Debbie Mazzuca Bundle, page 22
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 tell her what he meant to do, and still, her struggles were halfhearted. Her anger melted along with the rest of her as his fingers caressed the inside of her thigh, grazing her where she was swollen 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’ll 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 swollen nub. Under his passion-filled gaze she shattered, and he swallowed her moans of pleasure.
“Aye, I think you’ll 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 called me that one before.” He ducked when she flung a pillow at him.
Callum 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 Callum 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. Callum and Connor wouldn’t let him near her, but the man didn’t need to physically touch her to hurt her. His words did enough damage on their own.
“Stand aside and let us pass,” Callum growled.
Cyril rolled his eyes and flicked a handkerchief at his two men. They moved off the path. The cold, condescending look he gave Ali was full of malice, his upper lip curled in a sneer. His companions leered at her, and she quickly averted her gaze. One was almost as tall as Callum, but without the muscles. He looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks; his shaggy, light brown hair fell well past his shoulders, and his teeth when he smiled at her were rotten. His sidekick’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 smell would cause her to lose her breakfast.
“Lady Aileanna,” Cyril MacLean’s high-pitched voice called 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 Callum’s heavy footfalls 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 all.”
“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 suggest ye do as I say.”
Cyril blanched. Motioning for the two men to follow him, he headed in the direction of Dunvegan with a mincing step.
Callum snorted. “The mon is a bloody peacock.”
“Who were the other two men with him, Callum?” Ali asked, uncomfortable with how they made her feel.
Callum 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 smell 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’, Callum 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 Callum.
A loud crack rent the air and Connor dove for Ali, pulling her to the ground. She held up her injured foot, her bottom taking the brunt of her fall.
“Halt,” Callum called 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, allowing Connor to help her to her feet.
“Sorry, my lady. I didna’ hurt ye, did I?” Connor asked, his ears pink.
“No, not at all.” 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’ll remain with us until I can take ye to yer mam,” Callum bellowed 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’ll be offerin’ to do it fer her.”
Jamie’s eyes widened.
“Callum, I’ll be awhile. Why don’t you take him to Janet?” she suggested quietly, feeling sorry for the little boy. “Connor and I will be fine. You sent Cyril back to Dunvegan, and I think he’s too afraid Rory will 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, Callum. I’m sure Janet would appreciate it.”
“I doona’ ken, my lady. The laird will be none too happy if I leave ye on yer own.”
“I’m not on my own. I have Connor. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with Lord MacLeod.”
When Callum hesitated, she said, “The biggest threat to my safety is Cyril, and since you sent him back to Dunvegan it might be best if that’s where you were so you can keep an eye on him.”
Callum looked at Connor, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Go,” Ali said, giving him a light push in Jamie’s direction.
“Aye, I’ll go, but have a care.”
Ali smiled. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”
“Thank ye, my lady,” Jamie called out to her, waving happily as he hurried after Callum.
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’ll 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 called 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 pull 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 walking stick from her hand and flung it against a tree. One half of it rolled 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’ll make this wee piece behave.”
The man guarding Connor licked his thick lips. “Give ’er to me. I’ll make ’er behave.”
“Nay, Mungo. Himself says the MacDonald will pay fer her return, and I’ll no’ risk his anger by returnin’ her to him sullied by the likes of ye.”
Ali swallowed 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 all 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 small of her back and shoved her, face first, into the ground, tying her ankles together. He stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth and hauled her to her feet. “Put him on yer horse and I’ll take her.”
“Nay, I’ll 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 will 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 kill 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 all 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 unsuccessfully 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 pulled 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’t have 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 small edge of the cloth dangled 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 fell to the ground and she sucked in deep gulps of air.
Tilting her head back, she filled 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. All 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 called to the man who followed behind them. “The horses need to be watered and rested. We’ll stop at that copse of trees over yonder. I ken there’s a loch nearby and we’ll be well 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, pulling Connor down after him, letting him drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Finally 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? All 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 will 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 swallowed carefully. “I…I thought you were going to kill 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 yelled 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? ’Twill all be for naught if ye kill her.”
Mungo turned on Gordie, pointing the blade at her. “Fer now she lives, but ye’ll no’ tell me what I should or shouldna’ do. If I want ’er. I’ll 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. ’Twill no’ be long before night falls.” The big man watched his friend reluctantly follow 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 expelled a shaky breath. Connor would be okay. If they could survive Mungo and his threats, they would be all 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’ll no’ threaten ye again.”
