Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (17 page)

He ran his hand through his tawny brown hair. “Sweet Jesu’, what have I done to you, Ali? I should just tell him the truth. You should no’ be locked away up here.”

She stood beside him and patted his arm. “It will all work out, Iain, you’ll see.”

He frowned. “Yer no’ plannin’ anythin’, are you, Ali?”

“Of course not.” She lowered her eyes, unable to look at him when she lied, wishing she didn’t have to. “I’ll leave that to you and Fergus.” They didn’t have a chance where Rory was concerned, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be locked away for however long it suited him. The only one she could depend on was herself: a lesson she’d learned repeatedly growing up, and one she should’ve remembered.

“Good. We’ll no’ let you down,” he said, leaving with a promise to send Mari to her with the linens.

In the early morning hours on the fourth day of her imprisonment, Ali wiggled the last of the bars free. Her time before the keep came to life was limited, and she had to hurry, no matter how tired she was. She lifted the rope of linens from the chair and knelt on the cold, hard floor, winding the rope through the bedframe. As quietly as she could, she dragged the bed beneath the window, stopping every few minutes to listen to the rhythmic snoring of the guards stationed outside the door. With a silent prayer, she dropped the makeshift rope over the edge of the casement.

Standing on the mattress, she lifted first one leg and then the other over the ledge. She closed her eyes. The second rope dug into her stomach as she lay in the window, the wind whipping the gown around her legs. She gritted her teeth and began her careful descent down the sheer face of the gray stone wall. Her foot slipped, and she swallowed a panicked cry. Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded on her forehead.

Tightening her grip, she lowered herself several more feet until she came to the knot that warned the rope was about to end. Carefully, one hand over the other, she twisted until she faced outward. The wind lifted her damp hair, cooling her flushed face. She forced herself not to look down at the yawning, twelve-foot gap, knowing she had to get over it if she was to land on the slanted roof of the empty guards’ room.

She kicked off the wall to swing in midair, slamming back into the unforgiving stone. Ali groaned, but there was no time to waste moaning over the dull throb in her back. She’d spent the last few days watching the guards’ routine and knew there wasn’t a moment to spare before the next one came on shift.

A sense of desperation played havoc with her courage. She pushed it aside and used the last of her strength to give one final push. Legs flailing, she dropped with a dull thud to the roof below. Her knees scraped on the rough tiles, shredding her gown. She tried to grab hold of the peaked roofline, but missed, and slid down the roof. Crying out in frustration, she kicked her feet until the toe of her shoe dug into a crevice between the tiles. Ali sucked in a breath and dove for the chimney, wrapping her arms around it. She stifled a startled cry when a large blackbird dive-bombed her and she waved a hand to shoo it away.

Ali pulled herself up until she sat tucked securely between the roof and chimney. Battered fingers trembling, she unraveled the linen rope from her waist. She threw it around one side of the chimney and grabbed it as it came around the other, tying a knot she prayed would hold.

Once more she descended. With only a few more feet to freedom, she began to relax. A door slammed and Ali froze, clinging to the rope, her feet dangled high above the ground. She held her breath, slowly releasing it when no one and no other sound followed. With the rope wound between her legs, she lowered herself farther. Her head jerked up when she heard a slow tearing sound. Panicked, she looked down at the twelve-foot drop. The rope shredded. She fell to the ground with no hope of breaking her fall.

Thud.

Ali moaned, scrambling awkwardly to her feet. She stifled a cry of pain when she put weight on her right foot. She tried to rotate her ankle; it wasn’t broken, but she wouldn’t get far on her own. She wrinkled her nose. Bessie.

She scanned the deserted courtyard, then hobbled toward the stables. Mauve and pink streaked the azure sky and Ali quickened her pace, anxious to put some distance between her and Dunvegan before the sun came up.

“How did she come by a dagger?” Rory bellowed, yanking on the linen rope that hung outside the window.

Callum shuffled from one foot to the other, his face flushed. “’Twas me, Laird MacLeod. I gave it to her on the day Lady MacLean accused her of bein’ a spy.”

“Bloody hell,” Rory cursed, tossing the rope to the floor. He ran his hand through his hair. She would be the death of him. But despite his anger, he couldn’t help but admire her bravery, her ingenuity. The woman was amazing. Too bad she was a spy.

He lifted his gaze from the cot and met the look of condemnation in the eyes of Mrs. Mac, Fergus, and Iain. His temper flared. “Doona’ give me that look. ’Twas no’ because of me she did this.”

