Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (12 page)

“I canna’ do that. Lady Aileanna already occupies the room.”

“The room beside yers—
she
resides there?” Her voice grew shrill, her face pinched.

“Aye. It grows late, Moira. I’ll see you to yer chambers,” he said, his words clipped.

“Ye had best remove her from that room, Rory MacLeod, or I will no’ allow my brother to sign the betrothal papers. I willna’ have ye sleepin’ with yer leman while I’m under the same roof.”

Rory bit back a sharp response until he got his anger under control. He took a firm hold of her elbow and guided her none too gently down the dimly lit corridor. As they were about to round the corner, he heard the rustle of silks and the resounding click of a door in the direction from whence they’d come. He knew who it was without looking and had no doubt she’d heard what Moira said.

He came to an abrupt halt outside of Moira’s chambers and brought her around to face him. “Lady Aileanna is a
lady,
and I remind you to remember that. She saved my life and those of my clan. And, Moira, the papers have no’ been drawn up yet. It hasna’ been that long since I buried my wife and I’m no’ even certain I wish to take another.”

Her face crumpled. “I’m sorry, Rory.” She clasped his hand between hers, bringing it to her breast. “Please, forgive me.”

He felt the soft, heated skin beneath his hand, the quickening of her heartbeat, and abruptly disengaged himself from her grasp. “’Tis forgotten. Good sleep, Lady Moira. I will see you on the morrow.” His tone was curt. He couldn’t get away from her fast enough, angry at what she accused Aileanna of being, and what it would do to her reputation if Moira chose to spread her tales. The decision Moira now forced him to make fueled his anger.

Once inside his chambers Rory hesitated before he strode to the door that adjoined the two rooms. He heard a crash. The wood shuddered beneath his hand. He wrenched it open, his gaze drawn to the overturned trunk and the brightly colored gowns that spilled onto the floor. Aileanna stood by the bed with her back to him.

“Aileanna?”

She put up a hand and shook her head.

Rory ignored her request and reached for her. “Aileanna, what were you doin’? Are you hurt?”

Beneath his hand her shoulder stiffened. She took a step away, then turned. Violet eyes looked up at him. “I’m doing as your bride-to-be demanded. I was going to take the gowns, and then I realized they’re not mine to take—nothing is.” She looked at the candle beside the bed and blinked her eyes.

“Aileanna.” He brushed his knuckles along her cheek.

“Don’t…don’t touch me,” she cried out in a strangled voice. “Please, don’t.”

Rory dropped his hand. “The gowns are yers. Anythin’ you want from this room is yers.” He took a deep breath. “But ’tis best you take another room, Aileanna. I willna’ have yer reputation besmirched. I hadna’ considered the consequences, and I should have.”

“I’m sure it is for the best, and of course you wouldn’t want to jeopardize the match with the MacLeans.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I have no’ made up my mind on the matter, Aileanna. No’ yet.”

“But in the end we both know what you’ll do, Rory. You always do what’s best for the clan, and so you should.” She knelt on the floor and gathered the gowns to her chest before she rose unsteadily to her feet. With her head held high she left the room.

Anger overrode her humiliation as Ali watched the young mother hurry into the cottage, her sickly infant clutched to her chest. “I don’t understand why she won’t let me look at the baby, Callum. I’m sure I could find some way to help him.” She glanced back at the blond man who shadowed her as she went unsuccessfully from one cottage to the next, checking on those Mrs. Mac had asked her to look in on. Not one of them had allowed her anywhere near them. You would think she carried the plague.

Her childhood insecurities resurfaced. Feelings of being unwanted, of not belonging, taunted her. She thought she’d overcome them, put them behind her, but coming to Dunvegan had forced her to contend with them once more. Her hard-won armor was slipping, allowing the pointed barbs to pierce her self-confidence and a heart battered more times than she cared to remember.

Callum appeared sympathetic. “’Twill take time is all, Lady Aileanna.”

“That baby may not have time.” She took his hand as he helped her over a fallen log. “Does this have anything to do with the priest?”

