Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (10 page)

She gave him a questioning look, then slowly pulled herself up from the bed, turning away from him, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. “Please, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

She sat on the edge of the mattress, stiffening when he laid a hand upon her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Aileanna, it’s just—”

She released a heavy sigh. “It’s because this is your wife’s room, isn’t it?”

Rory groaned. Stomach churning, he rose from the bed. Bloody hell, he’d nearly taken another woman in his wife’s chambers. He couldn’t think straight around Aileanna. With an effort conceived of desperation, he hardened his resolve and his heart, doing his best to ignore the compassion he saw in her tear-swollen eyes. Eyes he could easily lose himself in.

Knowing the danger she posed, he forced himself to say, “I ken you wish to return to yer kin but have no memory of them, so I took the liberty of makin’ an inquiry on yer behalf to Angus Graham. If anyone will have the answers, ’twill be him. I expect word shortly.”

Aileanna looked startled. “Why…why did you do that?” She smoothed her hand over her gown, avoiding his gaze.

Rory frowned. Unsure why, her response gave him pause. “Is there somethin’ yer no’ tellin’ me, Aileanna?”

She shook her head, eyes averted. “No.”

With his fingers beneath her chin he forced her gaze to his. “Aileanna, I’m warnin’ you—doona’ keep anythin’ from me.”

He’d made her angry. The stubborn jut of her chin gave her away, as did the temper that brought out the midnight blue of her eyes. He’d seen it before—both passion and anger turned them that same shade of violet blue. If it wasn’t a matter of importance, he would’ve laughed.

She stood up to him, closing what little distance there was between them. “Don’t you threaten me, Rory MacLeod, just because you feel guilty for wanting me, because for a few minutes you forgot your precious Brianna.” Tears and fury glittered in her eyes. “It was only lust. It happens. But don’t worry, it’ll never happen again. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my room. As Mrs. Mac said, it isn’t proper.” She turned away from him, wrapping her arms around her waist.

He’d made a mess of it, but she was right.

It was only lust.

Ali sat huddled with Fergus and Iain at a table in the hall, picking at the big bowl of porridge in front of her. She grimaced as she tried to swallow the mouthful without a swig of ale. It was difficult to get past her modern-day sensibilities, and ale at eight in the morning was one of them, even if it was watered down.

“Is somethin’ wrong with yer parritch?” Iain asked.

She held up her spoon. The oats stuck like glue no matter how hard she tried to shake them off. “You can’t convince me Cook isn’t doing his best to kill me.”

Both men guffawed. Ali smiled, a little surprised that she could. After last night, she didn’t think she’d ever smile again. Learning Mari had been handed over to the priest because of her had devastated Ali. And her response to Rory’s heated kisses only made matters worse. She’d almost convinced herself he wanted her as much as she wanted him. But men only cared about one thing. She thought she could do the same, but her heart always managed to get in the way. With her dating history, she was surprised she’d been so gullible.
Most of them weren’t worth wasting that precious emotion on, but this one…
Leave it to the little voice in her head to reappear now.

Fergus studied her from beneath his bushy brows. “Is somethin’ amiss, lass?”

More than I can tell you
. She took a furtive look around the room. None of those gathered at the other tables appeared to pay them any attention, but she lowered her voice just the same. “Did either of you know that Rory wrote to someone named Angus Graham to ask about me?”

“Oh, sweet Jesu’, I’d forgotten all aboot Angus.” Iain rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “What are we to do now, Fergus?”

The big man shrugged. “Waylay any messengers that come to Dunvegan.”

Iain tapped his spoon on the side of the wooden bowl. “Yer better at sneakin’ aboot than me, so I’ll leave it to you.”

Fergus nodded, then gave Ali a long, considering look. “Mrs. Mac says yer verra upset aboot the wee lass. Holdin’ yerself to blame.”

Ali blinked away the sting from behind her eyes. She
was
to blame, no matter what any of them said, and they couldn’t convince her otherwise. She shoved a spoonful of porridge into her mouth to avoid arguing with him.

Fergus wagged his wooden spoon at her from across the table. “I’ll hear no more of that nonsense. You’ve done more good than harm, lass, and you remember that.”

Iain shot her a look of concern. “I ken ’twas a terrible day fer you, Ali. They’ll no’ all be like that.”

She tried to swallow past the thick lump in her throat, but it was no use. Grabbing her mug, she gulped down a mouthful of ale. “That’s comforting,” she choked out.

She studied the two men who sat across from her while they ate. Ali wished she could think of another way to find out where the fairy flag was hidden, but knew there was none. Using her wiles on Fergus would be next to useless, but Iain was another matter. A handsome man, charming to the extreme, he’d made it clear that given the slightest bit of encouragement he would jump at it—or her.

“Iain, would you walk with me to the Chisholms’ this morning? I promised to check in on Maureen and the baby, and after…” She let her voice trail off and hoped the events of yesterday would make her little act as a distressed female believable. Trying her best to come across as helpless, she didn’t realize Rory had joined them until she heard the scrape of his chair as he dragged it back from the table.