“Nay? It was no’ her who locked herself in the tower and half starved herself to death.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, brother, the woman’s a spy. And I didna’ starve her. She was just too stubborn to eat.”

Byron and Cedric entered the room, shamefaced. “There’s no sign of her, my laird, but the lads in the stable say old Bessie is missin’.”

He met his brother’s gaze and they both let out a shout of laughter. Relief surged through Rory. He would get her back, but more importantly, she wasn’t hurt. It had been his worst fear when he’d been called to the tower. The guards had said nothing, simply pointed to the barless window. Rory fully expected to see her broken body lying on the ground below, and nothing had prepared him for the terror he felt. No matter that she betrayed him; he still had not managed to purge her from his heart. “’Twill no’ be difficult pickin’ up her trail if she’s even made it off Dunvegan land.”

“I’ll bring her home,” Fergus and Iain offered in unison.

“Nay, I’ll go.”

He strode from the room, leveling his brother with a hard stare when Iain called out to him, “You willna’ hurt her, Rory.”

Rory picked up Aileanna’s trail easily enough once he realized she had not headed to MacDonald land after all. He assumed whoever she was in contact with must have arranged a meeting place closer to Dunvegan. Coming upon horse and rider in the glen, he eased back on the reins. Hidden within a cluster of pines, he patted the black’s powerful neck. “We’ll stay and watch for a bit, Lucifer. See who the lass meets up with.”

He bit back a smile when she delicately tapped the mare’s flanks. Bessie didn’t budge. Holding on to Bessie’s mane, Aileanna bounced up and down several times. The horse snorted, and she threw up her arms in frustration. Rory watched in amusement as she awkwardly slid from the mare. But his amusement faded when he saw her hobble forward to cajole her horse. She’d been hurt. He dug his heels in Lucifer’s sides and left the shelter of the pines.

Each time Aileanna urged the horse on with a tentative pat to her flank, Bessie would take a step back. The lass lost more ground than she gained. She gave a muffled groan and sunk to the heather-covered ground, drawing her knees to her chest. Bessie nudged her, nickering.

“Don’t try to be nice now—it won’t work,” he heard her grumble.

“You shouldna’ be fashed with her. She made it much farther than I expected she would,” Rory commented dryly.

“You!” she gasped, turning to look up at him. “How did you find me?”

“’Twas no’ hard.” He dismounted and came to stand over her. “I’ve come to take you back to Dunvegan.”

A hopeful light appeared in her eyes. “You believe me now?”

“That yer no’ a spy? Nay, I doona’ believe that.” He wished he could.

“Then I’m not going anywhere with you.” She lowered her forehead to her knees.

“And where would you be plannin’ on goin’, lass?”

“I don’t know.” She mumbled the words into her gown.

“Then you might as well come home with me,” he said quietly. She was exhausted, beaten down, and it bothered him more than it should.

“Why? So you can lock me away again, starve me, torture me?” Her voice was weak, but angry.

He shook his head. “You’ve no’ been starved or tortured.”

She snorted and tossed her head.

“You sound like yer horse.”

She narrowed her gaze on him. “Go away.”

He ignored her, leaning over to scoop her into his arms. She gave an affronted cry and struggled, kicking her feet. “Ouch.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Be still, Aileanna. You’ll only cause yerself more pain, and I’ll no’ let you go.” He placed her on Lucifer’s back. “Doona’ move. He’s no’ as tame as Bessie,” he warned her as he put the bridle he’d brought with him onto Bessie.

Swinging himself onto his horse, he wrapped an arm around her and felt her stiffen. They traveled in silence, and she slowly relaxed against him. Rory battled his body’s response to her, fought the urge to bury his face in her heather-scented, silky hair, to fill his hands with the weight of her full breasts. Even reminding himself of her betrayal was of little help, and he hoped she did not feel him harden beneath the curve of her behind. Upon hearing the soft sounds of her snoring, he gave a relieved chuckle.

Rory took the long way back to Dunvegan in an attempt to avoid as many of the clan as he could. Anger against Aileanna ran high. Only the morning before he had been confronted by an angry mob seeking vengeance. Old lady Cameron had been quick to shout them down. To Rory’s surprise, Cook and several of the serving girls, along with Janet, Jamie, and the Chisholms came to Aileanna’s defense, giving him and the others the same tall tale Fergus and Iain tried to feed him.

