Debbie Mazzuca Bundle, page 26
Alasdair grinned. “Yer more like my wife than I first suspected. I made matters worse, didna’ I?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Tell me this—when ye feel certain of the lad’s commitment to ye, and he comes around to askin’ in the manner ye hoped, will 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’ll ever want.”
“All right then, here’s what we’ll do. I’m goin’ to gift Trotternish to ye, and ye can do with it what ye will. 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’ tell the lad.”
“No, I won’t tell 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 fright-enin’ combination in a woman. I almost feel sorry fer the lad.” He chuckled, taking her by the arm. “Shall 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 hall.
Alasdair carefully 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 will permit me, I have an announcement to make.” Rory gave a brief nod and waved him on. “As ye all 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 tell ye, there will be no feud.” Cheers broke out through the hall. 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 fell 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 hall. 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 Callum 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 walls, and several men took up their fiddles. Rory lost sight of Aileanna in the chaotic swirl of activity. His gaze scanned the hall 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 swelled. 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 still, a part of him rebelled 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 without 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 still 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’ll excuse me, I’ll 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. “’Twill 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 spilled from his mug onto his lap. “Bloody hell, 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 hall. “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 village on the south side of the island.”
As Rory listened to Aidan question his men, he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. “Rory, what’s happened?”
He drew Aileanna aside. “Lewis has been attacked. The adventurers burnt down a village.”
“Oh, no,” she cried, and Rory saw the moment the realization of exactly what that meant hit her. Color drained from her face. “You’re going, aren’t you? No, don’t say anything.” She tugged her arm from his grasp. “There’s nothing you can say to make me understand.” Turning away from him, she lifted her skirts and fled from the hall as fast as her injured foot could carry her.
“Give her time, Rory. She’ll come to understand.”
“Do you think so, brother? Because I doona’,” he said wearily as he watched her leave.
“She’s frightened is all. Afraid somethin’ will happen to you.”
“I ken that, but right now I doona’ have time to alleviate her fears. We head out on the morrow with Aidan. Fergus, ready the men.” Once his cousin’s men left, Rory approached him.
Aidan scrubbed his hand over his shadowed jaw. “I saw yer lady. She didna’ seem verra happy.”
“Nay, but ’tis the way of it, somethin’ she will have to get used to.”
“I’m sorry ye’ll no’ be spendin’ much time with her. I wish I didna’ need yer help in this, Rory, but I do.”
He waved his cousin’s concerns aside. “’Tis a good thin’ we settled with the MacDonald, is all. How’s Lan?”
“I didna’ think it would happen this soon or I wouldna’ have left my brother on his own. He’s too young for the responsibility.”
“He’s got Dougal and Torquil with him, doesna’ he?”
“Aye, he does, and fer all that he’s young, he’s canny and strong as well.”
Rory threw an arm over Aidan’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine. We’ll be by his side before long. Doona’ fash yerself.”
By the time Rory had assured himself all was at the ready the hour had grown late. He paused before entering Aileanna’s darkened chambers. The fire had died down, and a lone candle flickered by her bed.
“I know it’s you,” she said, her voice husky.
He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from her face, kissing her tear-swollen eyes.
“Why do you have to go?” she asked.
“Aileanna, do you think if it wasna’ necessary for me to be there that I would be goin’?”
“Yes. I’ve seen you, Rory MacLeod, playing with your men. You love the fight, the thrill of the battle.”
At one time she would’ve been right, but no longer. He would give anything to stay at Dunvegan with her, but he couldn’t abandon his cousin. “Would you have me leave Aidan and Lachlan to battle the adventurers on their own? They doona’ have the men, and the ones they do have are no’ trained as well as mine.”
“It’s not fair, Rory. I thought…I thought with the truce signed there wouldn’t be this threat hanging over us. The ink is barely dry, yet you’re off to fight another battle.”
“We doona’ face an enemy like the MacDonald, mo chridhe. ’Twill no’ be the bloodbath that would’ve been.”
