Lord of the Isles

by Debbie Mazzuca

  Ali swiped the moisture from her cheek, and squeezedher aunt's hand. "Thank you," she murmured past the knot in her throat. Her father groaned. "Look at the two of ye, greetin'away when we've guests awaitin' us."

  Ali's eyes widened as he led her into the grand hal . The massive room overflowed with richly dressed men and women. Gilded torches graced the oak-paneled wal s. Thick forest-green velvet draperies hung at the windows. The tables groaned with food and a smal group of musicians stood by the massive stone fireplace. Someone had gone to a great deal of effort to make this evening special, and Ali imagined that's why she'd been unable to pin her father down for their much-needed chat. But she couldn't put it off any longer. She had to see Rory, and if he wouldn't come to her, she'd swal ow her pride and go to him.

  "Here she is," her father announced to a group of men congregated in the center of the room. "Come, my pet. I have some gentlemen who are verra anxious to meet ye."

  Good God, her aunt hadn't been exaggerating. Fiona leaned toward her. "See, what did I tel ye?"

  Before Ali could comment, her father whisked her away from her aunt to introduce her to the men. Although later that evening he did deign to introduce her to more than just the eligible bachelors, of which there seemed to be an in ordinate number.

  Ali sipped her water and smiled politely, but after another hour passed, her smile felt as though it was frozen in place. Each face blurred into the other. Their inane chatter faded to an annoying buzz that left her light-headed. Ali tugged on her father's sleeve. He lowered his ear to her, and she said, "I need to talk to you. It's important." Without further ado, Ali dragged her father unceremoniously to an unoccupied corner of the overheated room, as far from the blazing hearth as she could manage.

  "Aileanna, 'tis rude to leave our guests in such a manner. I ken ye may no' do things the same way in yer time, my pet, but--"

  "I'm sorry, but I've been trying to speak to you al day and I can't wait any longer." She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her gaze on him. "Did you send my letters to Rory? And I expect you to tel me the truth."

  "Nay." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, a defiant set to his chin. "And I wil na' do it, even if ye beg me. The lad is no' fer ye. There are some fine gentlemen over there, just waitin' fer the opportunity to court ye. If ye would give them half a chance, my pet, I'm certain--"

  Hands on her hips, she glared at him. "No, and if you won't send my letters, I'l go to Dunvegan on my own."

  "Ye'l no' set foot from Armadale, Aileanna MacDonald. Besides, the MacLeod is no' at Dunvegan. He's on the Isle of Lewis."

  "But it's been weeks. I thought the battle would be over by now." Ali's hand went to her throat. "He isn't hurt, is he? Please tel me he's al right."

  "Aye, the lad's wel , more's the pity. They've beaten the adventurers back. No need for them to remain, but they do. It appears the lad is in no hurry to return to Dunvegan, and I'm certain I ken why. Ye should've listened to me, Aileanna. He'l no' be able to live with himself fer riskin'his clan on account of ye."

  Her aunt, who must have been keeping an eye on them, chose that moment to appear at Ali's side. "Alasdair MacDonald, shame on ye fer sayin' such a thing to yer daughter. Come, poppet, ye look a mite overheated." She shushed Alasdair and led Ali from the room. Ali threw up her arms. "He's so stubborn, he's mad dening. He's--"

  Her aunt chuckled. "Doona' worry, we'l figure somethin'out. Mayhap ye should take a strol in the gardens, poppet. Yer father had the torches lit and I'm thinkin' a wee breath of air is just what ye need. Take yer mantle with ye, though. 'Tis a mite chil y out."

  Rory's hands tightened on Lucifer's reins. "I'l no' say it again, Reggie. I've come fer Lady Aileanna Graham," he roared at the MacDonald's man-at-arms, a warrior he'd faced often in battle.

  "And I told ye, MacLeod, there's no Lady Aileanna Graham here. And the laird doesna' want ye on his lands."

  In the shadows, Rory saw the slash of white as the idiot grinned.

  "Open the bloody gates. Lady Aileanna is my betrothed and no' you or the MacDonald wil keep me from her."

  "Is that so? Do ye hear that, lads? MacLeod here thinks Lady Aileanna is his betrothed." The man guffawed with his companions on the parapet.

  One of the other men laughed. "I doona' think the young bucks in there vyin' fer her hand would be too pleased to hear that, do ye, Reggie?"