“Nay, ’tis on account they doona’ ken ye, and mayhap—” He hesitated, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Callum, I’m sure whatever you say can’t hurt my feelings anymore than they already have been.”
Good Lord, why did I feel the need to blurt that out?

He looked toward Dunvegan. Only the tower remained visible above the soaring pines. “In the hall this morn Lady MacLean questioned yer loyalties. She said as how ye were a spy sent by the MacDonald to turn the men’s heads, gettin’ them to spill their plans with yer bonny looks. Her voice carried loud enough fer all to hear.”

Ali cursed under her breath. She should have gone down to breakfast instead of putting her new rooms to right. At least she could have defended herself. Then again, she would have had to face Rory and Moira MacLean. And if she was honest, Ali would admit that was the real reason she’d stayed to putter in her chambers.

“But Ro—Lord MacLeod must have come to my defense. He knows—”

Callum interrupted her. “’Twas Fergus and Iain who sought to protect ye, my lady. I thought they did a fair job mind ye, but it seems some of the clan chose to believe Lady Moira.” He shrugged apologetically.

“I’m thankful they at least tried.” Fergus and Iain—but not Rory. He actually thought she was a spy, out to harm his beloved clan. Despite the heat, she shivered. “What about you, Callum—do you think I’m a spy?”

“Nay, my lady, yer speech and ways are a mite strange, but I doona’ think ye’d bring us harm,” he said with a gentle look on his face.

She tilted her head to look up at him. “Is that why you accompany me instead of Connor?”

“Aye, Lord MacLeod was concerned fer yer safety after Lady Moira’s—”

“If he was so concerned with my safety, why didn’t
he
defend me?” Her anger flared as she pictured Rory sitting silently by while his betrothed maligned her character to everyone gathered in the hall.

Callum winced. “Lady MacLean was verra upset that ye meant to bring harm to the laird and he was busy comfortin’ her.”

Ali snorted. “I’m sure he was.”

“But doona’ fear, my lady, Fergus willna’ allow anyone to speak against ye in his presence.” The big man smiled. “He’s verra protective of ye, as is the laird’s brother.”

“That’s something to be thankful for at least.” Her head jerked up at the sound of a sharp crack and the rustle of branches. Callum shoved her behind him and drew his sword.

Peering around his bulky frame, Ali scanned the cluster of trees. If that little witch got her killed because of her stupid accusations, she’d make her life hell.
And how are you going to do that?
the voice in her head snorted.
You’ll be dead.

“Oh, be quiet,” Ali muttered.

“Shh, my lady,” Callum admonished, his eyes fixed on their surroundings.

“There’s nothing out there,” she whispered, just as a streak of brown darted amongst the pines.

“Halt,” her protector growled. “Show yerself.”

Out from behind a tree stepped the young boy who’d stood up for Ali and Mari the other day in the hall. “What are ye doin’ so far from home, Jamie Cameron?” Callum resheathed his sword; the tension in his stance eased.

“I’m goin’ to the glen to train with the laird.”

“I doona’ think so, laddie. Yer mother willna’ be allowin’ that, I’m certain.”

Ali heard the rumble of laughter in the big man’s words as she stepped from behind him.

“I doona’ care.” With his bottom lip thrust out, the young boy began to march in the direction from where they’d come.

For a man his size, Callum was quick. He had Jamie by the collar before he’d ventured more than a foot. “Aye, ye will. I ken yer mother well, laddie, and if she catches ye anywhere near the glen, she’ll tan yer hide.”

Jamie glared at Callum, a mutinous expression on his freckled face.

“Save yer wee looks. They’ll do no good on me. Now, come with me and Lady Aileanna. I’ll see ye home.” Callum nudged him onto the trail ahead of them. The boy grumbled, kicking at any stone that happened to be in his way.

“How is it ye got away from yer mother in the first place? I hear she’s been keepin’ a tight rein on ye these days.”

The boy shrugged. “She’s helpin’ in the kitchens. They’re busy preparin’ fer the big feast Lady MacLean has ordered.”

“I imagine they’ll be needin’ extra hands. ’Twill be as hot as Hades in the kitchens this day.” Callum shook his head, muttering under his breath.