“But you’re still going to fight, and let me guess—no one even tried to negotiate with these men.”
“’Twas sanctioned by King James. There will be no talks. The MacLeods of Lewis have held the island for centuries, yet the king means to depose them. Do you see the fairness in that, Aileanna? Would you no’ fight if you were in their place?”
“Can’t they go to the king?”
“They did, and it did them no good. There’s no other way but to fight for what is theirs. I’m obligated to assist, and I will.”
“There has to be—”
“Nay, stop. I willna’ battle you as well.” His words were terse, angry at her stubborn refusal to understand. “Will you no’ let it go?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t. If you would just try, I’m—”
He held up his hand. “Nay, you refuse to see reason. You doona’ trust that I ken what is necessary and what is no’, and I willna’ spend my last night with you battlin’ over this. Good night, Aileanna. I leave at dawn. I will see you on my return.” He scanned her face for some sign she’d relent. Finding none, he took his leave, even though he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms.
Ali’s eyes widened at the sound of the closing door, stunned Rory had walked away without a backward glance. He was furious with her, but she didn’t think he would leave without one last kiss. What if he didn’t come back to her? As soon as the thought entered her head she shoved it aside.
A night that had been filled with joy and hope had turned into a nightmare. With her presentation of Trotternish to Rory she felt she’d made some progress with the clan. At least they no longer looked at her with suspicion—well, most of them didn’t. She might not have gained total acceptance, but it was a start.
Was Rory right to insinuate she was too stubborn to understand, unwilling to see how things really were? Why didn’t he try to see it from her viewpoint? She was a doctor. How was she supposed to come to terms with the taking of human life for the sake of pride, for the thrill of the fight?
Ali squeezed her eyes shut. What was wrong with her? Knowing Rory as she did, how could she for even one minute think that’s why he fought? He was one of the most honorable, caring men she’d ever met. And even though she’d only been at Dunvegan for a short time, if the MacLeods were threatened, she would leap to their defense. Ali thought of the burnt-out village, the look of anguish on Aidan’s face when his men reported the incident to him. Incident, she scoffed inwardly. It was murder.
Swallowing her pride, she slipped from the warm cocoon of her bed and left in search of Rory. The torches cast an eerie glow along the corridor. Ali wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the damp chill and a heavy sense of foreboding. The keep was quiet, and she hesitated outside of Alasdair’s door, tiptoeing past as best she could with her injured ankle. Rory was right. She should never have suggested they put Alasdair in the room next to his.
The door to Rory’s chambers creaked when she turned the handle. Closing her eyes, she waited for Alasdair to fly into the hall. But there was no sound coming from his room. She slipped inside Rory’s chambers, quietly shutting the door behind her.
Shadows cast by the fire danced on the wall, and on the man in the bed. Rory lay with an arm behind his head. He watched her hesitant approach with a wary eye.
“Do you need somethin’, Aileanna?” His tone was abrupt. The expression on his beautiful face was hard and unyielding.
“You,” she answered honestly.
A slow smile curved his full lips. He held the covers back for her to climb in beside him, revealing his powerful, naked body.
Ali laid her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, his chest hairs tickling her lips.
“What was that? I couldna’ hear you, mo chridhe.”
There was a hint of laughter in his deep voice and she scooted up, bringing her face level with his. “I know you heard me, but I’m not too proud to say it again. I’m sorry.” She brushed her lips over his. “You were right. I didn’t try to see it from your perspective. I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve never had anything worth fighting for. And I’m scared, Rory. I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or anyone else for that matter.” She rested her head against his shoulder and ran her fingers over the hard, muscular planes of his chest.
“I ken that, Aileanna.” He kissed the top of her head, wrapping her in the warmth of his arms. “’Tis no’ a question of a desire to do battle, but an obligation to one’s clan and at times to one’s country.”