“I thought you meant to miss breakin’ yer fast. Is yer wound actin’ up?”

“Nay, I didna’ have a chance to speak with Callum and rectified the matter this morn.” Rory directed his answer to Fergus, but his gaze lingered on Ali. “Good morn, Aileanna,” he said quietly.

She gave him a cool nod, but kept her gaze trained on Iain, who looked from her to his brother before answering. “Aye, Ali, ’twill be my pleasure.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it, Iain.”

Rory eyed her over the rim of his mug. “And what does my brother have the pleasure of helpin’ you with, Aileanna?” Although asked pleasantly enough, there was no mistaking the edge of steel beneath his question.

“He’s agreed to accompany me to the Chisholms’.” She poked at the oats with her spoon.

Iain, as though he felt it necessary to explain, added, “After yesterday Ali is understandably nervous to be on her own.”

Rory quirked a brow in her direction. “Is that so?” He kept his gaze trained on her while he took a mouthful of porridge.

Ali cursed Iain’s unerring need to explain his actions to his brother. She hoped he hadn’t triggered Rory’s suspicions. He was one man she wouldn’t be able to fool. And the one man that for the life of her she couldn’t keep her eyes off of. Fascinated despite herself, she watched the movement of the powerful muscles in his throat as he drank his ale. With a concerted effort, she dragged her gaze away, wishing, not for the first time, he’d been cursed with some deformity. He was too damn gorgeous for his own good—and hers. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll meet you in the courtyard in a few minutes, Iain. Fergus, Lord MacLeod.” She nodded in their direction.

“Aileanna—” Rory paused, waiting for her to acknowledge that he’d spoken to her.

She sighed and turned to face him. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the back of her chair.

The corner of his mouth twitched and amusement glinted in his eyes as he looked at her. “You’ll be ridin’ to the Chisholms’.”

Ride? Her brow furrowed. Good God, he wanted her to ride a horse. “Thank you, but I’d prefer to walk.”

“Nay. You’ll ride.”

What the hell was she supposed to say? Was there a woman in this godforsaken time that wouldn’t be perfectly at ease in the saddle? “I…I can’t ride. I’m allergic.”

“Allergic? I’ve never heard of the word.” He narrowed his gaze on her.

Damn, she’d done it now. She glared at Fergus and Iain. It was their fault she was in this predicament. But did they come to her rescue? No, of course not. “Horses make me sneeze.”

“’Tis all in yer head,” he scoffed. “A horse canna’ make you sneeze. And you will ride, Aileanna, or you will no’ go to the Chisholms’. Yer feet are no’ yet healed.”

She leaned across her chair to glare at him. “You can’t tell me what to do, Rory MacLeod, and don’t you forget it.”

He sat back, arms folded across his broad chest, his eyes locked onto hers. “Yer wrong, Aileanna. I can, and I will. Now, if yer scared of ridin’ a horse, that I would understand.”

“Of course I’m not scared.” She waved her hand offhandedly.

“Good. I’ll meet you at the stables after I’ve eaten.”

“No…no, I’m not going with you. I’m going with Iain.” She silently pleaded with Iain to intervene. His answer—a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

“If you plan on goin’ to the Chisholms’ you’ll meet me at the stables.” That said, Rory went back to eating.

Her fingers itched to dump the mug of ale on his arrogant head.

Head bent, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I wouldna’ try it, Aileanna. You wouldna’ like the consequences.”

“Achoo, achoo.”
Aileanna sneezed again and again. She stood just inside the stable door, as far from the horses as she could get. Sunlight played in her unbound hair, turning it to burnished gold. None too gently, she rubbed her eyes and nose. “I told you I have allergies. Do you believe me now?” She sniffed dramatically.

Rory pushed away from the rough-hewn boards of the stable wall where he’d watched her put on her wee show. “Nay.” He brought his face within inches of hers and tapped his finger on the tip of her reddened nose. “I doona’ believe you, Aileanna, but you’d do well on the stage, lass.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Look at my nose, my eyes.” She pointed at each of the parts she referred to.

“Aye, and if I rubbed at mine as much as you, they’d be the same.”

“You’re insufferable.” She tossed her hair and turned to walk away.

“Oh, no, you doona’ get away that easily.” He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her toward him. “What, no sneezes?
Achoo.
” He mimicked her dainty sneeze, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

Her mouth dropped. She punched him in the arm, making him laugh harder than he had in a long time. “You’ll have to do better than that if—” He took hold of the hands she’d balled into fists before she could follow through with her threat. “Now, why canna’ you just admit yer afraid?”

Aileanna struggled to free herself. She tugged her hands from his at the same time he let go. She stumbled and fell with a resounding thud onto the hard-packed, hay-strewn ground. He reached down to help her and she slapped his hand away, glaring up at him.

“I didna’ do it on purpose, Aileanna,” he said, biting back a smile.

