'd come to love them both dearly.
"There is no' a woman in Scotland who can hold a candle to ye, my pet." Her father beamed as she reached the bottom step. He looped Ali's arm through his, and kissed the top of her head. Ali reached up to kiss his grizzled cheek. "Thank you, and thank you for the gorgeous gown." She lifted the crimson velvet skirt. "I feel like a princess. You spoil me." He had. The wardrobe in Ali's room was overstuffed with gowns of every color in sumptuous fabrics--silks, satins, and velvets. "But this . . . this is too much." She touched the heavy, jewel-encrusted necklace with a large ruby at its center. Her aunt wiped a tear from her eyes. "Nonsense. Yer the image of yer mother, poppet. She would've been as proud of ye this night as we are."
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