“I don’t suggest you kick that one, Jamie. You’ll break your toe,” Ali advised absently as the boy drew back his foot to strike a rock the size of a watermelon. “Is there a special reason for the feast, Callum?” Ali asked, keeping her voice as casual as she could despite the tension building inside her.

“The MacLeans are expectin’ some of their kin to arrive at Dunvegan this day. ’Tis said they’re bringin’ word of the adventurers, but I’m thinkin’ there’s more to it than that.”

“Oh, I thought maybe it was a…a wedding feast,” Ali said, the relief in her voice obvious; unable to deny, at least to herself, that she didn’t want Rory to marry Moira MacLean. And it had nothing to do with her wanting him, Ali reassured herself. She just couldn’t imagine him being happy with that woman.

“Nay, but I fear ’twill no’ be long before ’tis.”

“Why…why would you say that?” Ali grabbed ahold of Callum’s arm as she stumbled over the same rock she’d warned Jamie about and cursed inwardly.

Callum shrugged as they came to the clearing. With no trees to shield them from the sun, the searing rays beat down upon them. “The laird has no choice, my lady. He has to make a decision verra soon. ’Twas all the talk in the hall this morn.”

“Was that before or after the discussion of me being a spy?”

Callum chuckled. “’Twas after.” Shaking his head, he clapped a big hand on Jamie’s shoulder as the boy picked up his pace. “Nay, yer no’ gettin’ off that easy, laddie. ’Tis to yer mother ye go.”

The boy wiggled out from beneath Callum’s hand and stomped through the wildflowers, pulling the heads off those he didn’t manage to tromp.

Ali picked a bellflower that managed to escape Jamie’s wrath and sniffed its fragrant petals. She twirled the flower between her fingers, then returned her attention to Callum, who kept a close eye on the boy.

“Are you happy about the match between the MacLeans and the MacLeods, Callum?”

“Fer the clan, aye. Fer the man, nay.”

Ali pushed her hair back from where it lay plastered to her cheek. “Why?”

He gave her a long, considering look. “I ken we’re in need of the men the match would provide, but I doona’ think ’tis fair our laird should sacrifice a chance at happiness.”

“You don’t think he’ll be happy with Lady MacLean?”

Callum cocked his head to study her. “Nay, I ken there’s another who interests him. One who would be a true partner to him.”

“Really.” Ali cleared her throat. “I didn’t think Lord MacLeod would ever love again.”

He grinned. “I think you ken well enough, my lady. I’m no’ blind.” Callum didn’t give Ali a chance to respond—not that she could. He’d struck her dumb. You could knock her over with a feather. What had she done to make him think she was in love with Rory? She must have misunderstood. He couldn’t possibly mean to imply Rory was in love with her.

Rattled by his comment, she stumbled through the long grass after him until they were within a few feet of the kitchens. The heavy oak door flung open at their approach. A woman Ali recognized as Jamie’s mother came into view, her face flushed, her gray gown flattened to her body. She leaned against the wall for support. As though only then becoming aware of them, she squinted past the sweat rolling off her forehead.

“Jamie Cameron, what have ye gone and done now?” Wearily she pushed herself off the stone wall, wiping her sleeve across her brow.

Callum placed a steadying hand beneath the woman’s elbow. “Doona’ fash yerself, Janet. We met up with him on the path is all.”

Janet looked from her son to Callum. The boy, who had paled at his mother’s question, now beamed at the blond giant as though he was his savior. Which Ali was fairly certain he was. Janet Cameron might be small, but the woman seemed fierce. Callum gave Jamie a furtive wink. The young boy winked back, but his mother caught him, and no matter how many times he blinked to cover it up—the game was over.

“Nay…nay.” Janet shook her head, dark spiral curls escaping from beneath her white cap. “I’ll have the truth, Callum.” She rounded on him, her chest heaving.

The big man held out his hands in surrender. “Janet, ’twas nothin’. The lad wanted to go to the glen is all.”