  Reggie rested a foot on the stone ledge and leaned over, tugging on his fiery red beard. "Like I said, MacLeod, we have only one Lady Aileanna here, and she's a MacDonald. The gates are closed to ye so ye'd best head back to Dunve gan. Have a nice ride."

  Rory cursed roundly. He was getting nowhere with the fools, and if MacDonald thought he could keep him from Aileanna, he'd best think again.

  He brought Lucifer around and headed back the way he'd come. Raucous laughter fol owed him on a blustery wind. The stal ion snorted puffs of white frost. Rory patted Lucifer's thickly muscled neck. "Doona worry, boy, we're no' goin' far." Once they were out of the laughing men's line of sight, he changed direction, making a wide circle of Armadale to the woods at the back.

  Rory's gut boiled. Anger and frustration steamed from his pores. MacDonald had gone mad. It was the only reason Rory could come up with to explain the man claiming Aileanna as his daughter, and worse, trying to marry her off. Like hel he would. She was his. Rory brought Lu cifer alongside the back wal . Since MacDonald was at peace with most of the clans at the moment, including Rory's, he would have no men guarding the isolated area.

  "Hold, boy." He stood unsteadily on the saddle, his legs weak from his long trek. The muscles in his arms strained and burned as he clung to the top of the stone ledge. Finding purchase with his foot in a crack in the wal , he heaved himself over. The momentum sent him to the top, and he lowered himself to the ground. With a soft thud he landed in the frozen earth behind a tree. He dragged himself to his feet and pushed aside the branches. Aileanna. Rory sucked in a ragged breath, his chest so tight it hurt. Her head tipped back, moonlight kissed a pro file so perfect it looked as though it was carved in marble. Her pale hair gleamed in soft waves down her back. Awestruck by her beauty, he stumbled from the shadows of the tree.

  Aileanna slowly turned. Her lips parted. "Rory," she whispered. "Oh, Rory." Laughing and crying, she ran down the narrow path to throw herself in his arms. He clung to her as though his life depended on it, on her. She showered his face with soft kisses, and Rory choked back a sob. He speared his fingers through her hair and looked into her emotion-fil ed eyes before he crushed her lips with his. His kiss fierce and demanding, hot and wet, he devoured her, inhaled her sweet, familiar scent.

  Only when he felt her tremble did he reluctantly ease back, his breathing harsh, hers the same. "Yer cold."

  Her eyes searched his face as though memorizing every detail. He winced, realizing what he must look like, what he must smel like.

  "I'm sorry, mo chridhe. We'd just returned from Lewis and I rode straight to Armadale. I ken I doona' smel par ticularly fine at the moment."

  She grinned and wrinkled her nose. He laughed and kissed the turned-up tip before he ran his hands down her arms and held her out from him. "I'm goin' to ruin yer bonny gown." Aileanna slid her arms around his neck, clos ing the space between them to bury her face in his chest.

  "I don't care. My God, Rory, I thought I'd never see you again." Her lips brushed his chil ed skin, and then her shoulders shook, her tears dampening the front of his tunic.

  "Shh, love, doona' cry," he crooned, stroking her silken tresses. "I'm here now. I'l never leave you again."

  She tipped her chin and gazed up at him. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs and smiled down at her. "I thought I'd lost you forever, Aileanna. It wasn't until I came back from Lewis that I learned you were here, that the magick didna' work."

  Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. "I was so scared, Rory. I kept waiting for the magic to happen, waiting for it to take me away from you, from everyone."


  The look of anguish in her face tore at every fiber of his being. "You have to believe me, mo chridhe, I never would have raised the flag if I'd thought there was any other way. I couldn't let you die. I--"

  She shook her head and pressed two fingers to his mouth. "I know." Her lips curved in a gentle smile. "I know you felt you had no other choice. I understood what the decision cost you. How difficult it was for you to use the clan's last wish, and I loved you for that."

  He gave her a fierce kiss. "I couldna' do anythin' but. I love you, Aileanna, ye must ken that."

  She touched his cheek. "I do. I love you, too." A shadow darkened her luminous blue eyes. "But I don't understand why I'm stil here. Why the magic didn't work."