Obviously awaiting his return, Mrs. Mac, Fergus, Iain, and Connor hurried toward him as he entered the courtyard.

“What have you done to her?” Iain cried out.

“Nothin’, brother. She hurt her foot in her attempt to escape is all, and obviously exhausted herself while she was at it,” Rory commented wryly when she remained asleep in his arms despite the commotion.

Iain reached for her and Rory carefully handed her down to him. Dismounting, he said, “I’ll take her now.”

“Nay, I will—”

“You will give her to me now,” Rory grated out.

His brother looked down into her sleeping face, and shook his head. “You canna’ put her back in the tower, Rory. I willna’ allow it.”

“’Tis my decision, Iain, no’ yers,” he said, reaching for her.

“You doona’ understand, brother, you…” Iain shook his head and looked at him, a pained expression on his face. “I canna’ let her suffer any longer. I have somethin’ I must tell you, Rory, and I pray you will be able to forgive me.”

Fairies. The fairies brought her—for you. To save you.

“Bloody hell,” Rory muttered under his breath. “What have you done, Iain?” But he knew what his brother had done. Desperate to save him, he’d waved the flag without thought to the consequences.

At first Rory had been tempted not to believe him, to think the wild tale was just another attempt to get him to believe in Aileanna’s innocence, to keep her from the tower. One look at Fergus’s and Mrs. Mac’s faces convinced him it was no story Iain concocted, but the truth.

With the toe of his boot he nudged the peat into the mouth of the flame. A shower of sparks followed with a loud crackle and pop. He glanced over his shoulder from where he sat by the fire to look at Aileanna. Hours had passed, and still she slept in his bed, beneath the mountain of covers Mrs. Mac had piled on top of her.

Rory pressed his fingers to his temples. What was he to do with her? A woman snatched from her own time to save him. He allowed himself a slight smile. It went a long way in explaining the strange way she had of speaking and behaving. But how would she feel when he told her he could not send her home? That he must sacrifice her desires for the good of the clan. He would not use the last wish. One day it might mean the difference to the clan’s survival. Surely she would understand.

He heard the rustle of bedding and turned to see Aileanna sitting up, looking down at her nightclothes. Through the dim light of the candles he saw her scowl at him.

“You have a lot of nerve,” she sputtered.

Rory eased himself from the chair and walked toward the bed, suppressing a smile. “I didna’ disrobe you, lass. ’Twas Mrs. Mac who saw to you,” he assured her, unable to keep an image of him slowly stripping each layer of clothing from her, revealing her naked flesh, from playing out in his mind.

Aileanna clutched the sheets to her chest, and croaked, “Why…why have you put me in your room and not the tower?”

Rory lifted the pitcher from the bedside table and poured her a cup of water, offering it to her. “And before you ask, ’twas boiled.”

Her fingers brushed his when she took the cup. “You didn’t answer me,” she said, eyeing him over the rim.

“I ken who you are, Aileanna.”

She choked on a mouthful of water, but was quick to recover. “Oh, you’ve heard from Angus then. What did he tell you? Obviously something to make you believe I’m not a spy, or I’d still be locked away.”

He retrieved the cup and set it on the table before he turned back to her. “Nay, that would be Iain’s doin’.”

“Iain.” She shot a panicked look around the room. “Where…where is he?”

Rory sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair from her pale cheek. “I ken everything, Aileanna. Iain confessed.”

“Did you hurt him, because if you did I’ll—”

He shook his head, unhappy with her willingness to believe the worst of him. “No matter what you think of me, Aileanna, you must ken I would no’ hurt my brother.” He lifted her hand to examine the damage she’d done in her escape from the tower. “I appreciate the lengths to which you went to protect him. I only wish you would’ve told me before I—”

“You what, tortured me…starved me?”

Rory let out an exasperated sigh. “You ken I didna’ torture or starve you, Aileanna, but I ken I hurt you, and fer that I’m sorry.”

She bowed her head and her cheeks pinked.

He tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him. In the candlelight her eyes, awash with tears, shimmered. Rory sucked in an anguished breath. “I didna’ mean what I said. I was angry and hurt that you betrayed me, and I lashed out at you. ’Tis no’ somethin’ I’m proud of. All I ask is that you understand where the words came from and accept my apology.”