Her eyes flashed deep violet. “Hah, as if I believe that!” She sat there and shook out the dirt from her dark blue gown.

He crouched at her side. “Let me help you.”

“No, I think you’ve helped enough.” She squinted up at him. “And don’t you dare laugh at me.”

He grinned. “Come now, you must admit yer wee performance was funny.”

She dipped her head, lips curved in a slight smile. He helped her to her feet and brushed off the back of her gown. His movements were light and brisk so as not to touch the rounded curves of her delectable behind.

“Thank you,” she murmured and took a step away from him.

“Will you tell me now why you willna’ admit yer fears, Aileanna?”

She shrugged. “Why should I? I think you’ve been entertained enough for one day.” Her attention was drawn to Lucifer, his black stallion—a beast of a horse that even now pawed the ground in his stall.

“No one is without fears, Aileanna. I wouldna’ laugh at yers.”

She tipped her head to look at him, her eyes taking his measure. “I doubt you have ever been afraid of anything, Rory MacLeod.”

She was wrong. He was afraid of her and what she made him feel. She awakened emotions he thought he’d buried with Brianna. He cleared his throat. “Come.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Doona’ worry, I’ll choose a docile mount for you.”

She moved across the hay-strewn floor with a discernible limp. Her gaze widened as she scanned the horses, a look of relief when they lit on the last stall. “I’ll take that one.” She pointed to the white filly.

Rory choked on his laughter. “Nay, Aileanna, she’s no’ fully grown.”

Hands on her hips, she rounded on him. “Are you saying I’m too big for her?”

“Nay, only that she’s too small for you. Why doona’ you wait outside and I’ll bring yer mount to you.” Having decided on the horse for her, he thought it best if they met outside the close confines of the stables. Aileanna left without an argument while Rory retrieved her mount.

“Come, girl, ’tis time to meet yer lady.” The honey-colored mare shot him a baleful look and went back to her oats. Anyone else would be offended if he suggested old Bessie be their mount. Most could walk faster than the mare, but it was all Aileanna required for now and, Rory surmised, all she could handle.

Rory saddled the horse and brought her out to where Aileanna waited.

“What’s her name?” Aileanna asked, keeping herself well away from the horse.

“Bessie. Aileanna, she willna’ bite. Come closer.”

She gave him a disgruntled look before she took a cautious step forward. “Nice horsie.” Aileanna held out her hand in the direction of the horse’s muzzle. Bessie gave a disdainful snort and Aileanna jumped away.

Rory sighed. “We doona’ have all day, lass.”

“This was your idea.” She sucked in what sounded like a panicked breath when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her onto the saddle. “You could’ve warned me,” she snapped, her nails biting into his shoulders.

He eased himself away from her hold. “Now take your left leg and put it around the pommel.” She swung her leg over the horse, and now sat astride, giving him and anyone else who happened to wander by a tantalizing view of a bare and shapely leg.
Bloody hell.
“Aileanna, ’tis no’ how a lady sits a horse.” He patted the horn. “Now bring your leg back over this.”

“No, I’ll fall off. I like it better this way.”

“’Tis no’ proper you showin’—” He ran his hand through his hair, then gestured at her leg.

Aileanna huffed out a breath. “It doesn’t matter. No one else will see.”

She might think it fine for him to see her naked flesh. After all, he’d seen his fair share of her satiny smooth skin of late. But it did not aid in his intention to keep his hands or his thoughts off of her. Nor for that matter had his brilliant suggestion that she meet
him
at the stables. He had yet to figure out why he’d made the offer in the first place.

“I willna’ let you fall. Now, do as I say.” His hand at her waist, he tried to ignore the heat of her skin beneath his fingers. He watched as she complied with his order, all the while muttering under her breath.

When Rory lightly slapped her hindquarters, Bessie began to saunter across the courtyard while Rory walked alongside. Aileanna sat frozen in the saddle.

He gave her knee a squeeze of reassurance. “Now, that was no’ so bad, was it?” he asked as they made their way out of the courtyard and onto the tree-lined path.

The reins clutched in her white-knuckled grip, she muttered, “I’ll tell you once she gets going.”

“This is aboot as fast as it gets with Bessie.”

“Oh.” Her lips curved into a wide smile that took Rory’s breath away.

Bessie stopped short and lowered her head. “Wha…what is she doing now?”

Rory laughed. “Eatin’.”

Aileanna wrinkled her nose. “I think I could’ve walked faster to the Chisholms’.”

“Aye.” He grinned. “But then you’d hurt yer feet.”

He saw the tension ease from her shoulders as she inhaled deeply of the heather-scented air. “It’s so beautiful here.” Her gaze wandered over their surroundings.

“Aye, verra bonny.” But it wasn’t the scenery he referred to. Not the shimmering loch the golden eagle soared above, or the Cuillens in the distance, wreathed in mist. For him, their attraction dimmed in comparison to the woman at his side.