  He gave her a wry grin, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Mrs. Mac. She didna' want to risk you findin' the flag and leavin' us. She switched the silk. It was no' the real flag I raised that day."

  Aileanna sagged against him. "I wish I had known."

  He cradled her head against his chest. "You and me both, my love," he murmured. She threaded her fingers through his hair and brought his mouth back to hers. Her kiss was achingly sweet.

  "Get yer filthy paws off my daughter, MacLeod." MacDonald's angry words crackled in the stil ness of the night. Rory's head whipped up. Lost in Aileanna, he had no warning of the other man's presence, and he cursed his inattention.

  Aileanna groaned. She squeezed Rory's hand. "Let me handle this."

  He shook his head, looking past her to the older man who stood on the garden path. "Nay, this is between me and MacDonald." He gently placed her out of harm's way, ignoring her protests. In four angry strides, MacDonald closed the distance between them. "Yer no' welcome here. Get off my lands, MacLeod."

  "'Twil be my pleasure, but I wil na' leave without Aileanna."

  "Over my dead body. I'l no' give ye another of my daughters after what ye did to the last."

  Rory heard Aileanna gasp.

  "I did everything in my power to save Brianna and you bloody wel ken it. As fer Aileanna--"

  "Ye'l no' have her," the man bel owed. "Ye godforsaken MacLeods and yer bloody flag took her from me the first time. Ye'l no' be takin' her from me again." He thumped Rory in the chest with his fist. Anger hazed his vision and Rory thumped him back, going toe-to-toe with the raving lunatic before him. "She's mine, and no' you or anyone else wil keep her from me."

  "She's no' yers, she's mine, and I'l no' see her wed to ye. I've got men inside, good men, better than the likes of ye, beggin' fer her hand."

  Heat blasted through Rory. He fisted his hands, the temptation to hit the man overwhelming. "Ye canna' promise her to another. We're as good as wed. She's been in my bed."

  Aileanna's outraged gasp pierced his temper and he cursed, turning to apologize to her. Smack.

  The MacDonald's powerful fist glanced off Rory's cheek, hitting him square in the eye. Rory stumbled. His battlehoned reflexes took over and he planted his fist in the MacDonald's eye. With a bel ow of rage, the older man charged him, and the two of them landed in a prickly bush. Pummeling each other, they rol ed off the bush and onto the hard ground.

  "Stop it, stop it!" Aileanna's pained cry froze their fists in midair. Rory lowered his hand and rol ed onto his back, as did the MacDonald. The two of them stared wide-eyed at the glorious angel who looked down at them--a very angry angel. Her stormy blue eyes flashed, and Rory winced at the string of curse words coming out of her innocent-looking mouth.

  "Aileanna!" came the MacDonald's shocked response.

  "Doona'Aileanna me. Bloodthirsty highlanders, the two of ye. Doona' think either of ye have a say over me. I'l decide who and when I wed. And ye can wipe that sil y grin off yer face, MacLeod. I didna' say I was marryin' ye."

  When the MacDonald chortled gleeful y, she shook her finger at him. "And ye, paradin' yer merry band of suitors before me. I'l no' wed any of them, and I can tel ye they'l no' want to wed me, a woman who carries the MacLeod's bairn."

  She cursed. Pivoting on her heel, she stormed from the gardens, leaving them lying in stunned silence on the frozen ground. Chapter 28

  The sure-footed old goat managed to get to his feet before Rory did. But Rory imagined it had less to do with agility, and more to do with the fact that he stil reeled from the emotions Aileanna's sharp tongue elicited. Despite her anger, the memory of her thick brogue brought a smile to his face. The knowledge he was to be a father warmed his heart with a depth of emotion he'd thought only Aileanna could cause him to feel. But her stub born unwil ingness to wed him was a punch to his gut more debilitating than the one the MacDonald had delivered. Once Rory managed to get to his feet, he rushed to catch up to the old man. They reached the door to the keep at the same time, jostling each other for entry. Their shoulders squeezed together as they tried to get through the door. Rory grunted, took a step back and shoved the old goat inside. Fol owing him through the dimly lit corridor, he matched the MacDonald stride for stride when he saw Aileanna speaking to an older woman at the foot of the stairs. Bathed in the warm glow of torchlight, she took his breath away. She no longer wore her mantle and Rory drew his gaze from where the large ruby glinted between the generous hol ow of her creamy white breasts. If he hadn't, the evidence of how much he wanted her would be visible to anyone who cared to look.