Ali tilted her head and looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. When her emotions were under some semblance of control, she forced herself to ask him, “Now that you know, will you use the flag to send me home?” Her head was spinning, not sure what she hoped his answer would be. What she really wanted to know, but was too afraid to ask, was if he’d meant it when he denied his love for her. Did she compare as poorly to his wife as he suggested? Even now, repeating his words in her head caused fresh tears to spring to her eyes. She couldn’t bear to ask him the questions for fear she would be humiliated again, and her heart couldn’t stand the rejection.

“Doona’ you think you could be happy here at Dunvegan?”

How could he ask her that after what had gone on between them? Nothing had changed. He still meant to marry Moira. The sheets pooled at her waist as she wiped the moisture from her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

He smoothed the hair from her face with his fingers, then trailed them down her arms. Her nipples tightened, and she groaned inwardly when they puckered against the thin fabric of her shift. How was she supposed to think clearly with him so close? With him touching her?

“How…how could I be happy here? They all think I’m a thief, and if that’s not bad enough, a witch.”

He continued to stroke her arms, as though he knew what he did to her. Goose bumps formed beneath her heated skin. Her nipples ached, and her breasts grew heavy and full.

His eyes softened. “Doona’ worry. I will find a way to make them believe in yer innocence without tellin’ the truth.”

Her heart raced, and she shook her head. She couldn’t do it, not with how things stood between them. He felt nothing for her, and her feelings for him were too strong. “No, I can’t stay. I want to go home.”

He gave her a pained smile. “Aileanna, if I use the last wish to return you to yer home, I leave the clan vulnerable. We are in difficult times. I may have need of the fairies’ magic. Can you no’ understand?”

“Oh, I understand all right. You expect me to sacrifice my happiness for the good of your clan.” She flung the words at him.

“There was a time when I thought you could be happy here, Aileanna,” he said quietly. “Will you no’ try?”

She flopped back onto the mound of pillows. “It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, now do I?”

“Do you have kin you leave behind?”

“No, there’s no one,” Ali admitted unhappily. “My mother died when I was seven, and none of the foster homes I was sent to ever worked out.” She wouldn’t tell him Dunvegan had become more of a home to her than any she had ever known growing up.

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm, murmuring, “I’m sorry you suffered, and I doona’ mean to make you suffer further, but I canna’ send you back.”

“You can…but you won’t.”

He stood at the side of the bed and looked down at her. “Mayhap you’ll feel better once you have something to eat. I’ll have Mrs. Mac fix you a plate.”

She was starved. But she wasn’t a man, and if he thought he’d soften her up by feeding her, he was sadly mistaken.

“Aileanna.” He gave her a pointed look, his hand on the handle of the door. “The flag is no longer in my room, but even if it was, lass, it would do you no good. The magic only works if a MacLeod waves the flag.”

“You’d think someone could’ve told me that before,” she muttered.

She heard his husky laughter as he left the room and threw a pillow, hitting the back of the door instead of him.

Ali swung her legs over the edge of the bed and cursed. Her foot—she’d forgotten. She brought the candle from the bedside table and held it so she could examine her leg, noticing her bloodied fingers as she did. Her ankle was swollen to twice its size. She blew out a frustrated breath. It was obvious she wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. At the end of Rory’s bed she noted the linens piled on the battered wooden trunk. Unable to reach them, she grabbed ahold of the carved wooden post and groaned; every muscle ached, protesting the movement. Gritting her teeth, she hopped on one foot, then bent down to pick up the piece of cloth.

Back in the comfort of Rory’s big bed, Ali dipped the fabric in the pitcher of water. Wringing it out, she wrapped it around her ankle and propped her foot on a pillow. Anxious to inspect her injuries, she hiked the chemise to her thighs to check on her knees. Obviously Mrs. Mac had cleaned her up as well as changed her. Only a small amount of dried blood was visible on her skinned knees. Her stomach grumbled as she dabbed at the scrapes with the other cloth. Maybe she would feel better if she had something to eat, especially if it was Mrs. Mac or Mari who kept her company instead of Rory.

Looking up at the sound of metal clanging against metal, she saw Rory, framed in the door. The flickering light from the torches in the hall cast him in shadows—a hardened warrior, the man she’d fallen hopelessly in love with, a man who tore her heart from her chest and flung it aside. She was too tired, too vulnerable to deal with him.

“Thank you, you can leave it over there.” She pointed to the table that stood by the fireplace.

Rory hesitated before coming into the room, and she quickly realized what held his attention. Hastily, she pushed the shift over her knees.