“Rory?” Ali didn’t want to talk anymore. She needed to forget what he would face on Lewis and lose her worries and fears in him. Tracing ever-widening circles on his chest, she trailed her fingers lower to give him a hint of just what it was she wanted.
“Hmm.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.
“Do you…well, don’t you want to make love to me before you leave?”
“I thought we’d just hold each other, lass, like this.” His muscles rippled as he held her firmly in his embrace.
She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze on him, but before she could respond he had her on her back, his warm breath caressing her ear. “I want to love you, mo chridhe, but I’m no’ certain you can be quiet. Yer a verra noisy woman. And thanks to you, we have a meddlin’ old goat as a neighbor, and he’d be none too pleased that I have you in my bed.”
She lightly slapped his chest. “I am not that noisy.”
“Aye, you are.” His hand skimmed over her leg until his fingers lingered at her throbbing core. “When I touch you here.” He lowered his head and took her pebbled nipple deep into his hot, wet mouth, suckling her through the fabric of her shift. “Or here,” he said as he thrust two fingers deep inside her. He smothered her gasp of pleasure with his mouth. Lifting his lips from hers, he said, “I’m glad you came to me, mo chridhe. If I could, I wouldna’ spend even one night away from you.”
She pressed her palm to his roughened jaw and held his emerald green gaze with hers. “I wish you didn’t have to, but I do understand, Rory. I love you.”
He covered her hand with his. “I love you, too, mo chridhe. And the moment I come back from Lewis I intend on makin’ you my wife. Even if I have to drag you kickin’ and screamin’ to the altar.”
“You can’t—” Her protest ended on a moan as he swept her away on a tide of passion and desire.
“You canna’ be mopin’ already, my lady. He’s no’ been gone but a few hours.” Mrs. Mac gave a shake of her head as Ali knelt at the edge of the fragrant garden, carefully pulling at the herbs and dropping them into her basket.
“I’m not,” she said, but she was. Rory had promised to love her long and hard, and made good on his promise ten times over. The fullness between her legs, the dull ache that matched the one in her heart, were lasting reminders of what had passed between them. She had slept the sleep of the dead, missing the chance to tell him good-bye, and she was sure he’d done it on purpose.
“I wish someone would have woken me before Rory and Alasdair left,” she groused, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.
“Och, well, the laird didna’ want you to be disturbed. As for Laird MacDonald, we did try to wake you, but it did us no good. He said he’d be checkin’ in on you in a day or so, on the trek back to Armadale.”
“Good, I—” She turned her head at the sound of someone yelling off in the distance. As the shouts grew louder, she heard the panic in their voices and dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. Ali came quickly to her feet and hurried after Mrs. Mac to the far side of the keep. Cook, the girls from the kitchen, and several of the men Rory had left behind, raced in the direction of the loch.
“What’s goin’ on?” Mrs. Mac yelled to them.
“’Tis wee Jamie. He’s fallin’ into the loch.”
“Always into mischief that one is,” Mrs. Mac grumbled as they quickened their pace.
A woman’s anguished cry rent the air and an icy chill slithered down Ali’s spine. Standing on the rocky ledge above the loch she saw Janet Cameron being held back by two men while old lady Cameron and members of the clan formed a protective ring around the hysterical woman. A dark-haired man Ali didn’t recognize waded to shore with the lifeless body of the little boy in his arms. She scrambled down the bank and shouldered her way through the throng of people, young and old alike.
A gnarled hand grabbed her by the arm. “There’s nothin’ ye can do, my lady. He’s gone.” A heavy sadness quaked in the old man’s voice.
Janet Cameron collapsed, screaming, tearing at her glossy black curls.
Pushing aside her personal feelings, Ali shook off the man’s hand. She had to reach Jamie. Once she did, she quickly placed her lips to the little boy’s blue-tinged mouth and puffed in a rescue breath. Ignoring the gasps of horror at her back, Ali wrenched the unconscious child from the man and lowered him to the ground.