  "Aileanna, we need to talk." Rory barely managed to keep his frustration in check.

  "Aileanna, ye and I have much to discuss," the MacDonald said pointedly, giving Rory a little shove. She regarded them with a haughty stare. "I'm not in the mood." She tossed her hair and headed up the stairs. The delectable sway of her backside left Rory fighting the urge to throw her over his shoulder and make off with her into the night.

  over his shoulder and make off with her into the night.

  "Poppet, 'tis best fer al if this matter is settled."

  Rory heard her sigh, then she turned to meet the older woman's beseeching gaze. "Al right, Auntie, we'l meet in the salon."

  Auntie? Rory narrowed his gaze on Aileanna. What the bloody hel was she playin' at? "Nay, we have guests, Fiona. 'Twould be best if we left this until the morrow, and I'l no' have this mon anywhere near my daughter."

  Rory thrust his fingers through his hair. "Are you daft, mon? She's as much yer daughter as I am yer son."

  Aileanna held up her hand. "Father, not another word out of you until we have some privacy." She tipped her head toward the entrance of the grand hal where a smal crowd gathered.

  "Aileanna, you doona' understand. He'l make our lives a livin' hel if you continue to let him believe yer his daughter. Doona' pander to the mon, love."

  Alasdair gave a snort of self-satisfied laughter and clapped Rory a staggering blow to his shoulder. "Welcome to hel , my boy."

  The older woman intervened before Rory could respond. "Alasdair, see to yer guests while--" She stopped midsentence, her lips pursed. "After ye've put yerself to rights, that is. Laird MacLeod, I'l see ye to yer rooms and mayhap a bath would be in order." She wrinkled her nose, a twinkle in her eyes.

  They were mad, the lot of them. Including the bonny mother of his child, whose soft giggle hadn't escaped his notice. Remembering his manners, Rory brought the woman's hand to his lips. "'Tis a pleasure to meet ye, Lady Fiona."

  Ali looked up from where she sat, legs curled beneath her on the overstuffed armchair. Her father and Rory, with a matching purple hue surrounding their left eyes, entered the salon together. If the expression on their faces was any thing to go by, it was not by choice.

  When her eyes met Rory's, her breath caught in her throat. His damp hair, pushed back from the chiseled lines of his gorgeous face, brushed the snowy white linen that encased his broad shoulders. The tan suede pants he wore heightened the al ure of his narrow waist and long, muscular legs.

  As though he sensed the direction of her thoughts, his beautiful mouth curved in a sensual smile. That and the promise in his eyes caused Ali's stomach to do a slow rol . A commotion behind the men drew he
r attention. Fiona, fol owed by two young serving girls carrying platters, entered the room.

  "I thought mayhap ye could use some sustenance, Laird MacLeod." Fiona smiled at Rory, motioning for the plat ters to be placed on the table behind her. Ali groaned when the smel of roasted meat wafted past her nostrils. Rory strode to her side, a look of concern in his emerald eyes. "Are you al right, mo chridhe?" His long, warm fingers tipped her chin. She nodded, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult for her to speak. Rory stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

  "Good." He crouched beside her, bringing her hand to his lips. "I'm sorry if my words in the garden hurt you, love.

  'Twas no' my intention."

  Her father's loud grumbling was becoming difficult to ignore. When Fiona elbowed him, he glared at her. "What was that fer? Ye canna' expect me to stand quietly by while he . . . he tries to seduce my daughter."

  Rory shot to his feet, rounding on her father. "Ye canna'possibly believe that Aileanna is yer daughter."

  Ali's nails dug into her palms, afraid of Rory's reaction when he found out she was a MacDonald, Brianna's sister.

  "Laird MacLeod, please sit." Her aunt nudged him into a chair opposite Ali. "Alasdair, you, too." She pointed to a chair a good distance from Rory. "I think 'twould be best if he hears it from ye, poppet."

  "Aileanna, what's goin' on here?" Rory's voice was harsh, edged with steel. Ali swal owed hard. "He's my father, Rory. No." She held up a hand to stop his angry protest, then proceeded to tel him al she had learned since the day he had raised what he thought was the fairy flag. Rory shook his head slowly. His mouth opened and closed.