He cleared his throat. “I doona’ think ’tis a good idea fer you to be walkin’ aboot,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of her foot.

“No, it’ll be fine. I’ll—” She sent her eyes heavenward when he ignored her and strode to the bed. “Do you ever listen to what anyone says?”

“Nay.” He smiled. “You ken I’m right, Aileanna. Yer in no condition to be leavin’ the bed.”

“I did just fine, thank you very much.” She gestured to her foot. “I really do appreciate you bringing me something to eat, but you can—”

The bed creaked under his weight when he sat beside her. He took the bowl and set it on his lap, dipping a wooden spoon into what looked like stew with dark gravy.

Ali’s eyes widened. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m feedin’ you. Look at yer hands, lass. They’re a mess. You’ll no’ be able to do it on your own.” He brought the spoon to her mouth.

Glaring at him, she shook her head and pressed her lips together.

He frowned. “I doona’ think I’ve met anyone as stubborn as you.”

“I’m…ugh—” The second her mouth opened, he shoved the spoon inside.

“Yer a verra messy eater,” he said as he dabbed at her chin with the edge of the linen.

“I wouldn’t be if…Oh, my God, you are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met,” she cried when he managed to get another spoonful into her mouth.

“You canna’ win with me, so be a good lass and eat yer dinner.”

Five minutes later, Rory gave her a satisfied smile. “There, that wasna hard,” he said as she finished the last of the stew.

“It was good. Thank you,” she admitted grudgingly as he returned the bowl and spoon to the bedside table. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Aye, I’ll leave you be in a moment. Mrs. Mac sent some salve fer yer bruises and to take the ache from yer muscles.”

Ali narrowed her gaze on the small pot he held in his big hand, recognizing the scent of fragrant herbs with a hint of animal fat as a formula she and Mrs. Mac had recently come up with. They had been combining their knowledge of herbs to create medicines for the clan, but it was difficult with no refrigeration, and the concoctions had to be made almost daily. “If you think I’m going to let you put that on me, you have a few screws loose.”

Rory raised a brow at her. “Aidan was right—yer speech is verra interestin’, but at least I ken why. Now, be a good lass and turn on yer side.”

Ali crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe Mrs. Mac suggested
you
were to put that on me.”

He grinned. “Aye, she did. You canna’ do it yerself, Aileanna. You have open wounds on yer hands. It will sting.”

“I’m tough.” She motioned for him to give her the pot of cream.

His gaze softened. “Aye, you’ve told me that before.”

She closed her eyes, damning the tears that threatened at the memory of when she’d said those exact words to him.

“Let me do this fer you. I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

That’s what she was afraid of. “It’s all right. Mrs. Mac can do it for me.”

“They’re all abed, lass,” he murmured, scooping a small amount of cream onto his fingers. Despite her protests he began to massage it into her arm. His hands were warm and strong. Holding the strap of her shift aside he worked his way from the top of her shoulder, down to her wrist. Carefully he lifted her hand and brought it into the light from the candle, his fingers tracing the bones. “The other night I hurt you when I grabbed you here.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her mouth went dry and she didn’t dare speak—she didn’t think she could. Her heart hammered in her chest. He lowered her hand and scooped more of the salve onto his fingers to massage the other arm in a slow, sensual motion. Her eyes fluttered closed, his gentle touch a form of exquisite torture. She wanted to feel those powerful hands all over her. He pressed his lips to her other wrist and murmured an apology.

She prayed he was finished as much as she prayed he’d just begun. Rory leaned over and lifted her hair away from her shoulders. “Roll on yer side, mo chridhe.” His words came out deep and gravelly against her ear. She couldn’t protest—it felt too good. He skimmed a knuckle along her cheek and down her arm. The bed creaked when he stood and gently cradled her foot with his hand while he urged her onto her side with the other. Placing another pillow between her calves, he propped her injured foot on top.

The weight of his body settled in behind her as the mattress dipped. His fingers worked at the delicate buttons at the back of her shift. Before she realized what he had done, the fabric drifted apart and the whole of her back was exposed to him. She felt naked and vulnerable, and she’d promised never to let herself feel that way with him again.

“Shh, ’tis all right, mo chridhe. I willna’ hurt you.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh, wincing as she rolled over to face him. Ali pressed her hands to his chest in an attempt to push him away. “No, I won’t let you do this to me. Not again. Do you remember what you said to me, Rory? Because I know I’ll never forget.”