“Oh, that’s all, is it? He only wanted to go to the glen and play at makin’ war with the rest of ye fools. Is it no’ bad enough I’ve lost his da, now I’m to lose him, too,” the woman said on a broken sob, burying her face in her hands.

“Hush, Janet. I’ll no’ let anythin’ happen to wee Jamie. I promise ye that.”

Callum awkwardly patted her on the back while her young son looked on. Jamie’s face was beet red, his hands balled into small fists at his sides. Ali could see he tried his best not to cry, and her heart went out to him.

Janet pulled away from Callum and brought her grease-spattered apron to her face and wiped at her tears. “I’m sorry, my lady. I’m tired is all.”

“Please, don’t apologize. I understand how you feel, really I do. Not about your loss by any means, but your sentiments.” She took a hesitant step toward Janet and squeezed her arm, steeling herself for the rebuff she was sure would follow, but none did.

Janet patted her hand in return. “Thank ye,” she said quietly. “Now ’tis back to the kitchens fer me. Her ladyship has ordered a feast and a feast there’ll be, even if it kills us,” she remarked dryly. “And, Jamie, me lad, ye best be right here when next I take a wee rest.”

“Janet, you’re exhausted. Go home with Jamie and I’ll help Cook in the kitchens.”

The three of them looked at Ali as if she’d grown two heads. She grimaced. “What?” Glancing toward the kitchens, she lowered her voice. “Do you really think Cook would try to kill me if I go in there?”

Janet and Callum shared a laugh. “Nay, but ’tis no’ right ye bein’ in the kitchens, ye bein’ a lady and all.”

Ali cut her off with a wave of her hand. “For the moment, I think it’s the best place for me.” It was true. Ali knew if she went anywhere near Moira MacLean she’d tell the woman exactly what she thought of her, and none of it was good.

She waved good-bye to Jamie and Janet, and finally to Callum. It took five attempts before she was able to reassure him that she really did want to work in the kitchens. And no, she wasn’t suffering from heat stroke. And yes, she was sure she’d be safe enough—unless you included Cook and his kitchen knife.

Upon opening the kitchen door a blast of hot, humid air sucked Ali’s breath from her. She grabbed hold of the doorframe before venturing down the three stone steps into the kitchen. The sweltering heat and smoke-laden air caused her eyes to sting.

Cook sat on a stool, slouched over the heavily scored wooden table. He turned his head to look at Ali, his face gray, his lips parched. “Dear Lord, I doona’ ken what I did to deserve this much punishment in one day.” His words were slurred.

Ali ignored his comment and hurried to his side. She removed the knife from his hand. “Have you had anything to drink?”

“Nay.” He shook his head, eyes drooping.

Ali knelt at his side, pulling his lower lid down. “Come on,” she said, tugging him to his feet. “You have to get out of here before you drop dead.”

“Nay.” He tried to fight her off, but was too weak. “We are no’ done preparin’ the feast.” He waved limply at the two open flames where four young girls tended to a huge cauldron and a spit that held a pig. They didn’t look as though they fared much better than Cook. She tightened her hold on the man and nudged him forward. “Girls, you come, too. Out you go,” Ali said as she managed to get him up the last step.

The young maids exchanged worried glances. Their hands twisted in their aprons. It was then Ali recognized three of the four. They were the girls that had abused Mari in the courtyard. Ali tamped down her anger. It was the first time she’d seen them since that day. Mrs. Mac had assured her they’d been punished, and Ali guessed this was it.

“But, my lady, there is still much to do,” said a girl Ali didn’t recognize.

“Well, you won’t be getting it done if you pass out, now will you? Come on.” She waved them up the steps. “We have to get you out of this heat and get some fluids into you.”

Once outside, Ali lowered Cook to the ground and propped him against the outside wall of the kitchens. The girls stumbled into the bright sunlight and sank down alongside him. Ali went back in and stirred what looked to be a thick stew. She wrinkled her nose at the pig on the spit. She cranked the handle, but barely managed to get it halfway around.

A low cackle from behind her startled Ali and she jumped. A stooped old woman, her face as wrinkled as a prune, appeared at her side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was here,” Ali apologized.